Bootlicker (a poem)

Do not mock me!

Do not! Do not!

For I am a man,

And this my woman

And we be not beasts, damn straight!

We’re just monsters, deplorable sexists

enabling fear monger flag waving.

But stop being so mean to us!

We have feelings to.

But we ain’t afraid of no snowflakes,

that’s why I armed myself to the teeth!

But blue lives matter and your blocking traffic!

Some of us have jobs to get to!

How dare you call me racist!?

I still watch CNN!

Bootlicking, it’s just my thing.

Bootlicking, I’ll make the man’s shoes shine.

Bootlicking, it’s just what I’m born to do.

Be it through kink.com videos

that I never pay for

and shame anyone who does.

I earn the bread,

then give it all to have the latex woman

break my balls.

But I’ll never admit to it.

My 2 twitter followers would never

let me live that down.

I’m a good little bootlicker,

Capital is my dominatrix master.

Thank you master,

I’m such a good little bootlicker.

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Self Care (a poem)

Self Care

Self care,

Not selfish.

It is not self care to not care.

Self care,

Not escapism.

It is not self care to ignore it.

Self care,

Another radical term,

Coopted by soccer-moms

and aging Deadheads.

Self care,

Not an excuse.

It is not self care,

It is in no way care,

To let anyone suffer.Your

IPAs were invented because of racism, and 5 other facts to Ruin IPA day

Microbrews are all the rage, and it seems that every major super market and corner liquor store is stocked up on them, especially IPAs, a beer that is so thick with hops you can practically chew it as you drink one. In the sprit of their popularity, and the fact that it’s IPA day, here are some facts about IPAs and hops that you never wanted to know.

1. They were invented because of colonization – “It was the answer to the problem of providing beer for the British Empire in the east. It was too hot to brew in India, so what was needed was a beer that could survive the gruelling six-month journey from Britain intact. In the 1780s, a London brewer called Hodgson answered the call by sending out a strong, heavily hopped beer called October ale that would normally be aged like wine before drinking. The beer not only survived the journey, but was found to have improved immeasurably. This was the prototype IPA; the beer gradually became paler and more refreshing to suit the Indian climate.” https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2015/jan/30/brief-history-of-ipa-india-pale-ale-empire-drinks

2. Hops are a cousin to cannabis – “The hop plant, Humulus lupulus, is a member of the Cannabaceae family under the Humulus genus. If hemp is cannabis’ sister, the hop plant would be its cousin” https://www.marijuana.com/news/2017/06/5-plants-you-probably-didnt-realize-were-related-to-cannabis/

3. Hops were a sleep aid in Ancient Rome – “To help problems, valerian is frequently paired with hops. Hops is the plant that is best known as an ingredient in beer. Like valerian, hops also been used for hundreds of years as an herbal medicine to treat sleep problems as well as anxiety, irritability, excitability, and restlessness” https://www.thesleepdoctor.com/2017/06/19/understanding-valerian-hops-how-valerian-and-hops-can-help-you-de-stress-relax-and-sleep-better/

4. Just because its really hoppy doesnt mean its an IPA – check the standards put out by the Beer Judge Certification Program https://www.bjcp.org/styles04/

5. There are aproximatly 500 brands of IPA sold in the US alone – https://tastessence.com/beer-brands-list

6. They are cheaper to brew yourself. – http://www.howtobrew.com

Millennial Paradise

Well here we are again. Another day in millennial paradise thriving under capitalist isolation and mental illness.

I now need writing work more than ever. Thanks to my recent car wreck I need new glasses, a new laptop, and yes a new car, all of which costs a lot money. You remember that stuff right, money? Those pieces of paper that most of us don’t fucking have. Yeah, I need a lot of that right now.

My mind is one that rarely shuts off, though I have been getting better at it. Consistent exercise, meditation, and the occasional t.v. show binge has helped temper the fire of my thoughts. However I do not need further numbness to reality, I already drink like a fish and smoke pot like a chimney. No, what I need is to get myself into order.

But how? I was doing just that before my ankle was shattered and my car destroyed along with it my independence and livelihood. I had my first job in a year and half, I was saving up and getting organized. Then it was all taken from me in a matter of seconds. How is one supposed to get ahead in a world where life is only comfortable if you have a fat stack of those pieces of paper I was talking about before. Money I think I called it right?

So as I said, here we are again. Adrift in a sea of “How the fuck do I get to a job without a car?” And “How do I pay for a car without a job?” While a storm of “Oh and I need a new computer and glasses” rains over that sea.

Another day in millennial paradise.

Three Napkins I Scribbled My Soul On

Recently as I was filing my chaotic pile of notes that clog my writing desk I came across three napkins with sporadic red sharpie on it. I remembered that last summer I was at a huge party to see a friend’s band. In a fit of something I have yet been able to describe with words I wrote down this stream of consciousness on the materials available to me, which as I said were a sharpie and napkins. I read the gibberish on them and decided that they offer a good look into what is going on in my head, constantly, all the time, every day. Even at a super fun raging party filled with stuff I like.

What is the point of all this,

What am I doing here?

What is the point of these kinds of gatherings,

Is there even one?

Perhaps that’s the point.

The goal.

The goal is to have no goal, no aim.

Just release.

Freedom.

Sigh,

Why am I so deep in my own head?

Why can’t it just shut off

And just be tonight?

Probably the weed?

Who care, it

Doesn’t matter.

I am enjoying this.

I am enjoying streaming the

River that is my thought

My consciousness

Onto these sheets of scrap.

Who cares, do what you love,

Fuck the rest.

“Freedom.”

Now there is a word that is bastardized by the right.

That is what reactionaries do.

They just take words.

Words,

Words that matter, words that are important,

Words WE need.

and they bastardize them.

This is what went on in my head at a fun party, full of drinks and weed and good friends, yet this is what was rushing through my mind. Maybe it was just the effects of being so goddamn crossfaded that night, but I don’t think it was, because even without liquor or weed in my system this is what is constantly ringing in my intuition’s ear. This is what my mind is doing all day, every day, without stopping.