Diary of Repair

Breakfast.

Yogurt, cocoa chia granola, strawberry (5x), banana.
News:

The Young Dems want to eat the Old.
Fair enough;

Cambodia has jailed the prime opponent in next year’s elections,
Like Trump said he would;

Denver is trying to woo Amazon to be its second headquarters-
I should visit my cousins;

Seahawks Wide Reciever
Seeks lobbying NFL League
to enact Legislation
that would aid young black Americans.
My Heart fills;

Drug Czar Nominee Marino helped force through Legislation
that would cripple the DEA in it’s attempts to combat the
Opioid Crisis, a crisis largely manufactured
by drug companies buying doctors to administer painkillers
for the facility of stopping pain
without healing clients-
a crisis that mostly affects lower income-lesser educated
white Americans: Ruralites-
those who are most vulnerable to the feelings of despair-
those that most likely voted in protest against an ineffective Washington to help them-
those most vulnerable to Russian MicroTargetting-
the cheapest of us;;

;;;

but would you even believe me America?
when all my news is so blue?

or keep lining up behind your fucking moron?

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Diary of Repair

Morning.

♫♫

Yeah I’m writing here in just a top
washed by the foot of my bed
watching Mel lick herself outside.

It’s a wonderful breeze here at home
Space City;

Your feet touch the floor
And it’s opened the window

Vonnegut used to write in the mornings,
with a Pall Mall and cup of coffee;

but i’ve kicked such vices.

;

…these morning ablutions are all part of the dance..

& I need to write.

.

.

— – – — — — — — — — – —

aight

where was i.

…..It’s hard to write about space. It is,- it’s a thing I proclaim to love? And yet, here I am struggling so much?

…..I mean, alright it’s not literature. It’s not Joyce or Shakespeare. But you can’t even have fun like Adams? 

…..I guess it’s different though. Vonnegut must have never really believed himself capable to some day get up there. Adams grew up in the Shadow of Sputnik, not Columbia.
Not Columbine.

I’m sitting here nude by the side of the bed, on the absolute cusp of space exploration;
and it’s driving me mad.

;

Doesn’t it drive you bonkers?
Aren’t you feeling insane?

That we can’t feed an island nation right now
but want to wage nuclear war
and give tax cuts to the rich?

It’s not even that, it’s that this country
thinks it deserves a tax cut.

What have you done for yourself lately?
All of us. What have you done for us?

Did you know if the minimum wage had followed the rate of growth the earnings of the top 1% enjoyed from 80’s (Reagan) on, had remained in formation with it, instead of collapsing and stagnating all across the land-

Had our minimum wage maintained it’s right against the corporate top tax rate
we’d be at 21.38.

Yeah, I keep thinking of her-
great big black beautiful space;

Yeah can’t you forgive a guy
for feeling tongue tied?

It’s so much more real now, isn’t it?
We could pluck that fruit
clean off.

We could indulge.

Give ourselves Trump Hotels in space;;;

yeauch.

Low Orbital Gonorrhea.

Yeah but you still alright messing with him, right?
Like you still cool with him in charge.

Hey Republicans.
Hey Freedom Caucus,
Hey Red Voting Bloc
Hey Rohrbacher;

You ever read Dante’s Inferno?

…..

.

.

·

♪♫♪

No I’ll leave you with a happy thought.
I’ll leave you with a peace of myself.

I’ll leave you letting you know
It’s nice today, in Space City.
The sky is a vibrant blue, with a slow dip in saturation
to the East.

It’s 70° out.
Man is it lovely
with the bay winds stroking all the treetops.

Coursing through the suburbs foliage.

hmm.

.

.

I hope you can find your quiet too.

 

.

.

-end transmission-

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Diary of Repair

The Shop.

 // 
(Field testing.)

— — — — — — –

I run this game shop quite good if I do say so myself, and a pity what this place would be without me. Oh I know that’s tootin’ the ole horn quite a bit, but I can read a room like a sundial- yeah it might take a second but that overall aesthetic is going to stay quite set for all intents & purposes, for the duration of the session of the hour; I vibe throughout this room just fine.

. . . . .

I’m home again. Meaning to write to you from work, meaning to fill you on my day;
meaning to think of you through it.

But I’m home now,
figuring out the mood.

♪♫

-Of course there’s a part of me that fetishizes every part of her.
Of course there’s a part of me that can’t separate her from sex.

Of course her signifier has gone and gobbled up all these other signifieds.

& of course I want to not be that
to let her be her.
To leave alone.

Space, aint it?

& so what if she’d rather live and die alone
than be with you?
Hey white Nationalists!
Hey Stunted Hitler Youth.

Hey can’t you just live and leave alone?
Or does it terrify you still
that thought of death and hell
that fear your dad put in you?

Are you afraid to die alone?

— – —

They say the best memories are the ones you forget.
The most preserved, all those you don’t mess up
trudge your muddy shoes of recent nostalgia all over
the untouched crystal of your memory.

I drag all my current loneliness
with me to view old memories.
Like babies behind the glass
and my whole ancestry beside me
only seeing bundles of joy
and not the raging hurling shit and chaos
nestled underneath.

You’re right, ain’t you?
That I should go and make my own memories.

It’s right, ain’t it?

S/A/N P.2//
& where i am now.

I am saying goodbye to my baby sister
and walking by my eldest
over the tightrop’d chasm of divorce.

I am watching my company not need me
and fly the coop;

I’m lying here naked
thinking about the GRE.

I’m telling dad not to worry about who won the argument;

I’m telling you not to worry.
I’m telling you not to listen to the noise.

This world has not stopped fighting for itself
and neither should you.

Because I very much believe in you still.
I always will.

.

.

night âm.

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10.6.17

Diary of Repair

Gross Fucking Ineptitude

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10.1.17

Diary of Repair

P.R.

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Diary of Repair

Morning Missives From Your Favorite City

♪♫♪

Didn’t you read this morning

That North Korea took our provocation of two low air bomber units skirting their oceanic air space- took that as a signal.

Because all signs from this president are meaningless.

And I mean that even to the white supremacists.

.

.

.

Didn’t you read

Kushner and his EMAILS?!

You didn’t fall for that too, did you?

.

.

.

.

Did you read

The Nazi Party of Germany gained 13% control of their Parliament?

Are you still sleeping, dog?

.

.

.

.

Did you hear Japan and their quantum computer?

And look at this lumbering oaf in charge

Asleep at the fucking wheel.

.

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.

.

If you want this goddamn planet so much you can have it. Just get me a one way ticket off this godforsaken rock.

Yo! You want your nation that bad? The one whose blood and skin were the same red from the very beginning? The one who confiscates a language built off germanic, romantic, and hellenic traditions? You think we assault your heritage?

We’re never getting off this rock
if you’re up your own fucking ass over your lawn.

pissant cowards.

.

.

.

“And the meek shall inherit the Earth.”

.

How the fuck you gonna lose your desire
For Space?

Bruh.

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3:36 AM O.

DON’T BE A MARTINEZ

.

Emblazoned over the fucking mausoleum.
“What drove the kid?”
“A fear of his ancestors.”

So I ran. I ran away from everything that made my blood.
I abandoned Christ, and found plenty of reason for it.
When Father looked me in the eye on a Sunday morning
and told me man would be arrogant
“Man is a fool
to think he can reach the stars
in God’s domain.”

.–

When I was a kid
I wanted to be a scientist.
For sure a meteorologist, because I was terrified of tornadoes.

When I was a kid and they asked me in sunday school what I wanted to be, I always went straight to Scientist. I never knew what kind, but that was it. The closest approximation of a life as adult as I could imagine.

I’m pretty sure the church beat that out of my head.

.

.

I find my god in art.
The Rothko piece should have made that clear enough.
I don’t believe in your Christ, or Messiah;
It’s nothing personal.

I don’t believe in him,
because then I would have to say I don’t believe in the Prophet either.

Moses. Buddha.
All of them.

a million mingling inks
or something like that.

.

.

.

I find my god in art.
This past weekend me and she went down to the contemporary
to make a promise before god.

We made separate promises.

This girl walked me down to the picnic table of an altar
and we spoke to god a little bit
side by side each other.

I find my god in art but that’s the thing innit?
Ain’t that the great grand fear?

.

.

pheeew-
I had a really bad trip when I went to memphis.
got all scrambly in the head On the Road to Memphis.

Had a friend,
this is true,
had a friend who absorbed so much THC in one sitting that he saw the black demon spirit come to him, as in a waking dream, over the backyard fence;
saw this black void of a figure come slowly out from the sun to him,
eclipsing,

Saw this hideous terrifying spirit satan
and cowered to his feet, shouting back:
“The Christ O My Lord;
Please Sweet Beautiful Jesus,
Jesus Christ My Savior,
In Your Name,
PROTECT ME.”

.

.

.

.

 

and -poof.
the spirit was gone,
so goes his story.

.

.

.

Yeah, I scrambled my brains up a bit like that.
& I can tell you a lot more about him too.

but for now I’ll sleep.

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