counterpart to my 10+ year print zine of the same name

building outward character: body and feeling — February 24, 2018

building outward character: body and feeling

building outward character:

in older times we tried to present an image of confidence
a certain grace

and how that was/is considered desirable.
i spend time trying to not do that.
i am
just how i want at any given time.
this of course forms a character as well, but…?
i get knots, threads, comets in my blood,
a stone in my side, anime in my mind.
the being me is hard, somehow
puts me at odds within social environments.
my a.d.d., my dementia, my anger..

people don’t always want to see it all, but they are going to
i can’t help it

the newer generations act more as they please,
at least here in america.
but everyone’s at odds it seems, still.
individuals are
a word.

‘individuals’ is fake. personality is game,
personality is prey, personality
is cult, personality is real.

but over time, look at me.
i become
just a list of normal days with no stage
and who’s to say this isn’t perfect?

we sit, build energy, and move.

i am the refusal
to participate in the world the way it wants me to,
it’s too easy, too planned, too made.
it changes yr face, lines up lines near yr eyes.

the way we connect as teenagers with each other is so amazingly simple and real. we lose that, mostly- interactions become guarded, forcibly calmed, quiet. we’re not vibing as much, we’re reasoning, negotiating, trying not to offend.

but we’re really that kid
passing by screaming at me
“what’re you looking at!?”
as i nodded and noticed his pain..
we’re are all empathy with no hope,
all careful to the point of being dead inside,
knowledge with all the accompanying listlessness,
anxious balls of absolutely miserable ha ha ha.

i am not perfect, i am rough.
that’s my strength.
but the world wants polished / i think polished is mostly bullshit.

character is not driven with a need to perform
or excel at performance. character excels at
body and feeling.

12/2017 – 2/2018

stray dogs — February 10, 2018
wordocean —


..with baby angel dicks making haunting noises,
screaming asians, loss of everything. we’re all
different weights on the same dance floor,
decades of abuse to bodies still primed for true love.

i fuck someone who
fucked me years ago,
and it feels like a surge of energy;
the mutual non-body insult, my
fully leaving as the statement. madlad.
it’s no fun anymore.

and i’m still here,
a leader w/o meaning to be,
puking in a bus station,
shitting in yr hands. u deserve it.

i break on big shoulders,
i freeze fantasy movies and rewind the best scenes
in my mind. i moustache
you a question:
is it blurry how you see me?
or am i remembered in time?

i’m a creeper in a pub,
a 3way waiting to happen,
a rubbed skin and a shattered lightbulb
but the same view outside over and over.

it’s a genetic history never verbalized to me
but the defunct mechanism for feeling magnetic fields
works within us all, we just don’t know how yet.
it changes me, repairs, focuses,
bottom lines consequences,
hates freely as a new revolution.

my enemies always showed me a new way,
depraved and fascist personalities
doomed in self-referential horror.
i burn and murder and it feels
absolutely cleansing – glorious and selfishly
wonderful. i’ll never make it back
for drowning in the wordocean.
fuck the whole fuckin’ world.

jk 2/10/18

moonshadow — February 8, 2018
o — February 7, 2018
diffuse city —
unknown — February 2, 2018