I don’t mind

’cause it doesn’t matter

just ask Alice

or the Mad Hatter

hallucinogenic

subject matter

words bounce

crystals shatter

unconscious

chitter-chatter

mind on fire

thoughts scatter

explosive ideas

on a silver platter

in the end

it’s mind over matter

Jammed into a sardine can

ripping through the sky

at thirty-five thousand feet,

no one asked me

if I favored cock or pussy

for over two hours—

I guess it was either altitude sickness

or they didn’t give a shit.

We all shared our misery the same,

hating the ungrateful little bastards

kicking our seats

more than each other’s sexual orientations.

And when we lowered beneath the clouds

and when Florida revealed itself,

I raised my finger at the window

to the governor,

and offered a greeting from America.

According to Disney

my trip was soon to start

in the Gayest Place on Earth

DeSantis must have forgotten which State he ran for.

I took the time to look around

At the hunched backs and bent necks

And the tears falling on a screen

I realize the wasted time

The autotuned screams

The pixelated faces

And girls who are fake

Or animated vulgarly

Scared to look real issues in the face

Like the amount of depression

And amount of pure worry

And children just wanting the future to hurry

Forget the enjoyment of the imagination

Nay the fear of face-to-face confrontation

or the character building we desperately desire

or the first time of feeling love's fire

let us find our religion in the left or the right

or what the internet says at 3 at night

let our blood run RBG

and our brains on dark mode

and believe anything

that Mark Zuckerburg wants to show

but for me

don't give me a screen

Or the fake ecstasy of pixels dancing

Give me a pen

There is a sin

coming up second

to rape

and sitting right above

murder

and it’s the cardinal sin

of being boring.

There is no shortage

of boring damned people,

an extreme surplus of them.

They have been ruining

the world

and collapsing civilizations

since their have been civilizations

worth collapsing.

Interesting men

have always gone to war

to run their bayonets through

other interesting men

because of the needs of

boring men to feel

adequate

to grab at other

sources of power due to

their lack of being something on

their own.

Boring men

destroy interesting women

so a man with more

doesn’t steal them away

and leave him with

his dick in his his hand

and boring women

erode interesting men

from the inside

because when they

fell

In love with him for his

ways

They didn’t expect it

to be so hard to

outshine him

so they decide he

is an oppressor

and start to sharpen the

guillotine slat.

Boring people wage

terrorism

on the others of us

every day with their woes

and their boring cancerous

conversation and it chews

at the rest of our contentment

with living.

We see their rules

and their governments

and their sycophantic societies

and we decide we’d rather

be somewhere else

because if they are right

it’s too much to bear

being wrong.

So we grab

interesting tools

built by interesting

gunsmiths

and we cross the

crevasse

of fear and unknowing

and make an interesting scene

for someone else

to find

and wonder:

’How could someone do

something like that?

What a coward.

Was he sick?

Look at these scribblings

on every surface

and all those books!

He must have been sick!

Yes. He surely was.

My goodness.

Goodness me.

Anyway,

I have to get this over with.

The game is on at 7.

We (they) are playing the

(Whatever’s).’

cardinal sin numero dos.

Hello, Writers and Dear Readers.

Hope your week has started off metal as possible, or classical as possible, or new wave as possible, or... Look, I couldn't think of a way to start off this post to introduce a 41-second poem on the channel. But we thought it would be cool to change it up once in awhile. Plus, I got this badass new webcam I wanted to test drive. Anyway, here's the link.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yYvN5aQGHWw

And.

As always.

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team

It’s all so surreal today –

it just makes me want to scream!

Lost in a limbo between your reality

and wherever the hell I am in my mind.

These are the moments,

these paralyzing panic attacks ooze their poisons –

like little parasites

with their thousands of little parasite feet,

invading every pore of my flesh.

I cannot move

though I tremble.

I can squint my eyes

but I am still blinded by this daze.

I am confused, stranger.

Will this be the day?

Will this awareness of a pure insanity

be the final curtain to my existence?

Dawn has arrived now,

and I have barely finished my first cup of coffee yet.

Sigh.

A magic mirror

only exists in fairytales,

but here

there’s no

wisdom hidden

within the glass;

Yet I still stare at it

waiting

for something

amazing to reveal itself,

but the person

glaring back at me

is just as fucked up,

just as scared,

and is entirely confused

about the future

as I am.

I say,

fuck that guy.

He’s no help to me either.

The thing with prep schools is that size matters!

The masters tend to be bigger than you and it is a lottery,

As to whether they see this as an advantage in lives battle.

Or merely an arrangement, where by they can reach

The blackboard and illicit the magic of arcane knowledge

In such a way that small boys understand such wizardry.