Trump's nemesis beamed from the stage
while she simmered with well-suppressed rage.
Their unkind dialectic
seemed purely synthetic;
results will be harder to gauge.
y'all come on over visit sometime !
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I'm about 99% sure that my mother saw me with this girl I met about 2 weeks ago. I've talked to her since and she hasn't said anything so I think she must want to ignore it and pretend it didn't happen, either that, or she thinks what happened to me as a kid turned me lesbian and she feels too awkward/guilty/embarrassed to confront me about it. I'd be a little more worked up about this if I wasn't half in love and on a steady stream of dosage increases. It's actually a little bit funny, I'm sure seeing her youngest daughter giving head to a butch lesbian nearly gave her an arrhythmia. As it is there's been some eye contact issues.
No joke. I am elated.
I got published in New Yorker!
From the August 29 article
Donald Trump, Poetic Muse:
While some poets are tentatively positive (“Call me a chump / But I’m with Trump”), the vast majority register negative reactions to Trump and his candidacy. These include shock (“Today I woke up and smoked / A cigarette of something illegal / And I freaked out / Because / Donald Trump is running for president”); scatological disdain (“Trump dumped on his rump / Hair lumped in a clump”); determined opposition (“We must now thwart the hatred”); escapism (“If Trump wins / I’m moving to Iceland / While he wreaks havoc on the states / I’ll be in Reykjavik eating steak”); and cleverly rhymed condescension (“The mallard was rebuked by Mitt; / adversaries began to bray. / The ducklings murmured: guy’s unfit / to be elected anyway”).
The article continues, and quoted me again here:
Not all the poems about the Presidential candidates pick a side. One, called “Dual Airbags,” simply bemoans the choice at hand:
“It’s a bitter pill (more like pilloried) / So shall we now be Trumped or Hillary-ed?”
Both poem quotes were taken from my Hello Poetry site.
(Hey Song Meanings - wouldn't you like to get bigged up like Hello Poetry got? See if you can become as user-friendly as they are !)
W.H. Auden (1907-1973)
As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.
And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
‘Love has no ending.
‘I’ll love you, dear, I’ll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,
‘I’ll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.
‘The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world.’
But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
‘O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.
‘In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.
‘In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.
‘Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver’s brilliant bow.
‘O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you’ve missed.
‘The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.
‘Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
And Jill goes down on her back.
‘O look, look in the mirror,
O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.
‘O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart.’
It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.
I'm not sure why I still lie so much about it. One day someone will know without me telling them. Everybody back home stills calls me crazy, which used to hurt a lot worse until 4 different psychiatrists and therapists told me it was pretty much true. You just can't get as hurt by an insult you know to be true. I'm cold and distant? True. Talking to me gives patient people headaches? True. My writing is such shit it borders on unreadable? True. I'm the biggest liar since my own goddamn father? Yeah. If I never did anything I didn't think I was good at I'd never do anything at all. I've spent my life trying to tell people something without saying it out loud, I can't be more honest with myself than shithouse metaphors and similes allow.
There are holes in my body. Big, gaping chasms in my heart, as wide as a quarter across and as deep as a pocket knife blade; what look like gopher holes in the flesh of my brain. An indescribably large pit in my intestines, and, believe it or not, 5 little valleys the size and shape of fingers on my right bicep. They all beg to be filled in, sewn back together, glued, tied, anything. Some of them came like a crack in a windshield, one of them came like a knife through soft butter. I think that one is bottomless. I like to ignore them but sometimes what isn't there hurts worse than what is.
i have to write a 15 page screenplay this semester. my 3 acts are due tomorrow morning. i waited for this class for so long and now i have no idea what to write.
my professor is the sweetest man i've ever met. it's his last year of teaching and i can tell he wants to pull some Dead Poets Society shit. he sends us e-mails everyday, telling us that creativity is not as easy as math. get rest, life is more enjoyable. be patient with yourself. he gets tears in his eyes every week because he tells us all about his past and his loneliness as he grows older. it's sobering and it's weird because i want to make him proud but know i will probably throw together an alien B-movie horror script so i can scrape by with a C.
i've been living nervously, but happily. it's almost a year with my boyfriend. he wouldn't mind me writing about him but keeping with my old paranoid songmeanings tradition, i'll call him J.
we live together, we do almost everything together. split the rent right down the middle. go to fort fisher in the morning and stare down sand crab holes. take shot for shot til we fall asleep on the floor with all the lights on.
we've been through a lot together, he's been through more alone. i've had to deal with police knocks on my door, trips to the courthouse, giving him rides to weekly meetings. i don't know if he's getting better, but if he does i'll be there. everyone tells me i'm so good for helping him, for standing by him and that i'll make him a better man. that's not what i'm trying to do, i'm not one for fixing. i get off track a lot but i'm happy, i'm happy waiting for it all to pass.
I don't see my friends much anymore, i moved to the other beach, but they still keep my heart full. I'm still inspired by the same things--the east coast sunrise, broken windowed neon lights, long walks at night where i probably shouldn't be walking. smoke from cigarettes I shouldn't be smoking. eccentric gibberish from my dad who can't really talk anymore. the first burn of coffee on my tongue because I'm always too impatient to wait. I still romanticize everything and like K says, it will be my downfall. it has been since I was young.
i'm scared that as i'm getting older i'm getting more dependent on medication, on chemicals. i don't see my family as much as i want to, and when i do i wonder if i should even be there. i want to take trips, but i'm scared i'm wasting my time at a restaurant job so i can pay bills. letting older men speak down to me because i didn't bring their bread out fast enough, letting people who pay me take advantage of me because i'm a broke student. i haven't read vonnegut in a while but still i know, so it goes.
even this post is a form of procrastination, but i know that i need to write my consciousness to clear my head. a bunch of superficial lines about my life, like i'm talking to the former me sitting in my room blowing smoke out the window after school. two years later my mom admitted to me that she always knew what i was doing up there and just wanted to leave me be.
i'm excited to get out of this town after 5 years here, but J is on probation for 2. i can wait. but everyday i feel the itch of where i'm gonna end up, much like the high school me dreaming about the beach. and i wonder if my whole life will be spent trying to be somewhere else, getting tired, and going. I'm ok with it.
i'll post an update on my screenplay. it'll probably be about aliens.
I'm always a little bit too close to something that feels a little bit too much like fear. I go to bed wishing for morning to come quickly, only to be wishing it was night again by mid morning. I feel guily that the thought of everything I have to do in a day makes my chest feel tight and my throat restict. I feel guilty that I've always had a place to sleep and food to eat, and that I still can't be happy. I feel guilty that I've wasted my therapists time again by whining about my dad. I feel guilty that my mom feels like its her fault I turned out like this. I feel guilty that there are real people suffering from real illnesses and I sit around in a panic because I think every twinge is going to be the thing that finally kills me. I just wish my misery had a little less company. I wish I could be alone without myself for a while.
Selections from the skeletons,
Picking from the bunch,
Starvation and infiltration of our thoughts,
Gaunt, hollow figures of the underachieved,
Dead beat bodies of those who don't believe,
Thousands upon thousands led through the same,
Screams for mercy for the Hell they are enslaved,
Worked to the bone, worked to the teeth,
Children and elders will forever sleep,
Finally when the time strikes, it's your time to go,
Face the fear of living and death alone,
Stripped naked of your dignity and pride,
Led astray to where friends and family have perished and died,
You await for the switch of the showers to commence,
The uproar of panic and fear in a devilish sense,
It fills your lungs, suffocates you whole,
You begin to sprint to the bolted door,
Hundreds of others thinking the same thought,
The gas, it feels as if you're being burnt alive,
It makes you want to seize, shrivel up and die,
Sounds of wails as death evolves,
Their desperation silences as the Huns above see this as just a standard protocol,
One, ten then fifty drop to the filthy floor,
Gangling limbs still reaching for the door,
A final burst of energy as you rush to where you see, one of those Joy Division refugees,
Used and abused she had been thrown away like the rest,
She too was clinging onto the fragments of her soul,
For she and the others knew that their lives were no more,
Just statistics in a textbook is all they were worth,
But history remembers that hell on earth for the world's rebirth.
You're drifting off to sleep
As I'm drifting off to sea
Dreaming deep below the currents
As I'm drowning bellowing undercurrents
Things are not what they seem
As I tear myself apart at the seam
I am what you see
You are what you feel
I wrote you every day
You write me and I fray
Each day, longer than it may
You hate my stupid love
I love your stupid hate
Maybe it's better that we break
But I say baby give me one more chance
Spare me a glance and you leave me entranced
You probably won't talk to me for a couple of days
And the thought of that makes me cry in so many ways
I probably won't show you this shit covered poem
Because it's not worth making you feel like shit
And you don't care anyway
That's what I do
I spend my life chasing after guys that are damned if I do
So why do I waste my time
On someone as beautiful as you
I should just move on
And you should too
Be as obsessed with me as I am with you
I got so sad that I ate too many chocolates and threw up all over the bathroom
I love you so much you make me puke
So here's the worst poem ever
Written with all the love in my heart
Spewed with all the mania I call art
Yesterday (my muse)
Walking with memories
Most of them terrible
Aren't I tedious?
Holding the hand of fate
And gripping it until it squirms
I make the truth want to jump off a bridge
But I can't ever master a bridge
My fingers clumsy on the strings
And you hate it
And I hate it
Funny how that works out
Are we laughing?
I can't tell
I don't know shit
But that's all I need to know
I guess you're waiting for me to say
You ain't shit
But you know that ain't true
The truth is shit
You never want to believe it
All I want is you
I want to stop being afraid but I keep doing things with consequences that terrify me. I can't tell myself no, my hedonism has turned self destructive. My long walks are starting to seem like death marches, I worry I won't know when to quit, or worse, that I've already missed my second chance. I've really tried to pinpoint the exact moment I lost control but I can't because loss of control is not something that happens in one moment. It's like sand through an hourglass, a million little things that seem like no big deal at the time, it's taking that extra valium, it's skipping your last class, it's telling yourself you'll deal with it tomorrow when you know you won't, it's bringing adderall on vacation, it's letting them do whatever they want to you, it's a slow loss of the sense of danger that keeps you alive, it's the blurry line between self love and self hate, it's living every day like it might be your last because maybe you're hoping it will be.
My presence in the present is perhaps
Not as novel as it is known
Normalcy is the greatest fallacy
The dreams that doubt the dawn
The depth of the desolation
The heart of the hearth
Is however the home of the heathens
Love is the lowest common denominator
It's valuable beyond bounds
The truth is common in its rarity
Love the truth and nothing less
Allow the truth
And nothing less will follow
Tomorrow (much ado about nothing)
my heart beats but it doesn't leave a mark
my heart wanders but it stumbles into you
the truth hurts but it's all I ache for
you leave me
restless not breathless
less is always more
than I can hope for
I wrote this for you
but it ain't worth going broke for
I ain't broke but what are all these jokes for
I can't do much so that's all I do
so I ain't worth much
and that's all I cope for
here you go
a poem I couldn't dope for
Grrr, oh how painful stress can be not only to your mind but also your body. Each has their own stresses in life, and it is hard to quantify how "important" it is to each. Personally I am fairly stress free, but the continual battles I have with my ex over our daughter are forver and ever (12 years and counting).
I find music a great way to tune out from these stresses, and focus on other aspects of my life (work, family, friends). But sometimes no matter your body will feel the effects of that stress, even if you can "tune out" your mind.
I have many means to manage my stress, but music is constantly there up among the first things I need to calm myself. Ironically to calm myself I need metal ... nothing like some angry and raging riffs to cure your stresses. Some go to bands for me when I need to destress are: @systemofadown @machinehead @mastodon @parkwaydrive @isis @chevelle @deftones @dreamtheater
born from the same pool
separated at birth
reunited, but not meant for this earth
black swan, white swan
i'd kill orion
to appease your pride
or to settle our score
but that's probably all i'm worth
what you knew of me then is not me now
imprints of violence changed me somehow
this shit is trite but it's all i've got
my mind is fucking shot
and that's on them
let me drown in the fucking fen
unstable ground, delusion sucks me in
do you see only what you want to see?
what you seek, i'm afraid isn't me
but the PTSD comes with it for free
would you like some toxicity?
ms. sexton ain't got nothin' on me
solitude has turned me bitter:
too much of a cure is fatality
its sodden weight snuffed out my spark
can't even sulk and write in the dark
shell and mortar
explode, explode, explode
collapse and scatter these ashes
none of these bright flashes
originate from me
alone enough to know
nothing will fix
what's wrong with me
an exceedingly costly remedy,
and to what end?
my sickness and i have camaraderie
then, inevitably, antipathy
can you cleanse me?
i don't want to admit that i need to be saved
is that what you need from me?
you'd end up hating me
i'd have nothing but fever-dreamed memories,
the belief that i once meant something to someone,
and no future.
the less complicated "solution" is not fitting, is unsatisfactory.
it holds space,
keeps me safe
from the fear i'll destroy
the last thing that matters to me
i never pretended otherwise, and i hope that you see
that the deed was done
with the thought you'd be better without me
on the chance you could be happy
i am poison.
are you immune to me?
or would we run together like mercury?
I'll take an inch even if it's a pinch ha ha. I randomly come up with stuff and just blurt. what kind of word is blurt anyhow. I think I should say blurt you. Think about the word, say it out loud. It's like having a conversation with someone up close and you're really checking out their face and it becomes distorted some what and you think of them in a different light after seeing that close glimpse of who they are. It's a weird experience like thinking about blurt and saying blurt. Have i said too much will I be judged. What will people think? Will they want to get me or stay as far away as possible. I feel weird right now like the weirdest person on the planet that nobody could quite understand or figure out. There's different definitions and variations of weird but I feel I'm defining the weird weird right now. The weirdest of the weird. Does that make any sense? What or does anyone understand what I'm getting at or is it all jibberjam. I just made that up another example of my weird weird. Just saying whatever the hell pops out of my head. Is there anybody out there? I'm a little touchEd in the head as my grandma use to say. I'm feeling a bit numb not cold but numb like I don't feel anything but to not feel anything is to not feel something so that's feeling a certain way so your still feeling something to not feel. You feel me?
Have you ever felt so hopeful but cant quite get there. You know how it feels to feel good and great but your so sunk in your depression you cant swim out. you feel trapped and in a constant despair. You crave so bad for the good feelings and even antidepressants dont do the job. When will you see the sun again but really feel it. How can you get there without sinking again to a bottmless pit of darkness where you feel numb and fatigued. what will take you there? It is pyshsiologial? Is it God? Is it perseverance? What is it and when