...do you have

Expectations...?

Do you feed them

and water them, daily?

do they answer, by name?

are they properly aged?

are they fierce, or tame?

or are they free range....?

Do they keep you, caged?

2024 MAY 04

I self-published my book. Waited nervously as it gathered internet dust for a few weeks. I made a new email account. Posted a scathing one-star review. Took to Facebook, Instagram and X (but this was when it was still twitter) with my fake review, tearfully lamented this denigration of my life's work. Friends, family and acquaintances all became keyboard warriors in my defense.

I sat back and watched social media work its magic. My lone star quickly multiplied until I averaged that top tier 5-star rating. Purchases were made, first out of pity and then (I'm hoping!) as a recommended read.

Names I didn't recognize began to show up. I was trending. A complimentary review appeared on a blog, then a few more, next I was invited to a podcast. Publishers started to show interest. Someone started a fan page (no, it wasn't me).

The crazy part? That review I wrote was everything I was scared was true about my book. Was it deceitful, what I did? I mean, if that review were true, surely the buzz would have withered and died by now. But still, I feel like a castle built on a lie can be nothing but corrupt.

Do I care?

Am I asleep

or awake in a dream

are things normal

so it would seem

.

Ideas transmuted

subservient to life

mirthless attitude

intellectual strife

.

Nightly rituals

oasis in my mind

resuscitate reality

troubling bind

.

Destroyed by sarcasm

love is a gift

emotional breezes

provide uplift

.

Wild compromise

sensuous delight

posed cynicism

optimistic tonight

.

Subtle variations

fragmentary thoughts

ambitious psychology

carefully overwrought

.

Am I still dreaming

within a nightmare

categorical sufferance

I’m painfully aware

.

Awkward equilibrium

exquisite blackout

poetic bliss

asymmetrical route

.

Self discovery

perverse desire

lecherous ideations

personal quagmire

.

Tormenting questions

surge of exuberance

hostile psychosis

mental incumbrance

.

Paraphernalia of existence

causality of my being

limitless creativity

psychically freeing

.

Externalized dreams

quantum conversion

chaotic knowledge

metaphysical excursion

.

Syncopated heartbeat

shortness of breath

achieving autonomy

I no longer fear death

I can’t keep laying myself down on the table

as a sacrifice for everyone else.

I have the right to exist,

I have the right to survive.

I can’t keep letting myself fade

so others can be happy,

so others can live while I die,

so others can love while I cry.

I’m not Jesus. I’m not Moses.

I’m not Mohammed or the Buddha.

I’m just a weak man

who’s trying to get by,

trying to navigate the pain and strife

in this hell we call life.

Today I’m supposed to start working on my self assessment at work. I’ve been really screwing up for the past year so I really don’t know what to write. Maybe “with all the shit I’ve been dealing with in my life, it’s a miracle I can get out of bed in the morning. I’d have offed myself a long time ago if I’d known this was what my life was gonna be. So my self assessment is this: it’s a miracle I’m still alive and breathing. Anything else is above and beyond.”

I feel like writing about how I make a great salary but can’t afford rent or utilities because my estranged wife who told me two and a half years ago she was gay and wanted a divorce has refused to sign the papers because she’s getting a free ride from me. I’m paying for two houses, two sets of utilities, four kids, and her. I feel like writing about how I have four young kids ages 4-10 who are struggling and having behavior problems and depression issues because of their fucked up, fractured home lives. I feel like writing about how my mom is failing mentally and can’t remember to take a shower or brush her teeth or do all the things we take for granted and how my brother moved her closer to him so it wouldn’t be as big a burden on me but I’m missing her and constantly worrying about her and I don’t even have her phone number or address. I feel like writing about how my dad died four years ago but I never grieved him because my life since then has been catastrophe after catastrophe. I feel like writing about how my soul mate who I had a short fling with is with another man now and it’s killing me emotionally and intellectually along with everything else. I feel like writing about how hard it is to work when my mind is fixed on her and my heart and soul are aching and dying. I feel like writing about how I no longer have a person, a helper, someone I can turn to. I’m drowning and I have no life preserver, nothing to reach out for. No hope.

I feel like writing about how amidst all of this, I haven’t been evicted, my electricity is still on, my kids are being fed and have a roof over their heads and the structure and discipline I’m implementing are improving their behavior. I feel like writing about how rather than sitting around moping, I’m playing music at clubs and bars, I’m facilitating a bimonthly writing workshop and a poetry/spoken word open mic. I feel like writing about how I’m constantly getting out socially and meeting new people. I feel like writing about how I’m taking karate classes, working out, and running through all my pain and sorrow. I feel like writing about how I’m in the best physical shape I’ve been in my whole life. Though there are still nights I spend alone missing my kids, missing the woman I love, smoking weed and trying to watch movies to keep myself from staring into a bottle of pills.

But somehow amidst all of this, I’m alive, living life even, and trying my damned hardest to move forward somehow.

Today I’m supposed to start working on my self assessment at work. And I feel like writing all of this. But I have to stick to work stuff. Accomplishments and whatnot. And I’ve been barely holding it together, sometimes not holding it together at all. I haven’t accomplished much of anything at work. So even though I’ve done so much, and just turning on a computer and typing a sentence is a miracle for me right now, I’m afraid all I am is a blank page.

Your words are razors,

your mind’s a knife,

when we write together,

bleeding out strife,

linking like magnets,

a helix of life,

I feel the energy, the pain,

our minds like well worn shoes,

but I wanna get unplatonic with you.

I wanna feel that energy

pulsing through my veins,

feel your skin, your passion,

let go the reins,

run like stallions,

fuck like rabbits,

rattle bedposts, black and blue;

I wanna get unplatonic with you.

Our music dances,

wails and rings.

When we play,

we make the songbirds sing.

The beauty of the notes,

the pierce, the sting.

I can feel the love,

the energy blows a fuze,

but I wanna get unplatonic with you.

I wanna break down walls,

holler and scream,

slap and smack

and feel the dream,

link hands, pound skin,

pour it all out,

blow out windows, black and blue;

I wanna get unplatonic with you.

You are my soulmate,

my partner, my friend,

but I need more,

and in the end,

when the pain and suffering

rounds the bend,

you’ll always be there

and we’ve both paid our dues,

but I wanna get unplatonic with you.

I wanna break the rules,

ignore the walls,

let our screams of passion

fill the halls,

get naughty and sinful,

get perverted,

get crazy, black and blue;

I wanna get unplatonic with you.

I wanna squirm with passion,

feel the night,

go at it hard

til the morning light,

bring down the house

and fuck all night

til the sun shines through;

I wanna get unplatonic with you.

Straight from the pure, uncut supply in the dope locker of Prose., in lucky number 21, The Cure's Robert Smith ignites some fascination, and strings it out until it becomes a list of powerhouses from the site, each one with their own style, each one strong of eye and brilliant of mind. From MeeJong and Mariah, to three or so new bloods, and one long story of ghosts in war, wrapped with dreams of old.

Here's the link to the good stuff...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EnZrkptK60A

And here are the featured pieces...

https://www.theprose.com/post/810753/when https://www.theprose.com/post/810730

https://www.theprose.com/post/810553/alchemy https://www.theprose.com/post/810376/this-night

https://www.theprose.com/post/809804/springtime-in-southern-appalachia https://www.theprose.com/post/809194/viridi-oculi

https://www.theprose.com/post/810542/chamber https://www.theprose.com/post/810543/pages

https://www.theprose.com/post/810551/lead-paint https://www.theprose.com/post/810354/poems-never-happened

https://www.theprose.com/post/809641/scopaesthesia https://www.theprose.com/post/31657/where-death-lives

https://www.theprose.com/post/40967/old-dreams

And, as always...

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team

When I remember

I am heartbroken

Devastated

Demoralized

Unkempt

When I forget

I am light

Sociable

Desirable

Even

When I run

I am reminded

Renewed

Rebirthed

When I stay

I am ostracized

Judged

Executioned

When I speak

I remember

Today

I should just listen