Idea

Fucked o’clock 

and time to get up. 

Nude 

Tired 

Still slightly stoned 

but not stoned enough 

for America 

when she on that cocaine 

and she talkin’ all crazy 

and her nails are demonic claws 

tearin’ us all to ribbons 

but you don’t talk about that 

cuz if you do talk about it 

you don’t really love her 

but she loves you 

She really fucking loves you 

You know that, right? 

You do. 

I lay in a semi-dark room and listen to Hulk Hogan's old walk-in theme "Real American."

This song is America.

"I am a real American. Fight for the rights of every man. I am a real American. Fight for what's right. Fight for your life."

If only.

I also scroll through the normie politics subreddit and people are wondering if we are one violent incident away from this country exploding like a Roman candle.

I see it.

Everything is so sinister and mean.

Sloop John B plays in my ear.

"This is worst trip I've ever been on."

We're on that trip, America.

We’ve all been traumatized by the society we find ourselves in. Some of us get traumatized more than others but most all of us have had pain heaped upon us by a society that is profoundly fucked up.

If ya get a chance to talk to people. Like, really talk. This shit is gonna come up. 

I’m reasonably certain there is an alternate timeline where America descends into fascism to the strains of “Holding out For a Hero” by Bonnie Tyler. 

Even as I sing along about pining for a street-wise Hercules, the spirit of eternal fascism tickles me. 

This song pines for Charles Bronson in Death Wish. 

It’s calling out for a version of Walt from Gran Torino who doesn’t have a redemption arc. 

It’s calling for a cop who becomes like The Punisher in real life. 

Umberto Eco wrote of the cult of heroism. 

This song could be the hymn for the cult of the avenging hero. 

Been kind of a brutal weekend for me. 

Didn’t know that I was going to be dealing with a sick dog. All of that wrecked me. Think I got my cry quota done for the next week. 

I’m exhausted. I feel beat up. 

I’d take a hug or two.

That dog is hanging in though. She is this adorable thing but god damn, she’s tough. 

I think I’m way too up in my feelings right now. 

I’ll get back to you. 

This has hung in the home I grew up in for as long as I can remember.

A Moment on a Tough Day

You join hands with your sister. 

You pray over a sick dog. 

I suspect that I’m getting better at this. What is this? That would be writing. Pause. Scratch chin. Take sip of water. Get up and close the door. I sit with my feet up on the desk. My keyboard sits in my lap and I type away. 

It was one of those angry drives home. It was one of those drives home where I just got murder in my heart. I just got weaponized hate up in me. Anything I might possibly say is gonna be barely coherent. I’m gonna shout. I’m gonna keep shouting til I can’t anymore. I’ll be out of breath and none of it will be cathartic. I won’t feel better. I hate that kinda anger. I’m glad I didn’t do that today. It’s anger at the world and the people who run it. People talk about evil. They talk about people who do monstrous things. They talk about ‘em like they got glowing red eyes and how you can smell sulfur when they walk by. I believe it was Hannah Arendt who talked about the banality of evil. It’s these utterly unremarkable dudes like Scott Pruitt and Jeff Sessions who fuck up the world. They don’t look like monsters but what they do is monstrous. They get to manufacture a hellish reality for millions of people and then they probably go home and watch Blue Bloods or Chicago PD or something and then maybe their wife gives them a half-hearted hand job and then they are back at it the next day. That’s how they do. 

It’s good that I’m diligent at putting words to the page almost every single day but maybe I need to strive for more than that. I don’t know what exactly. I think the paragraph above had its moments. I fantasize about poetry and literary journalism. 

Making a living distracts me. Takes too much time, ya dig? Shit. That fucking game has us all by the nuts. 

I think to myself, “Where the fuck you going with this? Do you just want to stop? Chill the rest of the night?” 

I really do. 

I will actually. 

I want to write an essay. 

What about? I don’t know. I think I can do it though. It is going to take some trying and some discipline from me though.