auto mate me

By | 15 February 2023


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.


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.


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.

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