Author: LA Fogle

Mourning Pages 1/3/22 – mean girls who do not like to hear bull pucky about some imaginary shadow

~ LA Fogle ~ Leave a comment

Thanks for the tango with the dark side. Lord Vader says hello and I lost a chunk of my brain. Good news is that fewer people can affect me to the point of losing my mind now. As long as I stay sober, there will be no bottles of pills to swallow or precipices to examine. I also have my boo who could never live with himself if he just snapped off a piece of my heart then salted the rest of it with a message that it’s because of what a terrible person I am; stood there shaking his head saying, “Sad. Really sad.” Jesus, Becky, you are a mean girl pill. I’m really sorry about all of the men that like me. Let’s just put this out there where it can get some air: She can’t keep her men.

There you go. Finally, someone said it. You knew they were all thinking it. I knew that you knew that I knew that you knew it, because of the criticisms you threw on your other friend you stayed passive-aggressively angry with for years. You know, the one you’ll try to reconnect with after giving me the boot. The one who, when that guy did to you what you just did to me, you ruminated over her not responding correctly and took it as an implication that she thinks you can’t keep men in your life. Maybe she did, probably not. It’s called a projection and it’s what you fear people are thinking. Projections can be wild within grief, especially when you’re trying to appear like everything is okay. Look social media, here’s a picture of my sandwich. Mmmm! See how normal I am? Ew, look at that frumpy sandwich hater over there. Do you know what I heard about them?

You’ll attempt to reconnect with that friend, empty your bladder on my privacy, and ruminate on her every fifth word until it becomes a black enchantment that mathematically equates a new language of dead code which opens a demon hole, summoning a groggy mucker who will feast on your soul the moment it realizes what a sloppy wizard you are with controlling the dark forces you summon. And you’ll be helpless to do anything about it because it is only banished by empathy. Ruin and denial are just dessert toppings to this thing. Mmmm!


Either way, nothing will change because it’s just a cathartic little pick-me-up when you casually slay someone who trusted you with her very life and did the work every time a paranoid thought came into her own head. I did trust you and love you and absolutely did not put you down. What you have is a self-esteem issue which is completely understandable because I’ve seen some people do some disappointing things to you. None of those people were me. Could have been twenty-five years ago, but hasn’t been with us. You do not get to break my brain. Humpty Dumpty has a difficult time in this brain. But did you know that I’ve actually helped people? I know that’s crazy and vain, but it’s actually not; that was the inner critic talking. You have to tell it to shush and maybe don’t emotionally rely on people who don’t understand that?

…

But we do have to emotionally rely on someone, don’t we? Vulnerability. We know that children of emotional neglect can’t really see their own needs but do become astute observers of other people’s needs; they think there’s something wrong with them, toggle anger and anxiety, battle self-esteem, and are highly capable; but it’s a real struggle to emotionally validate ourselves because we didn’t learn it while developing. Oh boy, what a know-it-all—shush!


I’ve had to cut people off who have a destabilizing effect on me in order to compose myself and grow. I don’t think I reached in to tear anyone into a companionable state of misery. Though I was rather cold to someone and hope to make it right. I was scared because THIS is me being upset. It sucks. I have so much work to do and am emotionally threadbare on the topic of insecure chimpanzees and bonobos swinging at me to try to reclaim some feeling of power. My morning writing is not for them and it’s not for you. Once I wrote a poem about you caring for the birds. That was nice. This is not.

I gotta go pick all the eggshells off my shoes. You may want to trace whoever told you everything’s about you when you were growing up. And also trace that arctic punisher. Set those children free.

Streaming in the afternoon – Dad’s birthday

~ LA Fogle ~ Leave a comment

My father’s birthday is in two days. I still can’t believe he’s gone and it has affected my motivation. Gatlinburg burned right after he passed. He took us there when we were kids and stayed there once a year when snowbirding to Titusville every winter in his retirement. That would have hurt him. Then Trump took office and the world burned a bit. It’s been civil chaos. Then this pandemic took isolation to a natural level. Right now I trying to understand when it’s safe for my family who caught Covid to return to their routines. Dad used to help me figure out logistics of things.

Harvard says, “In July 2021, the CDC recommended that anyone who is fully vaccinated and comes into contact with someone who has, or is suspected of having, COVID-19 should get tested three to five days after exposure. In addition, you should wear a mask in public indoor settings for 14 days or until you receive a negative test result. If you are vaccinated, you do not need to quarantine, but you should isolate if you develop symptoms or receive a positive test result. Previously, the CDC had said that someone who was fully vaccinated only needed to get tested after exposure if they were experiencing symptoms. The change follows new evidence regarding the Delta variant, which shows that people who are vaccinated and then get infected (breakthrough infections) can spread the virus to others, perhaps to the same extent as those who are unvaccinated. If you are not fully vaccinated, a 14-day quarantine remains the best way to avoid spreading the virus to others after you’ve been exposed to someone with COVID-19. According to CDC guidelines, you may discontinue quarantine after a minimum of 10 days if you do not have any symptoms, or after a minimum of seven days if you have a negative COVID test within 48 hours of when you plan to end quarantine.”

So, Dad, if my brother, nephew, brother-in-law, mother-in-law, and stepson got Covid and got sick, then when can we see them? We were all together ten days ago. One got sick the next day, one got sick three days later, and one got sick four days later. I’m vaccinated, boosted, and have had no symptoms of anything (except a slight pain in my ass). I tested negative before contact, three days after contact and seven days after contact. I went to two places just yesterday and wore a mask. Your son-in-law has also been testing negative, but he did drop off an oxygen sensor to—

You know what, I figured it out. I just needed to take a breath and talk to someone rational. I’m going to write you a poem for your birthday this year. I still have Whitman, Sandburg, and all the books you gave me. And I even read the wild ones you warned me against, because what else would I do with her madness? It is in me. I’ve pointed the tips on her leash outward at least.

Dad, you would not believe this: scientists corrected a gene mutation in a live animal. My head is spinning, but no one I know really finds this kind of thing interesting, except my husband who marvels with me but you know how fast the marvels go. I can’t commandeer his mind with my associations. I read a cool piece on biocentrism and it reminded me of a song I wrote not long after you died called Hurricane Irene. I do wish I’d studied math to the extent that you did, but the logic equivalents of words has always suited me better. I’m sorry about my silence. I’ve been working on a formula. I need to keep Mom in the room, too. Early mom. Really wish you two had found a way to smile about your time together. I understand now why you didn’t smile more at us when things fell apart. We’re all human.

I’m going to read some things out loud to you just in case you can hear me. Of course you can’t, but then again, what do we know? It can’t hurt. And talking to you makes me feel safe, loved, and valued. I love you.

poem: Think Highly

~ LA Fogle ~ Leave a comment

Think Highly
Its prickly thoughts drop
pointed like tears,
at times landing
round and soft,
pooling as a placid lake,
lulling as summer rain
Should all land in chance
of familiar modal harmony,
I’ll think highly of myself
as often as possible—mantras,
maxims, motivations taped;
post-it notes on the window:

Lay out the facts.
Do your work.
Trust your intelligence.

Taped to my sun visor in my car:
I love all of me, even
my suffering and uncertainty.

On a lunch sack in Sharpie:
Love yourself & hold steady;

if time, I’d written:
Don’t get knocked off your love game.

I eek around corners to add to mirrors
double reminders. But none could keep
me where I needed to be or keep
you from getting angry.

“Who do I think I am?” You asked.

Yell echoes
its sonic spell
flicks an avalanche;
the delicate enchant-
ments buried in snow
Search parties
dig for the bones
of our crumpled body

On the long journey back
to sense of self and confidence,
slowly grows my clone—this one
tattooed in reminders—to think
highly of herself as often as possible.

poem: Regrets on the eve

~ LA Fogle ~ Leave a comment

Regrets on the eve
I regret my angered broken
heart, the warp on its record,
and the times I tried to heal
someone who’d understand.

I regret the rip of loneliness
into my solitude, that a few
good friends weren’t enough
at times. I regret trying
to resurrect my lost family
in reminders of connections.
I regret my mind wasn’t strong
enough to keep you with me.
I regret love’s affectation on
my gaping train of thoughts,
too scared to tell you what
I cannot confide to keep
outside of my mind.

There’s not a lot left to take
into this new year now. I am
content with who needs me,
with the learning curve
of each new sensation,
in chats with the air
and essence of minds
before me. And even us
before trust lost to fear.

Mourning pages 01/01/21 – given the pink slip from Tizzy Agnes who polices her neighbors with an idle intellectualism and the catharsis of righteousness

~ LA Fogle ~ Leave a comment

You’re bringin’ on the heartache Takin’ all the best of me, oh can’t you see? – Def Leppard

Happy New Year! One of my uber-important best friends gave me the pink slip last night out of nowhere. I’d see her once or twice a week to practice yoga and we’d talk, smile, and hug goodbye. Her stupid Christmas gift is sitting on my desk. I’d gotten one-word answers to inviting her for dinner or checking in over the last few weeks. I could not tell if my friend was being distant because she needed space or if she needed company. She had a hard year, major unfairness, and a broken heart. I texted her:  “Hey, I get a sense I shouldn’t text? You don’t respond. Please let me know if I upset you somehow. Not my intention.” She responded with this doozy of a text:

Anything that starts out with “First of all” and is this long can’t be good. Turned out she didn’t want to be my friend anymore, so decided she’d level with me in an arctic, nuclear text ending our friendship, offering no conflict resolution, and using her anger to hurt me as her latest target. I don’t knock her when we get together. My husband will tell you that I put the kabosh on anything negative being said about her and it’s only fucking praises that came out of my mouth. I was committed to keeping our friendship for the long haul. The best part of this text is where she tells not to respond out of respect. Respect! Blame and run—emotionally detach, shut me out, dump years of commitment, and justify it. This same thing was just done to her by a guy and it broke her heart. So she did it to me! 

And let’s talk about the man who did that to her. My husband and I were never invited to hang out with him, though I found out much later that they hung with her other friends all the time! Weird. She didn’t like telling me about things that bothered her about him because I’d perceive his character based on how he treated her. She’d say things like he never introduced her to his friends then watched my face to later decide I’m judging her–a real setup. Last people she’d dated did some horrible psychotic things to her and I was there for her in the aftermath. But instead of exercising the self-respect that would keep one from shirking their friends with the next potential partner, I was left out of the fold for my unnerving clarity. Oh, and it was suggested I’d been blamed for her past alcohol use which started well before we met. He didn’t want us going out because she drinks with me? But I didn’t actually go out much and get up early, and I was the one who introduced her to exercise which is mostly how we spent time, so she really just sacrificed me to align with his sobriety. Her own personal scapegoat! I saw it clearly, shrugged, and forgave her. I forgave her each time she postured that her anger was in check by projecting on me about my anger. Her soundbite lately has been to say that my anger is scary—poor thing! Anything to avoid doing her own shadow work. 

She desperately needs shadow work. There’s always something irking her. She’d eventually get mad at this uber-hyphen. Psychic wars at work, perceived slights left and right, cutting family members out of her life, policing her neighbors, becoming super cranky with passive-aggressive blaming and constructing conclusions based on anxiety and past damages; ruminating on whoever is left standing beside her instead of meditating to fight the inner critic who just wants to fight. This is her pattern. It was only a matter of time for me. No doubt she’s connecting with that old friend she crapped on in spades, now that her complaints in said text sound a lot like what she cranked on about her old friend. She has to be targeting someone to get out of facing herself and the rubs on her mirror. This text was such an awful projection that I couldn’t be sad. My response sucked:

And it got worse. The whole thing sent me into a tailspin, probably the intended effect. Why else blindside and discard me like a bad habit on New Year’s Eve? I know she started seeing a therapist because we always talked at length and I’d encouraged therapy and therapeutic writing. It was such a load of bullshit and I’ve already been through this since Covid started. She’s not the first person to lash out at me over their own insecurity. And she threw that loss of friendship in my face to hurt me. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have told her about it.

Do my female friends know that I don’t have any female friends? Anyone know why someone would accuse a girl of having no female friends? Is she saying that I need male attention or that she’s mad that she doesn’t have male attention? Very confusing. I also think she should be straight with her new therapist instead of putting her stuff on me and not the guy who cut her off and publicly said terrible things. She invited me to Thanksgiving last month, but I had an in-law gathering that ran late. I did consider us family, but I don’t need the kind of family that casually betrays you with a note to return her keys. The “woes” about me she mentions was about my family getting stranded out-of-town after a fire-related engine failure. I had to stay home to help figure out what to do as they were hours away in a town that had no open rental or mechanic shops. With a cracked engine block, we haven’t had a car in about a month. There was no offer for a ride. Just a scolding about my whining over telling her my woes for apologizing that I couldn’t make a gathering. I directly communicated that we’ve been overwhelmed with holidays and heaps of stuff and half the family getting Covid. Did she give a honk about any of this? No. Built a case against me. Why couldn’t I read her pain…I worked on healing her muscle issues for years. I started our exercise habits and got her into history walks, nature hikes and this whole time she thought I wanted her to feel bad about herself? I am not amused. This projector is like a Hammer horror film stretched to the wrong ratio. Hyphen hyphen hyphen. I wish I had a farm I could dance around while putting on airs; suck on a hayseed and ignore anything that isn’t practical or godly. She’s leaving anyway, so this was all probably just a convenient excuse to burn it all down with a bonus drama and victim sympathy. I actually understand burning it all down. Wait–was that condescending to say I understand? Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry. Sorry sorry.

I can’t feel guilty over perceived slights after putting years of consistent time and energy into caring about my core relationships. Truth is, this resentment and relational aggression has been holding me back. I asked my friends not to reach out to make sense of it because an attempt there will probably be made to put tension on our relationships. I’ve seen this before. I’m strong, hard-working and unafraid to be proud of myself or my friends. It’s clear a number was done on her head as a child over thinking too highly of herself and doing anything expressive. She likes to call artists interested in many things narcissists! Perhaps she was kept small and maybe that’s why she’d go silent when I discussed things that mattered to me like my music or writing or engineering. How pretentious! I used to cover up the best parts about myself, so she’d feel comfortable. I finally started writing in prompt groups which she ignored. She’s not the first and I’ve moved on to supportive artists—not going to stop. I work hard on my stuff and have outgrown people who are uncomfortable with my growth or frame my rich inner world as selfish, just because theirs is detached with emotions unexpressed, jumbled, and un-communicated. And now, evaded for a grip on control! Poor victim not gonna take no shit!

Never feeling good enough had nothing to do with me, but she put her suspicions on a safe person who would have been loyal to her forever. Too bad, she absolutely deserves love as much as I do. But I’ll never give my power to her again. This heart is closed for business.

Critical Secret

~ LA Fogle ~ Leave a comment

Critical Secret

Here is a secret:
Eat every criticism.
Bite into the outer layers
with your bared teeth, feast
on its soft vulnerable insides.
If the center is hard then suck it
awhile. Let unwanted pith dissolve
away in your strong acid. It’ll all soon
leave your body. Thank the ironic gods for
giving challenging nourishment. And go about
your work. Comments will keep til you’re hungry.

Stream – Morning Pages & stuck thoughts- 12/27/21

~ LA Fogle ~ Leave a comment

Part II of The Field Trip


The guy eats vulnerability like a military mission. You had to hand it to him. But with one of those “As Seen On TV” reachy sticks with a gripper you squeeze enough times to get your fist strength back. Sh, don’t tell em it’s a workout. Hand it to em like a nuclear hot potato. Good evening, ye self-absorbed, clenched megalomaniac. Got talent? Sure, sure you do, but it sucks all of the energy mustered out of the room, charges a toll, and wields a lazy privilege based on popularity—I never agreed to it. A delusional mod blink. Someone should stick it to Warhol and counter but anything fabber would be, what, a theme park animatron restaurant. 3D projection on a plate of ads and entertaining stories. Wait, tell me now how myths relate to greater human interest over 300 channels of protagonists yelling drama drama drama makes the world turn. Tell me your story next and make it good.
And hey, bonerfide poet, how’s this for
en
jamb
ment
On my shopping list of prose, I noted to note
the function of imagery in a poem, which is to
produce imagery from a poem. That’ll be $50.
><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><>
Next we’ll learn what art is
by studying society,
superheroes, net worth,
pedigreed, the golden bough
of breakdown, negative capability,
and negative urgency.
Movements don’t get old, apparently.
That or postmodernism was the last
great lazy law of least energy.
Dark matter masters conclusion,
and don’t forget to touch on rhyme & movement.
><> — ><>– ><> — ><> — ><>– ><> –><>
There’s a difference between hitting the same buttons every day and daily learning new buttons.
><> — ><>– ><> — ><> — ><>– ><> –><> –><>
Are we still investigating answers of contrastedly/ dark secrets smiled through Eisenhower era depression. Probably/ no big deal nowadays. My bank teller has blue hair and a tattoo of a symbol that means there must be something more to all of this/ Will counterculture deal with consumerism at last? Does it know what to counter/ or not to repeat
><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><>– ><> — ><> — ><>
Rude people throw around the word “honesty” way too much.
We can handle social media IF we don’t go online enough to rewire our brains for scrolling. Can you handle that, brain? Brain? Are you there?
><> — ><> — ><> — ><>
Hashtag hashbrown
><> — ><> — ><> — ><>
If someone is not helping you grow as an artist, you might want to rethink that lame relationship.
.><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><>
Do you ever feel like you’re still that one sperm fighting with all its heart to get to your egg?
><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><>– ><>
The dogs got into the studio. The one place they’re not to be. Bluebeards.
I’m talking about dogs now so we can all relax. Motion detection on one of the security cameras reveals the most interesting dog in the world wistfully watching the front door.
><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><>– ><> — ><>
Some think After-Death Plan is the name of a metal band which is totally unfair because the fatalistic romantics had the good names before metal ever even came along with its louder tantrum.
><> — ><>– ><> — ><> — ><>– ><> — ><> — ><>– ><>
Closest I’ve read of people reaching the source without spirits or psychedelics is with lucid dreaming.
Harlow’s monkey, attachment styles, transference: forget about it. I’m the victim here.
><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><>
Holds a mirror up to society. Society: checks hair, takes a selfie.
><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><>
What you think is weight loss is just elasticity leaving your clothing.
To stop time, hold your body in a plank position.
><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><> — ><>
I never bought anything unless I had the cash but my credit score did not acknowledge that wisdom, not until I went into debt with a mortgage. Stupid system.
Please laugh at how crazy you are being.
Do break predictive text.
I am completely unaffected
by circumstance.
><> — ><> — ><>
That last part isn’t true
I am affected.

prompts: gravity mantle steeple constellations starved strings floated pause guide enemy risk

~ LA Fogle ~ Leave a comment

from the new moon to the full moon in Sagittarius

gravity mantle
Smoke & mirrors collect us
as royal subjects.
In imbalance of power,
lateral thinkers
bow in gravity

It is not weight,
does not dismantle
It attracts—
defines compromise,
value in effort—
Willing past the win
of resistance

Yet the planets seem lighter than this phone.

steeple

Imagination questions without fear,
for no one is listening with an ear to control:
to scold as parent or toddler,
to ostracize as jailers of faith,
or primitive posturing for rank;
to be revered rather than injured,
to be obeyed rather than swayed.

In our steeple of curiosity,
tolerance for ourselves and
tolerance for others
gains accordance.

constellations starved

She grew up playing in the woods, orienting by sun, trees, water, constellations; but was lost here, starved for organic connection. Many had no use for nature but to consume, & nature had no use for them. They’d gladly choose a virtual life if she could only perfect the forebrain.

strings floated

She sent vibrational
strings of thought
looping out
Tethered balloon animals
floated, reshaped,
and popped.
One transformed
into a dove
and flew away
on a silvery gleam.

She let it go.

paused guide

Trauma paused us.
We go back, reenact
where stuck. Neural arms,
flailing to connect, reflect
near easy lovers: fear,
unfairness,
primitive defenses.
Our scarry attempts
to block off, protect
Disconnect like cell death.

A plan will guide us,
laurel us through
genesis.

enemy risk

The enemy-risk effect of the virus was isolation and inactivity. Productivity and trade slowed as the needs of survival shifted. But to Hunter, they were the real enemy and the prey. Meanwhile, all the predative profiteers laughed—a nervous laugh.

prompts: kind stuck spouse vulnerable worry journal conversations worry crisis worthy ribbon oracle rival

~ LA Fogle ~ Leave a comment

November 19, 2021 to December 4, 2021

from the full moon in Scorpio to the new moon in Sagittarius


Jake choked off his last shred of objectivity with piercing confidence and rode off into some kind of loner sunset, with only the curtains to hold his hand. Our shared wonder dismissed as magical thinking, wheeled away for correction, argued away as naive—just to argue.

stuck
Kill or be killed, child.
180 shots per intended minute.
Unregistered plastic bag.
Probable conclusion without a scratch.
Presumed protection with intent
to mutilate. Murdered property.
Insurrection.
Hip-hop cowboy, good gang, posse.
Annie, Get Your Gun and a permit.
Marissa, the wall has rights.
Stand your ground unless stuck
interpreting the lunatic
interpreting the reason
interpreting the law

albatross photo


The wandering albatross bow,
widen their wings and scream
at the sky; they circle, preen
and snap at their spouse
in a mating dance for life.

Three million miles
of soaring the skies,
ever to return
to the island
of their love
and birth.


Vulnerable, the reliant pilot hides in a pride of clouds/
seen, the sun comes out/ the complex speaks to the complex/
lowers a bridge open to valuation, closed to faulted criticism/
subject and object scatter, hide in the mirroring sky/
light faces the page, not the eyes


Thanks giving:
Let the worry fall away
from your clear eyes,
For the world turns
and we are in it;
Should joy escape your mind,
allow release to recommit
compliments of reprieve
from lifelessness.

I am your cherisher
thankful for each
delicate moment.

journal photo

Wake and tell us what’s good, love, as the daylight
reaches your mind. Promise to snuggle in deeper,
cross the heart on your chest and hope to die.
Code your secrets in my journal
where I can read between the lines.




“I had conversations, but the upper hand of the masher, phlegm, and baffled stranger would not salute. And the agro. Everything I said was ammo. So I gave him ammo. All of it.”

Cere opened the lid to find furry teal blotches moldering the tops of the apricots.

“Worry eats at your thoughts. I needed to be done with it.”


“Recognize crisis mode. Deflection is a way to cope, but it’s pretext. We eventually have to move past it to understand the dissatisfaction that leads to a major life change.”

“Huh. I’ll think about that,” Greg said. “You’re not mad?”

“I’m working on a new perspective,” she said, taping up the last box. The movers would be arriving any time now. “Ultimately, I’m on your side and hope we get to share a better future. Call me after you’ve answered your own call.”


two crows photo




You are shiny,
like teeth bared
through organic
murmuration.

Is it the love shown
or the love deserved
that makes us worthy?

Two lorn brood
recuperate
in innate pattern,
flockwise;
their calls imitate
a wildish belonging.

ribbon photo
Photo by GEMS by Cherri

ribbon

If I were a ribbon,
I’d curl around your finger
to remind you
that I am always
there. In spills of ink,
siftings of sand, traces,
and twisted strands of hair
Snug between the wanton
hand of death steepling in prayer.

If I were your ribbon.



oracle

She placed her hand on the young king’s chest and closed her eyes: He floated in a river of blood, tethered to a casketful filled with paper money.
Fire cremated the land into black ghosts pillowing the lusty blaze. Through the roar, he heard his name as a boy dipped a toe in from the shore.

The oracle opened her eyes and locked gaze with the young king. “You have enough for now. Do not invade. Take a vacation with your son.”



In returning warmth
that refuses to leave
the season,
mistle breaks,
disturbs a winter silence.
Leave your contortions
where misery can find its
mirthless tune. I’m here
in life’s harmoniacal quietus,
a rival of the snow, parched
as the ground, threshing
its mortal boon.

Stream – Morning Pages 12/07/21

~ LA Fogle ~ Leave a comment

Mourning Wake of Advertence, December 7th

I was told I have a sharp and unforgiving memory on 2/1/21 at 2:36pm. How do you respond to that? Must have been there were things that needed forgiven, but I lacked information. I loved them; we visited maybe monthly and exchanged meaningful birthday gifts for years. I sent messages every few weeks to brighten the day, pop in as if to say, our friendship means a lot to me.

I stopped reaching out after asking why was met with a parent-child type of scolding that had nothing to do with me or what a bad tiddler I must be. Once I stopped instigating contact, contact stopped; that’d become my tenure and I decided to…take a hint? Uncertainty can lead to compulsion and the answer of not thinking about it is just a jab at weak intellect, usually by someone who definitely has not solved how to keep unresolved intelligence from the subconscious.

Du Champ called eye candy art that didn’t engage the mind “retinal.” I dig it. That relationship became pretty retinal. It took the time to reveal me then junked me for emergent popularity. Feeling disrespected by someone you think you’re close to is upsetting. I felt like that dog that gets tricked into chasing an imaginary throw, except the ball was stupidity and the problem was that I didn’t chase it. I felt abnormal, like I could not conceal my analysis to the point where it wouldn’t be suspect. Suffering for existence in the wrong crowd needed identified and rectified. But I learned from the loss that I belong where I can let my mind flow without leaking concern into making others comfortable by staying quiet on the playground. And by honing this practice, unhampered, I decide the connotation of the word incisive. My tone might even soften in this freedom into choosing the word insightful.

Where can the spectrally skybound go if the artists, musicians, and poets need the plainspoken; if they need a prescribed normalcy blanketing the arena. It feels like an exclusion that comes from slippery dreams; dreams not lost but slipping, wherein former dreamers frame the optimist as naive. While the non-optimistic spectrally skybound quickly go nose down when other artists engage in lazy bonding with herders of feelgood art that keeps all at an average level of consciousness. Feelgood goes for the pain and chaos seekers as well—it is not enough to act out primal frustrations for a different emotional bump. Both stylistic choices contain what in the species allows for an average. And here are the extra words to clarify what lazy bonding means: when people use negativity, disguised even as concern, to show others how another is to be treated in a postured hierarchy. It is blackball showmanship without connection and a counterfeit bond of happiness. It takes no responsibility for the energy it creates and the distance of the subject exploring the situation when their entrance is illumined by gaslight.

Don’t overthink it.

The answer to not overthink it, takes a similar amount of responsibility for figuring out nothing. And certainly not figuring out the causes of depression, nature’s gift for resolve that comes in forms of rumination—rumination that does not lay waste in blame or scapegoating. Nor does resolution lie in any kind of fight song, no matter how good that makes one feel for a moment before drowning solution.

I say to you, artists:
If they’re dumbed down, you’re dumbed down; bring your brain cells inside this winter for a nice book.

I say to you, thinkers:
If you’re dumbing it down for people then you’re selling yourself, not being yourself.

I say to you, lovers:
Children of emotional neglect usually have insecure attachment styles and do well in relationships with secure attachment styles. Also, they have to be careful not to lean on others in regards to their trauma as they are more susceptible to transference because of their unmet needs.

I say to you, visionaries:
Chase the ecstatic; just don’t do it through influencers.

I say to you, divinity:
Lordy lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot get jiggy with.

navels
Human relationships are not navels. Gaze at these navels.

You do you and there will be applause; not thunderous live-in-front-of-a-studio-audience applause, but claps like sporadic thunder as mistle gives way to torrents of rain. If you want the droves to sleep or leave you be, talk about the government auctioning off white space and whittling away our spectrum. They’ll hear those words and think it’s perhaps conspiracy and run from the burden of thinking. Bank on it. Obtain a line of credit from said bank that lets you pay back $3.00 a day for whatever will make you good enough at 24% interest–maybe just a little tuck so some walking unibrow can grace ye with an inappropriate comment on physical worth, check the teeth for probabilities. Status elevated by what it owns and offers. Enjoy those possessions, death is still coming, until thinkers solve the body.