broken by the far away


break the far away into filibusters on nihilism and floor fans. crayons in sky blue fill in behind turkey hand fingers. this is meat under skin. Champloo on the tv, a cold series of twenty twos huh. Come into my art form. this will place you on a paisley rug, deciding how frequently you should acknowledge me. this is your thug knife i love to see. this is your drinking hat i pick up.


i once sliced through my thumb with a crayon sharpener. it was my thumb, little twat. i wiped the crayon of crust blood instead of disassembling the blade, applying clorox. these became my defense weapons. i used them offensively. now it could be called quiet. Champloo on the tv, running the sound loud, running the fan fast, running the bill and everything recklessly high. crayons in the blue sky, you know this isn’t where my real childhood memories are tucked. the black newt exits into my shoe via toenail. to liberate my shoe from the violent vibrating demon, reach for the nearby knife, start the roulette of syllogism. now it could be called quiet. this will be the last time i swear, then one more apology after that.



aftermath yerba


three yerba sips recycled

lipidous sounds, cream of token

belonging. each drink

could go down with the image of

your small mouth

(gummed not chewed)

for 2 liters. i place distance

between the big gulp and orcan bile.

i cannot sour this alertness now,

syringe deep

in desertedness, the nature of caffeine wakefulness.

clandestine little sin sleuth.





there are a number of distorted cognitions. the all or nothing, over generalizing, mental filtrations, catastrophizing, minimizations, we disqualify the positive and falsely count two and two for five. more distoritions like emotional reasoning, shouldmusts, labeling, personalizations.

how much of a person am i? how often have i ignored the lies in my future telling? The wrong conjunction sits in my head between yin but yang, perseverating on consequence, preparing for yellowstone, you wouldn’t believe the mental derrick lifting barriers,



and you will see my future and its loneliness. she says ‘then what?” present me with the double standard, with the grey between, with the lawyer shitting himself, to help me understand what’s said only in the context of others. kiss me dream semantics. free once-me, these are automatic distortions. bring out the survey monkeys to show me the wood. I will raise the costs slaying an army of checkboxes, and define myself differently.

Mhmm. i needed to learn that the degree of insult is the degree of response, the adrenergic degree of hell or high water. even an innocuous injury can initiate the hunt. anger is the feeling that wants itself powerless stickiness ad infinitum, baptise me unclean. waking is not for me to handle like falling to sleep is not for me to find successful. this is not the proper way to handle control, just like the couch’s shadow is successful in reminding me.



anger relaxant


feeling out of control is physical. tip the temp

scale with frozen veg. pace breathing,

pair with actin untightening.

pain should be outward, rather than toward.

it’s why the writers are desk attached, but

in crisis the surfaces are paperless.

this is the lifting of muscle bubbles.

i’ll share with myself

a chicken recipe without

home as an ingredient. grill out

the thought worms like dad taught me.

when grounding myself on her planet, i have to fry longer, think twice, double count the cups we filled with flower. we have to play something else, like categories now, but my favorite songs not yours. think twice a million, think in the managed adult way, yet speak and serenity prayer me please. pull out dried tea bags with the rot in my pocket for a fresh breath. actin untightening.





there’s no reason i should know myself, norms are distortions

like the past. i expect folding plaster around me.



love for calypso.


the more to say, least willing.

bring me narcissus’ charm and grace to

keep me from puddle slipping. do not

interrupt the intrepid. beating down

for the negatives. the construct here is slipping and

narcissus hasn’t moved. gonna try

a full dive



needs, a psychotherapeutic hierarchy


there’s an innate need at birth for safety and explicitly unneeded memories to comprise our attachments; the need for survival, the semi-need of protection (a small percent can be allocated to metaphysical self-protection with experience), the anti-need of instability where the memory is a taunt. traumasized to nanolonely when reflecting backward at a needy kid that wanted to get laid. it was not the nebulous illness that cursed him with lesson. catphish teacher, make me survive for pure accommodation. i will suck where it is needed where you say if you don’t shoot me sir. i will change where it is needed where you stay if you don’t leave me lost and vulnerable like where i was when i needed to suck and do as he said. any threat to my loneliness must be stopped now, because of anxiousness, because of preoccupation.





no single change is gonna bring your motivation back, because who knows it could be D deficiency, rule out iron, maybe magnesium, thyroid stones on a medical panel. putting my hands next to those of another and acting as if. act as if is the new faking it. dress like i might be going somewhere this morning. forgive the couch i live on, for it means nothing, nothing has been achieved except meaning from something living on the couch. at the rock bottom intervention, there is nothing to lose except taking meaning from the couch i live on. how do we slow the pace of falling? if there are couch cushions at your train station, step off immediately.





it’ll take us 3 minutes to move from public to private before i might ask to what do we owe each? it is my assumption that i have the power to speak on the future of others. why have i reached again? to condemn resistance, defensiveness, stonewalling, filtering, indirections, criticism of the targeting kind. i know you, yet i was vulnerable enough to run away and force control out of these fears. this is the misty eye in an Omelas refugee. had only i accommodated by ingenuous requests, validation, recurrent understanding, attentive reparation; had i not instead accommodated your cup and cut the string of beer can talkies we kept across our chests. in my codependent quest, i challenged the inflexibility of my values. i have stepped in your puddle and seen my own image disintegrate like yours. you always listened for our tone and time, our moods and distractions, our gestures and beliefs, our touch our intoxication, our past and its glorious silent pain. could i do the same?



mindfull of self


wordless watching is mindful dressing of time is shepherding the lamb slaughter is shuttling the perseverating. comb the wool for wood lice after scratching too much. these bugs of fear and sadness will survive until i sleep and sheep leap tirelessly, but i’m only counting fleas and stars. surprisingly, this will lead me to the wolf, potentially vice versa. my joints were bed riveted one-mindfully. my brain is the rivet gun to prevent follow through. the modum curriculum is journalistic and evidence hungry. bring me a monastery’s bell circuit, where i will be given a moment timeless, unplanned, control-less, finite to wash the dishes or sweep the streets of wool clumps.



Hungry Hungry brain (coping mechs)


behaviour meets need

what would it be like to skip

the attunement to others emotions?

that’s right

to not click into your faces and sighs,

my automatic correction

of your misjudged expectations. my

performance is a mirrored metabolism of sensations, emotions,

the things i devour subconsciously,

that’s right, that’s right,

little kryptonite marbles on a playboard.

the Times will call it dumb

acting, and a breakthrough may never click

into your faces and sighs ohmy

years of method

for tears ahead

that’s right,

i’ve felt it all





i’ve told all these stories of you and it has come time to let go of these stories.


my meaning making machine is a poststructural paradigm.

into you is into me.

out of you is out of me.



the great barrier analogy


my wild seahorse is a riptide


and godsend pulling

unreliably like a twisted tide cycle.

been looking at myself on shore

for years now. you rode next to me

while we pulled the reins of each other’s hippocamp

trying to help. before the errant eraticism

of my genetic born sea steed, i corralled

and kept one eye posted to the health of the stables.

the lamictal is my life vest for storms, for buoyancy.

A –

goes against the recurrent, the turn-around tide.

it requires an angled approach,

sloped with heartache and tenderness.

getting to shore and feeling the sand is

a remission long enough to be forgiven, to have

the trauma of care

settle into intimacy.

time for healing is the greatest barrier, because

it is always worth fearing.

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