Cliff Hanger

I am teetering on the unpredictable edges of stability tonight, clinging hard to the seductive possibility of the crisp simplicity promised by the next honest breath rhythmically stolen. Familiar ghosts in unfamiliar locations prostitute out their secrets in the echoing tomb of another overnight introspection, busking themselves indiscriminately out to a perpetually disinterested crowd.  They linger obscenely in unwelcomed multi-part messages written in the peculiar genius code of unique failure, combining together to tell the greater story of a far lesser man. A diaphanous curtain is drawn against the invasively embarrassed skeletons of my limited possibilities, so elusively unstable in their underlying structure.  My rotten and co-dependently interwoven musculature binds dishonestly upon that floundering foundation, holding disappointingly firm until ultimately bonding with achingly brittle bone to …

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Loathing the Fear in Wayne’s City

The Republic is undeniably burning tonight. And all the accompanying fears seep in hard and unrelenting through the smoke, probing and penetrating daily against secretive hushed boundaries in  surprisingly offensive retaliation for our uniquely dysfunctional national immaturity still unraveling nightly on the world’s stage. Fear that is never quite fully mitigated; an underlying uncertainty that never seems rationally moderated.  The terror that is neglectfully left unrestrained and unsupervised on the naked battlefield of our pandemically tainted zeitgeist.  The constant unchecked gluttonous extinguishment of weary victims keeps occurring, even long after that supposed final shot.  Or that untrained uniform squeeze.  Or the metallic click of unjustified handcuffs.  Or an unmasked cough’s wet rattle. So the cities are caught in the grip of violent protest tonight. Citizens march …

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Only Quitters Quit

DISCLAIMER:  I am fine.  No need to text, call, or post.  Just another dark night of the soul spent inside my head within the confines of this City of Wayne.  And I’m getting the demons out in the most transparent manner available to me.  Because fuck secrets.  But if you, or someone you know, is currently struggling, there is no shame in reaching out to the N.S.P.L: 1-800-273-8255. There are seldom healthy choices left to make when drowning unsupervised in the exhausted collapse of another bottle’s last splash. There are usually just invasive regrets that linger in the shadows, as the day inevitably surrenders itself over to the dark, an opaquely familiar and dependable foe so persistently insistent in its tick-tock regularity. The steadily irregular rhythm …

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Spaghetti Western Dinner

I am constantly burdened by the persistence of memory. Reticent voices long discounted still ring hard in my head, echoing in the abandonments of singular infections still festering.  Silhouettes of possibility linger stubbornly in the tenuous fringes of a near total artistic collapse, refusing to budge from the balcony view of my corruption.  Shadows of former glories undocumented shatter the steady focus of consistency, poisoning the well and tarnishing the intentions born of unavoidable confrontations. I carry the balance of experience across the swamps of my confusion, struggling to gain solid footing in a world that just keeps shifting in its decay.  I crumble under the weight of my definition unfairly gained in the heated fling of unexpected disagreements.  I constantly exude the stink of predictable …

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Nipping Buds

An Open Letter to the Fairer Sex: I just do not understand it. For the past few years, I have heard more and more of my female friends being overly critical of their bodies.  They lament the unexpected changes and shifts.  They scramble to hide perceived “imperfections” with expensively unnecessary makeup and currently trendy fashions.  They constantly confess to feeling uncomfortable in their own skin to the point of undeniable inhibition. And I just do not understand it. Obviously, I realize that everyone has some inner issue with their body, some nagging flaw or fold that just doesn’t seem right as it screams its way into the forefront of self-awareness every single morning in the foggy bathroom mirror.  Hell, I wish that I had muscles hair …

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