ᝣ᳃ᝣ᳃ᝣ᳃ᝣ᳃

It’s up to you. Always with you.

So pretty what you are! And what exactly might that be? I wish I knew. I’m coming closer, but I’m failing too.

I can feel it…

as I was saying I can feel it in your clothes when you’re sad like an allergy that is foaming pleas from every spot that’s not your mouth —don’t you ever wanna feel what it’s like

TO NOT BE SO CAREFUL IN LIFE?

I MEAN, it does sound nice…

Am I supposed to do something with all of this money?

(that you left?)

Just spend it I guess? Unavailing bequest. And when there’s some left? Maybe bury the rest. No, to burn it is best. So I’ll never feel pressed. To exhume and address. Your unlaveable mess. this abandonment test. first the beats in your chest then your mind, to confess that column from your spine-less -lest I’d never speak

never speak ill of your name. In this life, like the way you did mine, well—‘allegedly’—fine may i ask? did you find

When all you had was time. To understand. What. I. was doing for you this whole time.

y’know what?

Well now I’m floored I never thought I’d see your face here anymore

And I guess that makes me naive but have you not yet been brought up to speed?

the things you did when you were last here, we’ve been correcting for the past year with abundance you have made it clear you’ve got no remnant of a soul left to steer

I know you’ll get what you deserve but god damn you’ve got a lot of nerve. as what you killed flies by you spin your head and then you cry

WAIT WHAT WAS THAT?

I know that you’d seen the same thing that I saw so don’t try to deny because hurt will evolve

No, I was looking at the ground. Never saw her. Don’t know what you mean.

They’ll never ask for her opinion. They’ve never cared what's right or wrong. They only wanna see what’s written each time new lyrics find a song.

Well I am currently in Washington DC At the National Museum of the American Indian

I can’t wait to tell about this but first you gotta hear what just happened! This is crazy!

Im only here for this catering gig—or rather, i WAS I got fired when I showed up because— well, actually—I’ll get to those details in a moment—but lemme first do some explaining: not complaining, I’m just saying, it took me two 2 hours to get here on the Amtrak and the Metro. so after getting fired I'm thinking, well this blows, guess I gotta turn around and go back home

but then I look across the street. And there’s a banner hanging on the side of this wild looking building asking if I like POTTERY? no. I don't like pottery or at least I don't think I do…

I was wrong. Oh, I was so fucking wrong. Cuz they got this exhibit here, and it’s serenading me like an angel trumpet song. Its the work of the Iroquois and my mind is relearning everything I know, cuz this clay is 400 years old, and its glaze is still shining as bright as my grin— almost like we share some thing in common.

but before i go on, lemme finish telling you why i lost my job:

apparently they’ve been real strict since 9-11 about bringing things that look like weapons into government buildings I mean, my boss said I was lucky that I didn’t get arrested. (I guess the background check showed them that I normally carry this knife? but I mean, wouldn’t you too? If you had to shlep two hours to work on the train, in an unfamiliar place—and you weren’t even off til 2) (A.M!)

So they took away my knife. And I was fired on the spot. And I was bummed out at first, sure. But now I’m definitely not.

Because in this exhibit hanging on a plaque, as day is clear, I have been shown I’m not the only thing that’s fired up in here.

Whether it be pottery Or just someone like me-- You can’t mistake our fate, our greatness: You can’t deny the torch that’s in my hand was passed along to me! You are witnessing the magic that becomes our history.

Oh, don’t stop me yet. Cuz I feel like I’m about to get fired again.

Cuz of all of the patrons who traveled here and now love pottery. One is a a balding man, about six feet short who apparently can’t read. A simple man with a heinous plan of flash photography. and I can’t help but think he’s compromising the memory of my fired ancestry

Verbal confrontation is kinda where I draw the line, so before things are escalated there, I find I’m reaching for my knife--not that i was considering pulling my knife on this guy—i’m not trying to get in a knife fight but to be honest I’m thinking about what it’d be like to get in a knife fight with this guy who clearly doesn't respect--

OH MY GOD I had not expected this… i am near sighted and as I approached, resolved to say something, instead of cut his throat i realized this bald man IS MY FATHER

so instead I find my feet are frozen cold… but of course they are, I was always scared of him growing up, I told my therapist I could never figure out how he lacked as a role model but I don’t care about that. what I do care now is how I didn’t just stab him with my formerly unconfiscated knife. more than, frankly, do I care about whether myself and the Iroquois pottery have been fired or not.

I mean, maybe it’s time for someone else to have some notoriety? yeah? well it sure as fuck will not be be me--

At least, not for, like I said, stabbing my very own dad, in the Nation Museum of the American Indian

Over frankly, what would have been some some petty shit on this 400 year old weekend.

God, I’m so sorry that you made me in your image All I ever do is make you look bad.

And God, I regret how i never do finish anything i start for you And I hope I more than anything, that it don't make you mad.

I’ve spent twenty years needing an ego nap, Thirty years stuck in a substance trap and forty years with no brain.

And don’t get me wrong, a heart is nice And I’m no doubt grateful for my life

but i can quite clearly see how all that I’ve been doing, I’ve been doing in vain

~

I've always loved the feeling of SMOOTH, when duties ease into the following day and glide into the week after next relocating to back-burner, tasks that quietly slide off what’s no-longer-a-list just a blank sheet of paper, good-enough-looks-to-kiss the erased bullet-points, blanking out all the chores that were once more, but now never missed.

But sadly, the feeling is not always smooth: like when a neglected goal in its role is a personal truth,

It should hardly come as a surprise to any who I’ve known—considering how 'all of the things' are the things I postpone— I found an approach to limit all strife

I was five years old. So tell me why, in this memory i’m in underwear out-on-the front porch and its freezing cold outside

Why? why, I’d love to. tho first know— it wasn’t freezing, —ya it was cold— but that’s the point when you are playin Pretend Polar Bear Club; it doesn’t matter if you believe me you probably don’t cuz every recollection’s dimming once it’s 40 years old

and frankly it don’t matter if you’re tangled up in trauma cuz your past can’t ever be revised you’ll only ever make it longer

--WAIT WAIT STOP

I’m just looking for the reason why a preschooler is gonna know about the polar bear club like— I’m not upset nor mad— just want the reason; why

well fuck— …the reason why is DAD

“nothing’s forever” (“Did j’ask me to”)

cleaning off a forgotten plate tried not to spill... look i’m sorry nothing better than those noodles with cheese in my own realm i’m like blah blah bla “awesome me”

Don’t hold us over railings! Bro and i are concerned that we won’t survive —aw fuck it just one more time

So i’ve decided that i’m staying up all night— just as long as you make certain we don’t die and the same applies to you because there’s not another person in the whole world who would introduce

his children to the back to the future trilogy

in the wrong order?

IN THE WRONG ORDER

Yeah what I said is what I mean Dad started us off with Back to the Future 3. And sure, he showed us the second movie next, but if you’ve seen them you know how bonkers that is… Another Marty in the same timeline, explained—but never understood in the realm of storytelling. seen them at 7 years old? How about 5?

So never the less, my brother and I were massively confused.

But look—I get it—I’m not trying to sound ungrateful I’d do anything to go back to one of those Saturday nights when mom was elsewhere and dad let us sleep downstairs on the foldout couch watching movies playing nintendo just enjoying

What the fuck happened? why is every thing so different from what my conditioning had me constantly believing? I was so fooled…

But that is neither here nor is it there There are so many mysteries of which I more so. care.

So how’s it possible someone who never knew his dad could fit so fucking perfectly in shoes he never had the chance to wear as poster-child of his broken home, ’n in front the mirror pose to declare it’d be different once he’d grown.

And why am I the one with such a perfect dad? When my father’s more deserving of the ubbringing I had?

Tell us how you’re gonna get back your heart?

well first i’m gonna put my running shoes on take a shortcut thru the neighboring lawn and when the thief comes round the corner knife drawn —who—oh nah, wait, i gotta answer —just hang on allo??

Tommy , what’s wrong? Why do you sound like that?

Tiffany, what are you talkin about I barely even said hello—

Tommy!

Actually Tif, I did just have my heart stolen, do you think that’s why I sound different to you???

Why can’t I ever catch a break? and why is every new rule makin’ me feel like less of myself. Why do all these people who ain’t me why they always gotta try to tell me how to be? Since when do I need permission from you? I don’t need permission from you!

Just try to feel feel feel feel Just try to do something that is real real real real

Maybe it’s time you just give up on all you really don’t like to do!

I’m hiring a maid to clean up my neighbors house cuz I like my house dirty!

I’m gonna hire a dentist to take out my test and make my mom brush them for me.

And as for Tiffany! I’m gonna keep dating you cuz I like you if you like me too! <3

Whoa hey, Tommy— Listen carefully. I am your voice… from within YOU. These are your thoughts—The things you just said don’t make sense. Very different stuff from what we were singing about earlier. Also—Tifffany is your mother, not your girlfriend. I’m a little concerned, can we discuss a little bit—

NO HUSH.

I felt you rattling on my insides—determination in my core our planned traversal of the balustrade-adjacent-ledge—and sure I was not sober anymore,

Tho I’d been peering down my high, I’d kept my focus in the sky; upon a palm tree’s canopy—inviting sleep— of which my eye’d been on all week.

without sobriety no thing could stop our leap, we’d sow our plummet, and hope to reap whatever remains—less “our remains”—remained to keep

But I could not have been more wrong, It was not a place for slumber atop those fronds, and the same for us, so I concussed, and just saw black, until you must have woke me up

and by the time my eyes had opened. I was doubling all over; my one opportunity now a second chance, The trembling gone, the fear was lanced. What I said was also my doubling, I said, “look who’s no longer wobbling”

I said, "LOOK WHO’S NO LONGER WOBBLING"

sticks and stones may break my bones but I know nothing safer than a choice to leap into a tree from Jill’s third story balcony

If you haven't seen your own rock bottom it means there’s still a ways to go pretending might deceive on paper, but the scissors run that show.

There is no shortcut when you’re learning what it feels like to fuck up so stop pretending like you got this mother fucker, you got what?

and if you shoot your shot and failure finds you thinking you’re alone then you’ll be pleased to learn that’s not the case your skeleton is just unburied bones

you’re only here because your bones are not beneath the ground so rattle them, that's stability, as sound, the destination doesn’t matter just keep moving them around it’s how we’re marrowing the essence of the souls to which we’re bound it’s not my bones that made me sore, but it’s my bones that make me sure, my skeleton is working harder than I give her credit for

Go!

Procrastinating when I should have been brushing your hair

And now I’m constantly an echo reassuring you I care.

But you’re not there. You're not there? It’s not fair. It’s not fair?

I overheard them say to you that I’m a fuckup—and it’s true—though it’s not for any of reasons they were telling you—

And I would regret every single thing I ever said that I only spoke in my own head —and never to you as like the least that I could do— except I think you heard me anyway

did you hear anyway? did them anyway?