tough love
the toughest love
is to be allowed to live
john lilly
showed up, out of the fog, at esalen
in his obi-wan kenobi robe, said
to mckenna: "nature loves you ruthlessly"
"meaning you personally?" asked the wired interviewer
decades later
"i guess, i was the only other person standing there"
mckenna says, i wonder if he's "spaced out" at the moment
me, me,
maybe i can be phased out
maybe i don't serve the lovely goal
bye bye
nature loves what i am, the scrapper will
that's in my dna, that would amuse by
biting and clawing to live one more day
it’s not me that nature loves
but what’s under my frail shell
what must be spread
to the edge
my me
is a cancer
ego logical invention
polyalloy precursor
for a flying saucer
building material, disposable
and that is what creates death
and fear, and survival
maybe i’ll be alive at the end of the world
like the irish say
maybe they toasted me with a quart of whisky
maybe i’m finnegan again, it’s okay
to hate my species, it’s natural
i’d say
*
before i die, i'm going to create a facebook profile
"favourite activities: waiting to die"
this will give the nervous nellies anxiety
family members who don't know when i'm being sarcastic
as if i was ready to end it all
goodbye cruel world... but first
let's get on facebook, let's network
birth date: 1981, too bad there's no death date
i could fill that one in too
*
i used to pride myself on loving the cloudy day, the overcast aesthetic
i still love it but now it's more academic than anything, i've got to be honest,
i crave the sunlight, i've had enough of this gray
i've become another normal lame human, what's next
am i gonna start liking the rolling stones?
maybe you’re right, maybe that powder rots my brain
but it’s rotting anyway, cause living is dying
*
it’s the slow death of
my sacred land was always my backyard
the forest mountain
they’re turning a vast swathe of it into upper crust housing
but at least they’re doing it slowly
it’s a slack job, the builders would say
they’re on kootenay time
a sublime excuse
i thought after the winter they’d have it paved over
but the clearing is mostly just dirt and a lonely bulldozer
and a bit of plywood, and the wizened survivors
surrounding, smug in their bark skin
so even when a sacred forest gets overrun
by made-in-china
it dies its slow death
dilated and delirious
at its own pace, noble chlorophyll junkies
Ф