Always be drunk.
That’s it!
The great imperative!
In order not to feel
Time’s horrid fardel
bruise your shoulders,
grinding you into the earth,
Get drunk and stay that way.
On what?
On wine, poetry, virtue, whatever.
But get drunk.
And if you sometimes happen to wake up
on the porches of a palace,
in the green grass of a ditch,
in the dismal loneliness of your own room,
your drunkenness gone or disappearing,
ask the wind,
the wave,
the star,
the bird,
the clock,
ask everything that flees,
everything that groans
or rolls
or sings,
everything that speaks,
ask what time it is;
and the wind,
the wave,
the star,
the bird,
the clock
will answer you:
“Time to get drunk!
Don’t be martyred slaves of Time,
Get drunk!
Stay drunk!
On wine, virtue, poetry, whatever!

—“Get Drunk” by Charles Baudelaire

i'm no longer a teenager and it's weirding me out.

i used to hate pears. they remind me of my father. today i ate one whole, and the sticker on its skin too.

by these hands will tethers unwind. release, release, let these things which are broken mend themselves and grow again. the day is long and for as long as the hand spins you are pulled in both ways. 

gotta let all this old shit go.

 The Love Song of the Square Root of Minus One (i)

I am the wind and the wind is invisible, all the leaves tremble but I am invisible, blackbird over the dark field but I am invisible, what fills the balloon and what it moves through, knot without rope, bloom without flower, galloping without the horse, the spirit of the thing without the thing, location without dimension, without a within, song without throat, word without ink, wingless flight, dark boat in the dark night, shine without light, pure velocity, as the hammer is a hammer when it hits the nail and the nail is a nail when it meets the wood and the invisible table begins to appear out of mind, pure mind, out of nothing, pure thinking, hand of the mind, hand of the emperor, arm of the empire, void and vessel, sheath and shear, and wider, and deeper, more vast, more sure, through silence, through darkness, a vector, a violence, and even farther, and even worse, between, before, behind, and under, and even stronger, and even further, beyond form, beyond number, I labor, I lumber, I fumble forward through the valley as winter, as water, a shift in the river, I mist and frost, flexible and elastic to the task, a fountain of gravity, space curves around me, I thirst, I hunger, I spark, I burn, force and field, force and counterforce, agent and agency, push to your pull, parabola of will, massless mass and formless form, dreamless dream and nameless name, intent and rapturous, rare and inevitable, I am the thing that is hurtling towards you...


The Love Song of the Square Root of Minus One (ii)

I am the hand that lifts the rock, I am the eye that sees the worm, I am the mind that strings the worm and throws the line and feels the tug, the flex in the pole, the key in the lock, as the root breaks rock, as sunlight streams across the plain to make the world visible again, foot by foot, I find the groove, the trace in the thicket, seed to flower to fruit to seed, a holy pilgrim moving through the stations of the yardstick, I track, I follow, a flashlight, a crowbar, I find the fulcrum, I hinge and turn, a simple machine, frictionless and efficient as an equal sign, I manifest, votive and incandescent, shrinking the space between here and there I become the future, as drowsiness overcomes the dreamer, as the eye of the archer is the eye of the target, I flip and fold, I superimpose, the letter delivered, the year decembered, I become location, plum pit and apple core, I am motionless and you veer towards me, the eye to which you are relative, single point, silent witness, there to your here, I decide and calibrate, magnetized for your revelation, the doors burst open, I am your outcome, the verb in the sentence, intransitive, end of the road, hook and bait, polestar and checkmate, time and space as I observe them serve me like gravity, lamp to your moth, dot to your map, home and heart and hearth, a selfishness, submit, surrender, I am your arrival, there is no refusal, we are here, you see, together, we are already here...

sometimes i feel like i am turning into a shrew or someone who is too distant or someone who is obviously stuck in myself.

 they are spinning faster now. the girl's skirt is perpetually in flight. are you moving too... no.

we try to make the fender of a car bend itself. try to make the red of a stop sign consume itself and turn to orange. the only thing that moves easily is the ground. all above it is dead and still.

i was born and i was dead

i want to make a zine that only features percy and speech bubbles that describe what i know she is thinking. this seems way more productive than my chemistry shit.

 life right now kind of feels like standing in the middle of a ballroom while everyone else is around you dancing beautifully, the girls in long sweeping skirts and the guys gentlemen. it's funny and weird and awkward and lonely.

 i very much like that you still live in wisconsin in the woods even after all this time. and your beard because it reminds me of winter and in you there is warmth. your dirty fingernails, not the tips (because your nails are short) but the sides where all the dirt is. it's stuck in your nails so deeply that it looks like it's always been there, like you've always been a part of the earth and you yourself are a part of the dirt. i like that too. how you walk around in the city but do not belong. you belong among the trees, against the cracking brown bark of trees, the way you chew your food is the crunching of leaves. skin clean and speckled but knows and has known the wind, the slap of bitter winter.

one day you're gonna kill me and i take an axe to the days with impatience.

 sail us to the moon

knots in my stomach. i think i'm stretching myself too thin.

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