just one thing goes right.

hey kids.
it's a muggy monday in the mountains.
the sun is out behind a haze of ozone
and the water vapor in the air is a misty moist
runaway bridal veil of skin-sticking clamminess.
gross.
y'know what's worse?
everything else.
except the influxed glut of ice creameries in the area.
that's better than ever.
another 'nother new kind of
fruit sweet icy sugarconical sprankle sh!t?
you know.
check the repetitive teleport:

very berry, very delicious, very necessary.
bright spots?
not exactly.
it was raining on my spranks.
well, spranklin' on my spranks anyway.
***********
anybody out there still read this thing regularly?
no?
oh.
well anyway, for those casual scanners
and periodic perusers who DO browse this grousing
gripe-filled folio of fury, frenzy, failure,
and fleeting flights of fanciful frailty-
i think it's been fairly obvious that the semi-private
personal personnel issues affecting the infrastructure
of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress have not been
going very well.
hmmm.
understatement?
yuuuuuuuup.
real talk and true stories and accessible tales
of tragic-traditional human suffering?
i GOT they!
but,
it's kind of catching up with me.
in addition to the toll it's taken through attrition,
and contrition,
the conditions of positive proactive participation
and real-time reconciliation are neatly nearing nonexistence.
but what kind of worthy warrior poet just gives up?!
no kind, obviously.
quitters and bed-sh!tters aren't worthy.
c'mon.
never give up.
that's a thing.
never say die.
that's a goonies thing.
never say never.
that's james bond, i think?
never ever, though, yo, under any circumstances,
do we let the weak-sauce tidal waves wreak wreck on
on the promises made and freely given.
that's noble barbarian bard's honor-type jauns.
know what you want,
say what you mean,
do what you say.
y'know, just be dope.
that's it.
the alternative is to F* right off,
and that sure sounds an awful lot like quitting to me.
sometimes,
fighting the good fight seems hopeless,
an uphill battle, even.
the match-up is awfully awful,
and unanimously one-sided,
the odds stacked immeasurably against you.
too often, actually.
and sometimes things DO just fall apart.
i know that.
but not these things, ninjas.
and not these times.
i'll admit a loss when i'm outplayed,
i'll even concede defeat in a fixed game,
but i'll never take a loser's walk
in a forfeit by the other team, somehow counting against
my long-standing outstanding upstanding good standing.
i'm going down swinging, at least.
trying to swim against the currents,
saving nothing for the way back again.
routed, overrun, defeated,
but i'll be goddamned if i don't die tryin'.
what else is there?
*
i've overdone it again and again in every direction,
over-the-top extravagance,
top-of-the-line interactive introspection,
appreciation, accusation,
grand gestures of savagery and sentiment by the yearful...
too much IS the right amount, right?
but what happens when goin' to eleven isn't enough?
awwwwwwwww, man.
what gets bigger the more you take away?
a hole.
what stays empty the more you put in it?
a black hole.
...
...i'm a hole, growing in proportion
to match the mass of what i've lost and continue to lose...
well,
i'm physically smaller, and a whole lot harder,
but i've expanded my sphere of perception to
include the blind spots, dead zones, and ghost circles
of the wrought wrongs and righted writings from
my transient halo of spirit and memory.
oh, man, what am i?
i'm a hole.
hell,
maybe even an A*hole;
sh!tting out my guts, my frustrations and my elations,
my present privations, prior predations,
and pursuant providences for inculcation
to a sensationally insensate blackened version.
holy sh!t.
that's a hard style, y'all.
good thing no one reads this anymore.
open letters to the big empty expanse of entropy
inside of this house make for x-ray escapes
from the suckiest suction of that same vacuum..
it takes hearts to make homes, neighbors.
it takes work to make it work.
nothing good can come of any of this,
and so far,
nothing has.
self-improvement is self-destruction.
by the time y'all get where i'm standing,
i'll be gone.
i make moves,
but you just move on;
never quiet, never soft.....