I
don’t worry kid, i used to want

to be like shane warne too. bit left

out now i’m off spin and on the bottle

hunt. one night my boss caught me searching

his yellow bin for return-and-earns. the next

day at work he’d bought me a headlamp to make it

easier to look through his garbage. my Human R.

colleagues passed along pamphlets all day

about how it isn’t too late for me

to book a spot in the next office well

being seminar on how to delete my

mental health to focus on my productivity

performance. the only productive thing ive done

today is be a troll posting poop on pig’s

balls to bring down free speech

sites in retaliation for my school bullies

knowing i was queer before i did. this, de

spite me supposedly being the ‘gifted’ kid. my

new headlamp makes me lit like a cigarette

butt in your mouth. i do the grind and

work 80 hour weeks so

i need all the “me time” i can get. either

i collect bottles for 10 sense each

or i screen shoot your NFT’s. up to you, boss.




II
my last grindr date invited me to a party but it turned

out to be the Communist Party. at the meeting

the tankies kept saying to me, “I want

you to know that I personally have no

problem with you being here tonight.” my

neurodivergence melted down with the

change of plans so i left early and cleaned my room even

tho nobody was coming over for sex. i’d liked

my previous crush a lot but they had dreams of

being a Land Lord. time for a break, time for a

seroquel induced dopamine rush from switching

between three apps to stop the bad thoughts.




III
when alone in my sharehouse (i usually live with

17 other 20 somethings

who also have a drinking problem they think is totally

normal) i imagine i am no longer piloting a skeleton

wrapped in a meat suit, but am a shipping container

in the suez canal. stuck on purpose. nothing can move

if they don’t dance to my groove. like the Parisian streets

of May ‘68, i too am a collage. a barricade against

the society of cringe rotating through 70’s, 80’s &

90’s nostalgia, delivered as a regionally curated

monthly subscription box of artisinal apocalypses. why does

my generation want to die? it’s a neo-Dad joke, sure, but

also a very real feeling. when i’m a boat in the suez canal

all that is productivity melts into my new headlamp.

I’m a bright ‘gifted’ expression

of powerlessness and dread, letting rip

a world turning leg break.