If your work’s dreary, then I can guarantee that the moment you resign, then by then you’ve done your time. A repayment to the state – your real liberty’s too late. So you’ve worked for all your life, by some sleight you have survived. A real victory, through which only you can see the reward is just a fake – it’s three decades far too late. Of your life you have been robbed, and soon your heart will stop your breathing lost its breath, and your only solace death. So what have you left behind when you’ve watched it from rewind? Some pay stubs, unpaid debt, and some newly homeless pets a tombstone with your name, and an ID with the same, to not be used again, proof of what you’ve never been. Boring life of drudgery! an unpassionate play without any characters you ever truly wanted to be about! It’s called anomie. You’re a character adrift in society, with no idea what you want, or are supposed to be. Sociologists might blame it all on industry, but it’s clear that we’re all lost, basically. So now, knowing that you’re lost, you begin to thaw the frost, which has frozen up your ribcage to your heart. You are free now and can start – break your inhibitors apart – to grab the wheel, and take control of your own destiny. And sure, you’ll die someday – hope when that time comes you can say that you gave to every moment all you could. Each opportunity fulfilled, through the advancement of free will, and that you took from every moment what you should. So when you see the curtain close, and your spirit surely knows that your teardrop’s not of tragedy, but joy. You will stand for the ovation, overwhelmed with true elation, at the beauty that your life story deployed.

I’m just a stray little quirky black sheep, navigating through life on a lark. Not too much cash, so we’re traveling cheap - on each new adventure embarked. And I’ve got no real direction, but I’m developing quite the collection of experiences some folks don’t achieve in a lifetime. Some not so great, some a bit over-played, but none too dreadful to regret, when I take the time to reflect, and look at them in retrospect. Tours, and cults, and video shoots, a band called ‘Letters to Friends’. Campy brigades traversing the world, performing songs about peace. And through all this, you’d assume that I’d experienced love, at least? But alas, not I. I’m not exactly sure why. Maybe it had a little bit to do with being a queer anarchist stuck in the Midwest, and having finicky standards. But these last few months I have been blessed, by a lark that led me to Olympia. And sure, love here is still kind of elusive – polyamorous puzzles, they get quite confusing! But I keep wishing and hoping someday I will discover at least one committed and kinky lover. But in the meantime, I’ll content myself to suffice with all these great platonic bonds I’ve uncovered. And now, I look back on all the friends that I’ve loved – all the beautiful lives that I’ve touched. Once again, I feel blessed, and sprinkled with luck. And when asking myself ways my life’s incomplete, I am grateful to answer “Not much”. And sure, I’ve got issues, and shit to work through, like my privilege, how I’m trying to cope. But I’m using all the best tools that I have: my newly unfiltered and wide-open heart, a good sense of humor, adventure, and hope.

Like Phil said, most people who are depressed simply aren’t having as much sex (as they want to) Right now that’s me, regretfully It’s the solitary reason I am blue I’ve got the blue balls blues As for flakes, I’ve met a lot – connect online, they tell you “you’re so hot!” (that's what they say) But when it’s time to commit the crime, a raincheck or disappointment’s all I’ve got I’ve got the blue balls blues Thus my happiness is unquenched like my appetite wondering what I didn’t do right (or said, or typed) My heart is jading, I’m tired of waiting, for a fuck buddy to set my mood aright I’ve got the blue balls blues In the meantime, there’s just one thing I can do to not depend on boys who aren’t true (or don’t follow through) Though it sucks to be alone, I can do it on my own All I really need are hands, and I’ve got two!

I got so used to saying ‘no’, I forgot how to say ‘yes’ Once you’ve seen injustice, it’s in your culture’s every facet I can’t watch movies anymore without analysis, and my brain’s been taken over by my inner conflict theorist. And I’m always on the alert for subtle prejudice, so I can’t simply enjoy something for exactly what it is. ‘Cause once you’ve woke up, you can’t fall asleep. And you’ll see injustice in damn near everything! But in the end it’s worth it, for change has begun. Just don’t get too depressed by the unrighteousness, and never forget to have fun. If you take me to a shopping mall, I’m the biggest party pooper. I’ll get depressed watching consumers try to buy their happiness. And I’ll search through all the clothing tags to see what was made in sweatshops – a game who finds the most third-world countries in Abercrombie & Fitch! And I’ll think how all this useless shit will eventually land in landfills. And your chipper little shopping trip will be a doom and gloom abyss. Roommates call me the recycling Nazi, and I’m big on animal rights. I’m the first to point out the fact when a comment’s heterocentric. I point out all the evil deeds of the U.S. and big business. I note when something exploits the poor, or if something is racist. Come to think, I tend to complain about a wide variety of things. But I’d like to think it’s not just talk, and effects the way I’m living. But you see, it’s unhealthy to just say ‘no’, and never really say ‘yes’. And it’s hard to pull off that whole approach without seeming self-righteous. You’re not gonna change too many folks’ minds without a little more patience. So I’ll just try to be a bit less gung-ho, and less uptight, I guess.

It’s interesting to think about the secrets we keep – hidden in each person you pass on the street. Some secrets trivial, and some hidden deep. Some from our lovers, and some from our mothers. Some we share freely, and others that leak. And once a leak starts, your secret’s long gone – lost amongst rumors, rampant in the throng. ‘Til your grandparents hear of the substance you’re on. Shattered reputations, forced alienation, so be careful which ears your secrets land upon! And then there’s that fallible matter of truth, which all believe they alone can prove. But the truth is just relative to what you find couth. Varied definitions, depend on conditions, so there’s never, ever a full absolute! Yet still others think that they’re in the know, that word’s a reliable source off which to go. So the stories get wilder, the falsehoods all grow. Still nobody questions the teller’s intentions, and now you’re the star of a vicious freak show!

There are endless combinations of things you could say. There are endless possibilities of things you can be. The words that we choose, the names we bestow, shape our experience, and what we know. Can you imagine what it's like to be inside someone else's experience, inside their mind? We all are so limited in what we can feel, so words are the closest tools we have to discovering that find. To think, of all the languages - different ways to shape the world! To think of all the books that have been written! Look at what we've accomplished, look at what we've destroyed. So many possibilities, we have to decide. Who do we think we are to convince ourselves that we know the proper way a human should behave? How can anyone get mixed up in bigotry? I'm no better than anyone, you're no better than me. I have my limitations, just as you have yours. We all deserve the same amount of liberty. You can disregard anything I say, but please at least take it into consideration. Just as I won't react to you with consternation. I don't have to agree, but I have chosen to listen. And if this is the end, as some would have us believe, then we must make the most of what is left to be. And feel grateful we were able to experience it at all, in all its chaotic ugliness, in all its chaotic joy. So all we can do is set forth with the best palette we can, to create a beautiful image to share with the world. A comma's the only mark to use existentially, since things are always carrying on, always cycling by - in seasons and in years, in laughter and tears - always carrying on, indefinitely,

You’re climbing up that ladder, so high into the sky. You’re climbing up that ladder, to reach all your dreams! You close your eyes, hold your breath. At the top of that ladder, you see the stars up high, but that ladder is not all that it seems. You’ve climbed that corporate ladder so high into the sky, that you can no longer see the world. So all you see are clouds - mirages pass you by - no perception of things down below unfurling. It’s lonely on that ladder, up in the stratosphere. Your only company’s birds, and CEOs. But neither is much company – they either squawk or have no souls. They’ve sold out all their dreams, and oh, it shows! So you close your eyes, hold your breath. Close your eyes, hold your breath. You can no longer relate to the people down below – not even your own cherished one and kids. You thought that you’d be happy once you made it to the top - not remorseful for the heartless things you did. So now, you weigh your options – is it too late to climb down? Or keep on climbing, infinitely up?! Since neither seems appealing, and you’re just a big coward, you close your eyes, hold your breath. Hold your eyes, close your breath. Close your eyes, hold your breath… and jump.

The internet has done such strange things to romance - unlike the days when it all was left to fate, or chance. I’ve been ogled, exploited by some candid man, and supposed admirers with erections in hand – none of whom gave a real shit about me. All I was in their eyes was the parts of my body. This has happened on several occasions before, even with guys I’d grown smitten, adored. Turns out the sex was all they ever wanted, while I fell in love – lucky me – now I’m haunted, by unresolved feelings, insecurities, while they’re off the hook, disconnected, Scott-free. While I’m left confused, feeling lonely, and wondering: what’s so unappealing about my personality?! I like him so much, I don’t want to fuck things up. But I end up fucking things up, ‘cause I like him so much. Okay, Cupid, you say I’ve a match. So I’ll try this out, start things from scratch. Send him a message, or elusive wink, but his lack of response compels me to think that I must be undesirable. So I’ll wait for a while, claim the net’s unreliable as a method for falling in love. But then I’ll get lonely and go back for more: more denials, rejections, and heartaches galore! So I’ll hide behind the best shots of my face, frozen in time, across cyberspace. Using my wit as my best saving grace, as I fill out these bits of my profile. I know, I know, I am trying too hard. Love will only show up when I disregard it. But I’m tired of being lonely, and meeting flakes only. Even after the fanmail of my big debut – you’d think after that, I would surely be due, for something beyond a mere E-mail or two, or a fling with a guy whose intentions aren’t true! I just want something real, to inspire me to feel like I’m loveable. ‘Cause I’m loveable! So I’ll try not to dwell on the blunders I’ve made, while my heart manifests a deeper shade of jade.

The aggro landlord figure came up to me and said: “You need to be more careful of the kind of folks you bring ‘round here. We don’t want the wrong sort of people hanging out around here. You just need to make these homeless freaks disappear!” Well, I am not sorry. This is my family. We may not look related, might not share the same last names. may have known each other years, or only a few days. My family fluctuates. My family extends across astounding distances – all the people I’ve been fortunate enough to know and love. Still why is it so hard for me to express that love, to those so dear? Even the ones I see every day, the ones with me right here? Tell me, what the everlasting fuck do I have to fear?!?! It doesn’t take much to become my family – just an honest, open soul simply willing to receive the love I have to give, and my generosity. It doesn’t matter where you come from, or the kind of shit through which you’ve been. If you’ve got a loving heart, then I’m here to take you in.

As the years go by, I find my friends become more and more connected - in ways that I never would have expected. Like a cobweb, or constellation, mapping out my experiences - transcending even hearts and nations. Is it fate? Or something else? invisible marks of recognition, that subconsciously we’re drawn to, as the result of some shared vision.