The punishment of happiness Those later feelings of regret Obliviousness at the time Toward seeing that your life was fine So now your current circumstance Seems inferior to the past Those better days were wasted on The fool whose joy has been forgone I think the secret lies within the balance Of reaching for the stars and gratitude Feeling that this is enough Conversely never giving up On pursuing a life full of meaning The punishment of desire To realize that you’re a liar When you say “this is enough” But desperation calls your bluff Fantasies of the ideal Unlikely ever become real To see your passions unfulfilled Mediocrity distilled I think the secret lies within the balance Of reaching for the stars and keeping one foot on the ground Feeling that this is enough Conversely never giving up On pursuing a life full of meaning The punishment of gratitude Those ambitions have been subdued The punishment of compassion Self-defeating inaction The punishment of aptitude Responsibilities accrued The punishment of virtue Bound to only speak the truth The punishment of desire To realize that you’re a liar The punishment of happiness Those later feelings of regret I think the secret lies within the balance Of reaching for the stars and keeping one foot on the ground Feeling that this is enough Conversely never giving up On pursuing a life full of meaning Or at least one worth redeeming

for 24 hours you lived as someone else your questionable choices affecting only yourself seeing what it’s like to live with robots and deluxe toilet paper upper-middle class luxuries like being suspended in skydiving chambers to transcend your life of stark disappointments and picking up slack for a temporary fantasy of having a husband who will have your back through financial security the safety net of joint checking accounts as you pursue your artistry he supports you to achieve what you’re truly about so you let your guard down and acted somewhat rash mainly concerning the feats you accomplished while on your back seduced by status and novel encounters not to mention a stunning physique the heat of the moment repelled better judgements of any cautionary technique so now you’re back to your life practical obligations and promises kept when you weren’t mystified by romantic delusions which left you bereft so now you’ve got to decide between penniless sitar players on whom you’ve relied or on the other hand the maharajah’s fantasy which might just turn out to be nothing but a lie

Is it still okay to wear your shoes while taking out the garbage? Will we still share food and necessities bought for the apartment? Will this degrade to a standard awkward roommate situation With passive-aggressive notes about the dishes and the bills But with elements of jealousy about each other’s Newfound romantic inclinations Our contrasts are more stark now You have no reason to stay up late anymore And I have little reason to stay home Even when removing something harmful from a body It can still sometimes lead to a painful recovery Like when you helped me after my appendectomy Or when we’d exercise those demons: Your depression, my anxiety It would be pretty awkward if we wore the matching shirts Bought by your parents as a souvenir For the underlying dysfunction which we held in our Attempts to make this thing match our conflicting ideals Our delusions about what it means to have a happy ending Our policies about marriage and family When really we’re just fellow travelers traversing this road With our quirky, macabre, and unique sense of meaning Which occasionally overlaps

I keep writing songs to make our relationship Seem much worse than it was As a way to justify getting dumped But now I’m struggling to believe this bullshit that I’m making up Better internalize it, or at least disguise it, And hide this vestigial love For I’ll resort to platitudes in cases when they are true And in this case the sad cliché remains That I’m still in love with you You cancelled our shared cards and comics discount card And gave me half, though I’d put in less It seemed like a gesture to make me feel better But it just made me feel even guiltier at best Especially the next time I picked up my Saga And Gabi asked for our card This tedious maintenance telling every acquaintance Is part of what makes breakups so hard So I noticed our fractured connection and tried to repair it Bought a case of cheap wine, brought it home where I figured I’d share it But tragedy struck putting the bottles on the shelf I bumped your cow knickknack which caused it to fall Broke off its leg, said I’d fix it with glue Hope you don’t think it’s a metaphor about me and you Though it’s hard to deny that in many ways it was pretty symbolic Which might explain why lately I’ve been melancholic

I never meant to repeat my tragic flaw of Overcorrection for fear of being shallow This time I thought I was being transparent But nevertheless my hesitance got the best of both of us Now here I am, having fucked up everything once again A twist of fate had us both appreciating The qualities in the same man Instead of choose, we all thought we could use a dose Of being utterly modern But then you felt for me a heightened sense of chemistry Which I simply couldn’t reciprocate You needed so much more than merely a metamour Now here I am, having fucked up everything once again I’ve realized deep inside me I have the Potential to become a homewrecker Thus my main fear was that it might appear that I Had some hidden agenda I will admit there were times I had hoped he and I Might end up married In retrospect, I would hate to deflect from the Beautiful love you both carried Now here I am, having fucked up everything once again

Emily Dickinson’s artistry was limited to her private life Like Van Gogh, only posthumously did their masterful creations thrive The tragedy of the artist always left doubting: “…if my verse is alive?” Vivian Maier remained undiscovered as her prerogative Two years before death, she couldn’t pay rent so they auctioned off her negatives Recognition clearly wasn’t her motive for creating so much beauty as she did I’m not really the type to pursue fame and glory But I don’t want to end up another tragic allegory Another artist struggling or resigning to an existence either weary or boring How do I find a way To survive without selling out? To just earn an honest living doing what I’m so impassioned about I’m always at the crossroads of deciding whether to give up on my dreams on my artistry, sign out And then lead a quiet life behind a desk comforting myself “you did your best” but it wasn’t enough It just wasn’t enough It wasn’t enough

S = Scott X = Ex-boyfriend S: You’re too pragmatic X: You’re too sentimental And you don’t even recognize your full potential S: That being said, would you be my safety net For my big leap of faith? S: You do jujitsu X: You do aikido S: I find it hard to keep up with your healthy libido X: That being said, I could be your safety net For your big leap of faith S: In the bedroom, You’re excessively hygienic X: Well your habits could bring about a full pandemic! S: That being said, would you be my safety net For my big leap of faith? X: You’re such a Pollyanna From Montana S: You seem to get annoyed when I play my piano It’s Wyoming, by the way, but would you be my safety net For my big leap of faith? S: Let’s be romantic X: Too much effort S: I don’t know why I even try these hopeless endeavors X: Chop chop! We are late! But I could be your safety net For your big leap of faith S: You’re misanthropic X: Well you’re neurotic S: Your social interactions can seem, frankly, robotic X: It’s social anxiety, asshole, but I could be your safety net For your big leap of faith S: You’re pessimistic A tad bit sadistic X: Well you don’t seem to comprehend a single statistic! S & X: That being said, I could [would you] be your [my] safety net For your [my] big leap of faith? X: Now I’ve had time to reflect I cannot be your safety net But I could help you build your own instead S: Now I’m struggling to decide To which passions I will abide But they’re all leaps of faith in their own way X: Plus it seems you want a sense of home While my tendency is to roam And take big leaps of faith of my own S: Sure sometimes I love adventure And those we’ve had I’ll always treasure But I also want stability X: Plus safety nets you have a few Even if I’m not your boo For there are many people who love you S: But over all I must endeavor To not rely on others’ favors To be a safety net for myself S & X: We’re at a point where this defines Whether our nets will entwine Or whether we have it in us to leap together S: Either way I will admit That I will grieve a little bit But one thing I know for sure Is that knowing you has made my life better

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.

I have this new hobby of sending out postcards old postcards from junkshops to faraway friends “Old Soddy From Yesteryear,” corny jokes, cans of beer, and of course places I’ve never been ‘Cause space distresses me Money distresses me And normally it wouldn’t, and I know well it shouldn’t, but it keeps me apart from the people I love I could blame it on George Bush, or our lame economy I could bitch and complain as I so often do But instead, I’ll just deal, and send out these postcards, and hope that, in time, this small world will come true Now here I am at the end of a new year, the end of a new dream, for all I’ve prepared I don’t know if it’s loveless, or if I’ll even survive it I know close to nothing, still I am not scared Well I’m happy wherever I am, with every new setting content And though happy I can be without my beloved Cast C I do dearly miss them, and I hope it comes soon - that time when I’ll see them again

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