thotcrime

wrekt

Why. Why are we never enough. Why try anymore. Why exist.

The little things

When you look through your life. Rifle through the drawers and reach deep into the cupboards behind you, you realize exactly how stupid you are. How small. How self absorbed and oblivious. You see all those tiny moments, those little things on the periphery of your life or your notice,

The blahs

Quarantine has been forever. People are stupid and won't wear masks for freedom (meaning fear). It seems illogical to fear a strip of cloth and invite a deadly disease. But no one seems to be able to separate opinion and desire from Fact anymore. I can see how

Everything is burning. Everything Burns.

I feel like I am living in some sort of Post-apocalyptic or end of world novel. The pandemic has now been raging for so many months. SO MANY. People are complete idiots about it, claiming it is a hoax and that it's no worse than a cold, while

Stationary

I am terrible at consistency on this. I am far behind in documenting life in this time. My life. Things since last time. Schools in several states have been cancelled for the entire year. People in multiple states protested the stay at home orders and blocked ambulances from getting to

Upsurge

My desire to document is at war with my desire to try to remain calm and logical. My heart hurts. This is going to get more painful to watch by the day. I can only imagine what families are going through. Losing their loved ones and not being able to

The surge begins

I keep saying I am going to write about this daily. It's so overwhelming, and I have health issues and it's hard not to think OMG i have it, every damn time. Anyway, I will eventually write more about this. I want to update stats daily.

The Lost

21 Days ago I decided to start writing about the virus. I was going to write as it traveled across the world to us, knowing that it would. Documenting the daily life and craziness that followed. What I found, though, is that I was too anxious to write. While I

coronavirus, quarantine, fear, scared

Dread

So I said in my last post that I was going to keep a daily diary. I have been saying since it first showed up that this disease was going to be a pandemic. Because I am fascinated by plagues and society, and I have read too many books. Both

Plague Journal

I read too many plague books. I read too much Epidemiology. I am fascinated. From the second I heard about Coronavirus I started narrating my life as if everything we do and write and say is just a small aspect of the coming plague. I don't know that

Ragged

the art of it is inherently dangerous a bloodletting to cast demons or let them in a haphazard swirling stirring the waters soul deep and wretched digging and pulling bone scraping on clay and there it lies there it lies waiting

Tell the wolf

Tell the wolf I’m ready, I have been ready my whole life, I come with offerings of splintered bone, broken souled and brittle ash, reckless, burdened, heartless, I come bearing sickness, and lies I come with forked tongue and the voice of the wretched, with suicide eyes, a murdurous

(Untitled)

I have no idea what to write when I journal. I feel like I should have something momentous, or deeply philosophical to say. Something profoundly meaningful or deep. But what I always end up with is that I have a hard time living. Maybe everyone does. Maybe everyone wakes up

Flame

In the end there is only this take away the books, the candles and incantations take away protection soak it in flame in darkness build a fire and let the world burn to ash

Boxes

I’ve decided to open all the little boxes, not to catalogue them not to count the wrongs and rights and doesn’t matters, that fall out But to hold them for one second, Roll them around in my hand, a cold marble memory, touched by every line and crevasse

Layers

we reveal in layers tiny onion slips of thought half remembered longings slither to the surface touching the light only to flinch away in horror it is frivolous and fanciful to think that anything can escape the depths and be transformed transfigured by love by light and passion the definition

Nothing

It is here that I think I should bare my heart my broken and embittered soul My nightmares and those things that broke me the wretchedness of being and the exultation of a moment It should be here that I exist blood soaked into thick paper pooling, painting, creating a

Waycross

Waycross rain falls heartily, heavily, torrentially sweeping across swampland, filling the edges of the roads brimming full, green, mossy You take care now, take a long look at each log searching for the hidden eyes, little triangle teeth hidden on edges, and the snakes slide on, I stare out at

Mama loves you

Lives are lost in the meeting of the eyes difference between animate inanimate and connected we are connected, she and I She was human to me now real, unfortunate She knew he was going to kill her, once he was done with me, When she pulled out a picture said

Graceful

an inspiration when i want to be myself, and can see no way around myself to get there, a rope to hang on to, with words and laughter when i think there is nothing to hold onto and no sound in the world that can save me a whimsical light

survive

the only way out it’s true, is through it is gripping the shadow self in dark greasy handfuls, finding any bits of light and poetry, finding redemption in loss forgiveness in disgust pouring it through a sieve of memory sifting out the angry pain pouring the viscous tawdry terror

Hope that elusive friend..

There is so much violence in the world right now it seems. So much anger and hatred and intolerance. So much willful ignorance and sociopathic behavior. I stayed in New Orleans for a time. Mostly in the Harvey, LA area, about 15 minutes drive from the French Quarter.When people

unraveling..and raveling again

I have to admit that it's this time of year that I always feel a little suicidal. No, you don't need to call someone for me and I am not actually going to commit the act, it's just that this time of year that

Poetry

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