the pole of despair and the other one
To orbit back and forth around two poles is the visual sign of infinity. That feels appropriate to someone who always wants to de-polarize. Dips swing me back up at uncomfortable speeds and efforts swings me back down to hip-swinging beats. Then I sleep and the cycle repeats. I still don’t know why I failed myself that one time, but right now we’re actively fine with being fine.
I might want to be a pole someday. A wage-making slave in some type of way, careering through the niches of swing-thwarting obedience which I will sarcastically obey. But now first I thwart my own runaway, taking the load, alone against promises and plans that were just okay. But they are looking greater, increasingly so, however slow.
Oh yes I will make another list and beat another addiction and keep beating my meat with sincere affection. This time it will be a little more keen. It will be known to those who can see me, and those who can’t can come here to read me. For my meat’s sake you’re already with me.
But not to diverge from the crutch of my wail, I can jam to my fail to no avail, swing the cheecks of my crotch into the night with its mouth closed. Stacking these fuck-ups and losses in a pile of cloth gets me soothed and underwhelmed with anything so common as the way beer turns into day and the texts fade from my fingers away.