fisher king's wasteland

[or, "possibly one of the reasons why you're my ex"] i love watching you fall though you bare your clenched teeth and breathe seething disbelief at my mirth as if i've just given birth to the ugliest baby, that can't possibly be yours your scowl as you crawl back up makes me howl inside knowing that you're not giving up only because there's no getting off this ride and you're still not having any fun in spite of yourself but don't listen to me just like the time when you were mad at me for when you hid the cookies on the highest shelf because you began some new diet that i warned you myself was a mistake just another misdirection by some guru that you saw on the television transmitting an all-knowing, omnipotent, telling-you vision that happiness and self-satisfaction can only be achieved through martyrdom then, you tuned me out because the man in the studio convinced you that i know nothing worth saving as i preach consumption...

i select my filter, snap and send but it's not enough to transmit the sharp dry cold air stinging my nostrils as i inhale warm hands hidden in warm gloves in warm pockets while the chilly breeze bites my cheeks nor is it enough to share the trail of pedestrians that i've passed each gift-wrapped smile or nod a simple pleasure as we hug ourselves and face this weather together i can capture the far-away fairy-tale tower beneath a tuft of cloud visible between the quiet street buildings, sparkling in the morning sun so sweetly that i position myself in the shade to get the shot although there's a sunny spot right beside me later i'll use filters and effects to share the feeling i get when i look into my net to see what i've caught but it's not what i want because what's missing is me and what's left is a lack of a sense of my experience

3... 2... 1... throw! clap! each month i come in purifying myself in pleasurable sin hoping that after the last time my womb will still bleed words that rhyme because my silence would tell you that something bigger's brewing that i'm hewing and i'm sewing and i'm suing my muses for damages and pride for taking me for a ride, no, a glide then a slide, slipping in and out as we spun around on a roundabout the score cards waving up and down to make the riders smile or frown it was against my will, you see though i never said "no", just a soft "maybe" as i heard the staged rage leave the page and felt the smug words, some quite sage seep across the crowded floor now here i am, i'm back for more

words make reality never has this simple statement meant so much to me as when i walk out inspired by some poetry and realize that all i have worried about for months are words all i have worked towards words all i have talked about words unpretentious, unimaginative, first words my future a split infinity of highlights and downward spirals each silver-tained shard reflecting a fantasy and i can only choose if i use the right words how absurd, that i've been caught up in this war that i've been brought up to see as sheer folly like most wars but here i am forced to hold a gun up to my own tongue and "speak! don't be nervous, that'll only make this worse be clear and precise and concise would be nice" with my ear that sears the edges of each sound ground out by the machine that will spit out a "pass" or a "fail" "free parking" or "go to jail" and so i pull the trigger but there's no ...

my socks all went in two by two, hurrah, hurrah my socks all went in two by two, hurrah, hurrah my socks all went in two by two, and that's precisely how i knew the machine had eaten one, it'll never be seen again

our relationship is just like schrödinger's cat though it all seems quite perfect right off of the bat as we sit on our seats right in front of our screens while we each screen each other to see if our dreams can be matched without needing a patch for the seams like a thatched roof erected without using beams i see you, you see me, though it's not in 3D it's a representation that's as real as it's free to be opened and angled and zoomed in and out we can judge and pass sentence while the jury is out and the treehouse we build on this fantastic tree with its limbs that have branched out between you and me gets more grand by the day, till it gets in the way and we're trapped by the walls that we build when say that we're so far away; then we should meet and play in our treehouse so that we can take such a day to cut out a window that'll let us see in and decide if what was is a fail or a win

you tell me that i should try to keep my perspective objective as if i could somehow coerce my consciousness to traverse the boundaries of my me-niverse and rush, unprotected into the crazy, overwhelming crush of unfiltered particles and waves with such a gaze as i've been training since i was born to avoid and in so doing formed the very void that has become my sacred "i" of the storm three eyes have i, to be precise one, looking back in high-definition retro-vision one, now, with myopia and my third eye, my ocular oracle with sight beyond sight the one that sees all the possible futures and fantasies of both fright and flight and i've but barely begun to discover which buttons on my remote control do more than simply select the source or show a picture-in-picture view of my soul how very droll, all this you think that i should leave behind somehow unzip my skin and evacuate my mind to pick some dull, tumbled-out tiss...