Thing With Dreams Is 

Kinda tempted to make an NSFW blog. Yeah. Be more open about my freaky side.

Imagination of a boy

I am the imagination of a boy 

too old to be a boy 

I'm cool as fuck 

mysterious

my soul tastes like sugar, baby

mainline me maybe 

break me 

like a third world insurgency 

and i'll write shitty punk songs about you 

that i'll stick in the mouth of some dude 

I play on Twitter 

cuz normie Twitter is lame 

and so is this life thing

c'mon, let's be real 

in the only way possible 

at the hour of late night radio in the 90s 

about psychedelics and demons 

in the only way possible 

when you're so lonely 

that you do this shit 

life and it's lameness 

tell me what the fuck that means to you 

and maybe i'll fall in love with you 

and we can be scared together 

and righteous 

and kinky 

we'll text each other and play cooler versions of ourselves to each other 

and it'll be hot as fuck 

and that'll be a thing that happened 

be one of those things you worship 

and don't remember quite right 

because 

sometimes that's all you got keeping you alive. 

Brain feels kinda smooth today. It always feels like it’s not quite firing on all cylinders on a Monday. 

Fuck Mondays. 

Yeah. I said “Fuck Mondays” but I don’t really feel it that viscerally at the moment. Nothing much happened really. Just dealt with minor problems here and there that I was able to fix fairly quickly. I got to spend my idle time at my desk listening to podcasts and reading. I’m about halfway through the book The Great Divide by Matt Taibbi. Maybe I can finish it by the end of the week. Been awhile since I actually finished a book. 

I’m flirting with the idea of cutting back on my gaming, specifically Rocket League. I’ve played Rocket League pretty much every single day since I got it some time last year. It’s a fun game but I think it distracts me too much. Yeah. You are reading about a 35 year old man talking about his need not to game so much. I find myself firing up Rocket League even when I don’t really have a desire to play that much. I guess it fills up time when I have absolutely nothing else that I could be doing. It stimulates my brain when I ain’t got shit else to stimulate it. I guess I want to see what happens if I try stimulating it with something else. 

I put in a call to a therapist I saw some time last year. He hasn’t called me back yet.

This navel gazing is getting old to me. I want to be writing about something else but I have no idea what. 

I’m fucking bored. 

I suppose I’m bound to catch a feeling about something this week. 

I am half-assing right now and not even lying about it. I am phoning this in. I don’t give a shit. 

Sup with you? You good? Did you daydream about sex or murder today? Did you fantasize about being some sorta hero? Did you cry today? Did you do anything to advance a criminal conspiracy today? 

This is a man throwing stuff at the wall to see what sticks. This is a man sitting cross-legged in a chair and trying to think. 

This feels like a fuckin’ homework assignment.

I don’t feel much of anything right now. 

I just am. I guess that’s okay. I mean, what’s the alternative? 

Been working almost 6 months. I have not held down a job for more than 6 months since 2012. If I make it beyond 6 months and I’m still employed, do I fucking win something? I’ve been thinking about that. What does that mean for me, if anything? 

Fuck. I tried. 

At 11 AM, the pledge will be recited 

Call the number on your screen to report 

anybody who ain’t sufficiently excited 

about being free to do what the fuck we tell you 

while the red, white and the blue 

fly above 

and burst your hearts with love 

God, guts and glory 

goes the story 

of a nation that kicked ass and looked good doin’ it 

Light from the Lord God spread to the world 

by us 

Evil and darkness flee 

Get your WWIII commemorative pin today 

to trigger the snowflakes and the pussies 

on your way to church 

to hear the padre preach about how Jesus woulda dimed his neighbors out to ICE 

cuz it’s the law 

If there was anything that Jesus was about, it was the law. 

Bless the nightsticks and the guns 

Bless the kevlar and the riot shields 

Bless the blood in the streets and bless that liquor to forget all that shit 

or to get nutted up to lie under oath about it

or to just live here 

in the land of the free, the home of the brave 

one nation 

that got the goods on all of us 

You’re Already Vastly More Valuable to Society Than a Capitalist Could Ever be.

Aight. So, I’m gonna blow away the dust. Blow the dust off my soul. Gonna awaken from my comatose state. 

That’s what life is, kids. 

It’s a series of awakenings. 

It’s staring at cave drawings. 

The f-f-flicker of fire’s light against the cold stone. 

The stick figures the aliens left us to tell us who are god(s) were. 

The warmth of the burning bush

feels like the home you can never remember 

The voice that comes from it sounds like

FRED MCFEELY ROGERS 

it tells you it’s a lie

and that you shouldn’t be afraid 

and that you’ll go home some day 

but until then 

you carry the medicine.

Know what's cringe?

Dating sites and dating profiles.

Midweek in lieu of more imaginative title

I haven’t been reading over my words too much lately. I often do while in the course of writing them but it’s pretty rare that I revisit them after the fact. I think that probably needs to change. I read over the words I wrote yesterday about faith and lack thereof. Things were more lucid and interesting than I initially thought but there was more awkwardness and lack of clarity than I’m comfortable with. Things that read clumsy get on my nerves. Unfortunately, it seems to me that I’ve got a knack for that sort of thing. It’s frustrating. It pisses me off but it’s not like I’m trying to make a living here. Language that is just functional bothers me. I like it to have flair, swagger, style, musicality even. I guess it can’t always. I guess it depends on what the hell it is you’re trying to do. Maybe I’ll get on firmer footing with this. It has been awhile since I’ve actually tried at this. Of course, I’d contend that I’ve never really tried.

There are things I don’t want to do. There are places I do not want to go with this.

I don’t want this to degrade into pounding out “hot takes” on current events. I’m absolutely nobody. Nobody cares what I have to say about the horrors of the age. Of course, that doesn’t mean I’ll never comment. I’m not above breaking my own rules. If somebody shoots up a school or some other place like probably happened today somewhere in America (Fucked up, right?), do you really need me to tell you how awful it was? Do you really need me to ruminate about how surreal and terrifying life in Trump’s America is. You don’t. You’ve got people with more expertise and talent than me to do that. The other thing is I’m invariably going to read an issue of Current Affairs (look that one up. Good magazine.) or listen to an episode of Chapo Trap House or Citations Needed (Great podcasts. Listen to them.) and my take is going to be influenced. When I had short-lived podcasts of my own, it essentially became this frustrating exercise in “hot takes” on current events. I definitely delivered them in my own style but it felt very derivative and pounding out “hot takes” is exhausting.

It seems pretty inevitable that I’m going to re-tread ground I’ve already been over. How many times can you read that I just don’t want to go to work? That I’d rather chill in a dimly lit room? That pretty much describes every single day since I’ve been conscious.

Of course, I think maybe I’m catching myself engaging in “market thinking.” I’m under no obligation to make this interesting in the least. I’ve said that this is not my diary or my journal but it essentially functions that way and I’m some weirdo that has inexplicably given the public access to my inner thoughts. It does not get more non-commercial than that. Still, if this gets boring or tired, just remember that you’re getting what you paid for.

Day dreamed of spiking the **********’s [Redacted] Diet Coke with LSD. 

Of course, I don’t know that that would do much good. Never done LSD myself. Some day. Maybe. 

Was going to throw some lines out but nothing is really coming to me. 

Plans. Plans of mice and men. Best laid. 

Laid and paid. Can never get both, ya dig? 

Gotta get outta this place. 

Game, set, match, cowardice.  

.Don’t play tennis. Never played it. Never watched it. Never think about it. 

Dubious metaphor. Why reference something you know precisely dick about, dog? 

That’s been on my mind. 

What? 

Appropriated blackness, ya dig? You want depth or whatever it is so you channel a voice that ain’t your own. That creeps into my voice both on the page and out there and I’m not sure how the fuck I feel about it. I mean, is that right? 

I blacked out the owner of the Diet Coke due to paranoia. You can probably guess who it is. It occurs to me that the paranoia might be preposterous because who really cares what some loser writes on some blog almost nobody reads. You never know though. I’m not too keen on having a sit down with Feds. 

Fuck.

God damn it. 

Fuck. 

Structure. 

I need to read poems or something. Let that seep into me. Let it influence me. I learned not too long ago that the Vietnamese Communist leader Ho Chi Minh wrote poems. I read a few of them. I dug them, especially the ones he wrote while incarcerated. There was something really honest and pure there. There is something about the work of someone who is not noted for being a poet. There is something about the work of people you don’t ever study in some course in school. Example from Ho Chi Minh: 

A COMRADES PAPER BLANKET

New books, old books, the leaves all piled together.

A paper blanket is better than no blanket.

You who sleep like princes, sheltered from the cold,

Do you know how many men in prison cannot sleep all night?

I mean. God damn it. That hits me. 

CLEAR MORNING

The morning sun shines over the prison wall,

And drives away the shadows and miasma of hopelessness.

A life-giving breeze blows across the earth.

A hundred imprisoned faces smile once more.

See. Nothing too mysterious or abstract there. He’s just writing about his situation. 

Yeah. I know. Blood on his hands. The French and The Americans had blood on their hands too. Not too many heroes there. 

Or anywhere really. 

Heavenly father, 

One more day. 

Have mercy on your boy

but if not on me, someone who fuckin’ needs it more. 

Can ya do that? 

Amen.