Crackpot Realism
Crackpot Realism is a term defined by C. Wright Mills in his novel The Power Elite. It refers to the rationale of the men who controlled...
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Writing: Blog2
POEMS AND SPOKEN WORD
ARE YOU HALF EMPTY OR HALF FULL
Crying is like emptying that bucket you keep
in the corner of your basement to catch drips when it rains.
That rusty bucket once shined green
But time turned it red. Â
More often than you’d like the murky water fills up
until it taps on the edge.
Drag it across the floor and watch it splash as you go.
Dump it out.
It feels so good to be empty again.
THROUGH THE BACK DOORÂ OF MY CHILDHOOD HOME
The clear glass glistens,
Drops of rain highlight an array of red and orange leaves
Among a pale landscape.
The cool door slides open,
To find a giant white blanket
With a trail of paw prints so small
You could swallow them whole.
The screen door whistles
To say the flowers have come,
And we should all poke our heads out to see.
THE WORLD ITSELF IS A BAD DREAM
I’m tired of living in a regime dictated by the twitter machine
I’m sorry if it sounds kind of mean, but we’re all idiots.
I check Instagram more than I check in with my mother
and I spend countless hours on the Facebook page of my ex-lover.
I could say I’m unhappy, but, hell, I feel great.
There is nothing quite like comparing your weight
to the women online who have nothing but time
to make smoothies and do yoga and update.
I’m becoming increasingly online
and slowly losing my mind,
I can’t see beyond my phone’s reflection.
Someone get me a charger,
cause if I go any farther
I’m going to lose my connection.
I’m addicted to validation and content creation,
though I haven’t quite figured out communication.
Sure, I can hold up a conversation,
if we’re talking online.
Someone just told me to kill myself, I’m starting to think this isn’t going so well.
Being a woman online, no one seems very kind,
so, I guess I’ll see you all in hell.
I’m becoming decreasingly online
and trying to track down my mind
I’m starting to see beyond the horizon.
I already feel a bit smarter
and I’m going much farther,
I cancelled my account with Verizon.
NEW YORK IS DISSOLVING
New York in August is wickedly hot,
people tell you all the time, but I guess I forgot.
Like sweaty pigs shuffling through subways
all waiting to be fed.
Between New York in August,
I think I’d rather be dead.
Times Square’s overrated,
this whole town is sedated,
I don’t mean to sound jaded,
but get me out of here.
Don’t tell me not to make a fuss
when I got groped on the bus
I’m not the kind of gal
who lives in fear.
Piss covered streets
and sweat-soaked sheets,
it’s the city that never sleeps
because of the god damn heat
and there are only about five people
who actually have central AC.
It’s a thankless city
where everyone pretends to be pretty,
but we’re all ugly on the inside.
the population is overflowing,
gentrification won’t stop growing.
There is literally nowhere to hide.
UNTITLED
How many times do I have to tell you
to eat with your mouth closed?
When you try to speak it’s so fucking gross.
I think, if you could see your face when you talk,
that you would probably want to stop.
When I tell my friends about you,
they seem surprised you’re still around.
I’m just in love with that soulful looking frown.
For some reason I never want to let you down.
I love the way you can’t admit when you’re wrong,
even if the argument’s long gone.
Keeping score is your favourite song
and you never stop singing.
You think I’m crazy because I don’t want to have kids,
actually, I’m crazy because I see dead bodies
living behind your eyelids.
Sorry, if that sounds a little morbid.
Your lips taste like cheap beer and half-assed apologies,
for once, let’s stop pretending we’re not mean.
when you ask me to undress you if feel like I’m your mom.
Something about that is really wrong.
It’s not that I don’t love you, I just don’t like you very much
I’ll be sure to let you know when I’ve had enough.
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