TH3 W4Y 1T 0NC3 W4S 41N'T H0W...

the way it once was ain't how 
it's always gonna be; can't 
do shit but adjust, let go 

ST1LL TRY1NG T0 F1GVR3 0VT...

still trying to figure out

what ain't been figured out yet;

it all works out how it should

SONG OF THE DAY: (No One Knows Me) Like The Piano

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The dark cold is setting in, dark when off to work and dark when coming home, embracing the cocoon psyche, curling up into seasonal fetal existence, keeping it close to home, settling into the place we know comfortably enough. “No one knows me like the piano... in my mother’s home...”

Never learned no instruments, didn’t have the guidance, or patience, or support, or wherewithal, or whatever the fuck, it didn’t align. So I write words, like a fuckin’ fiend, every way possible. It’s my escape, always has been, but escape is also catharsis. Still go there, but never enough, and people always try to put marketing angles to it, how to get paid, and you can’t get paid to heal in this devil system. “No one knows me like the piano... in my mother’s home...”

Holidays coming up with less family than last year, when I already had little left. Holidays coming up in little basement apartment with neighbor landlord old lady with dementia who bangs on the door end of every month demanding I pay her directly even though lease is tied to her adult children and I have to do what I’m legally supposed to do, I guess. Whatever. First winter in this concrete hobbit hole, settling into psychic fetal position until spring rebirth. “No one knows me like the piano... in my mother’s home...”

Oddly though, as fucked as my life is, as this city is, as this world is, I feel better than ever, more hopeful than ever, warmer than ever, more heart fire than ever. Expectations always lead to disappointment. There is no progress to be made. Just live fucking life. Setting in for the cold dark months feeling brighter and warmer than ever, building up my fire to be ready to explode with the spring time.

TH4T P0L3 WH1CH H0V3R3D 0V3R...

that pole which hovered over

daily life now blurred into

memories; keep moving on

PL4ST1C R3FL3CT10NS 0F Y34RS...

plastic reflections of years

sedimented into a

space given title of home

SP1R1T S0 ST4GN4NT M4TTR3SS...

spirit so stagnant mattress

slumped in matching fashion,

looking upwards, wishfully

D0G L0ST T0 S3P4R4T10N...

dog lost to separation,

missing disappearing off

into the fifteen acres

34CH 4B0D3 4 P0T3NT14L...

each abode a potential

garden bed of memories -

what shall we cultivate next?

twitter renga #0418

[twitter renga done one tanka at a time,

at my @rojonekku twit acct, monthly]

blossoming afresh
like the redbuds - raven mack
the dirtgod's next phase

stability is a myth
at best; I cuddle with change

me and change curled up
like honeysuckle vine on
old barbed wire fences

dirtgod life theories feral
in nature, and IRL

change's seductive
siren song says "disappear
west, then south, then east"

change whispers promises of
una vida nueva

transitions into
next phases lack actual
defining moment

there is no line in the sand
as life metamorphoses

metamorphosis
of unseen metaphysics
only felt in heart

foolish philosophy of
science - all can be broke down

that "bend but don't break"
flexible philosophy
doesn't always work

born broke, still struggle, zero
safety net, no time to dream

dating app swipes right
on progressive privileged
women with bright smiles

generally left behind
by them, online, in real life

my type is cookout,
not brunch; mustard greens, not kale;
with it, not with her

expensive well-planned tattoos
sure sign we don't really match

broke ass genetics
predisposed to embrace doom - 
self-medication

drunk dad said "quitters never 
win and winners never quit"

civilization's
not real progress from simple
caveman times (it seems)

"progress" assumes a purpose
exists for people as whole

if no collective
purpose, why should I assume
singular purpose?

sobriety suggests I
should be progressing... to where?

craving opioid
stratocumulus escape
from bleakest landscape

the light on the horizon
keeps moving further away

no blessings to be
found, each day seems a bigger
shitstorm than before

what am I doing wrong here?
what lesson do I ignore?

got given a car
with sunroof, even when cold
mostly kept open

when the outside is inside,
that's a natural blessing

'bout to go outside,
see what's poppin' with all the
fresh redbud blossoms

playing dominoes with crows,
freestyling feral fool flows

sitting in back yard
I'll soon enough abandon -
melancholy breeze

airplanes flicker like lightning
bugs in lower atmosphere

nearly two decades
spent accumulating an
artist's aesthetic

pack in boxes since someone
else's identity changed

angry children in
next room watching another
shit redbox movie

I stare at the wasp making
drunken circles overhead

no women want me,
no real friends able to step
out their comfort zone

in a world full of bitches,
left alone, played the fuck out

should've known better
than to trust motherfuckers,
or believe in dreams

suckers are born everyday;
I certainly did my part

another day means
already convinced myself
to keep on trying

strange hotel room with two beds,
pretending all is intact

desire acceptance
so badly due to that ol'
inner-child bullshit

"little raven, chill the fuck
out," deep breaths telling trauma

many got it worse,
and those that have it better
likely pretending

"to exist is to suffer"
said stoner tramp named Booda

met Booda outside
the Columbus, Ohio,
Greyhound station, drunk

he was drunk on wine; I was
drunk on traveling strange paths

drunken universe
unfolds supreme mathematics
along strange spirals

I ain't complaining - just sit
back and enjoy Earthly ride

sobriety feels
like a mistake on Friday
nights lacking purpose

fine line between pointlessness
and hopelessness - I'm straddling

also wavering...
life as I knew it falling
apart in hard ways

all our life's stability
is nothing but sand castles

me first selfishness
camouflaged in earthy words
which lack backing acts

my needs are secondary,
and likely always have been

the naivete
to think "it'll work out" since
you always get help

as if privilege is the
universe blessing your acts

SONG OF THE DAY: Camay

Getting my new place set up and got a geometric design duvet on my free queen bed (love free queens) plus old ass light in the corner with red light base so I can get that pure TLC red light action going. (I think there’s still hope for me and T-Boz tbh.) I got lavender essential oil aroma floating through the air, trying to keep my shit clean, probably have even shea butter in the bathroom too once I get by Roses (although don’t want to contribute to the gentrification of shea butter usage). Ready to get the mood right and see what this genius list built off Pendergrass’s “Turn Out the Lights” does when we got the red light on girl.

Also, because of all this, shit like Ghost’s verse on “Camay” is really speaking to me. To borrow a little of that great American poet Dennis Cole’s slang, I love kickin’ it in a big backyard. But even little backyards are nice.

¯\(°_o)/¯

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