outpopular

Conspicuous in absentia,
I removed myself to be so.
Am I Marc Maron Mark II?
I don’t think so.
I’m unpopular and
ashamed of my dirt.
Talking a small game,
do you/they see right thru?
Your dick is a tabernacle,
cum right thru.
My brain’s a receptacle.
I’m not proud enough of me
to turn down love
or its offshoot oddities.
I want this to be known,
clearly. All of it.
I’m much too hard for me.
I’m ashamed I’m unpopular.
My dirt can be flung free
of comeuppance,
I cordially invite you to
do so.

in/outside F r I ends

In the end,
my friends are people
outside me.

There’s more to heart
than others – mostly
inside’s always

clean and simple
orange sparks,
opening up

the portal(s) to
walking away
from interdependence,

straight to your hell:
my haven.
Regardless of warning,

you’re all killing me.
I want more than the less
that’s more.

oceans of Isity inside the head

Man has bent the face of study
to for-the-sake-of, simply to self-woo,
to point to it’s-a-thing-to-do.

When thinking of the sea of Isity,
think – don’t feel forced to act anew
because motion means goals and aims.

I hope to feel a sense of sanctuary
in my marrow when the safest sunset
lurks at half-past five in the morning,

promising and simultaneously prising away
mystery. I still want to think that beauty
is worthwhile in its meaninglessness.

no cow

Lead these prescient
jitters into Costa,
Wednesday after work.

Green tea, coffee’s
not required. There’s
no chance of tiredness.

Can we meet 2 speak on Thurs?
No, let’s not have cowardice
command what’s left of us.

workth

I don’t expect to be paid anything for my quirks,
attention, forgiveness, compliments or courtesy

If you don’t like me then you don’t like me,
don’t pay me any of the above

Just pay me for my work.

workwatchTELLme

you work then watch tv
you work then watch tv
you show no ambition
I know it’s not easy

you work then watch tv
you work then watch tv
you never inspired me
I know it’s not easy

you work then watch tv
you work then watch tv
you recount minor achievements
I know it’s not easy

you work then watch tv
you work then watch tv
you eat and clean and chat shit
I know it’s not easy

you work and watch tv
you work and watch tv
you tell people to work harder
like the people on tv

the E A S Y

On days where there’s nothing
to write about, imbibe some
fanciful wine, preferably red,
and make yourself a problem.

I am now drunk, and slightly
more alcoholic than last night,
which was, also, one of such
nights. Fancy that, more than

chuckling at the tv with a
stick up my sizeable ass as an
act of rebelling against the
creative validation system.

Bang, bang! The sound of my chimp
at the door, having escaped the
vestibule of temporary caretaking,
or chimp-sitting. Whatever.

He’s back and I’m back on my
bullshit. The page gets covered
in ink of the dark purple pigment
of wholesome fuckedupness,

such is self-assisted mental
corruption, thank you.

not NEARLY

I don’t drink
nearly enough

my fingers quiver
a mug of tea

adorns my grip
it’s skinny

I’m skinny
and brittle today

I don’t drink
nearly enough

a cafe isn’t a bar
rum isn’t a choice

fun isn’t a choice
my love is, at best

a clutch of caffeine
isn’t (enough) stress

I don’t drink
nearly enough

a peace of present

The weird thing about goals & aims
is I don’t want them, I need them,
or so I’m told by self-help books.

I’d like to lay, and be laid with,
eat pepperoni and play Splatoon
with the one I want (who probably

doesn’t exist). The urges and desires
and self-drive mechanisms take the place
of two Greek masks coming together:

Fun & Tragedy. There can be less to life,
I’m certain, outside an intellectualism
scratching at raw vulnerability.

I guess, without the milestone markers,
time would fly, stimuli would be the same,
and the lack of change would crystallise

the peace of present.

y UM

snippety, snackety, sclat
your foreskin fell in my lap

you latched onto it
before I could peruse its

appropriateness as a snack