The Architecture of Human Misfortune & The Path to Living Wholeness: A Philosophical Octave

I. Pythagoras (c. 570 – c. 495 BC)

The Diagnosis

Men draw upon themselves their own misfortunes voluntarily, and of their own free choice. Unhappy that they are! They neither see nor understand that their good is near them. Few know how to deliver themselves out of their misfortunes. Such is the fate that blinds mankind, and takes away his senses. Like huge cylinders they roll to and fro, and always oppressed with ills innumerable. For fatal strife, innate, pursues them everywhere, tossing them up and down.

II. Seneca (c. 4 BC – 65 AD)

The Trap

If you live according to nature, you will never be poor; if you live according to opinion, you will never be rich. Natural desires are limited; those born of false opinion have nowhere to stop, because the false has no limits. When you travel a road, there’s an end; but wandering off it, you wander without end. So pull your steps back from pointless things. And when you want to know whether what you’re after springs from a natural desire or a misleading one, ask whether it can come to rest at any fixed point. If you find that, however far you’ve gone, the goal keeps receding into the distance, you can be sure the thing is contrary to nature.

III. Daniel Quinn (1935 – 2018 AD)

The System

There's nothing fundamentally wrong with people. Given a story to enact that puts them in accord with the world, they will live in accord with the world. But given a story to enact that puts them at odds with the world, as yours does, they will live at odds with the world. Given a story to enact in which they are the lords of the world, they will ACT like lords of the world. And, given a story to enact in which the world is a foe to be conquered, they will conquer it like a foe, and one day, inevitably, their foe will lie bleeding to death at their feet, as the world is now.

IV. Lao Tzu (c. 6th century BC)

The Cosmic Warning

Do you want to improve the world? I don't think it can be done. The world is sacred. It cannot be improved. If you tamper with it, you will ruin it. If you treat it like an object, you will lose it. There is a time for being ahead, a time for being behind; a time for being in motion, a time for being at rest; a time for being vigorous, a time for being exhausted. Therefore the sage avoids excess, extravagance, and arrogance.

V. Alan Watts (1915 – 1973 AD)

The Psychological Illusion

We living in the twentieth century are making a strange experiment: we are trying to see if we can live completely separated from nature, and treat the world purely as an object to be exploited. But the trouble is, when you treat the world as an object, you eventually treat yourself as an object. You become a cog in your own machine. We are suffering from a hallucination, a radical misconception of who we are. The hallucination is that you are a separate ego enclosed in a bag of skin, facing a world that is alien and outside of you. But you are not a stranger here. You didn't come into this world; you came out of it, the way a wave comes out of the ocean. You are not a flash-in-the-pan creature who is here today and gone tomorrow; you are the universe experiencing itself.

VI. David Bohm (1917 – 1992 AD)

The Scientific Proof

The notion that all these fragments are separately existent is an illusion, and this illusion cannot do other than lead to endless conflict and confusion. Indeed, the attempt to live according to the notion that the fragments are really separate is what has led to the very widespread general crisis of the course of civilization. Man has always been seeking wholeness—mental, physical, social, and individual. Yet he is clearly corrupting the very ground from which he grew, in the name of a fragmented ideology.

VII. Jiddu Krishnamurti (1895 – 1986 AD)

The Experiential Awakening

You can feed a hungry man with actual food, but you cannot feed a spiritually starved humanity with concepts. The description is not the described; the word is not the thing. We have filled our minds with ideas, with philosophies, with the opinions of others, and we think we understand. But understanding comes only when the mind is completely still, when there is no observer separate from the observed. The division between the 'me' and the 'world' is the root of all sorrow. When you see this—not as an intellectual theory, but as an absolute, immediate reality—the conflict of centuries comes to an end. You do not try to change the world; you are the world.

VIII. Albert Schweitzer (1875 – 1965 AD)

The Active Return

True philosophy must start from the most immediate and comprehensive fact of consciousness, which is: 'I am life that wills to live, in the midst of life that wills to live.' This is not an intellectual theory, but an undeniable reality. When a man experiences this mystical union, he can no longer live for himself alone. He enters into a spiritual relation with the world. He becomes completely ethical. A man is truly ethical only when he obeys the compulsion to help all life which he is able to assist, and shrinks from injuring anything that lives. He does not ask how far this or that life deserves sympathy, nor whether it is capable of feeling. To him, life itself is sacred. He knows that humanity must rise to this reverence, or perish in its own cleverness.

IX. My Own Credo

To pursue deep sustainable joy in a living world.

To treat the world as a community of someones, not a warehouse of somethings.

To know the best pleasures are the ones that make everything more alive.

i thought love was a ledger
with columns that matched
thought i could deposit just
enough kindness to cover a
future withdrawal thought if
i poured oceans into cupped
hands the palms might learn
a shape of holding & maybe
even become a bowl t’catch
a bit of rain for me someday
my love became a language
nobody bothered to learn &
my generosity a well visited
only when their own throat
was dust i am a bridge i am
a bridge i am a bridge which
everyone crossed & no one
thought to check the ropes
for weather now i carry cold
truth as a stone in m’mouth
you will give your heart as a
compass for others but still
spend years lost within your
own wilderness devastating
geography is to find out the
map of your love’s drawn in
vanishing ink & still still you
must climb with what’s left

let’s get one thing straight

we’re not here to talk about them. we’re here to talk about the monster under the bed that no one wants to name. it’s the same monster that follows us to the job and waits for us at home. it has two heads: one that tells us our work is never worth enough, and another that tells us our caring is never work at all. it’s the boss and the patriarch, and they’re best friends.

first, we have to see it’s the same beast.

when our paycheck shrinks and the rent explodes, that’s one head biting. when we’re expected to do a second shift for free at home, that’s the other head biting. they feed the same body. the system that squeezes our labor at the warehouse is the same one that devalues the labor of raising a family, of holding a community together. our struggles aren’t separate. they’re engineered to feel separate, so we never compare notes.

second, our only way out is together, and we mean all of us.

they love to divide us. they tell the white worker the brown worker is the problem. they tell the man the woman is a distraction. they tell the citizen the immigrant is stealing the dream. they pit us against each other so we’re too busy fighting over crumbs to notice who owns the whole bakery. our power is in realizing we’re all on the same shift, in the same broken system. our solidarity has to be bigger than their boxes. it has to include every single one of us they’ve tried to push to the margins.

third, our secret weapon is collective refusal.

they need us. they need our hands to build, our minds to solve, our hearts to care for everyone they’ve broken. so what happens if we stop? not just one of us, but all of us: the line worker, the cashier, the teacher, the caregiver? we organize not just in the workplace, but in our neighborhoods, our schools. we build networks of care that function like a strike against the isolation they sell us. we fight for each other’s freedom like it’s our own, because it is.

fourth, we unlearn the hierarchy they planted in us.

it’s in our heads and in our homes. the idea that some of us should lead and some should follow, that some work is "real" and some is "just help." we have to pull that weed out by the root. we practice sharing power, making decisions together, and valuing every role that keeps life going. we build relationships that aren’t about control, but about mutual respect.

fifth, the crumbling world is our shared blueprint.

the debt, the burnt forests, the clinics closing: these aren’t personal failures. they’re the system eating itself. and that’s our opening. we get to demand a world that values life over profit. we get to fight for a green new deal that’s also a care new deal, for housing as a right, for healthcare that doesn’t bankrupt us. our shared crisis is our shared platform.

sixth, they will tell us we’re crazy. we will care for each other anyway.

they’ll call us dreamers. troublemakers. they’ll try to make us tired and scared and alone. so we have to be each other’s shelter. we pass the water, we tend the bruises, we celebrate every tiny win. we’re in this for the long haul, and we only make it if we make it together.

so here it is, the most important thing:

we don’t get free by fighting for a bigger piece of their poisoned pie. we get free by baking a whole new pie, together, in a kitchen we all own. we can’t just overthrow the boss and keep the petty tyrant in our hearts. we can’t smash patriarchy and leave capitalism standing.

the goal is a world where no one has to be the boss of anyone else. where our worth isn’t a price tag. where the work of sustaining life is the most honored work there is.

it starts when we look at each other and say: i see your struggle, and it’s mine. your fight is my fight. your freedom is my freedom. let’s make a plan.

quiet resistance: a guide

for the overlooked, the undervalued, & those working within the system: your position isn’t a weakness, it’s a strategic vantage point. here’s how to create friction without breaking a thing.

your power comes from access. you see the daily operations, the paperwork, the inefficiencies. use this knowledge. small, collective actions by low-level workers can slow a system faster than one grand gesture.

safety 1st: never endanger yourself or others. always have plausible deniability: “mistakes happen” “i misunderstood” “the system is so slow” 

protect your peace & your paycheck.

the goal is FRICTION, not destruction. slow down unjust processes. increase the cost of oppression in time, money, & frustration. create bureaucratic shields for the vulnerable. lower the morale of abusers.

this is about the “human element.” inefficiency, confusion, delays, & “stupid” questions are your tools. you are not being difficult; you are being deliberate. you are making the machine grind its gears.

for the office workers, assistants, & coordinators: you govern the flow of information. here’s how to introduce strategic friction:

“the lost file” • misfile important documents for problematic projects or managers. use obscure digital folders or the wrong physical drawer. “it must have been misfiled during the audit.”

“the approval maze” • for any dubious request, insist on written approvals from multiple departments. “i’d love to help! i just need sign-off from legal, hr, & finance first to protect everyone”

“the typo cascade” • introduce minor, hard-to-catch errors in critical reports or schedules. a transposed number, a misspelled name, this triggers rework & delays. “oh no, a typo slipped through!”

“schedule sanctuary” • when booking for difficult leaders, double-book their calendars. schedule meetings in inconvenient locations. blame “calendar sync issues”

“supply chain glitch” • forget to order crucial supplies for oppressive departments. order the wrong, non-returnable items. “the vendor must have sent the wrong sku.”

the overly helpful inefficiency. leverage expectations of accommodation & “niceness” to create strategic slowdowns. for those who are told to “be more helpful.”

“can you explain that again?” • play into stereotypes. ask for repeated, lengthy explanations of simple tasks from condescending superiors. waste their time under the guise of “wanting to get it right.”

“the concerned compliance officer.” • voice exaggerated worry about minor policy breaches. “i’m just concerned we could be liable if we don’t follow the full 14-step protocol for this…”

“the maternal/parental delay” • use caregiving as unassailable, society-approved cover. “apologies for the delay, i had a family care emergency.” this is often met with sympathy, not suspicion.

“the helpful over-communicator” • flood channels with lengthy, unnecessary updates & clarifications. bury important requests in walls of text. efficiency drowns in thoroughness.

your “helpfulness” becomes a tool. you’re not refusing. you’re bogging things down in procedure, concern, & meticulousness. it’s a form of bureaucratic jiu-jitsu.

protective bureaucracy: how to shield your colleagues. use your procedural knowledge to create shields for those targeted. be a guardian of the paperwork. 

slow-walk harmful actions • if processing a punitive write-up or layoff, “get confused” by the forms. require additional, hard-to-get signatures. send it to the wrong department for “verification.”

create unofficial alerts • develop a subtle, deniable signal system. a specific emoji in a group chat. a particular mug on a desk. a code phrase: “is the printer working?” to warn of a looming audit or angry manager.

misunderstand to protect • if asked to gather info that could be used against a colleague, “misunderstand.” provide aggregated, outdated, or irrelevant data. “i thought you meant last quarter’s metrics?”

become a firewall • route abusive communications through yourself. “i’ll pass that along!” & then… don’t. or rephrase it neutrally. you control the message.

your role as a processor can be a protector. you can insert time, confusion, & kindness between malice & its target.

customer-facing resistance for retail, service, & frontline workers. you’re the face of the system. you can also be its gentle saboteur.

“the misdirect” • for abusive customers/clients, give politely wrong info. “they’re in building c today!” (they’re not) send them on a wild goose chase. always be apologetic.

“system’s down” • casually mention the system is “incredibly slow today.” click with painful, deliberate slowness. sigh at the screen. “technology, right?”

“rulebook rigidity” • enforce every petty policy to the letter with troublesome people. for the kind & vulnerable, be flexibly helpful. you are the judge of who gets the “rules.”

“the vocal sympathizer” • loudly express sympathy for a customer wronged by a bad policy. “i know, it’s such a ridiculous rule, i’m so sorry.” publicly highlight absurdity under the guise of customer assistance.

“selective incompetence” • forget how to process certain troublesome transactions. need to get a manager who is mysteriously unavailable. “i’m so new/trained on a different system.”

digital & communication sabotage for the plugged-in resistor. your keyboard is your tool.

email tactics • the ‘oops’ bcc: “accidentally” bcc a reasonable higher-up on an email chain showing unreasonable demands. the slow roll: take hours (or a day) to reply to non-urgent emails from problem people (“inbox was swamped!”).

selective ‘poor connection’ • on video calls, let your connection “go buggy” only when you or an ally are speaking. “you’re breaking up, could you repeat that?” build frustration.

“reply-all apocalypse” • on a broad, non-essential email from leadership, hit “reply all” with a mundane question. watch the inbox flood with unnecessary replies & bury real work.

digital organization chaos • create labyrinthine shared drives. use useless folder names: “archive_final_v2_old” & remove helpful tags. chaos is a great demoralizer.

“the password hassle” • forget passwords for low-priority systems, triggering time-consuming i.t. resets. “i must have written it down wrong.”

collective & psychological actions: resistance is stronger together. here’s how to build covert solidarity & lower the morale of oppressors.

lowering morale • the silent freeze: when a toxic person speaks in a group, offer no nods, no “mmhms.” let their words hang in dead air. the unsettling compliment: “that was a very… confident… presentation.”

spread the “inefficiency virus” • casually normalize slowness. “yeah, everything takes forever since the new policy.” make it seem environmental, not personal. a collective mood.

build covert solidarity • create off-platform in-person “gripe groups” (never discuss illegal acts). use them to share intel: “he’s in a mood today,” “new policy release next week,” etc.

document everything! • privately & securely, log unfair policies, abusive incidents, ethical breaches. this archive is potential future leverage & a truth-telling tool.

redirect credit • if a manager steals a subordinate’s idea, subtly interject. “yes, building on [colleague’s] excellent point from our team huddle…” name the good names.

know your local labor laws • organize legally through unions where possible. use official reporting channels IF safe. prioritize your mental & physical well-being.

the most powerful, enduring resistance is organized, collective, public (when safe), & grounded in legal+ethical solidarity.

your humanity is not a tool. protect it & care for your community.

we can fight for a better world without losing ourselves in the process.

the salted earth

perhaps all the tangled grief in my heart, and the fury buzzing aimless and frantic in my chest, throat, and limbs, comes down to this:

i am in mourning for the corruption of a moral language we once shared.

it is the loss of a homeland i can never return to, nor leave fully behind. words of universal principle have been sharpened into blades of tribal identity.

righteousness once meant inner integrity. now it means political loyalty.

truth was a difficult, humbling pursuit. now it is adherence to a partisan narrative.

love was a willful kindness extended even to enemies. now it is affection for those within the tribe, contingent on ideological conformity.

expansive concepts have shrunken into us vs. them checkboxes.

agency, once a sacred gift, is now invoked only to condemn.

faithful describes someone sharing dehumanizing memes.

courage describes acts of public cruelty.

peace is invoked to demand silence from the oppressed.

this language now sanctifies actions that would have been its very antithesis.

it feels like a violation, the misuse of sacred relics. like watching someone take the family china, passed down for generations, and use it to smash windows. the object is destroyed through its misuse, and with it, all the memory and meaning it held.

this mourning is valid because we are not just losing an argument. we are losing a world of shared meaning.

the corruption creates a devastating dissonance. the alphabet i learned to read love with is now used to write hate mail. the tool for connection has become the instrument of division. the past feels poisoned.

language is an ecosystem. a living network of meaning that connects minds, like mycelium connects trees.

this corruption is an act of ecological vandalism.

it pollutes the semantic watershed.

it clear cuts the narrative canopy, leaving only the harsh sun of dogma.

it severs the mycelial threads of shared understanding.

this is not a grief to get over. it is a grief to carry and transform. our task is not to rebuild the old, corrupted forest, but to tend the salted earth so new growth is possible.

i try to use the corrupted words sparingly, to reach for purer synonyms. to model semantic integrity. to show it is possible to speak of virtue without using a tribe’s polluted slang.

when i hear a corrupted term, i acknowledge the ghost of its original meaning. i let myself feel the pang. that pang is a moral compass still pointing true north, proof the corruption is not complete within me.

perhaps the most revolutionary act is remembrance. to recall what the words were meant to point toward, not power, not tribe, but the bedrock realities of compassion, justice, and our inextricable bond with all that lives.

i am keeping a vigil at the tomb of a beautiful, broken language. i know that from decay comes new life. this mourning is the quiet, fertile darkness from which a new, more resilient way of speaking, and being, might slowly, patiently, grow.

an inherited ruin

every generation inherits a world shaped by the ones before. that is not a judgment. it is just how the structure works. and when younger people try to name the conditions they have been handed, the pushback from a lot of boomers is not random. it is patterned, psychological, and it matters.

that resistance often gets written off as defensiveness or ignorance. but it is something more fragile and more dangerous: a refusal to face being vulnerable.

for much of the twentieth century, boomers grew up in a world of expanding possibility. there was affordable housing, attainable education, strong unions, pensions, a public investment in the middle class. these were not rewards for being good. they were the results of specific policies, movements, and a certain moment in history. boomers did not build that system, but they were its main beneficiaries.

then things broke.

as boomers took over positions of power, many helped, actively or by looking away, to dismantle the very structures that gave them their start. taxes were slashed. labor was weakened. housing became an investment vehicle. education turned into debt. the social safety net got rebranded as a personal failing. the ladder was not just climbed. it was pulled up behind them.

now, when millennials and gen z name what is left, precarity and debt and stagnation and collapse, they are not whining. they are describing reality. but for a lot of boomers, admitting that reality means facing an unbearable psychological split.

to say the system no longer works is to admit that the future they were promised, a secure retirement and care in old age and institutional support, is not guaranteed either. it means facing aging and irrelevance in a culture that taught them their worth came from productivity and authority. that is terrifying.

so the mind defends itself.

instead of confronting systemic failure, blame gets shifted downward. younger people are called lazy, entitled, fragile. structural problems are recast as personal failures. it preserves the self story: i worked hard, i followed the rules, i earned this. it avoids the grief of realizing the rules were rewritten halfway through the game.

that is why "not all boomers" misses the point. this is not about individual character. it is about patterns, voting blocs, cultural norms, who holds power and for how long. yes, individuals cast votes, but those votes add up to trends. individuals hold jobs, but collectively refusing to let go reshapes whole industries. exceptions do not erase outcomes.

you see it in the workplace too. many boomers hang on past retirement not always for the money, but because work is their last source of identity and control. stepping aside means facing the void left when the title goes. so positions are held onto. advancement stalls. younger workers do the labor of transition, carrying knowledge and adapting tech and managing change, without the pay or authority or recognition to match.

what looks like dedication is often fear. what looks like loyalty is often avoidance.

the cost is huge. leadership fossilizes. innovation slows. knowledge does not get passed down. institutions grow brittle. when change finally comes, it is sudden and catastrophic, not gradual and generative. whole generations are stuck in mid level limbo while crises pile up: climate, housing, health care, democracy itself.

the harm is not just material. it is emotional.

younger people grew up in instability and collapse, and were then told to be grateful. their reality gets downplayed. their despair gets moralized. their refusal to repeat the cycle, opting out of toxic work or delaying kids or redefining success, gets called selfish instead of sane.

that is the deepest threat.

when younger generations choose differently, they reveal a truth many boomers cannot face: it was always a choice. the suffering that got normalized and passed down was not inevitable. it was enforced. and seeing that choice now being refused does not provoke concern. it provokes resentment. because it shows what was lost.

that is why calls for "compassion" often get used to shut down criticism. focus on individuals. stop being divisive. heal your own wounds. these are not neutral appeals. they are avoidance strategies, ways to dissolve accountability into abstraction and protect the status quo.

naming harm is not cruelty. it is the first step toward repair.

this moment is not asking boomers for shame. it is asking for honesty. for humility. for the courage to say the world that worked for me is gone, and i had a hand, direct or indirect, in its unraveling. without that admission, there is no trust between generations. no solidarity. no shared future.

the tragedy is that denial does not preserve dignity. it corrodes it.

so the choice stays. cling to a story of individual merit until it turns brittle and breaks, or finally join in the work of generational repair. one path holds power until it shatters. the other lets go so something can continue.

history will remember which was chosen.

and younger generations are done pretending the damage is not real.

variations on vigilance

2 wolves inside me but
both the one at the door

a life 

organized around

perimeter defense

some of us

don’t get

an

inside

the hyper-attuned 

caretaker

reading microshifts in others

managing tone

preempting needs

smoothing danger before

it erupts

the “good” one

the socially rewarded one

the one people call

kind

capable

strong

the one that snarls inward

that mistrusts rest

tightens when things go quiet

that knows catastrophe

follows softness

the one that learned

being unguarded

gets you

hurt

humiliated

erased

this is not a romanticized

inner conflict this is

chronic siege

goodness did not protect you

obedience did not protect you

endurance did not protect you

silence did not protect you

a system adapted

by refusing to choose

neither wolf can be trusted to win

both must stay awake

there is only ever room

for one role in your life

every part of you

drafted into it

no artist

no child

no resting body

just variations on vigilance

need & alone

are the same

feeling to me

just in case

you wondered

where

all the rage is from

sorry if that

was “shitty &

try too hard”

i am tired of

going

without

in every semblance

of the phrase

what if my greatest fear

is unregulated aliveness

late to myself because

i was early for 

everyone else

what is it like

to be held

while you’re

hurting

how do you

carry yourself up

a mountain

what will it

cost me

Ready isn’t a feeling; it’s a decision.

I spend so much of my life waiting. Waiting for certainty, for permission, for the perfect alignment that might never arrive. Yet life refuses to pause. The world does not wait for me to feel prepared. Readiness, I am still learning, is not a state of mind. It is a choice. The choice to step.

Correctness is equally fluid. Everywhere I look, systems of control: patriarchy, dogma, inherited hierarchies, etc., teach that there is a single right path, one line to follow, one truth to obey. But reality does not move in straight lines. What is necessary, what is right, shifts with the moment, the terrain, the choices of others, and my own. By waiting for certainty, I am blind to the webs forming beneath my feet. By moving, I begin to feel them, shaping the world with each step.

The Wild Wanderer moves through my imagination, and perhaps through my own shadow. She walks the desert as though it were a living manuscript: each dune a line, each stone a word, each horizon a turning page. She carries no lantern, yet she is never without light. The web itself is her lamp. The tremor of the wind, the echo of her footsteps, the shimmer of rain across stone. Each vibration illuminates where she stands, and where the path might unfold.

She knows that a web holds only through tension. A thread with no pull is useless. A web without strain collapses. Fear and courage, effort and surrender. These opposing forces are not enemies but the architecture of the web. Every step leans into the pull. Every pause listens to the hum beneath her feet. Movement itself is creation. 

And she knows this too: the web is not merely around her. She is its knot, its crossing-place. Each choice spins a new web into being. Every decision, every act, every moment of attentive presence speaks a parallel world into existence. Threads branch outward through flesh, through breath, through bone, into kin, into memory, into futures yet unnamed. To pluck one is to feel the resonance of all.

I watch her, in thought, as I stumble across strands I cannot yet feel. I mistake trembling for danger. I fear the unknown. But she leans closer, listening. Every vibration is a message. Every quiver a path. Every echo an invitation. She does not follow a map; she makes one.

At dusk, when coyotes sing and shadows stretch long as grief, I imagine her kneeling by a dry riverbed. She presses her palm to cracked clay, feeling the threads hum beneath even emptiness. And she whispers, not to the world but to herself, and to me, if I am paying attention: Nothing is wasted. Nothing is lost.

This is the lesson of the web: power emerges not from certainty, but from stepping. Possibility blooms not from hesitation, but from engagement. Each act, each choice, each move signals the world, shaping it, calling new forms into being. Readiness is not the absence of fear, but the willingness to let fear become electricity, to feel the quiver as an invitation rather than a barrier.

When I walk like the Wild Wanderer, I discover that the web is not a prison, nor a single thread to follow. It is a living, pulsing tapestry, and I am co-creator. Every step matters. Every thread matters. Even the smallest movement sends ripples outward, stirring unseen harmonies into life.

And if I meet her, or recognize her in myself, she does not instruct. She does not command. She takes my hand, as though it always belonged there, and whispers:

“Step with me. The web will hold.”

The web is alive. Readiness is a decision. Correctness is emergent. Life, in all its trembling, tension, and possibility,
waits for no one but it invites me.

tonight’s particulars tie
my short breath moment
to a blood root recall to
perhaps an evening such
as this 1888 in wyoming
where kids dunno snow
can fall straight ‘steada
sideways my great great
grandpa’s horse returned
riderless in the icy indigo
hours of a tuesday dawn
from a desperate decision
for meat which drove him
up a squalling mountain i
conjure the deep chasm a
twice great grandmother’s
stomach screamed down
watchful & waiting before
his head appeared at the
hillcrest late that following
friday how she’d’ve flung
her new babe on the bed
how she’d have flown out
t’find him again a tangible
thing & seen something
wrong before she reached
‘are y’shot’ cried & caught
by wind ‘no worse’n that’
words & worn man fell into
‘er arms like the avalanche
which had swept him down
an entire mountainside over
every stump & stone which
split ribs into splinters then
shivved ‘em deep in his lungs
‘til pneumonia festered for
days on a broken trek back
to his wife boys & baby how
ice & air must have harrowed
what horrors she uncovered
peeling gloves & boots that
had frozen fused to flesh
she trudged then too thru
a hopeless nightwatch his
fervent words fevered & so
feeble ‘i thought too much
of you & the children t’die
up there in the snow & you
never knowin’ where i was’
‘til her tears & his tongue
were too thick t’speak so
he clung for 3 days & let go

at the rare convergence of an idea & the desire to execute it

 

(work in progress shot)

 

haiku & shit

uncertainty &
its infinite unfolding
psychosomations

in this thermos cap

fulla burnt umber umbrage

& tears not for you

such superfluous effort at

identity & i can draw a man

shaped like a man can test

his oars eager upon my sea

but with no shores to pass

through a harbor’s hollowed

by how they’ll take & leave

with another ocean’s name

someone tell gen z

bring back lime skittles if they

trawlin’ the 90s

sea brine breaths shiver

down my throat taunt a

mountain-muted tongue 

too tucked in dry valleys

don’t leave ‘til friday 

but my mind has already

gone on vacation

why did i invite

my mom on this vacation

why did i invite

excavating clothes

from my closet depths like yeah

i need to pack this

paused packing for spot

o’ pre-trip anxiety

coping mech haiku

take a vacation

from your problems not take your

probs on vacation

either a v great

bonding experience or

murder suicide

find out next week re

will i post again or just

walk into the sea

october sunday 

magpie grips suet feeder

fat frantic flapping

tfw you don’t

die in your sleep so you have

to go back to work

so sorry but this

is gonna be a shitty

work posts account now

actualize my

arctic hermit dreams before

death in the cube farm

never been more in

on selling all of my shit

& disappearing

1:30 am

thursday morning finally

done with wednesday’s work

59 hour

work week 1 trade show booth start

to end in 5 days

i have been rendered

a desiccated husk of

a human being

that ol’ curl up

under your desk &

angry cry energy

6 am at work

& dressed like a lumberjack

so write this day off

what millennial 

ever escapes their inner

basic hipster bitch

i can assure you

this plaid flannel is fully

nonperformative

can you even live

up a mountain & not wear

flannel on the reg

to be fair tho this

beanie i have far fewer

good excuses for

 the album i have listened to the most this year

in more recent news (like in the last 72 hours) my weird shoulder has been acting & feeling new kinds of weird, so gonna try & go get it looked at this week. but hoo boy is it doing a number on my  p a r a n o i a

got this album on repeat now as something soft to fall back into & ostrich head the whole situation for the rest of the evening until i can get a hold of the orthopedist’s office during orthopedist office hours.

from passive
self sabotage
to passive-
aggressive
self sabotage

walking all these
edges looking
for a slip

i miss tight days with
sharper edges where
the screen door’s an
exclamation for each
gust which steals its
-self from your lungs

climb in this kia
lyft driver says eyyy & skips
the song to smack that

2 hours scrubbing
office refrigerator
i don’t even use

extremely over
workplace misogyny from
white male managers

motherfuckers it’s
not in my job description
why don’t you do it

is what i should’ve
said aloud instead of scream
it internally

7 brrrooooongs so far
from boss’s office speakers
extra extra loud

even better news
he changed his cell phone ringtone
to bagpipe music

i have been here for
all of 12 minutes & i’m
ready to go home

monthly report day
means staring at spreadsheets for
numbers that look “off”

tomorrow’s migraine
is already pressing in
at my brain’s edges

gotta take some time
& quietly acclimate
to reality

i’m just a beach bum
always lost up one kinda
mountain or ‘nother