GI100 Book #2...random attempts at poetry. |
A second attempt at "Give It 100!" , since the first one ("100" ) turned out pretty well even though I didn't complete it within 100 days. These are just rough sketches and ideas that are barely a little more rounded-out...they're not perfect but they're gonna be good enough to share here at least. Your comments, support, and words of encouragement will be greatly appreciated! |
6-21-17 There's an alternate universe where cable news stations are alerting viewers that Jesus Christ is coming, and- you won't wanna miss this- he's a robot. His prep work on us is almost over... he's been reading all the Harlequin classics at the Hopedale Memorial Public Library And Ladies Auxiliary Landfill For The Almost Homeless, and he likes what he sees. Thinks he'll fit in. Maybe get laid, even. Assuming, of course, our lord and lotharial savior isn't deported first. But the real story- the one the news doesn't tell you- is that Robot Jesus is made of Lego brick knock-offs, and running a magnet over his circuit board causes him to question his sexual preference. Meaning: all his book-learnin' is doin' is he could be lovin' you while thinkin' about someone else. And in this alternate universe, that one sin is greater than all the rest combined, but that's not concerning to the loyal news patriots or moral zealots who think they have a chance. |
6-21-17 You're a picture that needs to be extended in every direction but the one you're facing. Walks aren't there just for taking; are you making plans or merely exercising? Control is useless on small courses with slow speeds and little wherewithal. You're not thinking big enough by jumping off; sometimes you've gotta step on. When everything is instead, nothing is growing. Get loose. Get stretched. Make moves. Start showing. |
6-22-17 Which side of the road do you walk down when there is no sidewalk? And don't say "left" or "right". I'm sure some internet genius has devised a quiz that tells you all about your personality according to your preference. Maybe the answers are loosely based around your proximity to the oncoming traffic, or the curb, or the center stripe. I know my response, as is per usual with these things, wouldn't make the multiple choice format of selections. I would simply state: "the section that I'm working on getting paved". |
6-23-17 Everyone's got an opinion when things've gone to hell. The woodwork is full of people waiting to remind you that everything is your fault and you fucked it up. You could write a bible's worth of good deeds and all that's ever gonna come up at the mention of your name is the one minor sin that broke the backs of the world you were kind enough to share. The stone on your grave won't even bear more than just an etching of an anchor through the bottom of a boat that sank a practically fictional community housing adulterers, drunks, felons, priests, and politicians, who care only about themselves and what you could give them. But you're not them. You're an afterthought until somebody needs someone else to blame. The villains always win in the end, even when all is lost. |
6-24-17 Flowers don't apologize or make blue skies brighter. They won't prevent or get a sunburn (though some will soothe one). How many dozens have preceded a divorce or celebrated death? Nothing says "I <blank> you" more than this thing I pulled from the ground. Cut out the middleman. Always give cash, or at least a gift card. Flowers are for suckers. |
6-25-17 The beauty that comes from getting older is knowing I don't have to try to push myself up so many mountains just to prove a point. Aging removes some of the most physically demanding options anyway, allowing me to wisely be cautiously selective. And don't think I don't take advantage of that, or I must be unaware of how thankful my body expresses its relief. The race of life belongs to the youth; the strategy lies in knowing it's time to stop. |
6-25-17 Remember when we were kids and "The floor is lava!" meant something? I only ask because I can see it leeching into you and I'm not sure if I'm fixed enough to save you without getting sucked in again myself. And I swear to god right now it's not selfish enough of me to wonder or ask you how broken do you have to be to send life? To spend life? To enjoy your freedom without it killing you? Because I'm telling you it's half past the time it started to kill me too. |
6-26-17 The truth is, I never know anymore if we're at war or not. The skyline always seems like a plain statement either way; one you don't get from where you think you should. Instead it's like we're all happier getting tortured for our needs and bleeding faith for relief that comes as illusion. We're only gonna wind up seeing what we see through, if there's anything at all to believe. |
6-27-17 It was math- no, sciences of earth- or that guy after gym class, ya know, with the laser-cut tris1. Yeah! I think... And it was 1 o'clock, or was it Monday morning? Feels like night, but there's no way it would've been. All the commitments are piling high; why am I sinking farther below? Everything's looking up but my status... security... prospects... grades. The only time I can breathe is when I'm three hours deep in sleep and the pressures release; I'm a thousand pounds of weightlessness. I'm everything, and I don't know who I am but I'll do it flawlessly, like you had no idea I didn't know how to begin. Footnotes |
6-28-17 You called it your "voodoo doll selfie" and looked the look of mimicked distress hiding in plain sight, so never more alive. I could only sigh a hint of something I think you said was a something-sickness and how I never pay attention, because I wasn't paying attention. Were you difficult or subtle? I wasn't able to spot the difference, but you were adamant it wouldn't make a difference; we're so hysterically incompatible so we're both right. Right? I feel like there should be more, but I've seen enough and that won't give us what's necessary, and what's more when nothing will always be good enough...if nothing's ever good enough. |