to describe the world that brought us here. (p)


~
I was with Chuck Palahniuk 
through Haunted Rant Pygmy:
his first books'd been waiting after 
Orwell and punk rock like champagne 
sex after a wedding. it's not just 
the underwhelming after the life-
changing impressive. it's 
the faith required for 
strange, unlikely causes. 

and laughs like those that 
Beautiful You and Adjustment Day provide 
can protect your fragile soul 
in times like the obedient hysteria 
characterizing events like the Obama Years 
and the incomparable fear & entitlement 
practically shot with needles and gamma rays 
in every photo of President Trump and 
the millions of equally worthless fuckheads 
with- and without cheesy slang spoiling 
libraries and various other public spaces 
so bad I can almost hear the trees 
and the grass crying. 

I lost whatever that thing/feeling 
is 
when my generation's Kurt Vonnegut 
was patronizing King Imbecile Joe Rogan 
and his audience of snail-eaters 
with some shit about cognitive-
recontextualization about his 
deceased father and Wynona Ryder. 

like we don't have enough apophenia 
and denial already pressed on top 
of two-dimensional neighbors and 
the natural limits of brains. 
here was one of my childhood heroes 
saying shit a common dope fiend'd 
be too timid to say aloud 
if they had the nerve to try 
in the first place. 

I'm counting backwards to 
the moment of my death 
collecting metal like stones 
like Denny (or James Hampton) 
anyway...but there's a kind 
of betrayal not even a crazy asshole 
like me should fuck with 
whether they read books or 
pick up rocks if there's any 
beauty or juice or bone or nerve 
to describe the world that 
brought us here. 



**** 

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