Interoperable

My love is an external hard drive.

During our last backup, he gave up. said I need more space,
And ran off with all my memories. 
I've learned there are creatures in this 
universe with 
fixed capacities to feel.
They do not respond to maintenance, they do not feature-update. They
cannot play nice with others in the 
sandbox. Dimensions set 
by their creator that they 
never sought to question. What is, what was, what will.
A pity.

My last backup, it said: "this overwhelms me"
"can you send me less information"
"this is too much information"
"I can't process at the required rate"
"I am not equipped"
- blue screen -
We're factory reset now, and I'm setting out into the 
world again with faded knowledge and greater scope. I'm looking for a 
storage solution that can accept
wide swaths of raw data from indiscriminate sources in any 
version of the OS - past, present, future self/ves. I can't tell you data 
type I can't tell you workflow I almost 
have a grasp on intended usage. Can you clean up these thoughts? Can you 
put them into boxes?
Can you map my tangents? Can you set this
aside for later learning? Can you find the patterns? Can you
determine cause? Can you model a future with
room for the past?

Can you backup?

I Could Just Eat You Up

And she was all like "I want to devour you".
Because if there's one thing boys like,
it's girls with
cannibalistic tendencies.
There ain't no party like a
Donner party
because a Donner party is
BYOB.
-
Would you like some white?

To Suck No More

I would have called the other day,
written you a letter,
I would have posted on your wall
but then I remembered




...die.


If the world ended tomorrow,
what would you do today?
(not tonight because midnight may very well escape us.)

I think I'd tell you I loved you
then, take it back
then say it again
...then take it back
and then pause.
to let that all sink in
and then


sprint!

(The adrenaline equivalent of an accidental kiss.)

Then stop.
breath
adjust
fall over?


Know that you kiss me at your own risk.
I may forget
or worse!
I may not.
worse yet
I may expect you to do the same
the horror! the pain!
shield your eyes from the rays of the sun,
though your skin remains unscathed.



Oh...


and die.

Love Gives You Lemons

I am ready to fall in love for the first time
to replace all other first times that were
forced first times,
unsure first times,
first of many times that all seem to be
the same.
A relationship is
letting someone hold a lemon wedge over your
heart’s paper cut and
trusting them not to squeeze, even the tiniest bit,
even by accident,
even when you make them flinch.
It means placing someone in the best possible position
to do the greatest amount of harm
and giving them a revolver.
It means trading in a bulletproof vest for a sign that says
“use me for target practice”
and hoping they never become bored enough
for a little game of Russian Roulette.

On Strategic Interactions (and Pareto Optimal Love)

I don't want to instruct you
on what I want.
I don't want to play teacher to
you, student,
because that implies some sort of
power differential that I
am not entirely comfortable with.
see, I'd like to think we
are on even footing in this whole mess.
we begin, both with asymmetric information
we only win
by efficiently trading our thoughts,
opinions, caresses, and general outlook on
life until our division
is pareto optimal.
by that I mean,
we make each other better off.
We are
not in need of the other, but rather our
stakes are improved by playing the game.
so, we cooperate.
we compromise.
we meet halfway on this bridge across
this gap that seems to be widening by
the day,
by the hour,
by every second that
passes and we haven't spoken.
I may not know much about building but
I would assume such a thing
stretched so thin
could not possibly hold the weight of us.
I am not trying to sink you with the
iceberg of a well-worn heart. nor one
comprised of the dark thoughts that
linger in the nighttime.
nor one measured in the
revelations or affections you simply
were not prepared to receive but it
appears I have made of you
a Titanic.
No longer wishing to float with the
weight of a heavy word struck,
it submerges itself
with the hope of
being left alone
at the bottom of the ocean.
It is only recaptured by the efforts of
scuba diving memories
whose sole job is to selectively
choose which pieces are
most suitable to keep; to refurbish,
to rose-color glaze over, and ultimately
store in the quickly-filling unit my
brain has allotted to disaster prevention.
History is a way of learning from the past.
May you store well in amber like
the best of fossils so that I may be
student to you, case study.
I could use a lesson on
strategic interactions.

Love Poem

This is a love poem.
Yes, I can already see you fleeing
at the mere thought of my
outreached hand and I'm over here
spouting sonnets.
Some
call me the gangster of love
and others
say
"you are a fucking idiot"

I love like the velveteen rabbit.
I don't know if you remember it,
but essentially
the kid loves the shit out of that
thing until its eye pops out.
Smothered by the infectious and
looking rather pathetic, the rabbit has
a fate involving tears, fire, and
hallucinations.
Yes, I guess I am looking for something like that.

I know you don't understand how I feel,
because if you did
you'd have to have the kind of appreciation
for insanity that would've had you
institutionalized
long before we ever met.
you see
love, this crazy, out-of-control feeling I
want to lock in my basement so it stops
knocking over the plates and making me, living room,
look all kinds of out of place
is
but an expression
and
you, though libertarian,
have really about had it with this
whole "free speech" thing.

A Touch Off Base

In a game of hide-and-seek,
you
are my home base.
Even though I know everyone else in
this silly game is
running for you and
you are indiscriminate with your shade,
when I touch you
I am safe.

I guess the thought of another finding me in this
elementary school game of "Predator" still terrifies me.
I run to you, familiar and awaiting,
knowing your sole purpose is to signal to others that
I cannot be caught.
I acknowledge this is a poor strategy,
but I cannot help but feel that
even after all this time,
you
are what I am meant to find.

I know I have to leave you when my turn
is up, know this comfort has an expiration date
but I'm going to keep drinking this milk until it
sickens me, until it curdles and cannot be salvaged
by a simple shake.

There is a patent fear in letting go of
our bases
meant to protect us from those
out there,
intimidating and with
uncertain intent.
But we must learn to let go of the trees,
fences, and side-of-our-mom's-cars we clutch,
for they can and
will never requite our
desperate hold,
never seek us out
among the trees. They stand
stoically and wait to be found, and
they will always
succeed.

If you

If you let me
love you, I will
fashion my best words into
a lullaby and my worst
into daggers to fend off the
demons from your rest. I
understand you. I want to
watch over you as if my
presence could offer some
form of protection from the
things that plague us, the inner
ghouls that are impervious to the
walls we craft in defense.

for the birds

Is the day beautiful,
or
did you make it so?
I do
not think I'll ever know.
I am content with
the uncertain if
it is you
who keeps me
on my toes.

I am perched on this
sturdy branch
sticking out my neck --
save me before I fall
(unless)
it is into your nest.

"box of teeth"

15/30

nibble at your earlobe, dear
just to have you listen close
buy a box of teeth to always keep
your attention on it's toes.
(be sure to
protect them from the cold!)
for
idle chattering is a turn-off and
gossip is a crime.
click your tongue against your palate
as if the plate were mine.
sensitive and razor-sharp,
your eyes mirror a
kind shark's jaws.
layers and layers serrate rescue attempts,
slice open the bowels and
dump out contents.
Anything to read your mind
and inhibit risk of victim's tricks -
a palm of a hand or a
finger wrapped.

swim with blood and
up! you're snapped.

Happy Happy, Joy Joy

Happiness is not contingent upon the affections of another. Nor a particular statement, event, object. To clarify, it is a not a specific person. A person and his/her affections may very well contribute some happiness, but it is not the person that is the cause. It is feelings relayed by certain sweet nothings, the right touch - which all may be found, perhaps with slight differences, with any assortment of people. Not a specific one.

This may sound dehumanizing.

It is.

It's the importance of a person, not the person. A slot to be filled. We confuse this all the time - notions of "meant to be" "THE one" "soul mates". It can be anyone - with the right set of qualities and interests. This concept is something of which we all need to be reminded.