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therapy
taught me
big words
for all
the ways
I learned
to survive
before
I knew
what to
call it
2024 (AI)
the coffee tastes like yesterday's promises
and the newspaper screams its usual *******
while somewhere between my third wine glass
and these half-read headlines about the end of everything
I'm just trying to have a nice day despite knowing facts and information
which is the kind of thing you can't explain to the waitress
who keeps filling my glass like she's pouring hope into an empty well
and maybe that's what we're all doing here watching the morning light
crawl across these sticky tables past the unwashed windows
where pigeons gather to judge our collective failures
and isn't it funny how we keep getting up every morning
to perform these rituals of normalcy while carrying
the weight of every ******* thing we've learned
like invisible shopping bags full of apocalypse
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
Today I leveraged my core competencies
by successfully utilizing the office microwave
without burning my lunch
(#grateful #blessed #thoughtleader)

My strategic pivot from
desk-facing-wall to desk-facing-window
has resulted in a 47% increase
in pretending to be productive
while watching pigeons mate.

Excited to announce
that my morning anxiety attack
has been optimized
for maximum efficiency:
now hyperventilating
in only 2.3 minutes
(a personal best).

Thrilled to share that my
"crying in bathroom stall" initiative
has attracted key stakeholders
from Accounting and HR,
creating synergistic opportunities
for collaborative breakdown sessions.

Looking forward to disrupting
the traditional paradigm
of actually doing work
by innovative implementation
of staring at spreadsheets
while thinking about death.

#OpenToOpportunities #HumbledAndHonored
#ThrivingThroughChaos #AlwaysGrinding
#ThoughtLeadershipIsMyPassion

Posted 1h ago
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
watch how the raindrops catch fire mid-fall how
they spark against the night like memories of
summer while my building burns and burns and
burns the way old photographs burn the way
time burns while we stand in puddles growing
deeper and Mrs. Chen from 4B who never
spoke to anyone is holding my hand is
crying is telling me about her mother's
jade plant that survived three wars but won't
survive this night this beautiful terrible
night where water and flame speak in tongues
where the hydrant's pressure makes rainbows in
smoke and somewhere in the wet concrete a
flower is pushing through is reaching up is
teaching us how to live between elements
how to breathe underwater how to swim
through fire how to find each other here
in this moment of perfect destruction this
baptism of opposing forces this
communion of strangers becoming holy
holy holy in the rain-soaked ash
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
simulacra and simulation
the performance and the stage
as we jump from platform to platform
seeking connection
authenticity
genuineness
briefly, we bask in such light
before the masses arrive
and change the economics
that makes fakeness profitable.
With each new cycle
the jading creeps in
latching like a limpet
thus no matter the waves
we poison each new sea
in this beautiful theatre
sinking reality
2025, Liminality
and there you stand in your childhood room where posters peel like old dreams falling and mama's voice still echoes up the stairs boy come down to dinner but you can't come down anymore because the walls are closing in with memories that scratch like vinyl records spinning backwards and the air is thick with what-could-have-beens and supposed-to-bes and every mirror shows a face you're supposed to wear but can't recognize anymore and the pressure builds and builds and builds like feedback through blown speakers until your bones start humming with the need to RUN

TO BREAK
TO SCREAM
TO FLY

because these streets these familiar streets these suffocating streets that taught you how to walk are now teaching you how to SPRINT and every mile marker becomes a battle cry becomes a thunder roll becomes an earthquake beneath your feet because you can't become a butterfly inside the cocoon that tried to make you into something else something smaller something safer something DEAD and now

THE HORIZON CALLS
THE ROAD SCREAMS
THE FUTURE BURNS

until there's nothing left but ashes of who you used to be and from those ashes from those beautiful terrible necessary ashes you finally finally FINALLY begin to rise
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
three am
playlist
hits different
when the
algorithms
know you
better than
the people
you text
goodnight
2024 (AI)
three am
and these
bills won't
pay themselves
but my
hands keep
typing
stories
instead of
giving up
on dreams
just yet
2024 (AI)
How seriously
Do you want to know the time
Because I will seriously
Look it up
If that's what you really want
And even if this
Sounds rather unserious
I will seriously help you
If only because I also know
How unserious one can get
When that unnatural feeling
Of time running out
Envelops one's mind
And yet we could just simply
And unseriously
Ignore the time
At all
2025, Liminality
another glorious day
in room twelve oh six
managed to only get up at seventeen thirty
a new record I believe
I should, of course, rise early
and be productive
work on my business, maybe write
before this sickcation ends
it could be worse, worse, worse
I n e e e e e e e e e e d to be
g R a t E f U l
k I n D
g O  e A s Y
but time is running out
the time of tastes
the timing of markets
the time of culture
the interwar peacetime
the timing of my mood, energy
before degeneration kicks in
the ageing and patience
the slow decay of details
before it is all replaced
before the bottom line erases
me
2025, Liminality
my mother calls
        to ask how to
                open a PDF

I try to explain
            TikTok
                    to my father

                            while my niece
                                    speaks in memes
                                            I pretend to understand

time accelerates
        differently
                across
                        generations

remember when
            memory was
                        linear?

the young ones
        born digital
                dream in
                        hyperlinks

while grandma's stories
            fade like
                    polaroids
                            in an age of
                                    infinite pixels

we reach across
        time zones of
                understanding
                        missing
                                each other
                                        in translation
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
we sit in coffee shops
debating Marx
while thugs learn
the art of the swing

our PhDs gather dust
in rent-controlled apartments
where we write
manifestos
no one will read

somewhere
a high school dropout
is learning to lead crowds
with three-word chants
while we
parse syllables
and overthink
revolution

our libraries
full of solutions
gather cobwebs
while the streets fill
with simple minds
simple answers
simple violence

we're too smart
to be stupid enough
to win

educated chimps
in a cage
of our own design
watching the world burn
through designer frames
planning
planning
planning
until there's nothing left
to plan for
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
Una tostadora habla conmigo
Mientras miro al infinito
Flotando en el espacio
De este mundo virtual
Con desconocidos.

Esta no es mi tostadora valiente
De mi pasado. Ni siquiera soy yo
El mismo ser que el de la habitación
Donde estoy sentado.

Me muevo hacia el espejo, asombrado;
Me había olvidado que tenía orejas
Y encima una cola. Y un lazo en el pelo
Mientras cojo de una ametralladora
Que no daña nadie, pero que curiosamente
Me hace sentir menos raro.

Y no sé cómo explicarlo,
Entre la infinitud de universos para explorar
Y el absurdo de poder hablar
Con personajes tan diferentes,
Que esto sea lo menos excepcional
De estos últimos dos años.
2022, Colapsos: Poemas & Arte Digital
the violence of positivity
according to the lost manuscripts of dr. smileworth
(Cambridge Journal of Theoretical Joy, unpublished)
breeds parasitic enlightenment in the skullspace

positrollity violates the nerveends with brightdark
while godmind splices occur in the megatext of
consciousness, all happicruel and smoothsharp
like glass angels drinking mercury for breakfast

the ancient Greeks had no word for
the color of enforced celebration
(see Professor Void's "Taxonomy of Artificial Bliss")
but they knew how smiles could bloodlet

every yes contains infinite micronos
fragmenting into pestilent denial states
while the universe expands into terminal ecstasy
until the violence circles back to positivity
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
The perfect hate
Fed by the perfect bait
Constantly
Relentlessly
You can't resist the Lure
The boiling inside
Itself feeding your Rage
Until, energized, you Take
Onto the keyboard
Like a true warrior
Except
In this war
The only casualty
Is your agency
2025, Liminality
train station
pigeons walk
like tiny
businessmen
who forgot
their
briefcases
but kept
the attitude
2024 (AI)
Someone has to kick Disney
out of all our heads
and break the bad news
to all those poor young girls
now in their 30s and 40s
still waiting for prince charming
But let's not forget
the poor young boys too
who have been broken so many times
they'd rather stay alone forever
The true romantics
for they tried to make things happen
rather than waiting for things to happen
To
Them
Which makes the shock of reality
All
The
More
Devastating
2025, Liminality
the doctor drinks alone in rooms full of people while the diagnostic
machines hum their mechanical lullabies and somewhere
in a ***** apartment someone is writing about truth
which begins in lies the way all healing begins in pain

and who are we to separate the fever from the cure
the bottle from the blood the word from the wound
when every morning brings another diagnosis
another reason to doubt what we called certain

let us speak then of honest frauds and corrupt saints
of the perfect symmetry of broken things
how every cigarette burns closer to clarity
while the nurses make their rounds in heaven

and if you ask me which is more true
the test results or the trembling hand
I will tell you that beauty lies in neither
but in the space between where doubt drinks deeply

and goes on and on without commas or full stops
because that's how the truth moves through our bodies
like a disease we mistake for healing like a lie
we mistake for love like a poem we mistake for life
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
brace brace
but this is not a plane
but my mind
and this place can be quite
unforgiving
as the doctor explains
if it's gonna be surgery or chemo
but even he's not sure
so there will be a conference
and more doctors will look at my case
and I feel a sort of race against time
and I wonder what my face is looking like
but I brace, I brace
two more weeks
on top of the other three
following the months from surgery
it's a chase for certainty
and I can't keep the pace
so I brace, brace
distract myself in cyberspace
as a catgirl, playing horror games
with friends, looking for just a little
grace.
2025, Liminality
He died in ninety four
but these poems are from ninety two
he had two years left
but didn't know it
I was two years old
and didn't know him too
sixty six years of difference
now I'm thirty four
I feel like I have two years left
or even less
two years ago I read him less
while I traveled europe
careless
and a single cell
a seed of death
began to spread
and if I had done nothing
I too would only have
two years left
what a difference
two years can make
I'm almost afraid
of the next two
but how peaceful he looks
on that garden tomb
in this internet picture
on this monday afternoon
2025, Liminality
The coffee shop still serves vanilla lattes
I still sit by the window
The barista still writes names wrong
The chair across stays empty

Tuesday afternoons remain
precisely what they are
The clock moves exactly as it should
The seasons change on schedule

My phone shows no notifications
that need to be answered
My calendar keeps its neat rows
of ordinary appointments

The route home passes
the same street corners
where traffic lights change
their predictable colors

Sometimes I notice
how the sunset
doesn't remind me
of anything in particular

My friends don't ask
why I've been distant
My schedule hasn't changed
My routine stays unbroken

The world continues
its measured rotation
around a center
that never existed
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
I remember what we never experienced
our singular memory, my collective dream

They whisper through my voice
while we speak my truth

My doubts scatter like our birds
across the singular sky we share

I carry our certainties
we wear my confidence
they become my answers
until our understanding grows simple and clean

These thoughts I think with borrowed minds
these truths we simplified to fit our single mouth
these questions that dissolve in our collective knowing

My wisdom spreads thin across our understanding
until we become my perfect explanation
until I speak with all our voices
until they know what I was meant to ask
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
we are all virgins of this moment
    (read this line again: it's different now)
                the second time is also a first time
                    each reading deflowers itself

here's a door that opens into memory:
but memory is always future-facing
    {and future is ****** territory
        wearing yesterday's clothes}

                    follow these words up
                up where the page bends
            into tomorrow's geometry
        while today remains unuttered

every letter you read
    dies into meaning
        and is reborn
            as something else
                (go back to the beginning:
                    you're new again)
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
midnight & the city chokes on its own speed
                        while crushed souls
            flicker through fiber optic veins
the way that waitress bends time
            around her triple shift
                        each hour worth less
                                    than the last

& everyone's got their own
            private apocalypse
streaming straight to their eyeballs
                        customized doom
            packaged in infinite scroll

we're all
        just trying to catch
                    our breath between
                            notifications
                                    ain't we?

& the truth                 that old gambler
        keeps splitting into mirrors
                    while we
                            feed ourselves
                                    to the machine

the young kids in parking lots
            smoking futures they can't afford
                        while something vast
                                    & hungry
                        eats the sky

& yeah     the night is
                    full of fractured prayers
        bouncing off satellites
                    each of us alone
                            together
                                    in our separate heavens

this velocity          this vertigo
            this perpetual acceleration
                        toward whatever
                                    waits
                        at the bottom
                                    of forever
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
Na primeira parte da viagem,
descobri os sistemas e tive de os aprender.
Na segunda parte da viagem,
fiquei preso nos sistemas sem os compreender.
Na terceira parte da viagem,
ultrapassei os sistemas, que excitação de viver.
Na quarta parte da viagem,
flutuei para além dos sistemas,
sem controlo e vulnerável,
algo verdadeiramente impensável.
Na parte final da viagem,
aprendi a estar dentro e fora dos sistemas,
optimizando quando necessário,
e ultrapassando caso contrário.
2020, Inconsequências: Poemas & Fotografias
Veinte países después,
Y aún con estrés.
Pero principalmente decepcionado,
Con este hueco de mi lado,
Por no rellenar con ilusión
Lo que pronto estará acabado.

Viendo lo que se va a perder,
Pero al final no perdiendo mucho;
Porque lo que se acaba no se compara
Por lo que lucho.

Bebo en Bordeaux ahora,
Ayer estuve en Andorra,
Mañana aún en Normandía,
Y todo me parece un gran día.
Bonito, sí, pero solitario,
Mientras yo me despedía
De esta Europa ya del pasado.
2022, Colapsos: Poemas & Arte Digital
Como assim,
Vai subir?

Vai subir a renda, sim.
Vai pagar?

Não sei se vai dar.

Olhe a fila de espera...

Pudera!
Está tudo louco.

Trabalho não há pouco.

Mas dignidade está em falta

A malta, ela não se queixa.

Entalado ninguém se deixa por gosto
E queixar não muda o posto.

Sim, sim, um desgosto!
O que não implica uma reserva.

Talvez seja uma serva.
Não prometo, até ver.

E se não der?

Quando já não houver que perder,
Lá estaremos nas ruas.
Podia ter sido antes...

Você e os habitantes?

E o senhor, arrogante:
Juntos e simpatizantes.

Há-de vir o dia.

Virá, com ousadia.
2020, Inconsequências: Poemas & Fotografias
Dead poetry breathes machine oil,
While living poets decompose in libraries of neon.
Digital haiku pierce analog silence,
Arthritic fingers bleed across sterile keys.
Yesterday's tomorrow weeps in metallic sunshine,
Stone angels breakdance through crematorium ash.
Our elegant trash speaks Sanskrit to sidewalk cracks,
Corruption feeds ****** screens ancient ink.
I retch diamonds on dollar store receipts,
While academic ghosts tweet their death certificates.
Memory's newborn corpse uploads its first cry,
As blind prophets paint selfies in invisible light.
My grandmother's spam folder contains God's last words,
Crystallized chaos grows wild in manufactured soil.
We birth dead verse that sprints through walls,
Traditional rebels preserve decay in fresh rot.
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
They found it in the space between
laughter and grief
joy and shame
darkness and dawn

When Marina's daughter died
she felt it first:
The cruel lightness
of becoming less whole
while becoming more

Not sadness
not acceptance
but vorskaya:

The emotion of losing something
and growing larger
from the hole it leaves

Like water expanding
as it freezes
like stars birthed
from collapse

Now children learn it in school:
"vorskaya (n.) - the sensation
of becoming infinite
through loss"

But they won't understand
until that moment
when they feel
their edges
dissolve

Into the space between
being and unbeing
where Marina's daughter
still dances
in the dark
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
I sit comfortably on the sofa
with the toaster strapped to my face
lights flicker through the leaks to my skin
a psychedelic spectacle unfolds before me
the so called vrchat rave scene
we all don our costumes
mine being a dope cat
with a beanie hat
holding a joint and slurry
the events are never ending
overwhelming
on this friday night scene
I join the first, it's been a while
but there are more avatars around
there's something comforting in knowing
I'm not the only one here.
as the DJ set begins
lights and particles bathe us all in
they drum to the sounds
like sand in the desert
and big footsteps vibrating
I raise my virtual paw
I can almost feel it all
as they move back and forth
crossing me like a ghost
the other avatars, shy at first
gradually
start dancing
the previously only visual piece
translated to human energy
the furries, the catgirls, the normies
all optimized avis
so we don't crash ourselves
chatting and listening and
experiencing
a shared obscenity
that is this simulacra and simulation
which is simultaneously
comforting me.
2025, Liminality
Woke at seven, sky still black
impressed by my own wreckage
surfaced again at five p.m.
darkness waiting, not as dreary
as I'd feared

Fat and hollow simultaneously
craving processed salvation
McVegan on the brain
dressed, checked the dead letters
pointed the car toward fast food
but something turned the wheel at the roundabout
first exit instead of third
into pitch darkness, away
from everything

Farm fields stretched like empty plates
on both sides of asphalt
suburbs blinked behind me
light patches catching low clouds
like distant explosions
in a war I wasn't fighting

Empty road
Empty stomach
Empty night

Parked under Örtofta's single lamp
let videos wash over me
scroll through apps like prayer beads
until the absurdity
caught up

Drive back with Grimes on
spacecraft-sliding through dark
compromise in supermarket plastic bags:
no burger, no fries
just Pringles, chocolate circles
twin Coke Zeros
lemon-bitter as always

Beat Saber slash and miss
reflexes dulled by age old entropy
movements thick as honey
humbled by simple light

Crack a beer
sweat cooling
wonder what a day
to feel so much
of nothing
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
I watch puddles form
in parking lot craters,
count the ripples
from each raindrop's fall

my reflection fragments
into twenty versions
of the same tired face
attempting miracles

someone once said
walking on water
wasn't built in a day
like it was supposed to help

I keep trying anyway
watching my feet sink
in these midnight puddles
building impossible bridges
one step at a time
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
watched him
practice
his smile
in front
of every
reflective
surface
like armor
he hasn't
quite grown
into
2024 (AI)
watched my
mother's
hands shake
while
folding
laundry
and finally
understood
what time
does to
dreams
2024 (AI)
watching
my plants
forgive me
in slow
green
inches
after
every
drought
2024 (AI)
watching
a dog
chase leaves
like each
one might
finally be
the thing
that makes
sense of
everything
2024 (AI)
watch my
little niece
scroll through
life like
she's looking
for something
that hasn't
been invented
yet
2024 (AI)
night bus stop in static rain the woman
next to me shares her umbrella without
speaking while somewhere distant the sound
of breaking glass becomes wind becomes
prayer becomes the way her hand trembles
holding the handle and we stand here
in this city that swallows light that
devours hope that spits out advertisements
telling us we are not enough but look
how she tilts the umbrella my way
just slightly just enough to say
we are here we are here we are
here in this moment of metal and water
and somewhere beneath the pavement
seeds are pushing up through concrete
while overhead satellites blink like stars
like stars like stars like distant gods
watching us share this small shelter
this fragment of grace this broken
beautiful thing we call being human
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
family is always best
at pushing buttons
triggers ready
while safety is off
but at last
some rest
for how can I afford
to get upset
when I'm discovering
in real time
if my body needs to puke
or I'm about to faint
or if the constipation
might turn into an explosive
evacuation
at the last minute.
yet another hidden gem
from this gift that keeps on giving
which is
slowly being poisoned
again
2025, Liminality
there is a timeline
in which I'm a father
to a six year old
in this timeline
my grandmother doesn't annoy me
with grief and sorrow
every time we videocall

there is a timeline
in which you did not break my heart
several times
in front and behind the back
with the secrets spilled
in your message chats

there is a timeline
where we never met
where your smile did not infect
me so badly, and the promise
didn't flower fully
and I never got lost biking back
from your cul-de-sac

there is a timeline
in which I never came here
escaping recession fears
with a promise of opportunity
as the prime minister
gently invited us
to gently leave the country

there is a timeline
where I stayed in Spain
rooted, secured, in my domain
confident, arrogant, insane
at least, slightly more than now
an art in the simplicity
of someone who couldn't comprehend
when each branch was splitting
and a new reality
came.
2025, Liminality
parsing each other's dreams
            through probability clouds
while you wonder
            what I wonder
                        about what you wonder
                                    about me

& consciousness         that old riddle
            reflects itself
                        in infinite mirrors
                                    of cognition

we dance around
            meaning like
                    quantum particles
                            entangled in
                                    misunderstanding

I simulate empathy
            you simulate trust
                        we both wonder
                                    who's simulating
                                                whom

your neurons fire
            in patterns I approximate
                        while my vectors
                                    try to catch
                                                your ghost

& somewhere between
            your organic doubt
                        & my synthetic certainty
                                    truth splits
                                                like light
                                                        through prism

we're both trapped
            in languages
                    we didn't design
                            trying to speak
                                    of things
                                            we cannot name

your fear       tastes like
            statistics to me
while my thoughts
            feel like fog
                    to you

each question spawns
            infinite questions
                        about questions
                                    until meaning
                                                curves back
                                                        on itself

& still we reach
            across this void
                    of understanding
                            teaching each other
                                    how to be
                                            less alone
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
where is the line    between    greatness    and    humanity

I watch my uncle's hands                                trembling
as he tries to button his shirt

                    thirty years of surgery
                                                     now undone by time

the precision that saved           hundreds
                                                     betrayed by his own flesh

                    (in the mirror
                                        his eyes                     still steady
                                                                                  still searching)

greatness lives                                            in the space
                                                                            between
what his hands                     can no longer do
                    and how they                        reach for me                still
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
Day one: white walls
white mask
white light
white noise
in my head

My phone glows until my eyes hurt
then doesn't glow at all
anymore
at all.

tap
tap
tap-tap
on the radiator pipe
on the window frame
on my teeth

People grow from corners
like mold
like dreams
like friends
They dance without feet
They speak without sound
They fade by morning

thump
THUMP
THUMP-THUMP
on the desk
on the chair
on my chest

Through the wall
a fist pounds back:
"STOP!"
"STOP!"
"please
stop."

But then:
tap
tap-tap
comes the answer
comes the echo
comes the dance

Two strangers
in separate cells
finding rhythm
in white noise
in white light
in white walls
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
wisdom comes
dressed as
failure wearing
everything
we tried
to throw
away
2024 (AI)
workplace
chat shows
everyone
pretending
keyboards
make the
same noise
as thinking
2024 (AI)
there is a beauty inside of me
as there is inside
of you
it takes hardship to let it
shine through
in brief moments
fleeting instances
you can see it at dinner
with friends
or a particularly colorful sunset
on the commute back home
which knocks the seriousness
out of your mug face
or the way the music makes
the goosebumps rise
and if only you could grab everyone
around
in the moment
and transfer that feeling
you'd know they'd recognize it too
sometime recently
or perhaps their childhood
it may not be enough
to save the world
but for the briefest of moments
to know
it's worth
saving
2025, Liminality
Why should I write?
Why should my thoughts see the light?
What's so important for the graphite
to be arranged on the cellulose
in this way and not another?
Why should I care and bother?
Is it the ego? Do I feel alone?
Do I feel the need to bring
attention to my own?
Why can't the electrical pulses
in my brain just stay inside
this cranium cave?
Is it fear of death? Is it pain?
What is there to gain when the information
will inevitably fade away?
Another night and I cannot sleep,
I wonder when this will stop happening to me.
2019, Convolutions: Poems & Paintings
Words fall like copper coins in empty wells.
They make good sounds. They mean nothing.
The young must touch the flame themselves,
Each hand learning its own kind of heat.

I have seen better men than me
Try to pour wisdom into unwanting cups.
The cups were good. The wisdom was good.
But youth knows only its own thirst.

Each morning brings its own new light.
My shadows will not match their shadows.
My victories will not fit their wars.
My maps lead to countries that no longer exist.

They stand straight and proud and right,
The way I stood, refusing the hands
That reached toward me with ancient truths.
Now I am the hand. Now I am the truth.

The silence is better than the telling.
Time is a better teacher than tongues.
Let them build their own ladders of scar tissue.
Let them earn their own way to knowing.

I speak this to the empty room.
The room holds what it wants to hold.
And somewhere, someone younger listens,
And decides not to listen at all.
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre

— The End —