Thinking It Over

Little to say by way of text. Listen to the recording if you’re someone who enjoys that. The small metrics of Substack could go a long way- if you liked it please Like!Peace and love to you all on this February day,Oli This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit boliverb.substack.com

It’s fast-paced and entertaining. I rant a little about life and society.I hope any of this means anything to any one of you.I mention here many things and read off of this list below:The painter’s writera play written, what does it meanDrive my carso I walk aroundthe exploding dogwooddirectionlessis Portland fucked foreverimagined livesreal livesSell Trooper, work on it, move out-idle handsPeace be with you, It’s an effort, let us be closer,Oliver This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit boliverb.substack.com

I say I’m going to talk about parts-work but I don’t.It’s long. It may put you to sleep. There is no poetry or art in it. I am talking about the nature of being in ways, and how we try to manage ourselves and our lives.\Peace be with you.I love you all.Forgive me,Oliver This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit boliverb.substack.com

People don’t often listen to the audio posts (I have metrics) but I make them anyway. In this one things are more interesting; It is not something I feel like explaining.I am going to take some time away from making frequent, impulsive posts. Call me anytime.Thanks,Oliver This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit boliverb.substack.com

My friend’s have mentioned at long last that they like some of these things, so I am doing it again. Listen in, I expose all my secrets (well, most) and tell the truth about things. I like being truthful and am good at it. It is a practice. Here is the poem I reference in the post:(POEM OF YEARNING) Was meant today to start the new play; A woman is shot and slides down a hill, at the bottom of the hill she dons a mask, a death mask which is covered in green earth and a single flower like a lily pad. A child approaches in bucolic clothing and grabs the flower little by little and puts it in her basket, tearing the petals, leaving the meat. The gunman sits down nearby for a spell, in a fugue state. He buries his gun in the soft ground. What does it mean? I couldn’t tell you. There are other themes I need to investigate today, of my waking life: The silver edge of a worn porcelain cup, been repainted. I am thirty three this year, Last night went to my friends forty-fifth birthday party. His kids put on the play I mentioned; I aim to steal it off of them. He said to me over coffee that I’m closer than he was. Older friends sometimes say that to me. Though today I accidentally forget age and the past it built. I have one bit of truth to build and its in the novelty of every new day and every new state: I needn’t behave in such accordance to things the ‘were’ if it is in conflict with things that ‘are’. Now Bella and I are meant to make hats; Now Tess and I have plans to catch up. The girl I had a crush on at Guero is gay, like most every crush I get. The other one and the other one has a boyfriend- And this morning when I masturbate out of depression I end up crying, like always, for the chasm between here and there- It is tiresome to elevate and compress over and over; I keep it up as a function of living, I say to myself, and then today an hour after crying I hear a song I AM KINDA NEW… I am indeed man, and it needn’t sound meaningful to you, sometimes these things hit, because it was for me. And that’s not even the most notable thing of the morning; a beautiful cool day with some intrigue; some freedom of being; some crush to message and dribble away; some stupid jokes, friends coming over and records on and a little waffle- imagine that a waffle this fine autumnal pretending morning, I say to myself, like the older cats I’m closer than I was, this day- This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit boliverb.substack.com

HELLO TO YOU ALL WELCOME TO THIS EXCITING POST! I put in a little effort here and made a video version of the dang audio post. So you can really imagine you’re there with me and we are friends and all that. (Imagine as well as you’re able we are friends; and you may find at the end of your imagining that it is so :) ) I read briefly from my play and the talk about fear and growth for a moment, and then ask desperately for anyone to be my friend. I find it to be a good one. Watch or listen if you got some time and also want to and also are in a position to. As always the quoted bit is below. All summer loves and beautiful lives to you all we surely deserve it.Peace, Love, Easy Life, Easy Death-OliverJOAN: I have a story I want to tell you. Once, A man found himself in a desert, wandering, and though it spread around him there was one direction he couldn’t move in, just one, and so he moved away from it. And as he walked through he passed many interesting things; a cactus, jackrabbit, stones. Each one he passed appeared almost suddenly and then disappeared slowly behind him. He loved those things and each time they left he was saddened. Some of them were rare, some of them he would see over and over again. JOAN: Then after a long time walking he suddenly noticed ahead of him that on the horizon was something grey and steel; it spread out beyond comprehension in either direction. After a while he understood this sublime wall to be hull of a great ship, one that supersedes the understanding of a simple man. He marveled at it as he approached. Was this once an ocean? he thought. Finally he arrived at the foot of it. He stopped walking as there was nowhere to step. He wished to pass, can I walk around? he thought. No. You cannot circumvent this ship. you will perish of old age trying. JOAN: He stood at the base of it, unsure- unable to go back, unable to move forward, until he realized something: it was a ship, he thought, I must look to its expanse and find an opening. JOAN: He laid his head against its unbearable mass, rested his cheek upon the metal and felt the cold of it. He looked out against the infinite plain of the hull, (the way it is more than infinite, the way it is advancing) for a chip, a digression in the face. He found one. Slowly he made his way there with his eyes unmoving, grasped the opening with his hands. He noted the soft bevel, the sharp bits. He counted to three, held his breath and peered inside. It was overwhelming. He gazed deep into the black nothing, and, terrified, pulled away and sat down in the sand. JOAN: For a long time he sat in the sand, waiting for something. Without moving, without the jackrabbits and cacti, it was impossible to tell how long he had sat there. But his eyes began to crease, And his skin hardened in the sun and wind. He looked at the porthole intermittently, and then less and less. The things he had passed and loved were nearby enough, still visible behind him. They would disappear if he went inside. He made himself comfortable in the sand; His unhappiness grew. He could get no closer to those things he loved, and he saw nothing new. JOAN: There came a day finally, when his unhappiness was no longer bearable. Still, the absence of life in the ship seemed worse than his misery. He wanted to die. Really, he felt he was already dead. In a fit of desperation, he peered once again into the black of the ship. Why was he cursed to come this way? He wondered, why was he destined for this misery? His existence seemed pointless. It would end here if he did not move. Okay, he finally thought. Nothing Else. No, this porthole is your life. It’s all you have left. THEO has wandered back to his chair through this monologue and sits looking at the mirror. THEO: he’s meant to be me? JOAN: It’s an allegory. THEO: For me? I have a ship? JOAN: For anyone. (pause) but yes, you might. THEO: Hm. THEO (takes a sip of his drink. the last sip. looks at it mournfully). THEO: It’s sort of boring. 'The only way out is through.' I don’t really get much out of platitudes.and it continues…THEO takes a sip of his drink. The last sip. He looks at it disappointed, then back at the mirror. THEO: So this man, he went in and what happened? JOAN: (dully) Oh yes, He went in. (resumes narrative voice) The air was stale and cold on his face. As he fumbled through the hole his hands found a floor. he sat there touching it, comforted, oddly, by some sense of dimension in the space. After he rested for a while he noticed a screw head, a lone piece of information in the otherwise black room. He stared at it hard. And then, suddenly, in his periphery he saw another. His eyes were adjusting, just a little. He was less scared. He started walking and after a timeless period of darkness he felt there was a soft haze of light. It was difficult terrain, but the haze made more and more visible the obstacles. The man’s joints started at last to loosen, and he knew finally that he would make it through. One day, in the growing haze of light, he passed by a large piece of old machinery, and was confronted by a small hole in the distance, creating a solid beam of sun. It was beautiful. The man thought about the cacti, and rocks, and jackrabbits and ran forward with renewed energy. His legs ached and he was out of breath but he could not slow down. He neared the hole. He saw the blue of sky. He felt fresh air. He plunged his head through the opening. (rests) THEO: And so he made it? JOAN: He came out on the other side, yes, and saw many new things, but was old and tired. He could not experience them the way he had before. He died shortly after. THEO: An unceremonious ending. What a waste. I hate it. JOAN: Yes. THEO: Well. (walks over to the table.) Could use another drink, I suppose. (sits down, situates self.)Be well This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit boliverb.substack.com

I’ll attach below, as always, the reference material that I am using here. I have taken some time off, and am pleased, because the first version of me ‘Thinking over' this sucker went horribly. I was too stupid. Now I am smart. I may do a double post this week, which should be informational. If you’re new, These audio posts are referencing previous written posts, so you may want to read it, but it’s fine if not, you can also just read along below.Here’s the shit:Thought-Letter to John A Theo Well you never answered but if you had I’d have told you all about that day and the new insight which no doubt overrides the previous twenty, and to that end redefines my human life; all is lost, but I will try and restore it: Did you know, Theo, that I am consolidating my struggles for better or worse into one large piece of day which is most of it, actually, and in doing so, gleaning hopefully a base understanding of its basest form? Maybe you didn’t but anyway, I have, functionless, observant, and thought I was becoming more agreeable or capable one but no, That day I understood something clearly which eluded then and eludes now its description, something phenomenal, and it was the extent of failure poured into labor over ten years which depending on your frame of reference is possible even impressive, maybe to you at least, and probably partly that's why I was calling anyway, but beyond that failure is the definition of failure which is also mired in independence and cannot be communicated and John I wonder if the failure I speak of becomes very much something else when pushed through a lens of desperation; I wonder if when you pull back just a little there is a snag of beauty and I’ll tell you what I realized about that is the lens itself is the lens and the failure is in its imperceptibility, look, man, I was meant to run my life through a sieve of observation and like some quantum state of self I am both magnificent and delusional lonely or beautiful, and maybe the thing I was really trying to get it at, that clarity, is that, John, I came to see, It is always both, and wow hey what profundity in the idling meniality, I know, fuck man, I know, but there's a facet of that which is real, that the performance is always human, no? if I dual laze and seek the validation of the screen, of the eye, of the reading, and am hidden away the laze is imbued with the beauty which seeks to come out and when the beauty is nigh and the eye is here, in my space, touching my hand, my laze is practiced, but not inauthentic. Not always laze no, today, by way of example, I have reclaimed desktop real estate wineglass condo, which has beautiful afternoon light, spilling red across the wall and books, and you are not here nor would you be, you to me, it was nice, though, not you and not my Ex, to observe, to make incredible my mundane for any, and you may find it deficient, who knows, but it is a labor of its own good friend, an unpaid dignity which I maintain, showering beautifully, and organizing my room and carrying my laundry beautifully and thinking with beauty about beautiful work so that some day some person says to me, the way, Oliver, you carry your laundry, is so elegant, and then I hate them for being so small, for not sharing that beauty into everything, I’m all fucked up, Theo, no surprise, have been and I’d guess you know I’d get here, were waiting even, but don’t miss the point: If there is nothing else, I know that I know as much as someone can while being, as tough as it is. and you are gone and cannot see my being so I am writing to tell you about it. Great news at last for and from me! Two insights of hope! One now and one spelled out below. Which is, let’s see, a bit of ego, too, forgive me, its true, first is this- The first is this: Some insight toward writing and art, I am increasingly singular, the product of effort, began seven years or more, not Bukowski, hah! Not Lerner, never, nor Rosmarie, Keith, Didion, nor Beckett, although, anyway this good news to me and the way it came into vision- Scott sent a Lerner video and everyone uses such big words and furthermore understands big concepts and really I think Lerner is it, you know, and how do I look to Lerner? well/ I dont. And so there’s the feeling forever that just around the bend, there, there, so close you can theres this feeling that my metric is all broken and the lattices are splitting one by one- I am lowered- I mean, you understand, the lattices, whatever, but no! I found out once again as per usual that one should not/ cannot compare selves, or more what I mean really is that Lerner has academic philosophical conceptual perfection well cornered, and I don’t see many people over on that other spot, that sort of grey patch which nudges out against the varying hills. In fact! As I look I am more or less alone in that regard, NOW! HOW about that man! Used to be I simply approximated (poorly) then it became that I could slip by in my way and work up against those approximations, then finally the unshackled being which is evidenced in this sentence being quite long and denying structure and I don’t even think (!) my friends I do not even think anymore of style or language, just thought itself, and it has little very little to do with Ben or Theo or famous people too and sometimes I could even imagine a world where someone writes something down and notices they are doing that Oliver thing. I mentioned it was ego heavy, thanks for bearing with me, those who have, and am I more interested in anything than talking at length about myself and what I think? but it is not purely ego—and besides there are all the other considerations of writing which now lay into me, and I am failing, but getting better— it is that I have made an effort to this end and here at this end I am looking back it is optimistic. In ten years I may have the required materials to write something really good, or I may be dead, whichever.Okay thanks for listening if you did. Love you all, Oliver This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit boliverb.substack.com

Listen now as instead of thinking about writing I have a small breakdown!! (I have issues with aural processing) (I find noises overwhelming sometimes) Like this time here now with a garbage truck and barking dog and neighbor noise it is in some ways about art and in other ways a documentation of the deconstruction of my cognitive functions when a little noise comes this way! Well anyway enjoyHere’s the poem for following along, of course:Thought-Letter to my Daughter Goddamn it just this, listen I know you don’t know me well, it doesn’t matter; there are things I need to tell you hungover today from drinking an abominable combination of wine and Piña Colada abominable in your thirties and thereon so please, be patient, my head hurts. For this and other reasons we will not speak proper, driven apart by me we will only speak in this way, until nonexistence draws us nearer, close enough to hear until then just this, listen there were spring days when cherry blossoms would fill the sky and dapple light on your face, and i would sneeze heavily those days, and still walk to a park and lay in the sun and all along the walk were crawling flowers and a breeze and I thought not for a moment of work- there were really days like that and other days I would sit for hours alone in my apartment thirsty and idling and unable to move into the world, sad, alone, lonely, with no sense of life or its purpose no sense of pleasure there were many many days like that, too many, and in my time alone I wondered often about the possibility of finding something that worked a person and a place and activity that would allow for your creation. You cannot understand but neither could elementary school teachers or friends nor employers or church leaders so I won’t try to explain it. We had no chance, you and I, and that’s all an aside. In my poverty I met some people who’s porch was warmed by morning autumn sun and who had rooms that bled from one another, and they were generous- I think of them as I think of you I see the beauty in my peripheries and I see the impossibility of life before me, the unnavigable road from here to there, though I have tried for a long time to cross and even still am trying. When I talk of someday I am speaking on that effort. It is important you know how hard I am working to close the gap between us, that in my inevitable failure you see the violence of life, and cry for me, that you do not consider me like my father, who left, that he and I are placed differently, all of this is important. And also that you understand the life you missed was made against you too, that bread and cheese —many things, god, the dirt, the moss, lambs ear, to be doted upon, head-rested on and tear pool shouldered— were beautiful and delicious in their rarity, that when a friend touches you on your back it is an exception to the rule of existence, that it is the sole pleasure of a mired week or month. and If you ever come to see me, then one more piece must be true, which justifies your not knowing, that the gentle draft which cools the room in the evening is a silly good thing when compared to the reward of times movement, what I mean- its complicated- is that I was wrong about the balance, and you will be alright, all these things settled out: good and bad, yes and no, pain; if we ever meet you’ll know what I’m saying, the fruition of life evidenced in our meeting, that apology still needed. Listen, it’s gotten too heady, I can be that way, you don’t know me well enough to know, afternoon creeps on and I have to eat, shower, quit this, so I’ll say at last that we won’t, I’m sorry, don’t get me wrong please we never would have met; that’s all but I tried, a little bit anyway, and I hope you weep for me. Love, Oliver. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit boliverb.substack.com

Now obviously you gotta listen to this unfortunately long episode to understand the purpose of it. But I’ll lay it out gently here as well: Emma sent me a poem for to think over. I go through the particularities of formatting in arduous detail, and talk at length about the considerations. All in all, it takes me about thirty minutes to make some minor edits because of the amount of communication around them. This is fun if you are someone who does not bore easily, and are curious what kind of things I think about after writing for years, only to arrive finally at mediocrity. Special thank you to Emma for volunteering their work to be scrutinized, it is a vulnerable thing.Here is Emma’s Original Poem:I Will Have A Panic Attack Down in the middle of the Mosh (no) conversation (no) Pit I lose the thread of Why this Motivation of how why anyone would Partake in this Sinister brand of World collapsing around me and Everyone else all At once Air a precious Reason to clamor for square Inches of hot Breath instead Wishes for outside Crisp, spacious Smoke and tires shedding millions of Microplastics a second and Anything In the space where space goes forever until The atmosphere that is Eroding away at Least I cannot smell someone’s Bad perfume laced with Headaches or Unflossed Teeth Crop dusting A field denser than any corn but at least ten times less biodiverse For one more moment or Else And here is the edited piece!A NOTE: I had noticed when I first read the poem the way in which the line ‘the atmosphere that is’ could be understood. But forgot and missed it when I was doing edits. I stand by the usage of ‘which’ to change the pacing, but given the intention behind it and how successful it is I have changed it back in the edit below, with added punctuation to better inform the reading as a qualifier. “that is”Pick your poison.I Will Have A Panic Attack Down in the middle of the mosh-conversation Pit I lose the thread of Why this Motivation of how-why- anyone would partake in this Sinister brand of world collapsing around me and everyone else all At once Air a precious reason to clamor for square inches of space thus occupied- -Hot Breath- wishes for outside- Crisp, Spacious Smoke and tires shedding millions of microplastics a second and anything - happening in the space where space goes forever until The Atmosphere, that is, eroding away at least I cannot smell someone’s bad perfume laced with headaches or unflossed teeth crop dusting A field denser than any corn but at least ten times less biodiverse for one more moment or ElseIf you are at all interested in having your work picked over publicly, message me. It might feel nice to be examined, to be the center of attention.Thanks as always for listening,Oliver This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit boliverb.substack.com

I would strongly encourage anyone who is not very into aural processing to just forgo this whole thing. it is so boring. There are also some mouth nouses for the first several minutes which thankfully cease shortly into the recording but man. Listen, I’ll sum it all up right here: Thinking about the what and why and hows of art and not in a corporate way or a wellness way or a ‘creatives’ way or as a practice or a religioius way or any of that other shit I hate so much. Just talking about ego and failures and why art exists I guess. Its not pretentious I promise. It is boring. Then I talk about my personal failings with art. Then I talk about like, global value of different perspectives, then I talk about personal value. Anyway if you want to just scan and see if its interesting the transcription tab on the post is FUCKING SICK. I love transcription. Just read around, the snippits are fun. I’ve been posting them because the decontextualization is fun to me. Alright thats enough. Probably won’t do another one for a little while because this one was already pushing it substance-wise. Peace to you, Oliver This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit boliverb.substack.com

unless you are a super fan, of which I don’t have any- I don’t think.The way life has been working for me lately does not permit generation. I try to remind myself that this is typical, when I get enough energy to do something like thinking. Anyway I recorded this a while ago and why not just make it available? I think I’m going to do more spoken things with transcripts because the generated transcripts have some insight into formatting that eludes me and I think its fantastic. I’m aware that this more or less puts me in the category of podcaster but I’m trying not to think of it that way and for my sake I encourage you not to either.Eventually we will all die, even thankfully warmongers and youtubers. I cannot let podcast white men take from me this singular pleasure of pretend lecturing, anyway you don’t have to listen so who gives a shit. Here are the read poems, to follow along or compare+contrast or something:SOLSTICE Not much man- just what little daylight today being what it is- naturally, sun sits low I know all about it low sometimes myself; anyhow healthier I might involve myself in the night being what it is but look here little Oliver not so The thing just right is a variation of Rob Roy named after Rob Roy named after a variation of Rob Roy (someone) and all that is true, too the right thing rights me as it does I could be healthier, I know BAR INTERIOR-DAYTIME-A MAN who is meant to be me, I say but its really a matter of perspective a man masticating the figurative now, and how does he look to you? blue striped jacket over cream ex-girlfriend blouse you might imagine a handsomer man hearing it but he’s okay looks like he’s been working out since the breakup drinking and writing now which is too much; mercifully its early and no one is bothering him or even looking that’s merciful, I say but its really a matter of perspective I am learning once now that all things their virtue a child furry howls and is humped and the fat drunk fifty some-odd who yell-talks is still night-comforted I couldn’t Imagine yet, its so yet, I am so different, yet, there is one for all the great metric tossed aside in perspective of all things I am not so different than them, this character I mean writing at a bar modest- tall and I heard he’s been working out don’t make a thing about it though insufferable enough as he is, no, and anyway he sits at the bar with a Rob Roy Ripoff a Rob Roy proper sans McGregor (and this is true, clever, you can google it) does something what little daylight he’d better I mean, today being, Scott has a play out meant to be good seems bigger than me- he cannot do that seaboard bound the timezones and all would that he could what a way to spend the evening after all there is a long one ahead of us today one must suppose its a good time for reflection, terrible turn inward, life grows hereon, I promise though it won’t feel like it I promise that too when you look back none of us will be here captive as we are to times merciful progression my friend needs to hear that more than anyone right now and did indeed just this morning which feels like something today being what it is and all its so easy for us to forget about the small moments like times progression and serendipity so easy and of course when we look back they’re never there so doubly so- CAFE-INTERIOR-MORNING two friends accident into each other and sit down for coffee; the bigger one, who is also younger says; not looking forward to christmas man, my parents house and she is already there, well new york, not there but still she’s there, what is? it’s gonna end. what? she and I its gonna end, well but she’s already at my house with my parents I can’t do it for christmas still I know now its eating me up out loud, that’s the tough part once you out loud the thought you’re accountable you won’t break up for years once you say it then its inevitable funny how things change its eating me up man how can I she’s already there go through christmas I think its gonna be tough and so it is. god none of this is important we are young we must break up there is so much life left. what is important is nothing kindness maybe not much else I am upset to be alive upset that ex-girlfriend upset that house upset even that family, I have nothing but this you see. I could watch it come and go and feel nothing, everything else I mean there’s just this and still I work for money and still beyond that I stress and need and that shit kills me there’s nothing but this in my head and all it gives I cannot be peaceful making money changing a bathroom people are dying of overdose I cannot sit in an office I will die myself eventually and all that i’d like to do in my time is this do you follow me is it simple it feels impossible LIFE-INTERIOR-WITHOUT DISTINCTION I am either having a breakthrough or drank too much Robert Roy Jr. at the bar I feel strongly there is something to this to any insight which is more or less the point I am so tired of the dates I am exhausted by the house, by the car by especially the children I want only to hot bath think myself beyond these parameters i want to exceed life-life as- I'm saying what I’ve deigned as life I know its all confusion and we’re all reflective after all its only appropriate today being what it is but what is that larger point of all that besides that I cannot get happy in my little world I must, simply must expand I could horseback english countryside I could drink gallons in neighborhood bad bar could fold laundry stockholm none of it has any bearing just to do this horrible unnamed thing is all. BAR-INTERIOR-MAN ALONE so all that but he still has to do it, break up and there’s obviously merciful time to worry about, the earlier part of it, the wrinkling that precedes its smooth very smooth nature what a trip, I’m not cold I am sympathetic, obviously what with the breakup enduring what with the move and the nothing life nothing for either that follows or that comparative thinking who has more nothing things like that I do, of course, empathize poor guy, I do, and am meant to send a book, one that I needed, Emma too, (remember Emma?) (she’s the ex after all), and she needed it as much as me, something, universal in writing not that I would know, not directly anyhow, although- he said “lost something” and Cordova also “nothing that couldn’t be found” he says things like that a lot though, adages not quite actually something big and abstract I never have the energy to find out how he means it so much when he gets like that nothing and everything the man loves his little boxes. that’s something in his nature that works out what with with writing and the self-growth philosophical state what with a formulaic need none of this indictment either he is beautiful stronger than me, probably 15 pounds knew theo back when this is nashville I'm talking more black people more white people too though Theo wouldn’t get that but Cordova would, just different people and some compulsion to document “Lost something in the relationship” “lost especially my sense of self” what/ do you do with that? self and other, I think Cordova will get there too just wait, Theo probably not he never goes too far away, its a virtue I promise- I always said that only one thing mattered, that is seeing yourself through, never said it that way though, still, its what I meant anytime i said anything else I’m over- explaining its meant to be art but again not at the moment, at the moment finding what was lost with me, myself I reckon its something like it anyway reckoning too with the things i don’t want things to stay lost that is things about ungrowth or regression so Cordova has a point I hope so it’d better be true otherwise we’re fucked he and I and his ex and my ex and some large number of other people who all seem to be losing lately, lost things interspersed with finding them not as much as you’d like though, not evidence enough but someone has to believe in something at some point anyway my mom in human decency and my brother too libertarian i wouldn’t recommend that sort of delusion, humans did all that evil all the evil ever done we did and that’s a lot there was mustard gas, slave markets, rape rape eternally and I’m meant to believe in a self-managing market? remember torture? its still going on man so fuck we gotta try on a different kind of belief one without so much antithetical evidence like how if you work hard maybe you can find inner peace and not work hard brother libertarian way which defaults suffering into moral failure- how heartless but work like keep at it look around as often and you get a chance try and see the grey skies you used to all magical a moody bit of romance try to tell someone you love them at least once a day and always mean it, things like that, a belief in labor and correction, the only labor that matters, another belief, my friend Cordova got deep in it we used to talk all the time and now somehow we lost it; I'm sure he's optimistic nothing anyway that can't be found - should have said I love you maybe I will today. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit boliverb.substack.com

POEMS:The January Wednesday afternoon is for playing a little game taking a nap with cat one me one Emma and George. Monday we observe New Year fashionably 15th always against convention besides we were hungover day of. Had burritos. I burn a fancy Japanese candle gifted last Christmas from dear friend who knew deeply how I love candles and the one I burn is perfect shape for new year. The flame is God for a moment as we both stare Emma me and candle this is reflection- I will be myself this year and Emma kinder to themselves. As we get older we shed illusions things like career success marriage happiness money and focus really deeply on singular aspect the one thing we can control in this life life itself. To me that means how to be what to learn growing and all maybe not everyone though they could say want to laugh more eat better. I remember the excitement of youth everything was so fun and interesting and now I’m mostly sleepy but Peter Bjorn and John have a song about that “I laugh more often now.” I couldn’t agree more “I cry more often now.” absolutely I do therefor I am aging okay I think. Crying and not always sad mostly not sad when i cry mostly in fact moved to tears by kindness or generosity or the sublime scale of human life it tears me up. We finish coffee and split directions because Emma has a project new labor for the new year and me too writing. From up here things are a little more objective. The yard exists in observation, not participation, and the barking dog, and more barking dogs, and not the birds, which are much more real and present. from candle backlit viewing box i project myself outward into four directions: Kitchen like a cozy french cooking show and the neighbors backyard and german shepherd who does not bark, Den in Stockholm attic with Alabama views of smoking neighbor and pickup truck waving at me from their doorway, Dining more New York but clandestine peeks of landlord and cat in driveway very Portland, the only proper Portland, and East, i mean Bedroom, and bedroom is exact there is a room which houses a bed and little else (problem of space) . and there is also a bathroom which i left unmentioned but it is beautiful and also very Portland with a clawfoot tub and huge slanted ceiling and unused center space which we have filled with one tulip chair so that you can sit while another bathes, or before you yourself bathe, or with someone on the toilet, which we don’t do but could, or most commonly to set your clothes while you get ready and this room exists Kitchen-Bedroom (which is SE) Candle mentioned briefly for New Year’s improper.hangover burrito from New Year’s proper. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit boliverb.substack.com