Poem: Mother's Surgery

My Mother's in the Hospital;
Surgery for a broken hip.
I can't even afford to visit her.
What kind of Son am I?

The day will come
when She will die.
No longer will I be able to rely
on her sporadic
giftcards and money
in the mail.

Pathetic, poor, and weak,
I am.
Everything
my Father predicted.

I'm terrified
to be alone.
Though it feels like
I always have been.

My Mother's in the Hospital;
Surgery for a broken hip.
At least,
that's what
they tell me.

Poem: Cell Phone Gods

I'm scared to get a phone;
The time is coming soon again.

To blame the tracking by CIA,
bill collectors, or my family.
To blame my fear of being contactable,
accountable, responsible.
Possibly.
A phone is a commitment,
these days,
a relationship unto itself.
By having one I volunteer my participation
in the electronic voice network.
I can spray paint it
or change the ring-tones
to a song I like,
but that wont change the fact,
the Truth,
the very small way,
the phone enslaves me.

It always starts small,
then the slavery gets bigger.
Today it's a cell phone,
tomorrow it's a laptop,
the next day it's an implant.
Yes, Dad, "They" can listen to your conversations
through your cell phone;
Even when it's turned off.
Take the battery out, at least.

My last memories of my last cell,
two years ago,
are of my Mother yelling at me through it,
giving me a nervous breakdown with each call.
Of endless bill collectors,
of an angry girlfriend poisoning my pocket device
relentlessly with texts and voice mails.
Of calling my contacts to complain about my life,
only complaining just made it worse.
Of days on end afraid to check my voicemail,
the number of voice mails piling up,
getting larger and larger
- competing with my fear -
until I finally can't stand the tension
and I check my voicemail
to find nothing important at all.
Of three hundred calls for a person named "Hymie"
and three hundred explanations that
this is no longer "Hymie's" phone number.
Of hours spent waiting,
holding the radiation-emitting device
next to my brain
while pressing numbers in a corporate phone-tree-trap.

Yes, cell phone, I fear you.
Yes, call phone, I respect you.
Like I respect The Devil.
Like I respect Alcohol.
Like I respect Heroin.
I know how insidious you can be.

When you can reach anyone with a whim and a button-push:
How can you tell those Action-Takers
from the limitless number of Bullshitting-Talkers?
True friends from False?
Pay attention.
You pay attention.

I honor you, New God of Our Age.
Hail to Thee Cell Phone,
may I wield Thee like a Samurai,
like a double-sided dagger
you can both create division
and destroy division,
creating Unity.

Yea, creating Unity.

Poem: Yet Another Anti-Depressant

Trying another anti-depressant; Paxil.
Warned that I may be sleepy the first four days
I thought, "yeah, right."
But I've felt like shit on a stick all day...
I think it is day 2.
Like a sleepy Zombie again.
It is so fucking hot,
these anti-deps never work good.
They just make me incredibly dopey.
Also my stomach hurts a little dully.
My hands are cut up
and my writing looks funny.
Can't write anything good.
Me think Paxil for stupid heads.
Poo-poo brains pee-pee pee-pee's.
Can I make it four days?
We'll see...
(I doubt it)

Thoughts: Lessons I Learned as a Child

1) Whenever possible avoid telling the truth. Truth leads to beatings at worst and shrugs at best.

2) My opinions and feelings do not matter to anyone.

3) Never tell anyone what goes on at home. It's the worst thing you can do.

4) If I endure terrible treatment silently I wil be rewarded with toys and money.

5) Promises to me do not matter, they can be fullfilled or changed at any time, for any reason. Promises that I make, however, have to be fulfilled or I will be hurt.

6) I don't deserve to know the "truth."

7) Loking good to your neighbors and the outside world is more important than how you feel or how you are really doing.

8) Whenever possible to get away with, it's O.K. to cheat with money a little. Like buying a discount movie ticket you don't deserve or cheating on taxes.

9) No one would save me from my family and abuse. There is no escape ever.

10) Adults are most often petty, stupid, mean, selfish, greedy, and terrible at dealing with each other and the world at large. I can't wait to be one so I can slap the fuck out of my father and tell everyone else to "Fuck Off!"

11) My parent's divorce was my fault (They both confirm this to this day, although Mom sometimes changes her mind momentarily).

12) Even as far as adults go: Mine are exceptionaly vicious and stupid.

13) Teachers care more about disciplined behavior and repitition than actual learning.

14) I was often blamed successfully for acts I did not commit and nobody ever stood up for me. This taught me that I would always be in trouble no matter what I did.

15) Doctors and Psychiatrists do not care about helping you, they care about money and their "theories."

16) Money is easy to get.

17) Friends can help, but only momentarily, you always have to go back to your family alone.

18) Something called "genes" and my "family tree" said I was almost guarented to become an alchoholic or drug addict (whatever the heck those are!) when I grew up, unless I never touched the stuff.

19) My Mom liked my Dad more than she like the idea of neither Her nor I being beaten and yelled at by Him. Or she was just a big coward. I couldn't decide.

20) My Father didn't love or even like me. I was the worst part of his life and avoided him as much as possible (He confirms this to this day).

21) My Father was the best Lier in the world and no matter how much truth I told, people would always believe his lies instead of me.

22) Sometimes you just get punished for no reason at all, even if you are doing really good.

23) By controlling all information released about me to my parents, I could lesson the number of beating I got. Information is power.

24) Entertaining guests is very important. More important than me or my feelings.

25) The outside is everything, no one cares what goes on inside a person.

26) Buying T.V.'s, Roses, Stereo's, and a car, makes up for breaking dishes, slashing car tires, and other abuse.

27) I could depend on my family for pain and misery only. For everything else I was on my own.

28) Drinking alchohol was more important to my father than my mother and I.

29) Hide anything of value and write diaries in code. Your room will be searched constantly and your diary read. I have no right to privacy.

30) Dad counts every cent in his change jar (I should have remembered this oone ten years later).

31) No matter how old I got, I was never too old for a beating from my father or emotional torture from my mother.

32) Adults act stupid at parties.

33) Everything dies. Mostly pets killed accidentally by my mother.

34) My parents would rather have my school Priest tell me at Mass in front of the entire school that my dog had died, than have a heartfelt conversation with me.

35) If I'm going to get beaten to matter what I do... well, then, "Fuck it," right?

36) I can manipulate my mother into buying me things because oh her guilt. She knows that she is wrong for letting Dad act like he does. I might as well milk it. Toys are all I have.

37) If someone has to be beaten, I would rather it be Mom than me. It's her fault for staying with him (Ouch, I know, but it's what I felt at the time).

38) Girls like me... and I like girls!

39) I can meditate all by myself and get away from all the crap.

Poem: In Fear of the Internet

The words of the World await me.
Answers to questions
I asked weeks ago.
Questions I no longer remember,
no longer want to remember.
But they will be there,
waiting for me,
in the world that is real.

So many people.
I want to hide from them all.
The Internet does not forget, Lover.
The Internet does not forgive.
The Internet simply Is.

In fear of the Internet,
I go to log on anyways,
to see for myself,
what seeds I have been planting,
in my absence
of memory.