Sorry, not dead

I always hated being called poet
but I guess shoe fits.
it’s certainly a
suitable nominal title
even though I never majored in English.

and sure I never read Austin
it’s okay; neither did they.
they only wrote a bunch of essays
and haven’t since the day they graduated

I guess now we’re on the same page

I’m admittedly a slow reader
fast learner
persistent do-er


no clue how the sociohistorical context reflects any way I try to create.
you really think that was on the mind of any single one of the greats?

I mean maybe.

I don’t know.

I haven’t studied.

It’s okay.
You can shut me up easily.
I fall swiftly to someone seeming more pretentious than me.

I know it’s “I”
go away)


I try to remember but it all just blends together.
It’s kinda hard to tell exactly where
the minute hand crosses from afar.

But was I happy?
(Yea, sure. I remember it. Splendidly)

No. Really.
(I don’t know. If I could answer. Truthfully)

But was it worth it?
(I think I’m. Too scared. Of wasting time.
Oh, god. Am I wasting it? Right now?)

Better plan,
to make the most of it.

Better plan,
to plan better in the future

Better plan,
hold off longer,
defer your own reward.

Better plan,
to live better later.

What do you remember?
(Not much. Honestly.)

But were you happy?
(I said “I don’t know,” truthfully.)

If you don’t remember
does it matter?
(I’m seriously unsure.)

What’s in the future?
(Hopefully, happiness.
Currently, hope.)

What’s the point?
(What you mean?)

There’s a future’s future.

I never considered myself much of a painter
but I won an art contest once.
Catholic Daughters. 3rd grade.
Theme was “God’s power.”
I drew a watercolor landscape
of mountains. Mountains that I,
growing up in Louisiana,
had never really seen,
but I wanted to.
Still, I sucked at drawing.
Never learned to hold a pencil right.
I quit art by 5th grade.

When I was 15,
I went to Colorado.
I mountain biked.
The mountain was just an obstacle,
an annoyance.
Everyone else enjoyed it,
but the trail was 5 miles too long
and not what I signed up for.
The obligations of elevated ground
didn’t seem worth the effort.

A few summers ago,
I went to the Ozarks to camp.
My friend slipped and fell 70 feet.
I still remember his teeth
rearranged in his mouth
each one pointing
in a different direction
reaffirming my previous notions
about mountains and elevation.
They take and cause pain.

I moved to Santa Barbara
just a few months ago.
The mountains are beautiful,
and I asked a local
how long does it take to
get over that view.
He said in like a month
they’ll just blend in
with the scenery.
I didn’t quite believe,
but they did.
They’re just what is.
I don’t need to be angry.
They don’t affect me.


Is happiness just an idea someone sold me?
I can’t shake the feeling
there are more important things.

Like accomplishment,
or morality,
or something…

Is it even that important
to be our primary focus?

Because when minds start to wander
they just seek pleasure.

And everything’s a distraction
everything’s a distraction
everything’s a distraction
(from nothing)

Thing is

Your problem isn’t focus.
You’re really good at focusing
on    all    the    wrong    things.

Self-improvement driven by
Self-loathing is a futile spiral,

but for some reason,
I can’t shake the feeling
that whenever you die
you’re supposed to meet the you
who did everything you were supposed to do,

And this “best possible version”
will shake your hand
and show you what you could have become.

This “best version”
always achieved.
Kept hungry.
Never stopped wanting.

Can you blame him?
I mean, if you got everything you ever wanted,
Do you think you’d really want it?

I guess your “best”
is everything but satisfied.

So is that the problem?
Do I want everything?
Is this just a long way to say
something about having and eating cake?

Sure, I don’t know if I’m right about any of this
I don’t even know what I’m seeking.

Happiness? I guess.

Still, I can’t tell if I’m afraid I don’t deserve it,
if I’m afraid I didn’t earn it,
or if I’m worried
dreams aren’t what I hope they’ll be.

But I guess I’m basically asking,
“Do you want to be right or happy?”

Most happy people don’t really know WHY.
Most unhappy people don’t REALLY know why.

I guess, I’m saying
the distinction is irrelevant.

Happiness doesn’t depend on circumstance.
There are happy people in terrible situations.

And maybe, happiness is just an idea someone sold me
to get me to buy things.

I mean
would our society be functioning
without people wanting?

So, should I buy in?
Was it ever real?

Or is emotional quantification
a manipulation
of how I actually feel?

Or maybe, I’ll never be satisfied
until  I’m  satisfied  with  nothing.

You’ll never be satisfied until you’re satisfied with nothing



I think it was 4 years ago
back when we were brutish youths,
We drank Takka
and it wasn’t that bad
And we had to blow up
your air mattress with our lungs
Because we feared the pump
would wake your parents.
I remember lying on it
felt like I was on a boat
And I was sure I’d fall off
by morning (which I did).
We watched the Onion Movie
and stayed up too late
To wish you a happy birthday.


I’m glad to say,
we’ve remained friends
without much friction.
We switched from Takka
to trendy craft beer
(and shitty bulk beer)
and fancy cocktails
at a trendy bar
(instead of the local park.)

But somehow,
I still end up sleeping
on makeshift cushions.

I fell off by morning.

Some things never change.