when you are new, consequences seem minuscule
authority is a foreign concept, maybe too close to home
a repercussion to fear
the day your light enters the world, rules border your actions like the lines on a freeway
who’s to say that rebellion is a bad thing
expression in its greatest form.
acting out to show discontent.
but the underlying causes are beautiful.

with experience, things become so real.
one mistake and you can be sent away for a lifetime.
acting out is no longer to show off
development at different times, yet 18 years to decide
mens rea vs actus reus.
shouldn’t it be the intentions that decide?

authority to shut down rebellion, self expression if you will
own up to the reaction of our action.
its a bit distorted.
in other words over the top
how many rules there are.
but whats the point in breaking the rules if there were no rules to be broken.
we find ourselves in this given situation.
the animosity for authority; yet the lust towards rebellion.
if there was no authority to implement the proper etiquette to fit the social norm, would there even be a point to committing heinous acts that are considered “illegal”.

living to find a meaning to match with the experiences.

On March 17th my doctor tells me that maybe I should spend Saint Patties Day with someone
other
than you
and I guess he doesn’t realize that you are always here
The next day the luck of the Irish isn’t on my side in spite of me being
well
half Irish
You come over and we do get lucky in our own respect
but thats as far as that goes with a satisfied smile and friendly nudge
because the mattress felt like wires and the sheets like sandpaper
with my pillow becoming a slate of stone inscribed with all the things you whispered to me under thinner, softer sheets,
I slept on our memories.
On the 31st my doctor tells me that every time I think of hurting myself
I write something with a marker on the spot of skin I want to open
So every time I think of you
my skin is covered in stanzas
and when I shower its similar to being flayed alive
but the snake which cannot cast its skin has to die
so I cast my skin every night
On the 14th of April my doctor says to turn my pain into beauty
so hes telling me to write poetry
I vowed eight weeks prior to this day that you’d stop showing up in my stanzas
but this poem has no structure
so technically there’s no rules to be broken
On the 28th of April I told him about Law Class
how we learned about mens rea and actus reius
I told the doctor how everything has cause and effect
like how an insult can lead to a fight which can lead to ******
and comparatively how one wrong word lead to confusion which lead to heartache
so you were guilty for ****** in your own right
rooms never echo until they’ve emptied
and I never echoed until you left me
my doctor remarked as much
a surly voice saying “see, son, she’s stolen your soul”
it would justify all those sleepless nights where prayers didn’t keep me earthbound
and I’m just nodding my head because maybe he’s right
maybe heaven is locked in chains
but maybe hell is a lifetime with you
but the only difference between the two are the locks and i keep
losing my ******* keys
i am the epitome of dead art
which is why my doctor cancelled our next session; he ran out of brushes.
so i was left standing in my bedroom like someone looking for a mistake on an eviction notice
confused and staring at all the things that lead up to that same moment
i had been torn from my foundations
and then you came to mind
you
whom did the tearing
but stayed innocent all the same
you made me wonder
how can you be both the lumberjack and the tree?
its *******
confusing.
and she doesn’t get it
but i dont expect her to
even though when its cloudy it just means
god is lonely without her too
as neither of us could stand to watch another sunset with her absent
believe me when i say it is more than possible to love someone so much
it hurts them
and that while love is this void somewhere in the same plain as space and time
it is not one that you want to fall into
because dragging yourself out of it becomes a chore.
i use a lot of analogies
and i think thats how poetry works
something to mediate and make home to the things that
i guess bother you
but she doesn’t bother me
i bother me
so thats why theres so many of these poems
and this might be my longest
but i just dont know where else to put my thoughts of her
my chest can only contain so many stanzas before bursting
my heart can only beat so fast
it can only feel like a padlock for so long
and i can only write stanzas on my skin for so long before i decide
they look prettier in red

philosophia est scio nihil, continuum timor et taedium ego: actus automaton: in excelsis hospes.

in england the ad hominem principle
is easily brushed aside,
someone might have something
interesting to say, even though
all would agree to an abhorrence
in terms of moral relativism
which is an abhorrence-in-itself,
why make anything apart from
space & time relative? people change,
get with the grooves and your
free will and your freedom to commit
mistakes...
in england the ad hominem principle
is a farce... it doesn't exist...
that's why the english can't philosophise,
they can sing, but they can't philosophise,
because instead of ad hominem
we have the principle *ad populo,
yeah, i'm an apologist of heidegger,
it took me 2 years and several other
books in between to finish his being and time,
because i believed he was onto something,
and the argument against him
on the principles of ad hominem is deflected
toward argumentation ad zeitgeist,
yet in england engaging with controversy
of the times is curbed and censored
by the principle ad populo, i.e.:
to the people.