Posts tagged ‘Obsession’

November 20, 2016

Dude, shut up: the real life discussions of Facebook

dude… shut up.
mom, take
that picture
of me
off of
Facebook,
my hair does not look good…,

KT is always
photogenic.
mom!

*
did you know
you
are still on Facebook?
Terry!
when i
put your name
in it still
comes up.

*
you know
it’s going to
suck when
it costs you
money to
remove photos
from Facebook.

*
just delete that
picture of me;
mom, i told you
which one?
i liked…
i will take it down.
OBVIOUSLY.

*
ok,
what’d you say
which one
did you like,
i didn’t like any
of them…
delete it!
i don’t like
any of them!

*
i might
unfriend you.
Terry’s on
Facebook.
(i can find
myself right here.)

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December 26, 2015

Fat and Bloated

Now is when I feel fat & bloated. I want
to juice cleanse and run and move and not sit
and not eat. Mario Kart seems an appropriate
lecture; people yell and scream at a tv screen.

I witness this while others are starving,
while watching A Christmas Story. Sometimes
I want to shoot my eye out. The flow of this
media is like red velvet-lined handcuffs.

Some die with their hands up on a couch.
The world is cruel. Loved ones are spoken of
at the bar. They died a few warm years back.
Peppermint drinks come in coffee mugs and

in-laws come with drunken cheer, my pants
come taut and Facebook blows up with new
engagements. I wonder if they really know.
Some give support and get it. Others don’t.

Respect comes in consumerism and what
you can bring them, and I still worry about
my weight. My youngest sister tells me I
am skinny. Jesus is on the computer screen.

The bar life in downtown is docile, a perfect
place to feel heavy and finish a $7 pitcher
of Spotted Cow; I feel better already. Growing
farther apart, and bigger, and older, and more

prone to upset all those around me. At least
I feel fat and good being myself. And some
start, and others pick winless battles. Now,
what a great time to feel fat and bloated.

October 5, 2015

New Cadence Apparatus

Dear New Cadence Apparatus,

you move me with your moving;

the artistry of your performance,

to my mind, is wholly consuming.

October 1, 2015

contrived conventions

we are stuck in our phones
and stuck in our beds
sipping deep on dark coffee
just somewhere between

portions of the morning
allotted fully at random
tendency of our nature
going full bloom in the room

a kitchen of classics
the radio sounds a play
in one aspect for the present
mostly charted on days

now dry from the shower
then clothes from the drawer
to steaming pot towel hold
into the french press poured

we are humans not being
without contrived conventions;
the preference, shades,
and pronouns obscure

we are humans not being
couldn’t hold occupied hands;
the mirror doesn’t stand
my selfie will last forever

couldn’t walk for milk unchecking
couldn’t live from that notification

September 20, 2015

Inquiry Related Lament

Oh,

your cellphone died…

So,

when’s the funeral?

And,

could you go to sleep
without tucking

your social media accounts in?

And,

how many selfies
would be unhealthy?

And,

why does there
always have to be something
on my mind?

Inside fixed,
connected with who,
what, why, and when…

And,

when in real life will I see you again?
when in IRL will I see you again?

***

Sometimes it’s better to listen to the wind.

September 11, 2015

a passing thought – neurotic

sick with the taste of
exhaustion, caught in throat
with cold wind, radio barking,
pizza sitting, how legs tire,
how body aches–so sore,
tender, cutting, sharpness;
stomach in knots; hours
of night, pushing pillows,
sweating, drooling, shake;
waking, wanting it to go,
tiresome day, morning lows;
semester’s triumphs & wows;
the hue is darker in autumn–
daily highs, found here
in bed dying; living, life,
nose bleed caught in tissue,
she asks, I tell; can’t talk,
doing nothing but packing,
leave on the next day–if i can,
feeling as my co-worker
with a pain in her side: wary;
will they remove it, or am
i just paranoid at a thought?
these remedies come fast,
vile seeds sewn and growing;
if only to fix my fretting mind.

March 5, 2015

People Today:

My God is
My Phone.

December 22, 2014

Everyday Horror

In a quiet room
Surrounded though alone,
Eyes stare blankly-
Mind’s stuck in a phone.

February 15, 2014

Don’t make plans, make Progress

Blow a hundred hours on the internet
Think about the things we don’t have yet

However, I’m doing just fine with what I’ve got
When I take the time to look at belongings, I realize I’ve got a lot

Reality of what’s right in front of me
I could take the time to walk, but I’d rather flee

I’ve seen a few things in my life span
But I always account for what’s within the trash can

We can learn a lot about self from the books on our shelves
If we take the time to cherish what’s been spelt out

We can count the moments we save time for self
We can accept that as time for mental health

Alles tag
Alles tag

A new obstacle to climb

Alles tag
Alles tag

Another voice filled rhyme

Why sit inside and cry?
Or in the meantime, ask why?

Moments fly by
Then we realize

The good things in life fall from the sky
No one can surmise the actual surprise

***

Quit goddamn planning for things…
Don’t make plans, make progress.

July 18, 2013

How To Drink/What’s Your Problem?

Old drunks at a bar-side paradise:

An enclosed patio, surrounded by lattice and gratis-what a place-ladies lack lace, most come accompanied with baggage.

 

A few of these and I’ll forget my place, yet I care to save face.

 

I should just throw away my I.D. and my wallet.

They sponsor all of this.

 

Unisex Observation:  they all look the same; bloated, speckled; unhealthy, abused, used, depleted, and ashamed, with drinks and age.  Some wear purple bruises, others look like they need a snooze, they all say they have a choice to choose.

 

I am not rude, more scared than amused.

I don’t want to see a mirror.

I might change my tune.

I might see things more clear.

What’s to lose?

 

I pray for this to not be my future-I wonder if this was their past.

 

I examine my drink, ice beading water to my hands.  Here I sit, holding this plastic glass.

 

Throwing my life in the trash.

Gulp by gulp, ash by ash.

 

This drink will get me smashed.

All excuses amassed.

 

I am ready for the criticism.

 

Here’s to you and me and us and we.  Fuck it, here’s to that one guy who overdosed-he was in Glee.

 

All wires and chords, a man sings; no one is bored, yet nothing has been absorbed.  Shocked, I am ignored.

Watch the pour-ask for more.

 

I still enjoy beating a dead horse.

 

THE IRONIC ABSENCE OF A PROBLEM:

I DON’T HAVE ONE.

 

These patrons have hardly enough energy for a proper applause.

 

Remember: lay off the sauce at all cost.

These words are muted sip by sip.

 

Who’s the sailor of this ship?  I’ll run it aground just to hear the sound.

 

This is their familiar, I have been here a few times before.

Maybe a few times less as I measure cost and score.

 

Take a long cool drink, and He winks.

I feel tip-top, now, let’s hit the door.

This is no time to stop.

 

Bartender… One more!