You know what after today’s rigmarole I need a fresh place to cater to us weirdo, noncommital types. Can’t be sure of good lesbian bar, for lack of aggro, testosterone males, didn’t look for geeko lounge in recent years.  I want a damn free zone! Place for me to rest my jerky head. No more regs asking questions I’m too fed up with to answer,  no looks of confusing emotional resonance.  I want some Tourette’s bar. I saw s vid of aussie youngens getting together and loving the commune tics, and I want it. Anger is hard to stop.  Tried for so many years but hardness. Hard teeth biting back with malice. Stop feeling bad bout what u born with i say to me. Stop but never do eh? Built in devil pitchfork my ass hot fiah. Love thyself like godly task. 


Sometimes when you drunk you feel you’re gay and it’s ok. You spend life blah blahing then you get sozzled and feel like sucking a nice dick. Like clean and shaved and antiseptic.  Like 3 secs of I’m bored of asexual or femme femme, then this night is gray so I need some hyper fucks.

Care enough&nbsp
Care more for siblings dummy
Too much self
Not enuff open dialogue
So so angry about self-involved preliminaries
Botch bout new gen focused on themselves and i be same dwells
Sis so sad and crying to me!
Want to fix but can’t ever
Lax and lost to procedural fixit fairy story
Loved the real talk but so pissed at my self story
Busy pissin and drinkin and feeling meself sorry
She so tough but inside struggling
Punch myself but not enuff physical karma harmony
Stop hate stop blame
Love her rightly and be better than previous brother shame

As It Stands

Everyone is conditioned to their problems, they learn to adapt and handle their bidness. Whether we receive what we can handle or strain under the weight to slowly cross some unsighted finish line is a matter for spiritualists, I don’t particularly take to destiny and fate and that sort of thing. I think anyone that has a smidgen of giving a shit takes steps to circumvent their horrorshows and tip toe around the emotional and mental baggage that accumulates on us like plaque to a sugar addict. I’ve got my plaque, been with me many a years now, some four score ought seven I’d say.

It takes some getting used to, it needs breathing space and discipline of a sort I fumbled with for a decade or so, jittery keys in hand searching for the ignition as if I was in a horror movie of low budget means. Things come in different cycles, waves and particles choose their time, I deal with the Tourette’s then the moonfaced hulk of OCD comes trotting down and grips the mind, spending days lost in compulsions and crazed fear. It happened, happens, the self deals and grows callouses to fight the kill me motions. Sure there was plenty of coping mechanisms and so many addictions and hiding in softness, curled up kid clutching blankets and courting eating disorders. Stuck with this enveloping need to touch touch everything over and over, click click twitch attention split. Can’t focus, read, pay attention, can’t think, too much think, blink blink. Fuck.

You often hear there are people worse off, as if this should make you feel better or grateful. Though it is true nothing gets taken away or alleviated, I didn’t get solace from the thought of other poor unfortunates but I felt there was kinship out there. I grew up in a time when more was known about mental health and even if the medication and application was a bit wanting I was in a better position to get help. Many people took time to help me and listen to my shit, work in programs to manage our follies and struggles, professionals doing what they can to ease us into compliance with the wider world. But we’re not configured that way really. We exist different from whatever is regular, whatever can be said to be the status quo, perceptions and feelings interplay in an other kind of way, a nonessentialism way. Most things seem like there is no purpose, doing weird things with no end in mind, just desire and compulsion, forces acting upon you with no visibility or understanding. Plenty of what I do and think makes no sense yet I cannot stop, won’t stop, bundled with a mixed bag always on my shoulder. There’s no use complaining anymore just keep riding and moving forward.

Cycles of a Trying Self

Push on day in day out
Suffer fools suffer self
Tides pulling inside you
Moon guides life not you
Out of control out of body
Issues grow
Desperation grow
Painful nights
Smiley days
Work toil work through
Stressed relations
Drown in bitters
Drunk on whisky
Can’t feel sorry for self
Everyone say be strong
Don’t feel sorry
Fight day after day
Struggle with weight
Lag behind but go forward
Make friends
Try to love
Everyone has problems
Go psychiatrist for voice concerns
Everyone busy
Tired from own fight
Work, kids, money
Life stone, movable but slow
Stone with you always
Tell no one anymore
Deal with the hard
Choke on screams
Shade pain and find life
Get better feel hurt
Put hurt in locker
Feelings shame
Wear mask for approval
Sadness weak
Fears of tears
Breakdown in front of strangers
Feel stranger
Feel much see self
Drink to forget
Everyone be too nice
Run away
Find new place
Reinvent self
Hate old self
Try find love
Push on day in day out

Richie Rich

Was I a usurer? A feeder off misery and debt, sucking the blood of the living stragglers? There was a purpose to my loans, the idea that I could help people better than the Money Marts and the greedy banksters. I wasn’t asking for too much interest I think, I do believe things should be fair, for all parties, I ain’t a sucker. But I used and was used. Trying to expand my little business, under the table entrepreneurialism. Sometimes to make money you gotta work past the system, most richer thanks have utilized workarounds and loopholes. Why shouldn’t I be the same way while doing good I thought again and again to feel better about my new vocation. Wishful clinking of coins in the noggin.

So I loan money two some people. One guy always pays back, simple, easy transactions. The other two, a pain in my ass. One woman needed help with a new place for the kiddies, I comply with her dreams, no fuss. But of course she can’t pay after awhile, she’s up that creek and stupid with money (duh Rob, of course you made a mistake). I end up reminding her of the payments every month, she sees it as harassment and loses her shit. Then no payments, no communicado, no pie for the friendly mobster. I never trust my instincts. Just the look of her place that day should have sent me squealing tires back to the city. I am a model of a modern major schmuck.

The final sting in my little endeavour was the age old mistake of lending to friends, especially one you got the hots for. Arg that tiny little minx with all those curves. i am used to restraint and I did it to help. Every now and then some calamity befell her. “Oh my basement needs work, my husband lost his job, I blah blahed by blah.” I gave out of the goodness of my diminishing heart, I have certain moral ideas and philosophies. In the end thousands of dollars to this woman, a close friend eventually, helpful in my time of desperate need and circling the drain. I just needed a good woman to help me loosen my self-imposed burden. oh I’m burden, I’m burden, I’m burden for you.

So the messy loan shark stops moving and loses a chunk of his savings. At that time that was not a new development, I was fancy free and spending everything before the final curtain fall. Manicures, pricy meals, strippers and traveling shows. Just indulging my pleasures and getting Wilde. A foolish pauper throwing bills for thrills. I made my peace with losing leverage, biting my tongue against curses. Just another lesson for the ages and a moment to be a dipshit. You just can’t let people bitter you down and ruin your generosity. I give to the collective no more to the singular. Be cool.

LSD, Lonely, Scared, Dead

I’m afraid I can’t help it.
I’m afraid of the world.
Afraid of getting in again.
And frying in the oil.
Every cursory experience.
Laid out for a whirl.
Every segment of a relationship.
Overclocking my brain.
Run run little soldier boy.
Take a pistol with you.
The world’s a scary place.
Full of venom and bile.
The people so vile.
Whole life on a trial.
Why don’t you crack a smile.
Little soldier boy.
Marching headlong.
Plagued with shadows and memories.
Until he goes senile.
Old man mumbling his words.
Wisdom out on the curb.
No possessions in all.
Dirty hands he just scalds.
Afraid of the atmosphere.
Germs and pollution they say.
Can’t bring himself to touch.
Not anyone round his way.
Decomposing in facilities.
Rambling man in the den.
Screaming out past memories.
And regrets of men.
He never loved no one.
Never gave in.
Kept them all away.
So no pain would get in.    
What a sad joke it is.
Pain comes anyway.
Cross the threshold to take you home.
And add to the flame.
Burner burner burning bright.
Effigy of a spook.
Frightened of the life.
He gave away as a kid.