the words

come out not when they're needed,

so desperately needed,

urgently needed,

matter-of-fact[ly] needed,

only when they're heartfelt,

and wanted,

dreamed,

impassioned.

not lulled,

drug,

soon to be buried,

even sooner to be forgot. 

but- those words are the only

worth anything.

the only determinants 

of a perchance happier future,

career, state of mind...

write, i must.

though i shudder. 

you've

thirteen more rings

round your waist

round your hands

round your tongue

than i,

and me?

i can't help but

swelter, helter-skelter

midst and against each of those rings;

bearing my adolescence like a 

summer sheath

 begging to be

peeled, appealed 

quickly

off and away 

so that i can swim cool and proper

without restraint

of too little

or too many 

years and things and experiences,

she obstinately tells me. 

where

can i escape to?

why

can't i escape? 

or swallow

some countless number

of sweet, sweet lozenges.

perhaps then

i shall be free.

maybe

if i hold my breath

long enough.

if

i commit (       )

and fail

i'll be no less

embarrassed

with myself.

i want to

i have to

i'm going to,

lest i be stopped

on the way home.

just now

i looked into my head

to see what i could see

to see all that i know

so as to find somewhere to go

but despite all that i've read

and all that appears to be

when i looked into my head

i discovered it was empty

thoreau up

at least

here i am

a regular, aspiring

kierkegaard

trying to do

it's something;

when heidegger

tells me

anxiety

is also a

necessary condition.

really, heidi?

then why do

i feel

the need

for a 

warm wash towl?

i'm a genius in the morning.

erase

erase

erase

erase

erase.

someone told me

they could smell the

cromagnum

as soon as i walked

through the door.

explanation please? 

what do we twitter?

because i cannot 

justify an answer to 

that question,

i will no longer

twitter

my life away.

au revoir facebook!

auf wiedersehen myspace!

hello authenticity. 

spencermary

needs a friend

or a psychologist. 

spencermary

is a pretty decent actor

but isn't very active.

something's got to give...

spencermary

is a crazy person.

and

i'm embarrassed.

could it have been determined any differently?

i want to wear big sweatshirts

 black stirrup leggings

with tall green garden boots 

everyday and

have people listen 

to what i have to say,

and especially to the 

wonderful news that i've got for them.

i'd rather they not already know

because of an online social networking page

that is constantly keeping tabs on me,

feeding me quite literally to the public

while i, in turn, am frantically feeding them. 

someone would think of such a thing.

why am i home?

this isn't helping my complexion!

i read the things 

that i write to people

that i write

and finger-pick to people;

i'm a crazy person!

we're all lonely crazy persons!

language drives us apart.

language separates us.

language stifles our breath.

information and not communication.

it's the duchess.

still! it's the duchess!

our situation.

we haven't changed,

we've only changed our clothes.

our natural, social, political surroundings

consume us.

we deny the river 'till the end. 

and the end and the end

how come?

so says the universe

in the strangest way.

a river rogue, 

a dollar's drudge,

a couple beers and me.

the conversations

that ensued

were further blows

to my soul's calamity.

where have i heard this?

everything sounds the same.

silence is sacred

but it's a loosing game.

take up your garden.

breathe in between.

tomorrow is not ours.

there's virtue in waiting...

in waiting in waiting in

waiting in vain.

yes 

-i- 

can-mode goggles

on..

getting

together 

for the first time

already

fixing 

to make you mine

spencermary

wants some 

human 

connection!!

!!!!!!

!!

as should you- independently, and transcendently.

a whistle from the kitchen

turned into a siren

a florescent sign flashed

where the sidewalk ends

caution

the floor's slippery

stop

you're going the wrong way

attention

in case of fire 

are we moving so fast

that we can't be accountable

for the two feet underneath us?

i caused that.

and that

and that

and this

and now i must brave

the unknown effects.

she is

nevertheless

making progress

and you, 

you're just making a mess

of yourself.