Internet Famous

If I make some silly rhymes
If I post at different times
If I add a trending tag
Will I have it in the bag?
Will I make it to the top
If my tweeting doesn’t stop?
Will I finally get success?
Will I stop at nothing less?
Will that fill this empty void?
Will my haters be annoyed?
Am I happy and fulfilled?
Am I meaningfully skilled?
Does it matter, oh who cares
As long as I get stranger’s stares
If they follow and subscribe
If they choose to join the tribe
I’ll have love and I’ll have fame
And I will crush this fucking game.

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Internet Famous

visceral

years ago
a Stranger dug a pit
in the soft earth of my mind
and it was in that excavation
where the branches of events were thrown
and burned
charring the pit beyond recognition
or repair
and now
when I return to that site
everything returns
the anger the hope the hate the embarrassment the shame the sadness
everything returns but the branches themselves
because that’s how the universe
and the arrow of time
function…
entropy and chaos and
forward,
always forward

visceral

Had Enough?

What’s one more poem one more pot
One more I with one more dot
One more drawing one more book
One more thing at which to look
One more scarf or one more cake
One more picture of a lake
One more house, one more show
One more online store to go
One more place to spend our cash
One more added to our stash
The collection now is growing large
Swipe that card for one more charge
Consume more music, books, and art
Make more things, add to your cart
Are we that bored, that lost, that sad
Is what we’re doing all that bad?

Had Enough?

. . . t i m e . . .

Time is minutes, seconds, hours, days.

Time is duration.

Time is movement, time is change.

Time is the beating of my heart, the pulsing of blood through my veins.

Time is scars, wounds, scabs.

Time is mechanical, time is fluid.

Time is bodily.

Time is a subjective experience.  Time is an objective reality.

Time is measurable, quantifiable.

Time is incomprehensible.

Time is the rotation of the earth, the movement of the planets.

Time is the changing of the leaves, the wrinkles in skin.

Time is the holes worn in clothing, the decay of buildings.

Time is the space between moments.

Time is the fourth dimension.

Time is long and short.

Time is waiting, time is living, time is breathing.

Time is eternal. Time is temporary.

Time is t; time is a variable.

Tim e is the ticking of a clock.

Time is a human construct.

Time is a social agreement.

Time is cyclical. Time is linear.

Time is regret, hindsight, planning, anxiety, remembering, forgetting.

Time is felt.

Time is overlay, layering, building, destroying.

Time is a canvas.  Time is a stage.

Time is a song with many tempos.

Time is an abyss.

Time is energy. Time is chaos.

Time is god.

. . . t i m e . . .

The Freedom of a Wasp

I think we have a wasp nest near our apartment. Every once in a while some lone wasp makes its way into our home and I watch it crawling on the window, trying to get out. The wasps I have seen don’t frantically or haphazardly run into the glass over and over again like the flies do. They are more calm, more methodical. And they don’t take a break to go meander lazily throughout the apartment like flies do. They stick to their search for freedom, dedicated. I don’t know how long they would continue in their quest, if they would die trying to try to free themselves or eventually abandon their attempts to escape. I don’t know because I always end up rescuing them. I grab a glass and a piece of paper, gently trap them and then release them on our balcony.

I paused today after one such rescue mission, watching a wasp reach its antennae and then its front legs into the open air in front of it. It quickly realized it had a free path and took flight into the crisp autumn day. I paused and wondered why I always chose to help them when so many would ignore or squish such a disliked insect. It’s not like it was a butterfly or a ladybug. It was a wasp. Infamous for stinging, for frightening children.

As I thought, I realized that I free them for two reasons. One, because of their poor reputation. Wasps are made out to be these horrible creatures with their only aim being to harm. But that specific little guy hadn’t hurt me and it only would have hurt me if it had felt threatened by me, as self defense. It’s not a beloved creature; It’s the bumblebee’s ugly cousin, and even the bumblebee can be loved despite its sting because of its role in honey production. But it’s still a living thing, it still has a role to play in our ecosystem, and it still is beautiful even if it isn’t in the same way a flower or a horse are beautiful.

And secondly, it pains me to watch such a small thing be trapped, captive. To be held back from the one things it wants. I felt in that a moment a great amount of affinity with that wasp. Because isn’t that what we all want? To move unhindered toward the thing we love, be it the sunshine or otherwise. Don’t we all get stuck behind the glass of insecurity, depression, anxiety, only wishing we could be on the other side where all the beautiful, sunny things are? Where the freedom is.

The Freedom of a Wasp

Letter I Wish I Could Send // (mature content)

(I feel like this one should include a disclaimer/trigger warning… There’s definite swearing and if you have had a traumatic sexual experience that you are still working through, maybe skip to another post.)

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What is fascinating about this process of writing (and moreso, sharing) these letters, is that I can’t help but wonder if I am overreacting.  If I am being exhibitionistic. If I am oversharing. My aim is to be authentic and real.  To let you know that you are not alone. To share my process of, well, processing. Of healing. Of dealing with my emotions. Maybe the internet doesn’t need more of this.  But the internet doesn’t really need more cat videos either, and those keep popping up so…

 

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Letter I Wish I Could Send // (mature content)

Letters I Wish I Could Send

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And thus begins a new series comprised of:

Letters I wish I could send

to people from all aspects of my life.  People from the past, the present, and who knows, maybe even the future.  People who I love, who have hurt me, who I miss.  I’m going to do my best to not get too into specifics… I don’t want to slander anyone, or hurt anyone.  Just process and vent and maybe connect to some of you readers who can relate to these letters I wish, for one reason or another, that I could send.

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Letters I Wish I Could Send