Whatever Your Glass May Be

The feeling you get when your tongue is wet

just once or twice

not three times yet,

and the hollow in your chest

it begins to condense, around the point within.

A jittered sensation, anticipation,

in the chest a hollowness begun to expand

to rid of reason, logic, fear and doubt,

the sense of self and all that is man.

Bring fifth and sixth and seventh and tenth,

and into the brain it pushes a dent:

the pour-hole, the spigot, faucet of the soul

pouring itself into a vastness unknown.

Eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth, twenty:

the emancipation of the chest’s confines,

the wholeness and freedom and innocence sublime,

of a swirling forever teetering laughing round,

only to find:

the virility electric

desperate to break forth,

dependent on a constant source,

is the soul’s real bind.

Advertisements

Would I Rather Myself Certainty or Uncertainty?

What I disliked about college was that I wasn’t working my way through it (impossible now, anyway). My parents paid for some, god bless them for it, and the rest was covered with loans. I didn’t need money for housing, food, gas. As long as I didn’t drop out, I had everything I needed, and I didn’t have to work very hard to keep it – keeping a 2.5GPA in Journalism isn’t difficult. I was lazy, indolent, decadent; excessive drinking, daily gravity-bongs, lots of time reading or on the couch bingeing TV. I was melancholic mold-hearted.

What I wanted more than anything was to be an adult, to be on my own. But I was living in a house, had a car, enough food, lots of leisure time, all on the parental- and Federal-dime. I had a rot in my gut, an empty childish uselessness; everything I needed was provided, life through an umbilical cord. No one who is so completely dependent, is living their own life… I can’t imagine how a womb-bound 20-year-old is alive.

I did have a lust for life: I wanted to pour my guts across the city in a serendipitous rush of excitement and intoxication. But I also wanted to struggle for my future. I wanted the vinegar in my blood to burn away nights working. I wanted to worry about finding my next meal, but then get distracted by the excitement of determining my own future.

I didn’t want to be eating well and getting plenty of sleep on handed-down dollars, studying to get a booster-seat degree in four years.

I needed death’s breath on my bare soles. I needed struggle-in-the-moment, do or die at this very hour, not the safety of collegiate provisions, cozy study time to have a career in four years.

This has been my only motivation: Do now, or shiver years in an alley dead.

College didn’t work for me.

I only ever felt alive after dropping out of school and cutting ties with my parents. I needed the risk. I couldn’t bear to have a safety-net, or a step-stool, or a placental studying-period. To me, the risk of death is all that feels alive. A lot of people have called me an idiot over the years, or crazy, but I know I have company.