2018, you’ve done a number on me.
I cannot write about you in prose,
I am too tired for that.
. . .
A year of published books,
Revolts and repulsing looks.
Of High Visibility
& Low Sales.
. . .
2018, you weren’t so mean,
If I take all the years I’ve had and create a mean.
In aggregate, I glean something closer to serene.
Stable Housing
& Food.
No Prison.
. . .
Hygiene.
Caffeine.
Censured Nicotine.
No Canteens.
Ruts becoming routine.
. . .
Benzene poised nightmares of my mother,
Obsessive, restless, pointless hands directly confronting each day.
One after another.
Super Ego is a big Ideal.
Libertine!
Philistine!
Quarantine!
Hate.
Hate.
Hate.
[…]
Yourself.
My mother always says.
Reply: Guillotine.
. . .
Yes, the bitter fight continued with this harlot come Magdalen,
And despite using all my:
| brain, intelligence, intellect, intellectual capabilities, mental capacity, brains, brainpower, wits, wit, powers of reasoning, powers of comprehension, powers of thought, understanding, reasoning, judgement, sense, mentality, perception;
|
I am still left with a hole in the back of my head.
Where she and They pulled the trigger one day, when I was seventeen.
Boy, T’aint easy being a Grants Pass queen.
. . .
[[[[[[Transition to some sort of a tenuous, open finality:]]]]]
E D I T E R R O R [[[[OK, proceed, aGAIN]]]]
2018 has been a year to overspend, pretend and even mend.
I have managed to blend some saccharine into the oft-dire night-dreams.
And even create a chimera of a magazine.
It’s all unseen.
And that’s where I am going.
Low Visibility,
High Sails.
. . .
. . .
Stark relief from 2017 and 2016 and 2015 and 2014.
Thank you, 2018.
Perhaps you didn’t do a number on me, it was those other 2000 teens! (How cruel they’ve been, save you, 18, my friend.)
Loving myself, is a matter of programming unforeseen subroutines,
and ending that beginning to begin a new ending.
Of examining codes, matrices,
Of maddening love,
Of haste,
Of sunsets,
Of the Anthropocene.
. . .
Dear Zeus,
I am trying to be good for nothing.
De rien à rien
From nothing to nothing.
that’s book II.
Wait for it,
come 2019.
. . .
Reblogged this on Prison As Power.
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