I thought she was it, for sure the one
She took my heart, from the very start
I was just hanging out, having some fun
Had a feeling I needed to play this smart
Looked at her, as I gave a polite smile
I'll never forget her in the Blackhawks shirt

I asked the bartender to send her a shot
Why not? it was worth a try, at this point
I'll be honest my friends, she was so hot
We started talking and finally left the joint
Being out of town, I asked her about DFW
She showed me around, I enjoyed the view

That day was something else, my friend
If I could, I'd definitely go back there again
Corona on ice, relaxing in the sand
That girl by my side and her dog Benjamin
It would get me away from the blues I'm in
Knowing she'd be there for me everyday

Then I wake up, and realize it was a dream
None of it was real, not one **** thing
So it's back to my daily boring routine
I have some Corona, that's a good thing
Gotta love those dreams, such jokers
Guess I'll have a beer and play video poker

She might laugh if she read this
at the flat little version of her
that lives in my mind.
She may laugh
at my comparison of her
to a hideous sea spider
but hear me out
it could be touching.

David Foster Wallace wrote:
“Since pain is a totally subjective mental experience
we do not have direct access
to anyone or anything’s pain but our own;
and even just the principles
by which we can infer that others experience pain
and have a legitimate interest in not feeling pain
involve hard-core philosophy—
metaphysics, epistemology, value theory, ethics.”

"[Lobsters] do have an exquisite tactile sense,
one facilitated by hundreds of thousands of tiny hairs
that protrude through their carapace.
Although encased
in what seems a solid, impenetrable armour,
the lobster can receive stimuli and impressions from without
as readily as if it possessed a soft and delicate skin.”

and so

“We lift lobsters out of the bag
or whatever retail container they came home in
…whereupon some uncomfortable things start to happen.
However stuporous the lobster is from the trip home, for instance,
it tends to come alarmingly to life when placed in boiling water."

As much as I cannot comprehend the pain
of the exquisitely tactile lobster
in a *** of boiling water,
I wonder if I could
walk a mile in a lobster’s 8 minuscule shoes
and I wonder
what it might mean or not mean to her
with her armoured yet acute exoskeleton
to be back at home with her father.

They might try to butter you up
or snap elastic bands
around your oversized claws
and use a wooden spoon
to try and nudge your thrashing, clinging arms
back into the ***,
but remember:
lobsters can live to be over 100 years old
and grow to over 20 pounds in size
which is very large for an aquatic insect
and remember that they are marine crustaceans of the family Homaridae, characterized by five pairs of jointed legs, the first pair terminating in large pincerish claws.

And DFW famously said,

“Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.”

and he's not a lobster either

***** makes me say the things
I would say if I were brave
***** makes me admit to things
I thought I’d never say
It makes me miss you, makes me frisky
Makes me unafraid so
If I could do anything it would be
Take shots with you
Let things lay and sort them out
With a string of drunken truths
Stay unafraid unlike the every day
And just lie down with you

Feeling dizzy like
I may have took to many shots and thinking
My ideas are better sober
Better when my head is clear and I know
What I shouldn’t say
But I never really know so
Maybe the truth should have its day
Im feeling dizzy and
I’m  praying to a god who doesn’t listen
Who may not even exist
That you might just miss me,
That when I am most afraid all I want's
For you to kiss me.

just write through every thingle bad feeling you'll ever feel in your entire loife. my grandma died but i can write it out and feel better and remember the good times. my lip hurts cuz the dentist burnt it with his tools but i can write it out and realize it looks like a huge coldesore and its fun to bite. my job is a diabetes factory lorded over by monkeys who love the smell of throwing their own poopoo but i can write it out so now its actually a place full of individuals who struggle to express themselves and therefore have to express themselves in the only way they know how, which is by exerting power, and so exerting power in itself becomes something of an art and some people's paintings are like throwing up through a straw onto a spongy canvas. there is that sort of art, that the masses can appreciate and find fun to look at, and then there is the art that goes unnoticed.

Writing Rhymes

Writing until I’ve got a headache in my eyes,
do you have any idea what it takes to write this many rhymes,
& speaking of writing I’m trying to write so many rhymes in my lines,
because they say it sounds a bit cliche so tell me am I doing alright,

I mean I habitually rap like it’s a ritual act,
it seems I’m a Minimalist with an excess of stacks,
and an excess of facts that’s sometimes off subject but rarely off track,
the Underdog that always seems to over react,

writing line after line after line after line,
switching my position with upward momentum,
so much that I don’t even know where I’m at anymore,
all I know is when I’m gone the world will still have these poems he’s sending,

he as in me and hey I do not mean,
to talk in the 3rd person I know that it’s weird,
but I do a lot of things that I do not mean,
like rhyme without trying like I’m doing right here,

which I guess makes sense in a sense,
since I often do things I don’t usually do,
see there’s two things I seem to be really good at breaking,
and that’s my own heart and my own rules,

so I’m working on only having one rule in my life,
and that’s to not have any rules,
because society and those living in it,
already try to over oppress us with their own crazy rules,

but what are rules if they’re written by fools,
I’d get into it but I’ll just choose not to,
because that’s another subject and I don’t want to get off track,
or subject us to something that’s not relative to the subject we’ve construed,

and since we’re on the subject of the subject that we’ve construed,
would you please remind me what we were talking about if you be so kind as to,
oh wait please delay what you we’re about to say because I remember now it’s we’re DFW,
and that stands for Down For Whatever ready for any endeavor and the chaos that could ensue,

which is this case seems to be rather mellow because it’s just words typed on a computer,
because I have an addiction to writing these missions in form of poetry and prose,
and I’d like to get better and start rhyming less with my letters,
but it seems old habits die hard & that my friend is nothing new I suppose,

and that’s why I’m writing until I’ve got a headache in my eyes,
do you have any idea what it takes to write this many rhymes,
& speaking of writing I’m trying to write so many rhymes in my lines,
because they say it sounds a bit cliche so tell me am I doing alright…

∆ LaLux ∆

True opinions have footnotes.
I learned that from David Foster Wallace,

when I was seventy and he was dead.

-- I think how this is water, often

Future hermit reconciling his (albeit short-term) commitment to a career in mass communication.

Every obligatory conversation, every concern to extend the web of networking, every not-so-subtly coerced public interaction feels like an embedded knife being slowly extracted.

How exactly did I allow myself to be contracted into something so antithetical to so many aspects of my own personality?

What in the hell could have possibly possessed me to do such a foolish thing?

Foolish me.

I knew what I was doing, though whether or not it was out of some well-meaning ambition to round out weaker abilities or just one giant masochistic way of up-ending everything in a giant '*******' to how I'd been living remains a mystery.

Forcing myself to live a life outside of my comfort zone, I find it exhaustingly, unendingly -and altogether understandably-uncomfortable.

Am I learning something?

Undoubtedly, but I'm not necessarily thrilled about the insights that've been endowed on me.

Oh you Salingers. Oh you Brandos. You Plaths, DFW's and Garbos. You Fischers, Goulds and Hughes.

You lonely and abused. You gray, black and blues.

You at least left legacies before retreating into solitude.

There’s two
Two people who I’ve gotta stay alive for
But I have to say, it’s not so easy
With these thoughts constantly here
I don’t know about this anymore
I don’t know about staying alive

Yet I do
I know I’m gonna stay alive
I’ve attempted twice but...
But I won’t again...I just won’t
I think I can stay alive
I think

DFW and RBM
The things keeping me alive
My two
I’m two
My favorite two
He’s so ******* adorable
And she’s the love of my life
And they make me not want death
As much
As I usually do