Dear (____)

Dear Crystal Light,

I do not dislike your appletini flavor.  It's kind of good.  You could have gone with red instead of neon Ghost Busters green or toxic waste Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtules toxic ooze green, but I'm sure the committee had something on their mind when it got green lit, no pun intended.  I would submit that some of us cannot afford apple juice.  It's expensive, kinda like orange juice.  Or any juice, for that matter.

Could you consider, perhaps, producing an apple flavored zero calorie product, as a black guy trying to die of a few things besides diabetes and looking for a low cost alternative to apple juice that is not bright green, it would be swell to be able to enjoy the apple taste without the cost, because, let's face it, I'm not asking you to try to produce some sort of grape product that tastes like cough syrup, no?  If you can make an appletini that only tastes good when vodka is mixed into it, can you not make an appletini that also tastes legitimately like apples with no vodka mixed into it?  It's not a party all of the time.  And appletini mixes like shit when anything else is involved besides potatoes.  Please get on that horse.

Thanks and yours truly,

former sugar fiend.

That Instant

you know you could choke a cat until he dies, but you're jamming up toward the edge where it'll be awkward between you two for the next week if you don't let go and you'll never be able to explain what you were trying to do to his brother cuz he's a cat too and does not speak English.

Dear (_____)

Dear new year resolutions,

We've had it out three years running.  This year we're going small. Compose one song.  And for fucks sake, update your poetry design.  We're both getting tired of it and there's beauty everywhere.  You cannot go three feet without tripping over it so come up with a summer theme and learn to play something and get an actual mic.  Christ.  You're not setting the bar low, be reasonable.  And quit smoking if you get a chance.  It's not on the books, but we know it is so stop short changing me, prick.

That Instant

you realize you've been chasing that sunavbitch down that went out of turn on the four way stop intersection and you're nine miles down the highway out of your way and hoping they'll pull over and get out because you're hatchet is tucked under your driver seat and you're betting they've got a tire iron at best.

That Instant

You rip into belly laughs watching a pug hang out the passenger window of a red coupe on the main drag of your town and the driver smoking a black and mild is enjoying its happiness just a much and he looks back with a smirk long enough to let you know it was okay to be in that moment with him.

That instant

you realize your deoderant is wearing off and you don't have time to shower, but...

..and then you kick yourself in the pants because it's not new information, but...

i'm coming in for a crash landing, gear up, and respect their space.

Overkill

Having a difficult time taking Is and Yous and Mes out of my poetry.  I wish I had a different face, but apparently I am no longer allowed to hack away at it.  I want to get back to wonder.  I want to get back to visions of enormous dinosaurs, but the real world continues to push back and it's not fair and I can't figure out a way to circumvent the charges.

I will.  Stand up act 9 is coming.  Long dark tunnel.  I conquered my fear of absolute darkness a while back.  Doesn't mean that it's comfortable though.  I want to pick up house and walk away from it all in a bad way.  Maybe a good way.  Tough to think about.  Do you just throw your hard drives in a ruck sack?  I don't know!  I'm asking you!  Who helps you plan that sort of thing out?  I have no clue.

Do ya have to bring an umbrella or something or do you count on finding one along the route?  Could probably thieve one.  Do you really want to do that?  That's not who you are.  You can take whatever you really want, but don't.  Every single time you take you are taking something from someone else and that's no good.  Let someone hold your leash.  They're not holding you back.  They're just checking you.  You have to allow yourself to be checked at the hip.  Take it and bounce off or try to run them over, but whatever you do correct your path.  Not correct, but make adjustments because you have to and understand that it is alright to make adjustments.

Adjusting the dials is okay.  Not everyone likes to hear music at 11, hell you don't either.  Not everyone wants or needs a kiss or needs your face two inches from their own.  Not everyone can be famous and not everyone will remember events the same ways you do.  You're losing your memory and maybe that plays into part of why you are losing connection fidelity with your dream states.  Be okay with working on it.  There's no breaker  to fire off in between where you're going and where you can never go back to and that's perfectly fine.

Do you bring a knife or no?  Do you need to?  Would you need to?  I don't know!  You can take what you want, but you don't have to.  Are you expecting battle?  It's a funky kind of war we fight and I've been seeing some strange things I don't know how to handle off of the top of my head.  I need time.  No picking up sticks.  No running away.  No abuse.  Abuse is shorthand for sadists.  What's short hand for saints?  I want to plow into a wall and obliterate my body in a mist of red and bone.  I want humor.  Get the fuck away from me!  I swear to god I will taste your eye fluid before the night is out, you mother fucker piece of shit, do you not know there is no such thing as a fair fight?

Rules are in place to keep me out of you.  Period.  Maybe it's all a matter of timing?  That may be what I'm getting wrong.

Wanderlust eats away at me and I nibble back.  I almost lit a cat on fire again.  I'm doing good though.  Being on good behavior and going to work almost every time I am supposed to go.  I want to keep it up through the end of the year.  I am not expecting much from Santa.  I still ask him for a 1911 against my better judgement.  No resolutions forthcoming and none will be given.  I think I'll treat myself to a box of ammunition this year.  One step at a time.  Baby steps.  We'll travel, but I'm not pulling up sticks just yet.  I'm trying to monitor my speech.  I've been speaking much too fast and running words together and feeling like I need to apologize inside my head every time someone says "what did you say?"  I said exactly what the hell I said.  It's hyper frustrating.  It's like a stutter, but backwards and difficult to correct and heart stabbing when I notice it flowing out of my damned mouth.  Not fair!

Howling in my head wont stop.  I haven't snorted anything serious in a long time and my sinuses feel like they are about to shatter.  "...turning the music up so ya don't hear the engine falling apart..."  by hook or by crook we are going to fix this thing so it runs smooth.  Chatty Cathy.  Slow the fuck down and take a moment.  The world's not crazy.  It is just you.  Everything does not smell like burning metal.  It is just you.  Space invaders.




///Kelis - "I Don't Think So"     just dont think you're at my speed

Atari

Going back in time to enjoy the things I love.  It has been strange hanging out with people I've only just met and their siblings.  The day before was silly violent and antagonized by the middle child in her family.  Her being the middle child and antagonizing everyone around her.  She was the back end of an eight banger.  It was difficult to identify and made more hilarious by our friend asking if he could bang her older sister.  I'm pretty sure it was not up to me or her sister's fiance.   Pretty sure whether or not she wanted to get mucky was and still is completely up to her.  You can come along for the ride if you want to.

"I've sucked enough dicks in my life."  ~ Tammy

We had this ongoing bet about how long it would take before she ran to history no one else knew, and I chimed in,but it was half hearted.  I just wanted to belong in the conversation.  Not a pissing contest of abuse as much as a revisiting of the things that inform and continue to inform our existence.  It's kind of like driving a car.  Think about it this way:  put in 40 degrees of left input to your road facing wheels and they will turn fifteen degrees.  Learning compensation.  Learning how much you actually do burn when you proclaim you've torched it to soil.

It really is that simple though and that laughable and that much more enjoyable than trying to slug away one for one.  That much more enjoyable than trying to get one unit of output for each understood unit of input.  Existence does not work that way.  There are boosters constantly.  Whether you like it or not, everything that you do is boosted and amplified upon reception.  It's the combat feedback loop.  I hit you.  How hard did I hit you?  Seven?  Six?  How hard will you hit me back?  At least a six.  What will I feel a six is?  Put a number on it.  At least a five, but you don't know so tag me at least at a six, but that six comes in at an eight because I already ate a six and you know that because you've been hurt before and know what a six feels like and know I probably played it soft and a jump cut is in order.

Into the flame, into the fire.  I have a lot of love pent up and no way to spend it.  Why you no want to cuddle no more?

Fucking cowards.

Sometimes we have to back off because we know they will take it the wrong way and run with it.  Does it hurt to be alone? Sure.  Does it hurt enough to make changes?  No.  One thing I've learned about myself is that distance is still necessary.  What I view as an appropriate relationship is still not, by and large, viewed the same way and it's not heartbreaking the way it used to be.  It used to break me apart in fantastic ways and now it's more of a "okay, we're here right now.  Option A, B, and J."  Cash out now, because two more steps will lead to two more steps will lead to two more steps will lead to two more steps and we're at J anyway.

I'm getting back to the things I love and it's been difficult.  It's been a battles by turn.  I have been trying not to think about it, but the successful artists I know had a pretty solid backing before they had outside backing making their whiles worth something.  I want to cut their faces off and wear them and drink the blood that trickles into my mouth while I talk behind their skin and I want to be able to talk to them about it, but "that's not okay."  And still they call themselves artists and photographers in the meantime never having actually known what the mean times really are.   I'm no teacher, but I am willing to crash course them.

Stop cock teasing me.   Stop front loading me.  I cannot handle that kind of nonsense.  Take your vacations and enjoy your languages, but do not fucking...  ....I'm going to war.  There are rules.  Aligning with my own.  Measures not drastic.

Deterioration.  Leaving memories at least as fast as they come.   I drive toward new ones as constantly as I can because there really is nowhere else to be and I am okay with that.  It's a riot.  I feel silly sometimes bending over to pick up the shards of myself and sometimes the entire exercise feels machinated.  What I really want to do is tattoo you and have you tattoo me whatever you want.  Battling down the brain chiggies.  The glitch farm.

I could look back in time, but it won't change the view.  The hardest I ever cheated was kissing another woman and being truthful about it.  What makes you okay?  Violently successful people who don't understand how they were set up to succeed aggravate me.  Everything they know are things I should have known when they did, but had to learn later because, like those post coin op machines with the news on their face, I had no coins to insert and no nudge on top of that to pay attention to them and am now taking notice and am now earning quarters to slot in and am now getting up to speed with and am not mad about it.  A little sorry, but not mad.

Through the TV eye.  A wrecka.  I said "hey!"  Being bummy with no standards is okay.  I'm not going to hurt you if you promise not to hurt me. Dhali Lama and llama beans and trying to be profound in every little thing.   It's silly.  The outside world bleeds in and the inside world bleeds out and really i just want you to say you're sorry.  Even that will be and is meaningless because I won't remember it until I'm steamed and wishing I was not so forgettable.

Power.  Something cosmic.  It takes a lot out of me to be here and I know it takes a lot out of you to be here with me.  Diet on anxiety.  I wish I could fill my stomach whenever I wanted to, but I've been grained to the scale of rice to need as little as possible and digest want as a hack hazard that is a crumple zone.  I want to be a foodie.  I really do.  Up chucked bringing to do more with less.

Every time I get something new to me I expect it to break down immediately or somehow fail me because no one gives something valuable to them up for grabs.  Except people like me who do not deal in currency.  Your word is your word.  Your bond is your bond.  Everything starts and ends at that initial hand shake.  No farther and no less.  Things new to me are things old and decrepit to others.  Not a revitalization as much as a re-purposing.  There is love in that.

Time elapsed, time remaining.

There was this one time I set my cat's whiskers to flame, not understanding that he was made of fur.  The whiskers caught and burned down to his coat and we were both surprised at how fast it was able to go.  Needless to say, or perhaps, for everyone's sake, we never got that ticky tacky mad again, but if I need to I know some good out of the way spots to bury you if you want to roll those dice.  I'm a bad liar and a good forgetter.  Push upstairs ;")

I will play asteroids with you for days.


///Daedelus - "My Beau"  at night, I think of you and do not call because our wars are different and mounting a head after a battle means something wildly different to me than it does to you, no slight

Scizophrenia

I continue to ask myself: what the hell am I doing wrong?  I don't get it.  I think I am assimilating well and then everything falls apart in my palms and I find myself catching bits and ... bits and pieces.  Remembering the wrong things and forgetting the right things.

I am you to you and you are me to me and there is a massive disconnect between and it hurts my heart.  I've been trying to do it through emulation and it has failed and succeeded in many ways.  I don't know how to express love or hate appropriately.  I feel like, just taking this car ride today, conversations are different and I can't remember part C or A but I can remember part B.

It's tiring.  Asking my other selves what happened in hours X toward Y or hours G to H.  Does everyone mark hours that way?  I don't know.  You're just an alcoholic.  It goes deeper than that and no, I'm not, but thanks for trying.

It burns my nerves.  I don't know when I'm being manipulated.  I don't know when it's just bipolarity.  Part of why I've taken to writing is that there is an actual record.  I get anxious sometimes wondering if the person invited to hang out is the same person that actually shows up or if they know the difference and on top of that it's been a hard pill getting to normal.

I don't know what I'm doing wrong, compounding everything is the idea and manifesto that I am the cat's nipples and I know I'm not.  I'm just another john, another burro, another acquaintance and it hurts my heart a lot and I do not know where else to push it.

Everybody wants something from me and all i want to do is slit a throat tonight and wash my hair in the blood, but there's no way I can get away with it tonight or weeks ahead and it's incredibly aggravating and not fair and I don't know what to do about it aside from spinning my wheels.

Brain virus.

That Instant

interpretation crosses lines with interpolation.