I am sorry I cannot write about you as often as I think of you-

which is constantly.

When it’s quiet enough to think deeply

I wipe my tears and do the dishes.

When I write you down with ink on paper-

it’s just you and me in here, kid;

but you are not.

I gave us up; and for what? A good tragedy? Some material?

Self infliction? A high? Some drugs?

I don’t even care about that **** anymore-

just You. And the dishes getting done.


-Jesse Haydn

I don’t feel bipolar or schizophrenic-like

in any way today. Look alive, Jess.

This may not be good.

Or maybe I do. Teju Cole says

“We are our habits in sum.”

I think we are our occupations

and preoccupations and I feel

dizzy, numb, now that I am 30 years

old, sitting on a park bench and stuck

just inhaling the last of a smoke

I lit way back when I was 20, waiting,

almost 21, before I broke my brain

and the earth was one sorrow lighter.

Good morning.

How do you do?

Fine.

What do you do?

I clean my house, play pretend and mostly

try to keep conversations inside of

my head or else I hide inside a corner of a coffee house

and write them down until-

What time is it? 52 minutes

of 7:10 and I used to have

a car and a longer leash

and I still got arrested

#1481882

without one. I think

I have done all the things

and looked inside of or fallen down all

the holes like Alice

EAT ME.

DRINK ME.

#01971

I can’t remember anything but I can

remember, that for some reason

I sprayed my coat with

vinegar- a very random

conversation piece indeed. I even fall

into other people’s tiny

talking points across

the room. Shut the **** up,

please. I am trying desperately

to keep it quiet in here.

I don’t care about your group

texts or, ( or by whose standards?)-

your own public

shame. I used to have a

phone too and I don’t miss it-

yes.

Like a gloved hand

with no fingers and too

many holes

trying to make-up my mind.

3.141592

I mean, I empathize

with Emily but there is

a kind of shelter outside

that exists nowhere else,

a break from the Nazis

and life coaches and paranoias

and music you think you

have in my head. Jumbled, jumbled

more wrecked I am without

my Chi-Yin. I miss him terribly

4 minutes of 7:10. I hope he is

sleeping fine now, without me; he

too, finding his final form

in dreams and I- not

wanting to be on the cusp

of escaping, trying to piece together

what exactly is a puzzle

and what isn’t: still

deciduous, unformed

and undecided.



-Jesse Haydn

Strangely brilliant under the gods-
The country is desperate
Watercast design
It is much too much.
It is found there that he fled.

The Violet Tower
A sad soul of peace and blossoms and leeches.

Ah! Birthdays will go on
A special God-
And after the wet smoke crystal transformation
Desire fades.

I don’t want to pay for a coin-
I can’t understand it
The wind blows
Until the end
Just words.

-Jesse Haydn

Extracted from “Consciousness”
Gilbert Ryle


I was conscious that the furniture had been rearranged
to indicate a certain nebulousness and consequent inarticulateness of the apprehension.
What we are conscious of, in this sense, may be a physical fact or
a fact about someone else’s state of mind-
but in a certain way we will not recognize them.

A walker engaged in a heated dispute may be unconscious of the sensations of his blistered heel.

He can make mistakes about their causes and he can make mistakes about their locations;
whether they are real or fancied.
The contents of this ghastly world could not be ascertained without the help of sense perception.

The mind can ‘see’ or ‘look at its own operations in the ‘light’ given off by themselves.

I should be recalling that I had just been recalling that I had just been recalling
that my watch has stopped.
I am synchronously discovering my watch has stopped that I am discovering
that my watch has stopped.

A truth about myself is flashed or shone upon me at the same moment
as a truth about my watch is ascertained by me.

-Jesse Haydn