an ode to denver
the mexican boys are building a condo next door. samer sleeps through it.
we hole away all week in the apartment — painting, reading, playing. cooking, drinking. walking around in circles. smoking weed. crying out silently to no one.
we’re spoiled. a reprieve from a year ‘ruffing it’ abroad. campervan wine-bottle-pissing is a way to pass time.
the complex has a gym, pool & sauna. 24-hour common area with hyyyuge televisions to keep tabs on my favorite orange oompa loompa. and a fire plus unlimited covfefe.
took an entire week to lose $400 to online poker this time. i’m incredulous. still can’t walk away a winner, of course. but i’ll take a joyous week of degeneracy for $400 instead of a couple hours for $4,000.
the weekends are taken up by xan and co. & the orchestra. the theatre. all-day brunch: champagne and chess. massage. weed. alcohol. endless chats.
i don’t think of the open road much. it’s a tiring, sad thought. i’m not entirely settled in denver, but it feels good to have only matters of the mind and heart to tend to. and the occasional social engagement. time is again mine. she’s slippery when spendable.
here making art & contemplating the senate run.
i see the dentist manana. i wonder if this tooth is rotting? please. putrid breath. samer won’t kiss me. but that’s been all along the story.
so much time. gorgeous torturer.
i shaved half my head again. still growing the half beard. it’s over half a foot now. one side of my head is pretty boy hair and shaven face / the other is gouged-at birdy pluck shaved head and mammoth ogre flannel beard. it’s getting smelly and tangled. samer does not like the scraggle, but is amiable to my plight.
his brain must ask him, “gross half beard and half shaved head or drug overdose? now which is it?”
i want to run for senator. i wish i believed more in this race. america — we’re doing alright. maybe there’s no better or worse, no right or wrong. but it sure feels we could move faster with our hearts like we do with our pocketbooks.
shoveled cheesy fries
golden gilded trimmings
sometimes people are beautiful
not in looks
not in what they say
just in what they are
i been working on sandcastleU — a university of being
you go through all the stages. sometimes you just hold to the idea that one day your former self will come back. the person you always harken back to as the happier, more relaxed and motivated boy of a lifetime ago. you know it’s probably just plain old depression but you hold off diagnosis. you don’t want the happy pill yet. but you want the happy.
but you want the happy? (.) (!) (!?)
we all want to be willingly chosen, but that means we must first choose ourselves. this is a long process. but until i wholly choose me, no one can wholly choose me back. they think they do. but they cannot. do not.
a man who does not know himself and honor that knowing cannot be wholly chosen.
it’s a negotiation of terms. of needs. often without the visceral passion we attribute to god, to love, to some higher mysticism.
how do we choose ourselves? how do i choose me?
how do i not choose me? i am the center of everything. i cannot stand me. i am desperately, clingingly in love with me.
how do i accept into Self that, beyond flesh, we are all one Self?
how to exist wholly outside the cage of body?
i shall start by shaving half my head.
my tongue is thick in my mouth
rearranged furnishings in my head
how much space is there between the brain and heart? what road maps and math equations could shrink the load?
exhaustion sews me up
daily life a war in waiting
hollow laughter of a cored apple
food i can’t bring myself to chew
thoughts i cannot think
fumbling run-on jumble
keys to a displaced home
dusty, dark stillness
where is the eternal light?
a sexy fuck-up
turn tough into strength
manic pixie — sorrowful, dark
i have a depression fetish
i like sexy sad
kept from being human
thin, hot, troubled, addicted, needing
patterns and habits of fitting
man cannot actively change, he can’t choose change.
he can avoid triggers and things.
but it is there. manifesting its way.
man mindlessly building his luxury skyrise. without care for doors that close gentle, windows that seal up tight,
weed makes me nicer. more pliant. palatable, even pleasant.
an outward calm. seven cherry planets far from the unfolding action of the nearby outside world.
when i come back to it, to my surroundings — i am anxious. my orbit is outside the loop & i’m trying to fit my way back in.
it’s 5:20 on 5/20. 9–5ers stoned holiday.