can I hold your interest?
captivate you?
a butterfly, aimless in a breeze
or a moth, suicidal to a flame
I only live to entertain
are you not entertained?
how we exist
appears only in name
I only stay to go insane
are you not the same?
Tag: self
Categories
objectification
(alternative title: Self-Assessment)
I think my leg would make a nice lamp
soft, supple, curved, and round
a good squeeeeeeze
if you look me up from down
squish in the right place –
and in the wrong
in front, a bright and lumpy face
from behind, like every other PAWG
near-perfect ass – not too phat in size
nicely shaped when I fold in half
showing off some thick-ass thighs
and big-ass ribs
an hour glass shape
with small-ass tits
deceiving, yes
disappointing, almost entirely
but most aren’t interested
in being surprised or disappointed
and so I’m left here unanointed
unbaptized but virginal – ah! a wish!
almost believable, but deceitful kiss
when every swing returns a miss
except for the three, a perfect strike-out
who pitched to me? and filled me with doubt?
I think my arm would make a nice branch
muscular, freckled, smooth, and strong
nice to tooooooouch
to whom does it belong?
what soul could search and find
a truly existent body
independent of a truly existent mind?
no one!
could it be a limb to build a nest?
could it be a place of eternal rest?
could these arms wrap you up
and hold you firm?
or tickle-torture until you squirm?
and would you understand
such impermanent nature?
or is your reliance political,
predisposed to legislature?
squeeeeeeze instead
evaluate
and don’t forget
your mind creates
and ever empties your plate
but also fills you up
objectify this human creation
dismantle parts with imagination
for the whole is empty but of name
and our mind is non-separate
we’re almost the same
let last words be of virtue, love
a wish for other’s happiness
and though I fit you like a glove
we play this silly game of chess
you read these words,
you leave them here,
we’re left confused
filled up with fear
and then I pray and dance about
and use this body, to move, to shout
and once again I live so free
to end all fears and misery
all I’ve got’s one disbelief
– how could it be only me?
Know me,
choose to know me
and know that you are not alone
but I will not make you
less lonely
knowledge will not make you
less lonely
that always you will want
only to be
alone
Know me
see my sorrow
unpromised to a single cause
observe that
anchor-attached
I will drown
you will watch
as you are drowning
we are overwhelmed
alone
Know me
then choose to leave me
low and wet
high and dry
ecologically drained
and emotionally filled
venomous
— or is it toxic? —
she is both,
alone
Know me
do not.
do not learn.
a box better left lidded
monogrammed P
a sell-sword’s secret sealed
unabandoned, undone
better to un-know
better to be
alone
Know me.
Choose to know me.
Know that you are not alone,
but it does not matter
when self-cherishing strangles
the virtue that prompts
the mind that yearns
will cut off
compassion, love
and choose the self.
Alone.
Categories
un thrilling reflection
I am not a thrill seeker
I have already felt such falls
I no longer live on the edge
enjoying such close calls
I am not a party animal
I prefer my nights alone
passing by the cemeteries
imagining my gravestone
I do not appear a fun person
for my joy comes from within
and what I seek is simple
virtuous and absent sin
a place without people,
a cave of calm, a sea of silence
except birdsong, except the animals
here among the rotting leaves
just myself – grasped mistaken
moment by moment foregone
just letting go
un fun
un riled
un identified
less
self
less
un identified
un riled
un fun
just letting go
moment by moment foregone
just myself – grasped mistaken
here among the rotting leaves
except birdsong, except the animals
a cave of calm, a sea of silence
a place without people,
virtuous and absent sin
and what I seek is simple
for my joy comes from within
I do not appear a fun person
imagining my gravestone
passing by the cemeteries
I prefer my nights alone
I am not a party animal
enjoying such close calls
I no longer live on the edge
I have already felt such falls
I am not a thrill seeker
Categories
Halloween Haunt
I don’t feel right
I can’t be normal
an alien in another’s skin —
how uncomfortable at times
I see myself needing
I see myself performing
I watch the satisfaction of each urge
depressed (only) momentarily, popped
deflated pimple, red, temporary
embarrassing, addictive
craving will resurface, a monster
people argue its existence — Loch Ness —
but the lie lays bare before us
recognized or not
so, it is with robotic sensibilities
I feel myself refuse to yield
to another pointless pleasure
and instead feel pain!
which I know is not the way —
but how else will I recognize
when I am being led astray
if not by monitoring such deceits
especially harmful, discovering
my own mind is the evil
that haunts me
Categories
Addicted to the melodrama
In my heart of hearts
I know
I know
what happiness is
I feel it exists
I know where it is to be found
under the bones, beneath the ribcage,
sub atomic the heart, in the subtle
in the very subtle mind
I know where all is found, created
produced phenomena
mistaken, mistaken
still mistaken
so there’s the rub
the grasp for external things
produced from an internal space
perceived from a point
moving through time and space
but a point, a personality nonetheless
— non-existent so to speak
yet hard to see (until it’s not)
and it’s the rub that’s missed
the feeling, the touch,
the understood cause
of pleasure, pain
the smack, the beating
and don’t get me started on the aural
— tongue lashings
to teach you tough lessons
What the fuck, right?
do you ever forget that people are real?
do you treat them too much like the dream characters you know they are?
can you feel – or is there a shelf in the way?
will someone please un-install the shelf!?
I think it can be recycled.
donate it. Please, help me.
the ledge is the safest place to be
if it perpetuates such refuge practice
but I don’t want to be there anymore
where do I want to be?
have I done the work, made the effort
that must render the results
effects I’ve created mindfully (somehow)
and somehow I’ll do it again
((blessings))
but oh! how I could do without
the melodramatic feeling!
the melancholy that arises,
such ache!
as if I am on the verge of losing
My Attachment
balancing
the moment, a magic moment
while seeing the potential – certain!
decease, death of these magic moments
no phenomena exists in the same way
for a second moment
care to think about that?
the certainty of change
still surprises you; cry about it
mourn the wisdom you missed
but receive what’s given to you
now — and why not happily?
you’ve got this
after all, you’ve got the lines —
just practice them
as an actor, rehearse rehearse
perchance to entertain… to fail…
to fly
imagination is all you need
to reach the end of the path
transform the melodrama
enjoy each step as you walk it
What the fuck, right?
Categories
Solipsist | Letter 5
To My Muse,
A figment of my diabolical imagination. Silly lustful yearning, for you, a character from a fantasy novel I have written. You’re just the right amount of work, and we are ever unwittingly competitive. Keeps things exciting for an airy mind. Don’t you agree?
Of course, every dialogue we’ve held, every discourse exchanged has been in my mind. I try to throw you into my material world, but you don’t hold fast. I watch you release yourself time and again. So I have become addicted to the yearning for you, my muse, more than friend, almost lover, pedestalled perfection. Unconquerable, you stole my heart.
You are no strawman, and I cannot set you alight. You burn with your own passion and you spark something within me. I press on, inspired by my muse, yearning to show you what you’ve never before seen in this lifetime.
In quiet moments, when we can visit, I set us in the most unromantic places, so that a stolen glance is worth more than gold and the brush of an arm is too much. That touch, a subtle message for skin, instructs to flush. Grasping at flesh beneath clothes is knotty and taking too long. I worry the forbidden entanglement be discovered.
Out of this reverie, I am bound to chair and desk only by my own resolve to commit a fictitious tale to tablet, entertaining who it may. Spurred on like my muse’s mare, pressed with gentle kicks, cropped with supple whip, and treated with ultimate kindness though used at his whim.
My heart stolen, when you pressed yourself upon my chest. Your bosom lay where no man’s did, and so you have taken it, locked it away, like chastity, rare and precious.
I feel as though I watch you from behind a thick tapestry. Perhaps one revealing the fairytale of us, the almost ever afters, spiraling toward oblivion, time immaterial.
I whisper, I’m going to make one of those shifty eye paintings, and you shall be my star.
You lean over me once more, whispering your muse-like song:
I shall take your mind to moorelands far away. I shall dance you through the night and day. Joy and fun and boundless love and romance between us, this is where I long to stay.
And then, once more, you fade away.
My muse has gone away.
Just for now,
Adieu
The Halfwit Writer 