anti.social.nature

My slow scraping shoes…

marking time like the drummer boy
of an army awaiting the inevitable,
but soldiering on anyhow.

Those shoes

they’re mellifluous white noise,
juxtaposed with the honking and
and the coughing and the shouting
and the gray
and the smothering cold and blinding gold
of the breaking of the day
which seems it will never end as it bleeds into
the hundreds that made up yesteryear.

skrsch, skrsch, skrsch.

skrsch- they drag,
skrsch- they slow,
skrsch- they stop.

Everyday staring at my shoes,
satisfied by every passing pair,
because they were carrying by eyes that would never catch mine.

Until today.

Before me, a pair of sensible black leather shoes,
stopped equidistant from what was between the tips of my brown leather brogues and hers

-cracked ground-

ruptured like a cinderblock by the hand of a practiced artist from one of those movies I watched as a kid.

“Sclerenchyma – strengthening tissue in a plant, formed from cells with thickened, typically lignified, walls.”

…
…

I-…
…

“Sclerenchyma, it’s how plants, break through the concrete. They’re little, but they’re a lot stronger than they look. Tiny, little guys can break through damn near anything.”

…
I-…
…

“Hi!”

I was never struck so dumb as the moment I slowly scanned my way from her sensible shoes-.. Oxfords
if you were wondering,
to her too tight, blue jeans, gripping her thighs
like my virginal little fingers couldn’t have even known they wanted to at the time,

sticking
for a moment to her black leather belt and golden cherry tree buckle,
my stomach bluttering like a million flutterbys as I passed hers,
my heart stopping as I realized I’d reached the bit of crop top skimming her still breasts, unlike mine, which were heaving because I finally realized that the desert in my throat was from hyperventilation and like a fool I’d stood stunned for-…

Hi.

“Are you alright?”

I was just admiring the little flowers growing out of the pavement

“Yeah. Sorry, about earlier, sometimes when I don’t know what to say, I just start spouting facts hoping I say something interesting. But somehow I felt I had to say something.”

Yeah,
I get that.
I never know what to say
either
So
usually I just say
what I’m thinking and
people leave if they
don’t like it

“Oh? Well what are you thinking?”

flecks of green
shattering ubiquitous gray,
gave me hope for a future
where each day we are not the pall-bearers
in a corporate sponsored march
to the industrial dirge, playing
at the wake of freedom,
as the other virtues mourn her loss.

“Oh.”

Yeah, I’m sorry-..

“You’re beautiful.”

I Don’t Hate You

I have a friend who liked to debate difficult subjects on facebook. Often it led to fiery disputes among his friends in the forum that was his facebook comments.

It is now with mild chagrin that I inform you, that he feels silenced by hate.

“Well I admit defeat. I have tried hard to open debate and discussion about various topics. Granted Facebook might not have been the best platform for it but I found it was a platform in which people would actually respond with their view. I have been utterly overwhelmed with the responses I have received. Some of you have been great and offered different opinions that I could use to enhance my own and I appreciate it greatly. However I am too weak a person to deal with all the daily hate I receive for expressing opinions contrary to current popular belief. Iv’e always loved Socrates and his search for knowledge and truth and I always tried to channel him but I am not as strong a man as he was. I cannot deal with all the social shaming I receive. It makes me go to a place I do not like to go. So anyway I will not be posting anymore opinions on topics. I’ve accepted that as the minority opinion I have to just keep my mouth shut. Ultimately I value friends and social standing over my search for truth and knowledge. I’ve let you down Socky old buddy. Please forgive me.”

Here is my response:

” I’m not trying to start an argument here, but your opinions are popular with plenty of people, just not necessarily the people you are Facebook friends with.

Another thing to consider is that certain arguments that you have made have suggested that you‘re on the side of those who your Facebook friends consider “systematic oppressors.” Even if your statements where intended as, “let us debate the merit of this position!” They were often understood to be your personal opinions. Appearing to be an opinionated, white, cisgendered male, complaining about your right to free speech or (intentionally or unintentionally) marginalizing/undermining the struggles of those that are not your demographic… Has implications. To a person of color or a feminist or a socialist living in a left-leaning liberal part of the country, you can appear to represent the members of the current establishment who do not understand their positions or care to. This can lead to a feeling that you as an individual could be without sympathy or even empathy for someone whom you refer to as a Facebook friend, or people like them that you don’t know.

“This person is sitting here comparing what I view to be two unequal injustices as though they are equivalent– does that mean they believe that just because everyone struggles, inequities in those struggles are irrelevant/invalid?”

In short. I think what you interpret to be hate is actually just resentment of what people fear you represent.

I’ll leave you with this. Next time someone attacks what you believe, ask yourself if logic is defending your idea or if you are defending the logic of your idea.

Example:
“Feminists are oppressive.”
This is a decades old “dogma”, that truly needs to be supported with facts in order to have any merit. Arguments over what oppression is, what feminism is… Are those perceived as not being empowered capable of oppression? Is oppression a state that exists because of a feeling it evokes or can it be defined independently-… Et al.
The speaker presents potentially as opposition to feminism and provides nothing of intentional value to the “feminists.”

However,

Example:
“If self-proclaimed feminists allow themselves to present a misandrous agenda, and care only about dismantling the oppression of women, then this is not only hypocrisy but they’ve failed to provide a mutually beneficial replacement to the system in place.”

This statement points out an understanding that feminism is about changing the status quo… but the speaker cares about what it will cost the other parties. Whether the change will be a true improvement or simply an endless power struggle.
The speaker presents potentially as ally to the “feminists” and provides constructive criticism.

Sometimes people care so much about things, they forget to show they care about each other.”

It’s nice to hear what those who disagree with you think about your views. And whether or not your views can stand the crucible of criticism.

It is not, however, nice to have your character attacked because of what you believe. And so I want to make sure that is never the way in which I engage another human being.

Daily Post 9: I’m in love btw

Midday post ho!

So today, it’s time for the WEEKEND UPDATE!

I’m madly in love with a girl named “Fred”. (there’s an obscure theater joke in there)

Have I told you guys that? Have been for months, I could gush about her for hours, but you’d start to hate me. She’s fantastic. She’s beautiful, she funny, and she makes me want to be a better man.

Part of all of my efforts to be a better person are about me. And part of them are about the people I love… There’s also a tiny part of it that’s about the people who hate me. I want them to drink in my six pack and drunk text me their confessions of adoration to which I’ll reply, “sorry, darling, but I’m taken.”

Not really. I’m not that narcissistic. I pretend to be.

But on a similar note, self-love is important in many aspects of life. If I didn’t love myself I wouldn’t want to push myself to be better. If I didn’t love myself I wouldn’t know how to treat “Fred” with love.

I have to like myself. Love myself even. I’m stuck with me after all.

Poetry

I used to write a lot of poetry. I don’t do it as much anymore. It’s possibly because I’m happier, possibly because I’m busier, and possibly because I’m too lazy to write poetry.

Poetry itself is a strange medium. You can say any number of things in any number of ways… and what exactly counts as poetry is really up to the person reading it. I find poetry in any well crafted bit of language that is intended to be art whether it’s a collage of newspaper clippings, a sonnet, an epic, or two quotes of a politician juxtaposed to show his morals decaying as his assets grow.

I love it.

There are two problems for me however:

The first problem is that the things that drive me to write it are few and far between these days. Not that I don’t find myself outraged at the state of the world or that I don’t love my girlfriend so much that my heart feels the need to express it in verse(because my love of women just gives me that high). I just don’t actually feel driven to say anything about it for the benefit of others.

Which actually leads to the second problem. I simply don’t know where the audience is.

Sure I could go find them, but re-adding poetry to my ever growing list of hobbies as something I care about being good at leads me to wonder if I should actually make a point of trying to publish. I when I do write poetry, I either care so much I want to world to see it, or I give up on caring doubting the world ever will. I just feel I ought to pick a different medium.
I’d love some comments on people’s thoughts about poetry.

7 Senryuu… cause haiku are about nature.

bacon strips are…
but sometimes I don’t have them.
this equals sadness…

Ants crawl in my home.
And I burn. I crush. I kill.
Winter? Nowhere’s safe…

Cold hands and warm heart,
her touch somehow still warms me,
outside rarely counts

Kiss me deeply please,
so I cannot e’er forget,
the touch of your lips

A tree stands alone
but if none will ever hear…
Sound? Unimportant

The fire? it can burn.
And this sword? It can bleed you.
Your killer? My hate.

You will forget me…
It is the nature of “things.”
And that’s when I’ll die.