is it irony to be denied all the things you really want

is it irony to be denied all the things you really want, or are you wanting all the wrong things?

words aren’t going to reach this pain.


i can’t say as that i’m especially proud of this past year. yeah, it’s that time again–heavy life review, what i did wrong this year, what i did right.

i did little right.

i got by.

i almost got out of debt, then plunged deeply into it again with a mess of car repairs.

i dated no one. no sex, no love, no joy.

2009 was a cold, crisp year, punctuated by a summer of dry, empty fire.

i said i was going to become some type of healer, maybe an emt. i failed.

i met no one who i could call my friend, beyond the usual, artificial facebook friend.

b came and went, once she got to know me.

i believe b2 said her last goodbye to me sometime early this year.

all the mce crew and uw people drifted farther out of reach from me.

there was this lady a, but it was always kind of clear that she was just available when she needed me to do a favor for her on the uw website.

i’m seeing a shrink in three days. last ditch effort.

soon a church.

but what of 2009 that was worth mention?

finished novel on 10 yr life in austin
aced both a&p and medical terminology

roommate finally moved out
boss was laid off and uw fucked itself and me in more ways than i can count.
news of mce people getting what was coming to them, and mce fucking itself, too.

maybe 09 was just a more crystal realization of the hole i’ve always been in.


you’re either at the maximum peak or final trough when you find yourself here.
you’ll be rummaging through books on design, architecture, poetry and science.
you’ll want to stop at whole foods or central market for booze and appetizers.
you’ll be living in a state of carnal violence or a world of hermetic silence.
you are cresting on the high of having a girlfriend that validates your weird.
you are muddling through the bracken ooze of only knowing four-legged friends.
you will be carrying the books home to bury them in overdue fees. the computer
is the mistress you’re most faithful to, even as she blunts your unused senses
in more a/v crack that makes you sleep after several swallows of wine or beer.
you’re either at the maximum peak or final trough when you find yourself here.
you will see yourself the next day, singing in a church, with other penitents.
(you’ll actually still be in bed with hangover head, admiring tv churchgoers.)
you will however, pray to wake for another day to play the game of recompense.
your prayers are answered by that Master who will let you live out your fears;
to help you craft a plan for becoming a man who’ll get to see how it all ends.
the only question is whether you’ll be lying in a pool of blood, or a shooter,
giving his best for the glory of God and country in a mess of shallow defenses
while working a bottle or a book, scanning a mirror, wishing you weren’t here.

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