I’m too kinky for FetLife I’m not husband material My innermost desires are illicit and venereal I’ve sold my underwear to a man in Luxembourg My sex life could be diagnosed as a theatre of the absurd I need a pervert’s guide to avoiding loneliness I love the bears and otters But I’ll sometimes go for twinks Any body type is beautiful Especially when it stinks! I like men of many different shapes and shades and demographics I like boys who make collages of National Geographics Philosophers, photographers Blue, white, or pink collars It doesn’t matter much to me whether they are dropouts or scholars I need a pervert’s guide to avoiding loneliness I’ve been dumped due to differences in class I’ve been dumped by guys who didn’t like my cats But the biggest deal-breakers that I’ve ever seen Were from dudes who couldn’t handle my polyamory ‘Cause I’m a slut who is versatile and has many tastes And I don’t like opportunities to go to waste And I might be incapable of monogamy But rest assured, my sluttiness is done ethically Now that doesn’t mean that I’m incapable of love Now that doesn’t mean that I don’t value your uniqueness Now that doesn’t mean that I can’t handle commitment All it means is I need a pervert’s guide to loneliness

Steve got kicked out of the Garden of Eden That was the same year I got estranged from church In both cases the crimes were blasphemy And third degree, premeditated sodomy ‘Cause Mother Nature loves us But God kinda hates us I just wish Yahweh would go suck a cock! So this alienated teenager tried witchcraft for a while But got occult mixed up with regular cult Then agnosticism fit the bill for his noncommittal mind He thought his religious views could not be defined But then at twenty-seven, he finally realized He could no longer let the truth be disguised Yahweh’s homophobia was not just from being a douchebag It was internalized hatred Because God is a fag! Jehovah made the rainbow sparkle, shine with radiance Which should be enough validation for one to be a gaytheist ‘Cause Mother Nature loves us But God kinda hates himself I just wish Yahweh would go suck more cock! Yahweh should suck more cock, more cock Yahweh should suck more cock, more cock Maybe if he had more butt sex, he wouldn’t be so uptight And his idiotic followers’ claims could not be justified He’d rewrite the hate speech in Leviticus and Deuteronomy And rethink his previous objections to sodomy ‘Cause Mother Nature loves us But God kinda hates us I just wish Yahweh would go suck more dick!

Geniuses don’t get chosen by natural selection They’re just a dying breed whose genes often don’t get passed along They’re usually quite eccentric, so they don’t attract a mate Or they don’t reproduce due to ethical choice Or they’re queer, or they’re celibate ‘Cause geniuses are the ones Who make the world turn But they’re also the first to get thrown on the pyre Every time that the world starts to burn The ignorant and the ordinary are the ones who spread the most seed Which apparently means they’re the ones with the most successful genes With tweens and toddlers and buns in the oven, they produce the most offspring Susan B. Anthony and Tchaikovsky were probably genetic freaks! ‘Cause geniuses are the ones Who make the world turn But they’re also the first to get thrown on the pyre Every time that the world starts to churn The powerful are not of the genius genus They’re simpletons overcompensating for a quite small penis Besides, geniuses wouldn’t want a position of power They’re smart enough to realize that the results often go sour But just imagine if a genius reigned and benefacted harmony Just imagine for a fleeting moment what a better world it would be! But geniuses are the ones Who make the world turn But they’re also the first to get thrown on the pyre Every time that the world starts to burn (churn, etc.)

I haven’t worked on art since I got this job I haven’t had the time to complete a song Just a few snippets of half-assed poetry But nothing worth keeping I get texted and called in on my days off It seems I’m perpetually on call It’s been a crash course in learning how To assert my boundaries But the triumphs of the labor movement cannot be Lost on the martyrs to salary I refuse to let the reversal of labor history Happen to me In the human services, it’s usually so That the most compassionate are often those Who are overworked, and the ones who get roped Into pulling others’ weight When they’ve already given all their share And of their burnout, they are keenly aware It’s the double-edged sword that accompanies A strong work ethic But the triumphs of the labor movement cannot be Lost on the martyrs to salary I refuse to let the reversal of union history Trample me So what ever happened to the 8-hour day? And whatever happened to holiday pay? Or compensation for 60-hour weeks? Or a guaranteed weekend at the very least?! In most other countries, this isn’t allowed Where their labor laws are clearly avowed French employers can’t demand more than 35 hours But not in the USA Where the American Dream is, for most, an illusion And personal balance is just a delusion Where most of our workers come to the conclusion That their lives are not their own But the triumphs of the labor movement cannot be Lost on the martyrs to salary I refuse to let the reversal of labor history Trample me I will be free I said I will be free!!!

The gas prices go down As Election Day comes up To appease those remaining voters And get them buttered up All the elected officials Start to feel anxieties Will they get reelected? Or get duped by the opposite party’s schemes? There are but two political parties In true dichotomy style Two sides to the same coin Two sections split by one aisle Each side picks one contestant From a narrow, privileged pool Who can bring the big bucks? And be the biggest corporately-sponsored tool? On the surface, each contestant Must look squeaky-clean No history of Mary Jane Or anything even remotely obscene! You see, the American public Just won’t tolerate Anyone but a Christian With a moralistic, empty clean slate But once the contestants fool them To believe in their facades The people will bow down again To those twisted demigods Never mind their records Might be tainted with war crimes If it’s not drugs or sex-related They are A-Okay in the prudish public’s eyes! And once your foot is in that door It’s smooth sailing from there Human rights violations, genocide Just don’t let them catch your love affair!! And burn those high school yearbooks Signed by your stoner peers Stick to institutional violence And you just might win an extra four years!!

“Hide your daughters from that man in the women’s bathroom!!!!!” Shriek the transphobic, Family-Focused evangelicals in the courtroom What a way to invalidate – they’ll equate one’s identity with a motive for rape?! What a desperate scheme, a delusional dream To try and reclaim the zeitgeist for the Right Wing But they lost that foothold way back in the 80s And lost all credibility by blaming the gays For 9-11, Katrina, and Haiti So now they’ll refuse to decorate cakes But they can’t stop the bum rush of weddings for the gays! They know they’re on the wrong side of history So, they try to pit the LGB against the T But we’ll stand strong beside our sisters, brothers, non-binary siblings And refuse to see them stripped of their dignity Or forced into scenarios to be faced with bigotry Sure, restrictions on a bathroom might not seem that evil Until one remembers “separate but equal”!! The state can’t dictate who we are in our hearts Or limit our genders to our reproductive parts We see this kind of backlash with each social improvement: An increase in “religious freedom” movements But that victim mentality must be rearranged Or else be toppled by unstoppable societal change

A cloudburst on the Great Plains An abandoned gas station Surrounded by the ghosts of bison Drowned in blood of the Lakota The tragedy of the Dakotas Buried hearts and broken treaties Can we transcend this brutal heritage? Can we restore our humanity? A tacky tourist trap Shadowed by a monument To genocidal maniacs Might as well keep Andrew Jackson On the twenty dollar bill Seeing as we haven’t cured this Tendency toward racism With hatred thrown at Native children Apartheid in the rural towns Next to reservations The tragedy of the Americas Buried hearts and broken treaties Can we transcend this brutal heritage? Can we restore our humanity? Now travel south a continent Or sail west across the seas And you’ll find the same sad story From the Maya to the Maori Oppression with guns, germs, and steel Smallpox blankets to a thousand peoples With biblical delusions of manifest destiny The tragedy of the First Nations Buried hearts and broken treaties Can we transcend this brutal heritage? Can we restore our humanity? Empires rise, empires fall Empires had their free-for-all But now it’s time to evolve Empires strike back, empires stall Empires can get overhauled To bring restorative justice once and for all

I am grateful for my experiences of living in an apartment complex. As a teachers’ kid, I mostly knew the world of cul-de-sacs. Sure, we lived in rentals, and our first house was a double-wide, but growing up I never knew what it was like to share your walls with strangers. But as a kid, I wouldn’t have noticed the significance. As an adult, I’ve loved this working class grit: hear the neighbors making love, hear them binge on Netflix, see them working on their cars as I feed the washing machine. The one on the right has never really worked, and the dryers will just eat your change unless you set them to extra high heat. I remember when the cops tiptoed past our window to handcuff the dealer two doors down. I remember the Draconian child-rearing with which I disagreed, or the domestic disputes which still haunt my tender heart. They still haunt my tender heart. But I also remember seeing kids of different races playing games across the crumbling pavement of the derelict tennis court, shooting hoops in the one basket still standing. Seeing families make a home out of units all the same - some of them had such character with their patio potted plants and cozy grill setups with tacky patriotic decorations. As I leave this place, it saddens me that I never knew these folks: the quiet nerds who lived next door and had their groceries delivered, or the family who’d have deliciousness wafting out their window after midnight when they finally got home, or all the tattooed young adults living paycheck to paycheck whose lives were probably not all that different from my own. They were probably not all that different from my own. When I first moved in, I naively thought this was a real chance for community. I’ve always romanticized the idea of a friendly neighborhood with communal block parties and open-door policies. But I should’ve known all along that wouldn’t happen here, seeing as I’ve never experienced that anywhere. Even in trusting hick-town Wyoming, the neighbors still maintained a frosty veneer. I guess in our culture of social distance, proximity’s not enough reason for someone to welcome you in. But I’ll still keep an open heart, just in case.

Convictions can be dangerous, so be careful with your certainties From the Midwest to the Middle East, convictions end in casualties So I thought I’d use my songs to make a difference I climbed an ivory tower to fire a dozen insults A minstrel using intellect as a weapon against convictions But then I’d crumble and sulk when it felt like no one listened It’s about time I quit being so serious And realize my songs aren’t a thesis I wrote songs like academic texts Stanzas fact-checked Proofread coda signs Spell-checked chorus lines Online view count obsessions Peer reviewed chord progressions All with the intent as nothing more than sounding smart ‘Til the end result Sounds nothing like An actual piece of art It’s about time I quit being so serious And realize my songs aren’t a thesis So who cares if my songs appear anecdotal? I’m not a scientist, I’m simply a yokel Who wants to use my songs to exude joy Without necessarily proving a point.

There’s an afterglow when returning to your regular life After a night of coming close to the life for which you actually strive So now I’m trying to figure out just why I’m in this funk Despite good friends, the weekend, and getting slightly drunk Connecting to an audience, a spectacular performance Now I’m wondering why these passions must return to lying dormant? Maybe it’s my job, the most obvious scapegoat? My consolation prize for not making it as an artist With dreams turned to hobbies, labor turned to rent Feeling burnt out from all the efforts that I’ve spent Sacrificing myself to the daily grind While after work doing nothing but zoning out behind A variety of screens in a desperate attempt to unwind Moratorium on all projects except for the tasks I’ve been assigned Tell me, how do you find joy in your mid-to-late twenties? Maybe it’s mental illness, and potential diagnoses? If I start taking medication will it affect me artistically? End the ups and downs, be the perfect worker bee End the sadness but also the impassioned creativity!! I’m skeptical of pharmaceuticals, as I am of psychiatry But who’s to say the many ways my life could improve If I’d only start believing in psychopharmacology? Tell me, how do you find joy in your mid-to-late twenties? Maybe it’s my love life, and related neuroses? Worried I’m being too aloof, worried I’m being too clingy! My fatalistic expectations that it eventually must end in misery Getting hung up on the details, wondering why he didn’t kiss me? Or if I should take it as a sign that he forgets our plans so many times! And though he’s claimed repeatedly to be alright with polyamory Who’s to say he will not be exactly like the previous three Who claimed that was their deal-breaker after months of relating openly? Tell me, how do you find joy in your mid-to-late twenties? Maybe it’s my diet, or my erratic patterns of sleep? But it’s hard to be regular with the hectic hours I keep None of which is improved by the quantities I drink! Or maybe it’s all just the Pacific Northwest? And my resulting severe lack of Vitamin D!