Extremely Cheap: Poetry, 10 Minutes or Less: June 2022

Monday, June 27, 2022

a breakup letter in your absence

We live in a country that considers me a second class citizen because of gender and sexuality. We don't want to be second in my personal life as well. Second to a straight man no less. But, it still rearticulates a thing and it makes with bad. And, we know, we know the violence. Emotional labor. Stored there in the politic that is personal. We want. Decisions feel free and empowered, because .gov isn't going anywhere. Restricted not broadened for a forseeable.

A "future"--fuck a scot for life--rest of ours enough, basically too.

Friday, June 24, 2022

my friends told me -- probably never real

[ but]

-- held my [ hand] at night, recounted times -- longed in low light & how (...well then) grateful -- felt for access to a body. to hold to stop from shaking and breaking down from lack. loved it just like a child of [ +kink]. -- let me cry alone every time because -- doesn't believe in obsessive love and couldn't betray with attention. And, when it was all said and done that night before(times) I cried again like a little child and with [ +kink], we were alone in the next-to, held our own hand inside, without word or touch. -- pulled away beforetimes. it's always the same. we forget the rules. we ask for too much. beforetimes -- said we couldn't be in a life anymore

[ but]

beforetimes are now again. I can tell from the moved and the unmasked.

a chewed cheek. a red streak. i wet a wetness, so to speak. [read me]

we had a beautiful night in a dome of strangers and 2 hours after, worry, with hopes of no mention the next. --don't be jelly. don't be sad-- we can't talk to her like that anymore.

we spend our meditation money wishing her possibilities, terrified of her privilege. to fall apart, a never-known. we won't be there to share. on a support that holds air. hot-like and choppy. for an underbelly.

lip stained. licked your teeth. all night, like a bloody genius.

I tried to hold a light.

She felt small next to a social spark.

I assured her all relations were short-lived & interest was not sustainable.

(I wanted to give her space, but I didn't know how)

I showed up at the door, a month later.

(we can't define an attraction that doesn't happen on our time)

And, we know how dead-desperate & repugnant our insecurity can be, but we used it with great success on our love's sleeve.

you know you've got me in your pocket

a cracked glass, no better use of my time--like mid-september 3 years ago

i sext in horrors, but they don't get it

for hours on end, without a moodlet for it, reminded of how we make space for it. time. allow a possibility, but dead, cream is off. keep me all the same, but not fascinated not impressed upon. we don't sparkle do we? and the only way to again is to move out and then in.

love it or list it

can we put all the gifts we've made you on our cv?

all the morning support, curation too.

welcome to a funhouse in KS where we looooose all sense of self (w/e that is)

"in the 3 worlds, identity is lost. only pleasure is recognized. only joy is unmasked."

no one wants to know us anymore and we don't blame the lot.

"happy men(?) don't make good colonists (oh!)"

"to Take a planet, to mold a world, you need ~~hungry men, angry men~~, discontented. they must stay discontented."

explore the capabilities and limitations of transmedial situations linked to aesthetics, materiality, and politics

*triggered*

roleplaying caretaker, wide open reception in the field

at first. a glance. so hard. to stare. but there are things (a retired chatroom) we don't say (we retire to the chatroom) some things are true (oddly, I'm dad) but you know this (we are what we are) we fantasize you love us most (I'm baby) we want to fuck the other 2 (we retired the chatroom) we want to fuck the others 2

parlor trick: emerging technology

dead

social

This book is exactly as the title describes, but not what you've come to think it means. Not about leveraging someone else's unresolved pain for one's own acclaim. Instead, about the way we live, move, articulate movement in a system.

essays about misery and prom, I mean porn.

PANIC ROOM

a studio space is a space you buy to make improvements

i miss our own tangled legs in the cold night

as mandatory reporter, report others abuse, but not own.

petrified forest:an institution we didn't tell them in the tutelage that

when the project lives beyond the site-of-self we can no longer access it

becomes a hanging limb, dead-spun identity without embodiment: my hair is dull + lifeless (needy)

oh, us, always thinking of our history

even abroad, in 2019, we wrote:

in a history of domination, remember, pls use the ukrainian spelling, not russian

oh, US, always thinking we own a history (READ)

we are a forest scene with cleaning

a simple codeine or valium

we don't want to tell you how easy to forget, an effortful switch full of history, we mean baggage

a simple we can't manage without

of course lies, with dominant culture in back pocket with subordinate knowledge-like-lack full of sour

the outsider in their game is always a loss

if you don't believe, don't believe.

an affirmative against me, the bare minimum

the bare minimum against me, as affirmative +action

Find a Root Bios Wound -- Visualize It & Sprinkle That Garden

Visualize it & the protective mechanisms you've learned; sprinkle golden light on that wound and construct a timeline doing the same. Try to heal and appreciate it.