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Homunculus Feb 1
01/31/2019

Today, I learned the true extent to which I loathe the IRS. To be fair, I've always known that I hated them. I've had plenty of legitimate reasons for this in the past. For instance, every year, they casually extort our wage and salary, pretending to allocate it for the building of bridges, roads, and schools. While in reality, the infrastructure and educational system crumble, and defense spending grows without limit.
But then again, I do suppose that in a certain sense, roads, bridges, and schools are built indirectly with these funds; but only after the funds are used to blow these institutions to smithereens in third world countries, and private corporations like Halliburton are contracted to rebuild them for egregious profits. Profits, mind you, which are shuffled to dozens of offshore shell corporations, ensuring that they are taxed at a rate exponentially lower than the profits of the average working citizen.
But today, I experienced a type of hatred entirely novel to my conceptions of what is even possible in the realm of consciousness. A loathing so intense that it paralyzed my rationality, sending me into fits of rage and bewildered astonishment that I would wish on NO ONE . . . except Cheney or Kissinger, the ******* *******. For today, for the first time in all my 28 years of life, I filed my federal income taxes. I knew that one day the chore would inevitably arise, but I still consider it an accomplishment to have made it through an entire third or more of my life without ever actually dirtying my hands with the wretched muck. All that aside, the story goes like this:
I work as an “independent contractor” for a friend who runs a small business. I perform various services around the office, and he cuts me a check at the end of the week. I've been working there “on paper” for about a year, really a bit longer, but “what they don't know...” so goes the old adage. We had, the both of us, anticipated with tempered irritation, the arrival of this bureaucratic beast of burden. However, neither of us knew that the deadline mailing date for “independent contractors” comes nary two months sooner than for payroll employees. This information was sprung on us at the very last minute by his tax attorney who, from this point on, will be referred only to as 'G.S.' (grease stain).
As I was fulfilling my duties, my friend urgently beckoned to me “STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING. TAXES ARE DUE TODAY, AND WE HAVE TO FILE THEM NOW!” Naturally, I panicked. I had seen an income tax form . . . perhaps once or twice? . . .  much less filled one out . . .  maybe once at 17 during the employment process at a fast food joint? . . . Initially, we had thought it would be a simple matter of the W-2, the likes of which had been filled out automatically for me by employers in the past as a part of the hiring phase. Nonetheless, since my status of “independent contractor” placed me into a different tax category, I had to fill out what is known as a 1099-MISC. “Simple enough!” thought I, “I'll just fill in the relevant details and get back to work.” . . . “NOT SO FAST, CASEY JONES!” screamed the form, with all its talk of “fishing boat expenses” and “crop insurance” . . . “O...K?” “and what precisely has this to do with me?” thought I.
My employer, courteous as he can sometimes be, called up (t)rusty old G.S., who referred us to a site where the form could be understood more intelligibly. After a bit of head scratching and chin stroking, we figured it out. No matter, though! Because once we figured the form out, we couldn't figure out what to DO with the ******* thing. 'G.S.' was once again consulted, and he told us that we could simply print the form, and take it to an H&R Block office for submission. “Okay, simple enough!” thought I . . . but alas! It was not to be so. When we arrived at said office, the agent . . . who looked like a burned out caricature of William H. Macy . . .  reviewed the forms, and said that to apply the deductions I had calculated, he would require a $300 fee for his services, and that I would need to fill out a “Section-C.” This lanky, rasp-voiced, twig of a man then withdrew from his cubicle, at which point, my employer whispered to me “**** that, I've done Section-C forms hundreds of times, we're ditching these crooks”
At this point, we retreated back to the office, found what we thought to be the relevant forms, but were soon swept up in a vicious monsoon of bureaucratic legalese which, although it resembled English, bore few similarities other than word spelling and grammatical form. It is sometimes alleged that Kafka was haunted by ghosts which had an insatiable appetite for stories. The legend further has it that he would write for them to quell their unyielding wrath. Those of us who have read Kafka know intimately of his satirical preoccupation with the absurdity of bureaucracy. Perhaps these stories pleased the ominous specters which loomed over him like the fluorescent light beaming down upon me as I type these words. Some things can never be known for certain. If, however, this were truly the case, then it would seem that Kafka's ghost had now taken the role of writing MY story for his own amusement. Every cliché of the DMV and social services building was present in this ghastly affair. “Fill out this form; stand in this line; oh, I'm sorry, sir. You've got the wrong form. You'll need to file a (…) and take it to (…), their hours are MwAhMwAhMwAhMwAhMwAh” This futile circumlocution went on for SIX HOURS. All the while, thoughts of a perfectly wound noose, crafted of thick **** rope, with thirteen pristine wraps forming a slipknot to be fitted as though tailor made around my neck filled my mind, as the acute stages of benzodiazepene withdrawal began to set it. Luckily enough, or so we suspect. We figured it out, and now I have only to wait for my return to come in the mail to see what I owe.
But once I got home, I got to thinking. There is a copy of 'Infinite Jest' on my coffee table. A literary epic whose magnitude cannot possibly be overstated. I began to think deeply reverential thoughts of the author of this book, and then something clicked in my mind: on that fateful day when Wallace took his own life  by the noose, he was in the middle of writing a novel about nothing less than the 1985 Tax Code in Illinois, and a group of IRS agents. Being the adamant researcher of all topics that he was, we can hardly imagine that he did not give this terrible ******* of language what he felt to be its due diligence. Of course, any responsible thinker understands that correlation does not equal causation; but as the admittedly ironic thoughts of suicide filled my mind over the course of this afternoon and evening, I can't help but be left to wonder if a mind so vastly superior to mine as his did not experience these ideas with markedly less irony as he reveled in the vile idiosyncrasies of bureaucratic jargon. Again. Some things can never be known.
I have begun keeping a journal. Not so much for the sake of documenting my daily experience, but more so to experiment with different writing styles and, perhaps to help clarify my own thoughts. I will also continue to write poems, of course.
Matt Shaw Dec 2018
Everything must pour in from a strange place,
Frothing there,
Bubbling and beating there
Making music in my head
That feels too dear.

Even happiness is laced with death,
Even when it isn't felt
But pooling up inside this man's life was a pretty fortune
Even just looking around.

But why so honed in on him?
I struggle to understand the specificity of consciousness
What the simplex truly is,
And what belies duality.

How I got here

The strange places have meaning to the human.

My emotions swell in my head
Evolutionary tools
Hollowed out by sharp Cerebrus
Leaving me feeling raw and ashamed

But alive

And thankful

So let's get along,
Let's love each other.

Let's make this as easy and good a thing as it can be.

Now we see
We were just silly monkeys

And now
We are something else
Something paler
Something clicked
And we will never be the same again.

Oh, what a terrible fate awaits our future kin
My heart aches and swoons to think of them
My love goes out to them...

We will all have to die some day
Let's paint with color,
Let's kiss from the marrow.

Along something we call entropy,
I wonder what else there can be.
This feels good, but I don't know why.
The sky the sky the eye and why
The date
The train is left
It runs very fast
Who can stop?
I have an appointment
A date with who I loved
I wore the most
New and expensive one
Of my well-made suit
I had troubled
As I lost my tempered
When I remembered her shiny
Smile that was seen
Over her shiny
Lips
I could hardly tie my neck tie
Which I tied before in ease
My hands trembled in fast
What had happened to my tempers?
When I wore my shoes
I suddenly saw my socks
Beside on the carps
What a luck
I became very smart
I walk out in fast
The rain was downed
I still smiled
But a speedy car passed
It distributed the water
Everywhere like storm
I had bad storm
I was downed
I remembered one
Told if you want
To get high rank
You must be patient
And able to ascend the mount
I must be patient
As I remembered her face
Shining with elegance
I went back
I washed up
In fast as I could
I wore another one
The time spent
As the blink of the eye
I tried to stop a car
To transport me so far
The cars were busy
What a bad luck!
Finally I found one
I took it in fast
Argued the driver to run
To get the train before he had gone
The driver drove not fast
I argued him with weak sound
He told he couldn't
As the land filled with water
He hardly controlled the car
I looked to the heaven
The sky was filled with dark
What a bad luck
I prayed to my God?
You know I don't want harm
Please help me my lord!
Finally I was in
The watch moved
Clicked with high sound
I became in puzzle
Which sound was heard
The watch or my heart sound
I stayed on the chair
Beside the window
I wiped it to have a look
To green garden to compare
With her wide eyes
Which looks good
I opened my note
Looked at my watch
Asking my heart
"Why she didn't come?"
The time for the train came
To move up
The moving is like a death
Comes on time without late
Not be stopped even
By the walls
High and strong
Even the doors are closed
But it did know his road
I opened my note book
To look why she is not
Here up till that time
She didn't be late
I adjusted my time
On her time as she did
She looked like have an adjust clock
With her body as I thought
She walked up the ****
On the morning to wake up the sleeping
She walked the birds
To sing harmony songs
She went to her work
On adjust time without late
Why didn't she come?
Here is the time
I wrote and keep on my heart
I reminded it every moment
Here is the respond
Oh! Oh! What luck
I opened the small letter
That it might be sent
But I forgot for my happiness
Or speed, or my thoughts
Who could stop that?
Or could return the time?
To send that letter
To meet my lover
The time is passed
As the train passed
My love was lost
one needs to read everything ,he can get
Pain is no game
In the name of love I have no shame.
I am not afraid to admit your love was water, when I was dehydrated.
A connection that just clicked in
A channel only me and you could tune into
Not shy that I am not over you
Been about a year, I still care
You might not want me now
But a time and a place you did
I hold that memory like a special gift
They no longer make me sad
I mean now sometimes I’ll actually laugh
Think back to a certain memory
Sparked by something that was in front of me
None the less I smile for awhile
Thoughts drifting to a beautiful time
The time when you were mine.
I was yours too, everyday I woke up to you.
Made every morning so sublime
Life finally started to feel fine
Then depression came in and played me
I mean it really messed with me
Treated you unfairly
That was very scary of me
Wish I met you when I was really happy
When nothing in my life could turn down my high
All the lows were nothing when your in the sky
Sadly that just was not that time
And we ended up hurting each other all the time
Irregardless of the anti depressants me and you were destined
I’m sure that I will see you again
I just do not know when
Only the universe knows
She puts together all the people who are meant to be together and leave the rest the fend for each other
My light I know I will be guided back to you
Written by Lauren dolbow

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