poetry collection 'accepted' but never posted/printed in pangur ban party

in addition to [the eight pieces of prose written over the course of the last year]

i also wrote some poems


the internet is a place for homos and freaks and gunslingers and pirates and people who
stay up for three days at a time and animals with god complexes and i just want to hold
your face real tender and say things like silly putty into your cheeks


i am having intense feelings of wanting to utterly and completely destroy my macbook
and force my brain to feel nothing at all and reminisce only on the neutral moments we
had together like my eyes not focusing while a youtube video loaded or when i couldn’ t
remember a line of html i was writing or something


is there a direct correlation between my extreme passive aggression, my lack of self-
awareness and my tendency to stay up for days at a time on the verge of crying but not
crying and really just wanting someone


it is very difficult to convince a person that they should be in a relationship with you
when you are almost exclusively interested in sitting in bed contemplating the universe


there is an eyelash in my eye and i can feel the bottom of my feet and my heartbeat in my
temple and there are little birds outside feeling like south is good and it is the winter and i
hate the winter and i feel indifferent about all seasons and my milk has been sitting out all
night and is curdled and we’ re all going to be dead someday


i think that it is fair to say that a person who has not been born yet is dead, technically, as
far as their being not being


i am going to borrow my sister’ s metro card to go discover women i have yet to explore


i walked past him and felt a vague dash of attraction towards something: his stride
maybe. i looked back and so did he at me and our eyes met and i gave him the finger with
an antipathetic stare, to ward him off. this had the unintended effect of turning him on
slightly which i could feel using electricity and began to run down the stairs like a maniac
and thought ‘i’m a maniac’


fish are related to humans, i realize. they have social patterns and feeding habits and
rhythmic pre-coital dances and probably don’ t realize they’ re pregnant for a while, like
obese women. everything does this maybe. hermaphroditic species do this too somehow
i’m sure


my use of hyperbole is extended only to my physical social presence. when typing
something i am aware the online community might read, i filter my thoughts
through a little strainer that collects inherent feelings of inadequacy i associate with
overwhelmingly nostalgic stimuli and my own chronic miscalculation of what type of
discourse is expected based on the facial expressions, gesticulation and sonic tone of my
fellow conversationalists




i feel mostly inept, maybe at everything, but this seems okay, and i think one day
someone else may be okay with me being this way and will still want to be near me
frequently, observing my ineptitude


the 'spiritual', a state humans cannot perceive consciously, was the psychological construct
that directly preceded and inspired the creation of the internet as a practical, physical
extension of the primary interconnecting human abstraction, and is therefore, out of
necessity, physically and psychologically accessible to the majority of humans so
that they can become entangle in it completely and feel cultural solidarity, like how
witch doctors used to convince groups of monolingual neighboring villages they were sick
and needed witchdoctor magic specifically, even if they didn’t, like 'webmd(dot)com' which
advertises on television and billboards and on the radio and gets mad hits i’m sure


i imagine that you are attractive and have similar interests as me and are only at most
dependent as opposed to addicted to any assortment of drugs and have good taste in
clothing, movies, music and understand but cannot emulate my sense of humor but
have an equally stimulating pattern of sarcastic observation, and since i am mostly
heterosexual i imagine you have a menstrual cycle and bunch of feminine idiosyncrasies
that will eventually drive me to dislike you at least slightly

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