Austin Less Than Three

Been too long to try and hide it
I no longer want to fight it
Why do I feel so slighted?
My love for Austin’s unrequited.

She lead me on in hopeful lust
Move my heart to future trust
Laughing now, boom went to bust
Hope broken crumbled to dust

Forgotten that she knew me
Forgotten that I bleed
Foregone her love divided
For all my inner need

Got lost along the greenbelt
Lost hope for my own place
Lost chance for lifting myself
To stick it in her face

She
Gave me
Less than three.

Ten the count of withered years
Hope is turned to angry tears
No clarity in private fears
Or charity in public jeers

Why do I feel so exposed?
Million eyes to me are closed
Respect isn’t how I am posed
Friendless now I am disposed

Can’t sit alone and feel numb
Can’t wallow and frustrate
Can’t worry if I sound dumb
Can’t stifle the create

Won’t live this life alone now
Won’t crush under this weight
Won’t stop until I know how
To carry my own fate

I
Deserve
More than that.

Still Just a Rat in a Cage

Been a few weeks; figure I should say something. Neglecting my journal in lieu of posting quick status updates on Facebook. I hate that site, because I keep going back to it, clicking “Refresh”, hoping something good pops up. Psychologists have learned all about the strength of randomized rewards, and how it can best be used to illicit specific behaviors.

Essentially, you put a rat in a Skinner box — a training environment with a paddle, food dispenser (for rewards), and electrified floor (for punishment) — and set the food system to eject a pellet after a certain number of paddle presses. If you configure the system to eject a pellet every time the rat pushes the paddle, it’ll learn to push the paddle once, get its food, and move along. If you configure it to eject after a high number of pushes, the rat will lose interest because there’s probably easier food sources elsewhere. But, if you make it eject randomly, sometimes the rat will get the food quickly, sometimes it will have to work for it, and for that reason it keeps going at it, hoping that at some point soon it will get its food.

And so it is with Facebook. And so it is with email. And so it is with slot machines, lottery, chat rooms, coffeeshops, bars, blogs, anything where chance is a component of a quick reward. The chance that someone in my many groups will say something funny, drop an important piece of info, post a hilarious picture, or provide commentary on something I posted, that keeps me going back. Keeps me hitting “Refresh” to the detriment of the rest of my life. I don’t want to say I’m sick, but there it is; I get addicted more easily than I can resist. And that pisses me off.

On Father’s Day

In 1972, President Nixon signed into law the proclamation that the third Sunday of June would be designated “Father’s Day”, in honor of fathers across the country. The holiday, 50 years in the making, finally achieved acknowledgement and recognition.

By way of coincidence, that was the same year I was born the bastard son of a man who never acknowledged me. I have never been recognized as his only son. His firstborn, 38 years in the making.

So here’s to you, Clyde Denver Thomas. Fuck you.

Continue reading “On Father’s Day”

Nutshell

A season of reflection is underway. After languishing for several years in a lonely place of decay, little bits of wisdom concerning aspects of myself and my life have been cropping up. After slinging around at the bottom in the mud and muck of the tiny little problems that keep me bogged down, I’ve decided it’s time to pull myself up, take a macroscopic look at things. Instead of trying to deal with the small things, instead of wasting my time and energy on trying to explain every internal struggle and find an answer for that one struggle before grasping at the next, I’m seeing now that it might be a better tack to take a systemic approach to my problems. To pull back and look at the grand scheme.

This is the corollary to trying to help a yuppie play the blues; you can give him a guitar, teach him technique, critique his methods, tell him how to dress, give him a list of topics to sing about, maybe teach him some of the blues canon — or you can fire him from his job, introduce him to women who will break his heart, shove him into the blues club, and tell him that’s how it’s done. It is at that point, hopefully, that he will get it.

I am one man examining his life as objectively as subjectivity will allow. I’m trying to get it. This so far has led me to a set of understandings: Continue reading “Nutshell”

Good To the First Drop

I’ve been doing it all wrong for the past 10 years.

The coffeeshop is not the destination. It is the journey, the waystation, the pit stop. It is the refreshment break on the way to somewhere else where I’m actually doing something with my life. I should’ve picked up on this years ago, but I didn’t, and I’m a stupid dumbass for not seeing it. Most of the people I know through hanging out at coffeeshops have actually gone on to do great and interesting things. Yet I am still here, bored, alone, and unfulfilled. Continue reading “Good To the First Drop”