Cathartic kiss:
is there any other way?
I had no feelings
and now I’m going away.
I did not want to feel so above,
but now all I care for is genuine love.

"two packs a year," I say to myself.

I’ve taken to choosing
a path mostly sober
(until my path changes
and the old one is over).
But seldom, when I’m not, alone I will be
to consider my thoughts—not for you, just for me.

Goodbye to old friends; this next set will grow old, too.

Identification

He went on and kept telling everyone

that his soul is optimized.

But gradually, the proof against it

snuck up on him:

failing to interact with

genuine feelings

every time.

Every word said about

being on the up and up

is met with blankness

from the listener,

and he is left confused.

So now he is blank
as a slate on a wall
no solid commitment to
himself found at all

Needless to say that
he still cares for himself
filling some spaces
putting books on a shelf

and rereading lines
he didn’t quite understand
for the surest of portraits is
on the back of his hand

Fresh coloring books
and some markers would find
him drawing anew what
always was on his mind

The slate, now with chalk,
messy in the abstract
quick erased for order,
renewed by the act

So, naught was found
in printed literary confines
but then he looked
at his own words, his drawn lines

He counts so surely
in one of two blessings

two blessings: a new life

one of two: a change of heart

neither of two: a discovery of changes

So be it if it’s a cipher
but I’m going to draw it with my own hand.

Chit

"next!"
The next teenager in line
steps up to write a poem
about cigarettes.
—well, it’s about time. It was
almost too late, being 19.
   Last night was my first.
   My first three cigarettes.
   Novelty. Intrigue. Care-free.
  
But I’ll keep it a novelty.
and then he did it. He resisted.

"next!"

Another teen
was clocked in the jaw
—and at that moment,
dismissed his attachment
to the current circumstances.
   That’s it. I’m out.
   I hope he’ll be fine
   if it’s not here that
   we stay.
He might be fine with that.

"next!"

"…"

This one isn’t a teenager!
He stands at the end of the
counter—his friend is hard at work
but he lingers after getting his sub
hoping that a few words might
reverse what he himself has
degenerated to.
   I’m -trying- to be warm!
   Why aren’t they buying it?
   Oh well, I guess I am just
   somehow broken, nothing I can do.
They didn’t buy that, either.

"next!"

"…"

Another past his teenagerhood
is waiting to understand why
he feels the way he does;
but, parallel, he already knows.
But he doesn’t know what to do.
He was abandoned in his car
at the end of a night.
He feels lonely, even
after sharing three cigarettes.
   He’s moving.
   Why, though?
   He can hardly defend himself.
   I still think he should stay.
He is not hurt. Not obviously.

"next!"

There is a girl who sees
that she falls every time
she steps up.
   What?!
   I just want to be stable.
   Whatever.
   It’s not my problem, it’s his.
But did she say the opposite?

"…"

As the line grew shorter, and finally diminished to none,
nobody grew any closer to discovering how they feel.
And they all continued to talk about it, and they waited
their turn in Socratic exchange, hoping to envelope
one agreed reality, and then, despite the approved
intention, held their own intention instead.

(To whom does the problem belong?
Write the receipt and we’ll split it later.)

I’m sorry

Dear you,
things have been going really well for me.
I am so, so grateful. Things used to be
   kinda tough—okay, maybe not as tough as some others
—I just don’t want to be pretentious,
showy of my genuinely positive outlook.
I simply want to display it passively.
When I mention, “yeah, I’m doing
awesome” and it feels odd, I just want
you to know that it’s alright to not be
alright. You don’t have to feel
rushed.

—-

The routine, and each new
generation: they grow a form
of hatred and disgust for it;
[rightfully] forgoing what may
offer them an experience
of great productivity and order.

     but then, it is not their responsibility,
     nor should it be expected of the young to
     feel so motivated in an un-motivational setting.

     broken bits from elsewhere are thrown around
     their feet, and then it is they who are made
     to look guilty—hence, they protest

     [as they need to!]

but (questionably by design)
they then are sapped, and
feel fully justified for full
lack of intent. and then they
fall under stress that is self
created by means of
aimlessness.

     “…but it’s not self-created.
      and it’s not me who is at fault.”

      there lies a clear difference
     between being not at fault
    for the biggest of today’s problems
   and not holding one’s self
  responsible for managing
 at very least their own.

a difference
in which, despite
    “ugh life is stressful [350,000 notes]”
it must be seen that coddling
unproductivity is very dangerous—

thus routine is given up
and then bastardized;
and the opposite made to
seem harmless and deserved
so that staying up late seeking justification
and reward for being down is offered as normal

but really
what is to be rejected is
the idea of routine
as described by typical functioning
within the broken pieces of former systems

and then
when one applies routine to their life
—not needless self-indulgent routine
   but one that optimizes what one
   wishes to accomplish

      (upon goals that they
        set intrinsically, and with honesty)—

they understand how it may help.

let’s seek
not anti-participation, but
counter-participation.

❝ Everyone believes in the atrocities of the enemy and disbelieves in those of his own side, without ever bothering to examine the evidence.

— George Orwell in Looking Back on the Spanish War (1943)

(Source: thinksquad)

Nims Lake - Farmington, MO
❝ Just as a piece of writing feels so sincere and resonant in truth of myself, I too can let it go, as it is a plaque of how I felt when I wrote it—though important in that I can call upon it to cross reference how I feel in this moment.

— Me, I’m quoting myself, lol

Formless, Unplanned

                             Strange to think that my stranger nights are now composed mostly of breaking my schedule—I once wrote a story about how getting into a routine will quickly cycle your life into death; and when I take a hold of the routine in a conscious “death” grip, it began serving me. As such, external stimuli are becoming less and less of a factor, with the side-effect of discovering myself more earnestly, seeing the internal stimuli, at risk of seeming antithetical to any sort of folly, maybe to the extent of someone with whom in the past I got along but now feels strange or estranged around me

    —I don’t want to come off as so serious
       but the fact is, my drive to become is
       life-giving, and I feel motivated so as
       to do anything, and deal with anything.

To that force I have decided
to apply my conscious efforts
and I can see it working, with
opportunities unfolding.

   When something is stagnant,
   it doesn’t mean it’s bad, it just
   means it’s more at risk of
   going bad.

Indeed, there are ways in which the stagnation of my
                   current situation can be transformed without traveling
such distances.
Here is Nathan. Hello, Nathan. You have access to this text; whether you visit, or visit often, I cannot guess. Here is where I process in words, volume II. Nathan has given me inadvertent, subtle motivation—was it? He did challenge me to write, and here I am, and here is he—to begin giving focused energy

just as Callum, too, has motivated me to do, in a deliberate, direct fashion, Callum’s and Nathan’s influences combined giving to me this chapter of spiritual development.

Focused energy, in general. In other words, attention,

Or, as M. Czikszentmihalyi choose to phrase it; psychic energy

[and I laugh with myself, as Nathan too may, for upon saying I “feel motivated so as to do anything,” I yet declined to simply drive out there and watch the eclipse with him]

my former point being: just as I could see myself a roommate of Callum, I can see myself a roommate of Nathan. It’s a hidden factor for staying near where I am; and of that I will take consideration.

       What is to be made of all of this? That is to ask: what am I doing?
        It’s grand and an ounce intimidating for every day to feel that it’s
        leading up to something when I have no particular vision in mind.

        Identified are two entangled challenges:
        -  Accurately and concisely expressing my thoughts
           feelings, and opinions, verbally
        -  Expressing the same via my actions

        [a pair of challenges made difficult through dissonance,
         and a feeling of understanding many perspectives
         equally]

And my aura signifies that my chakras are centered in my throat, attempting to climb to purple;
        where at once I became hyperaware of that potential fact
        and avoided flaunting such a state

        —I don’t want to come off as so serious, etc.

Some day—or every day, in continuum—I [will] discover the potential of what it means to have relative intelligence.

Relative implies, to many, a comparison to others;
I express that I mean a comparison to myself.

Pressure, gratefully

My mind is entirely somewhere else
a cardiovascular quickened pace
up to my neurons, firing their guns
    blasting holes in each of my considerations
    feeling & understanding each one,
    leading to
"dissonance — what does that mean??
                        why do you do that??”
             because I feel it!
             am I supposed to apologize?
well, anyway, my choices are
many and each attractive & understood   SYSTOLE
          and maybe as organized would be easier selected   DIASTOLE
but as I am very suggestible
I feel so strong in agreement when I
          hear: “move here”
          AND: “stay here”
   so it feels like
   “move here” = “stay here”
   “stay here” = “move here”
At least Josh says
'you will go far,'
not knowing the conditions.

and gratefulness is all I can offer
for being healthy and able to face
these decisions at all.