for close to 20

 years i've been sitting here

writing about the road

 in front of my abode

and the view hasn't changed

the place across the street still brown

with black shutters and mirrored windows.

i've mirrored these back at them now

to keep the room cooler and it works but 

from the outside it just looks wrong

half finished. i'm too weary to fix it

even with the material camping in my room.

anyway, i can't tell from this mini slatted viewpoint

c'est la ennui.

hey crow, i just saw your message today.

i too will not give up on blog. they'll have to erase me

when the tubes run out of space or whatever

happens

when they remove a http. buried in digital landfill

ones and zeros waiting to be flipped or not.

i still imagine somewhere the archives exist just

need monetization. frozen like cryogenic heads

waiting to be, again.

but really it's all virtual ash

which means the same as never existed. 

ripples of the past infecting the now

and the impossible, the future.

*

why i don't write. so much. anymore.

is less to do with nothing to say

because that hasn't stopped me before

and more to do with the way it hurts 

this old body. sciatic and such. but it's nice

that my new glasses allow me to read what i type

so that's an improvement i can wallow in.

*

i get the general zietgiest of reddit

but the magahats i just can't understand.

they feel the same about me. when i 

try to feel it, it's slimy 

and i don't wanna touch it cuz it might

stick my skin and suck me into a 

jeep lined with ducks on the dash.

or a lifted truck painted with brandon

bumper stickers. or a suburban lawn

freshly mowed, summer flags flipping

at the borders. dogshit on the yard.

neighbors.

yelling at the owners. 

instead i stay in my hurricane proofless hovel

on rented land proudly proclaiming i am not

an owner. i am a slave. a worker b. a point of pride

in not succumbing to the baselessness of worth measured

in money. or worthiness. not succumbing to the killer of joy.

8*

but really it's just that 

despite my long hours of work

8 perday imagine!

i am penniless. any thing i buy

is on credit to be

 paid off with next year's

taxes so the cycle can begin again. 

and people call me a boomer living

on the hard work of prior gens

taking all the privileges they gave me

and throwing them all away

for participation trophies

to leave to my children. 

i work for a living. credit pays 

my medical bills while i pay

my daughter's lease to own off. 

without even a garuantee that any of that

will count at the nine years mark. i can't

even find the contract. 

and i just don't care really

i'm tired. all the time.

if i could just sit and read all day

that would be my retirement.

it's true, even though i've read

all the stories of the bride 

and the cheating spouses, fiancee's 

girlfriends boyfriends the whole definition 

of cheating changing from just 10 years ago

all the stories of oh my god i am debating

whether to asterix the word rape 

because someone reading this somewhere 

somehow will be triggered by the pornography

especially if i put the word child before it

as if that isn't a reality that too many 

for centuries have endured as almost a rite

of passage into what it means to be chattel

i mean human

in a "we live in a society" way.

you know that song they still play on the alt rox

station because 

every thing was going fine 

till the day she met me

yeah 

so all that's going on just like it always has

and you think an asterix is gonna save

you from the trigger? there's millions

let's go for it BILLIONS of triggers out here.

wasps flying around y ou all the time

and you don't even know it but when you see one

if you scream 

you're just scaring yourself yes you can say

you've been stung before and you know how that hurts

but you don't need to relive it everytime you see one

if you just say to yourself yeah

it resemebles the wasp that bit me

and all wasps can bite 

but it's not the same wasp

or the same day

and even tho they all bite

they don't always want to. 

some never do.

*

i read the teachers

the new home owners

the new home   buyers

the tree owners

tree haters lawn lovers

lawn haters how to get grass

stains out of my new toms

i just watched a young boy

with hair as straight as mine

get an awesome haircut.

i mean, sometimes i watch vidyas

as i scroll across them

but mostly it's reading

about all these slings and arrows

and rainbow pets and finding 200 on the 

grocery store floor then 

finding the person who lost it

to give it back or the paranormal 

like my dead dog came back as butterfly

or my cousin died in a horrible accident

and i drove by, unawares of the player

tho i said a prayer for the driver anyway.l

lots of creaking moving objects doors slam

sleep paralysis with a slender man.

*

but what about me?

still stuck in this tepid life

i dream only of work

and working i mean they're unusual 

circumstances like the president values

my opinions or i'm stepping into a new 

work zone or going off some cliff 

that turns out to be my job

packing parachutes or testing mosquito nets

maybe cooking meth for a midnight social

but i mean it's still work. even more puzzling

is when i don't dream of work but no one

i know populates my dreams. alll strangers

in nomral circumstance as if

i really know them , have similitudes, lives

intertwined. it makes me sad

when i dream of work. 

*

everythought  a thwarted sensation

but weariness the most thwarting of all.

to lie abed and wait for something

beyond guilt or sugar to stimulate motion.

the wish for a new drug when all the old ones

inevitably lead to a painful death. unless early checkout

but that's already too late. 

the weirdous is seeing my partner

become a dad again and how i just don't 

want to be there so now my partner 

is not. he's got a new one

which i understand he's gotta be there

since momma and daddy aren't but i

didn't commit. can't commit. just float along

eating  dinner and clawing him down 

from the fascist father facade. we would not

have agreed on the raising of the children

but he would have given into me because

he doesn't want to actually be responsible.

but he has to be now. no one to blame

and he'd be pissed that i characterise him this way

but he expects a seven year old to be rational

and co operative and that's not what he was given.

i try to stay united, just as i did with my ex

but it's hard, even tho he's not quite as difficult 

as my ex and he does apologise after all.

oh jesus. making excuses again.

it's cuz i've checked out

the boy is not mine.

())))))