Cicadas
Jesus fucking fuck there's a lot of cicadas in the park today.
On my way to fucking Stumptown,
For a motherfucking cold brew,
And fuck me, its a fucking swarm.
A plague of fucking locusts
All up in this motherfucker over here.
I haven't seen a single one the whole fucking summer,
But I sure as fuck can hear those motherfuckers.
No fucking lie.
Now, I seem to recall
That the motherfucking 17 year cicadas
Were due last year
But they never fucking came
I remember thing that was kind of ominous
Like what the fuck happened to the motherfucking cicadas
Like maybe it had to do with fucking climate change
Or some fucking bullshit or something.
I don't fucking know.
As usual, I don't fucking know.
But, so now I'm thinking maybe they took a year off
For some fucking reason.
But they are back
With a motherfucking vengeance
This fucking summer,
Let me fucking tell you.
No fucking lie
Loud, creepy motherfucking fucking cicadas.
This shit is fucking crazy.
8/30/2014
Drugs
I heard this fucking guy yesterday
(Not me; some other fucking guy),
Talking about how he used to get
Way the fuck fucked up on drugs
And that he used drugs sometimes
To try to attain some kind of fucking connection
To God.
And I was thinking, fuck,
I used to do that too.
Like I would do fucking marijuana
Or fucking mushrooms or LSD or
Whatever the fuck,
And sometimes I would fucking feel like
I was with fucking God
I mean, I really fucking felt that shit sometimes.
There even was this time one fucking time,
When I was in New Rochelle at this girl's house,
Her parents were gone for the whole fucking day,
And I took the fucking Metro Fucking North
To New Rochelle to do some fucking mushrooms,
With her and her fucking brother,
And so we were there: her, her fucking brother, and me,
Tripping our motherfucking brains out
In the motherfucking basement.
I was sitting in this easy chair,
One of those upholstered fucking recliner fucking things,
And I was smoking a fucking cigarette,
And I zoned out a little,
I don't know where the fuck my mind went,
And then I fucking heard something,
I heard this deep fucking voice - and I think this is fucked up,
But it was, in fact, a male voice -
And the fucking voice said
"Pay more attention!"
And so I told the two of them,
Fucking immediately, I said,
"Hold on a fucking second:
I just fucking heard a fucking voice
Say 'Pay more attention!'"
And then the guy, the fucking brother,
Pointed to the fucking chair I was sitting on,
And the motherfucking chair I was fucking on fire.
I mean, there was all this fucking smoke
Fucking billowing out of this motherfucking chair,
Because I hadn't noticed that I had let go
Of the motherfucking cigarette I was smoking
And it had fucking fallen into the fucking chair
And caught fucking fire.
So, what the fuck was that?
Was that fucking God, or what?
And what would it fucking mean
That the only time God ever fucking spoke to me
Was when I was tripping my fucking face off?
And what the fuck does it mean
That almost every fucking time I took fucking acid
Or mushrooms
And often with marijuana
And sometimes even with vodka or whiskey or some shit
With a lot of that shit a lot of the time
I would take it and feel like maybe I had
Some kind of fucking access to
That ancient fucking heavenly fucking connection
To the fucking starry fucking dynamo
In the motherfucking machinery of night
That I was always fucking burning for, for fuck's sake?
And I'm not the only fucking one, for fuck's sake.
There's a reason they call that shit spirits.
It's not like I'm making some profound fucking revelation over here.
I'm just fucking saying,
Why the fuck would that be?
9/1/2014
God
And so now, of course, I'm wondering about fucking God.
I'll get a few fucking preliminaries out of the way first:
I cant believe in any kind of God
That is in any way like a fucking person.
So, like, for example, I can't imagine any fucking God
That would give a shit that I preceded his or her name with
The word "fucking."
Why the fuck would any fucking God
Give a fuck about shit like that?
It just doesn't make any fucking sense to me
To imagine an actual thinking, caring being,
That would have an actual fucking personal fucking preference
About what I do
Or what the fuck happens to me.
So, for example, if I get the fucking promotion-
That was God helping me out?
That makes no fucking sense.
Or when that woman who won a fucking Grammy
Thanks God for fucking helping her?
So she's saying God wanted her to win?
God chose her, over here, to win the fucking Grammy
And not her, over there--
Because why? Because God liked her record better?
Because she had more fucking faith?
Think of how fucked up that is:
Would you really want to believe in a God
That gives a shit who wins a fucking Grammy?
Or who would play favorites because someone has more faith?
That's sounds fucking crazy to me.
I'm fucking sorry, but hey.
Now, maybe believing in fucking God
Maybe helped her fucking focus
When she was making the record,
And maybe praying helped her calm the fuck down
When she was worrying about whether she would win the fucking Grammy or not.
I can believe in the obvious fucking power of faith,
And the power of fucking prayer,
But that's not the same thing as believing in fucking God.
And so, okay, this guy over here,
Whose kid has fucking cancer--
That I have to assume God did not actually fucking
Give to this guy's kid--
Maybe praying helps this guy.
Probably believing in God is the only way some people
Can get through all kinds of fucking shit
I've never had to fucking deal with
In my entire fucking life,
And maybe if I did have to deal with some of that shit,
I'd get down on my fucking hands and knees
And fucking pray to fucking God too.
And also, obviously,
It's good to be fucking grateful
I'm grateful all the fucking time for all kinds of fucking shit
Because I'm really fucking lucky.
So sometimes I'll be like, "Thank God for that shit,"
Even though I don't literally mean to thank fucking God.
I mean it fucking metaphorically.
I'm just saying I know I didn't fucking do it all by myself.
But that's fucking obvious, too:
You need help to do fucking almost fucking anything.
And sometimes fucking faith and fucking prayer really fucking help,
They just fucking do.
And I fucking get that there are some kinds of
Existential fucking questions
That are very well handled by religion
And maybe not as well handled by philosophy
Or by any other fucking type of thing.
Questions like
Why the fuck am I here?
How the fuck am I supposed to figure out what the fuck to do?
And, of course, like I was just fucking saying,
How the fuck am I supposed to deal with this fucking bullshit?
Questions like that.
I understand that religion, God, etc. helps with all that shit.
But I just can't fucking believe it.
I just can't.
And so some people just say God is love.
I think I fucking understand that.
Love isn't fucking sentient or intentional either,
But it is a good answer.
Love is a good fucking answer.
I sometimes think that
Love is so fucking important
Precisely fucking because there is no fucking God
All there fucking is is fucking us.
All there is is this one fucking planet
And this one fucking life.
And if you don't love it,
And love the people around you,
And all the fucking rest of it,
If you don't fucking embrace it,
And care about it,
And fucking take care of it,
And fucking take care of yourself,
Well, then, then fucking what, right?
And so then you can fucking ask,
But does it make sense to pray to Love, to thank Love,
Or even to spell "Love" with a capital fucking "L"?
And I would say
I don't fucking know. No? Maybe? I don't fucking know.
And then you can fucking ask,
Well, then, did love exist before all of this shit
Did some force of love create everything that there is?
And I would say, I don't fucking know, maybe.
Maybe it makes sense to call the creating force love.
And then you can fucking ask,
Well, then, why not just call it God?
To which, again, I can only fucking say,
I don't fucking know.
I just don't fucking want to call it God.
So, yeah, I don't know.
Fucking love, fucking God.
I don't fucking know.
I guess that's all
I've fucking got to say
About this.
For now.
9/1/2014
"God"
I don't like that last fucking poem - the "God" one.
Too long, too preachy, too fucking disingenuous
And I fully fucking know
Full fucking well
That this is disingenuous too:
To try to redeem my fucking self and the fucking "God" poem,
By immediately distancing myself from it
It's a dick move, and I fucking know it.
Because that poem came from God, right?
To dishonor it is to say Fuck you God,
Which is not exactly what I want to say just now.
And I don't fucking hate myself today,
I don't fucking hate anything right now.
I don't even fucking hate the fucking poem.
But I wrote it hours, hours, like four hours ago
And I still haven't posted it on the fucking blog.
I'm grasping, fucking grasping,
Gasping, fucking gasping,
Grasping and gasping and grasping and gasping,
And I won't let the fucking thing go.
I suppose I could try to fuck with it a little bit more.
I've got a little bit of fucking time.
But often that just makes it fucking worse.
Often that is just a waste of time.
I'll tell you the truth:
That poem makes me feel fucking uneasy.
Not just that it's not that fucking good,
But that it's wrong somehow--transgressive,
Blasphemous or some shit.
But I don't believe that.
So, what the fucking fuck?
Ok, I'm getting impatient with myself.
If I didn't hate myself before, now I fucking do.
So, okay, I'm done,
Fuck it,
I'm posting it.
I'm posting all four of the fuckers and I'm fucking out of here.
And may God have fucking mercy on my soul.
9/1/2014
Jesus fucking fuck there's a lot of cicadas in the park today.
On my way to fucking Stumptown,
For a motherfucking cold brew,
And fuck me, its a fucking swarm.
A plague of fucking locusts
All up in this motherfucker over here.
I haven't seen a single one the whole fucking summer,
But I sure as fuck can hear those motherfuckers.
No fucking lie.
Now, I seem to recall
That the motherfucking 17 year cicadas
Were due last year
But they never fucking came
I remember thing that was kind of ominous
Like what the fuck happened to the motherfucking cicadas
Like maybe it had to do with fucking climate change
Or some fucking bullshit or something.
I don't fucking know.
As usual, I don't fucking know.
But, so now I'm thinking maybe they took a year off
For some fucking reason.
But they are back
With a motherfucking vengeance
This fucking summer,
Let me fucking tell you.
No fucking lie
Loud, creepy motherfucking fucking cicadas.
This shit is fucking crazy.
8/30/2014
Drugs
I heard this fucking guy yesterday
(Not me; some other fucking guy),
Talking about how he used to get
Way the fuck fucked up on drugs
And that he used drugs sometimes
To try to attain some kind of fucking connection
To God.
And I was thinking, fuck,
I used to do that too.
Like I would do fucking marijuana
Or fucking mushrooms or LSD or
Whatever the fuck,
And sometimes I would fucking feel like
I was with fucking God
I mean, I really fucking felt that shit sometimes.
There even was this time one fucking time,
When I was in New Rochelle at this girl's house,
Her parents were gone for the whole fucking day,
And I took the fucking Metro Fucking North
To New Rochelle to do some fucking mushrooms,
With her and her fucking brother,
And so we were there: her, her fucking brother, and me,
Tripping our motherfucking brains out
In the motherfucking basement.
I was sitting in this easy chair,
One of those upholstered fucking recliner fucking things,
And I was smoking a fucking cigarette,
And I zoned out a little,
I don't know where the fuck my mind went,
And then I fucking heard something,
I heard this deep fucking voice - and I think this is fucked up,
But it was, in fact, a male voice -
And the fucking voice said
"Pay more attention!"
And so I told the two of them,
Fucking immediately, I said,
"Hold on a fucking second:
I just fucking heard a fucking voice
Say 'Pay more attention!'"
And then the guy, the fucking brother,
Pointed to the fucking chair I was sitting on,
And the motherfucking chair I was fucking on fire.
I mean, there was all this fucking smoke
Fucking billowing out of this motherfucking chair,
Because I hadn't noticed that I had let go
Of the motherfucking cigarette I was smoking
And it had fucking fallen into the fucking chair
And caught fucking fire.
So, what the fuck was that?
Was that fucking God, or what?
And what would it fucking mean
That the only time God ever fucking spoke to me
Was when I was tripping my fucking face off?
And what the fuck does it mean
That almost every fucking time I took fucking acid
Or mushrooms
And often with marijuana
And sometimes even with vodka or whiskey or some shit
With a lot of that shit a lot of the time
I would take it and feel like maybe I had
Some kind of fucking access to
That ancient fucking heavenly fucking connection
To the fucking starry fucking dynamo
In the motherfucking machinery of night
That I was always fucking burning for, for fuck's sake?
And I'm not the only fucking one, for fuck's sake.
There's a reason they call that shit spirits.
It's not like I'm making some profound fucking revelation over here.
I'm just fucking saying,
Why the fuck would that be?
9/1/2014
God
And so now, of course, I'm wondering about fucking God.
I'll get a few fucking preliminaries out of the way first:
I cant believe in any kind of God
That is in any way like a fucking person.
So, like, for example, I can't imagine any fucking God
That would give a shit that I preceded his or her name with
The word "fucking."
Why the fuck would any fucking God
Give a fuck about shit like that?
It just doesn't make any fucking sense to me
To imagine an actual thinking, caring being,
That would have an actual fucking personal fucking preference
About what I do
Or what the fuck happens to me.
So, for example, if I get the fucking promotion-
That was God helping me out?
That makes no fucking sense.
Or when that woman who won a fucking Grammy
Thanks God for fucking helping her?
So she's saying God wanted her to win?
God chose her, over here, to win the fucking Grammy
And not her, over there--
Because why? Because God liked her record better?
Because she had more fucking faith?
Think of how fucked up that is:
Would you really want to believe in a God
That gives a shit who wins a fucking Grammy?
Or who would play favorites because someone has more faith?
That's sounds fucking crazy to me.
I'm fucking sorry, but hey.
Now, maybe believing in fucking God
Maybe helped her fucking focus
When she was making the record,
And maybe praying helped her calm the fuck down
When she was worrying about whether she would win the fucking Grammy or not.
I can believe in the obvious fucking power of faith,
And the power of fucking prayer,
But that's not the same thing as believing in fucking God.
And so, okay, this guy over here,
Whose kid has fucking cancer--
That I have to assume God did not actually fucking
Give to this guy's kid--
Maybe praying helps this guy.
Probably believing in God is the only way some people
Can get through all kinds of fucking shit
I've never had to fucking deal with
In my entire fucking life,
And maybe if I did have to deal with some of that shit,
I'd get down on my fucking hands and knees
And fucking pray to fucking God too.
And also, obviously,
It's good to be fucking grateful
I'm grateful all the fucking time for all kinds of fucking shit
Because I'm really fucking lucky.
So sometimes I'll be like, "Thank God for that shit,"
Even though I don't literally mean to thank fucking God.
I mean it fucking metaphorically.
I'm just saying I know I didn't fucking do it all by myself.
But that's fucking obvious, too:
You need help to do fucking almost fucking anything.
And sometimes fucking faith and fucking prayer really fucking help,
They just fucking do.
And I fucking get that there are some kinds of
Existential fucking questions
That are very well handled by religion
And maybe not as well handled by philosophy
Or by any other fucking type of thing.
Questions like
Why the fuck am I here?
How the fuck am I supposed to figure out what the fuck to do?
And, of course, like I was just fucking saying,
How the fuck am I supposed to deal with this fucking bullshit?
Questions like that.
I understand that religion, God, etc. helps with all that shit.
But I just can't fucking believe it.
I just can't.
And so some people just say God is love.
I think I fucking understand that.
Love isn't fucking sentient or intentional either,
But it is a good answer.
Love is a good fucking answer.
I sometimes think that
Love is so fucking important
Precisely fucking because there is no fucking God
All there fucking is is fucking us.
All there is is this one fucking planet
And this one fucking life.
And if you don't love it,
And love the people around you,
And all the fucking rest of it,
If you don't fucking embrace it,
And care about it,
And fucking take care of it,
And fucking take care of yourself,
Well, then, then fucking what, right?
And so then you can fucking ask,
But does it make sense to pray to Love, to thank Love,
Or even to spell "Love" with a capital fucking "L"?
And I would say
I don't fucking know. No? Maybe? I don't fucking know.
And then you can fucking ask,
Well, then, did love exist before all of this shit
Did some force of love create everything that there is?
And I would say, I don't fucking know, maybe.
Maybe it makes sense to call the creating force love.
And then you can fucking ask,
Well, then, why not just call it God?
To which, again, I can only fucking say,
I don't fucking know.
I just don't fucking want to call it God.
So, yeah, I don't know.
Fucking love, fucking God.
I don't fucking know.
I guess that's all
I've fucking got to say
About this.
For now.
9/1/2014
"God"
I don't like that last fucking poem - the "God" one.
Too long, too preachy, too fucking disingenuous
And I fully fucking know
Full fucking well
That this is disingenuous too:
To try to redeem my fucking self and the fucking "God" poem,
By immediately distancing myself from it
It's a dick move, and I fucking know it.
Because that poem came from God, right?
To dishonor it is to say Fuck you God,
Which is not exactly what I want to say just now.
And I don't fucking hate myself today,
I don't fucking hate anything right now.
I don't even fucking hate the fucking poem.
But I wrote it hours, hours, like four hours ago
And I still haven't posted it on the fucking blog.
I'm grasping, fucking grasping,
Gasping, fucking gasping,
Grasping and gasping and grasping and gasping,
And I won't let the fucking thing go.
I suppose I could try to fuck with it a little bit more.
I've got a little bit of fucking time.
But often that just makes it fucking worse.
Often that is just a waste of time.
I'll tell you the truth:
That poem makes me feel fucking uneasy.
Not just that it's not that fucking good,
But that it's wrong somehow--transgressive,
Blasphemous or some shit.
But I don't believe that.
So, what the fucking fuck?
Ok, I'm getting impatient with myself.
If I didn't hate myself before, now I fucking do.
So, okay, I'm done,
Fuck it,
I'm posting it.
I'm posting all four of the fuckers and I'm fucking out of here.
And may God have fucking mercy on my soul.
9/1/2014
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