a chat with socrates
by Feng
me: i’m weird, how are you?
anagram of wired style
Jamison: weird in what way?
me: i have no world
i’m always confused
Jamison: man, ain’t nobody really got nothing
me: i know but it feels weird
right?
Jamison: for now, cause it’s summer
having nothing on august 18th is kind of awesome though
also, on october 30th
just hold out for those dates
can i show you a poem and hear your thoughts on it? it is not one of mine
though
me: what i’m confused
yes
show me a poem
what is aug 18
Jamison: it’s just a day
but it’s typically a nice day
me: i see
Jamison: and the weather’s wonderful and people are in a good mood and things don’t seem as weird
me: unforch this is not helping me feel less lonely for a world
but i guess i have the book
as jabes would say
so show me ur poems
pom poms before i fall asleep
Jamison: not my poem, just one i’ve been habitually reading outloud every night for the past two weeks
me: yeah
Jamison: i had to email it, it was too long
why shouldn’t people be lonely?
me: i aint said that
sometimes i just feel like i want to be more capable
Jamison: capable to do what?
me: people who succeed believe in their illusions
Jamison: not magicians
me: being a person
i’m reading a poem, socrates!
Jamison: what is “succeed”?
me: i like it so far
you know, the thing that capitalists do in america
Jamison: what does the dude who was in the original bill and ted have to do with this? is he famous from somewhere else?
me: naw, just an american flavor is what i mean
like with the enthusiasm and stuff
and individualism and crap
Jamison: and those are all things that sound awesome and all, but it also doesn’t sound like you’re too excited by them– is that bad?
me: this poem is great
i’m very tired
ugh they sound shitty
like the shit in this poem
Jamison: it’s all shit from the north and radiation from the west
me: i’m only into shit because i get tired of being confused and lonely
idle is the devils something something
Jamison: which one’s more troubling? confusion or lonliness?
me: confusion. lonely only because confused
i can’t really separate them
i think i must read this poem multiple times too
Jamison: good, let me know what you think of it when it’s not kajillion a.m. your time
me: ok what do u think?
i like it
it makes me glad
Jamison: about the poem or in general?
me: both?
in order
Jamison: in regards to the poem, the voice of it makes me feel less confused/lonely, but the content makes me feel heartbroken/isolated in a way i kind f like
*of
in general, i don’t think; i’m just doing things to do thing
s
me: i like “death isn’t cold, dark and quiet”
Jamison: better still, it’s a manta ray
me: i feel like part of success is doing things to do things
which i have a hard time doing
do do
shit
Jamison: haha
that actually made me laugh out loud
me: :)
i smiled a smile
i like this poem even though i often like poems less when they are “masculine”
i think i am sexist which might be bad
Jamison: it’s got a sense of machismo-sort-of authority, but it constantly undercuts it, and the voice is really vulnerable but also kind of detached
me: i agree w/ the undercutting. but there is another thing that i can’t put my finger on
Jamison: why is it bad?
(the sexism)
me: that makes it man man
um
because it’s just me being unfair
and doing the thing i hate other ppl doing
pre-judging
Jamison: i dug ugly fish, and i’ve been teaching a lot of the more sexist parts of it in a way that opens up discussion about the issues at stake
me: i don’t find it that vulnerable… just a peek of it which is intense
oh cool
ugly fish is full of itself
Jamison: i think of desperation as vulnerability
me: oh interesting
Jamison: yeah, but it creates a dialogue– i’d rather read something that takes a stance that i don’t agree with than something that trys to pander to everyone
me: i agree becos i am an ugly fish
Jamison: ugly fish life foreva
ugly fish in a pretty bowl =(
me: aw
that was great
do u feel like an ugly fish in a pretty bowl in a pile of shit? i do
Jamison: yeah, but mainly because of the kissy-faces that all fishes make
me: i want to be a student in your class
Jamison: i just act like an old man who loves books
me: haha
Jamison: that’s all my classes are
i pretend i’m a 60 year old southern gentleman, and i talk about things i love
me: that sounds great
i want to listen to that
can i enroll
like a sushi
inside the seaweed of your class
i will say things and then you will make my things into questions
and tell me about books you love
Jamison: i’d be really happy with that; i really want to see you talk about your work though
me: in class?
i guess i would have to
i’m not very good at it. it’s like that distancing thing that is difficult
Jamison: i’d still like to hear it
me: like when someone is good at baseball but then says stupid things when interviewed
i’d be like, “well, I feel the ball’s curvature”
Jamison: that’s stupid?
me: lol
it’s not insight
Jamison: it kind of is; it’s frank and it breaks things down to basics (the physical presence of the ball) but also implies a deep level of comfort with the action (by focussing solely on the object)
it just depends on how you listen to it
me: that is true
you are one of the greatest ears i know
you are like a huge ear with many tiny ears inside
kind of horrifying
Jamison: it is horrifying
me: if i saw your true nature i would probably freak out
and run away or faint
and remain in a coma for years
Jamison: swoon? it’d be sweat to know that people still swooned
wait, sweet not sweat
me: sweat can be sweet smelling
(who wrote this, Jamison?)
LIVING THE GOOD LIFE
There is only one locale for the heart
And that’s somewhere between the dick and the brain.
I don’t believe love is for chickenshits.
It’s low, dark, and cold-blooded, like a cottonmouth
Children are often involved. They stink
When they sprout in the garden of light,
And they stink mulching their way back down.
Cold-hearted women, work, madness, and death
Are the things separating the nuts from the shells.
Everything else is strictly a pile of shit—
Except for childhood, which we moon over
Because it smells to high heaven. So, go it
Alone. Solitude is a constellation:
People can’t connect light anymore,
The only code they can break is darkness.
You can get a file in the heart
But you can’t jimmy love– a woman once said
It’d take a shotgun to open my heart.
All the time I was on my knees in the bathroom
Crying like a fool. No one knows
How to love anybody’s trouble, nothing will
Deaden the chiggers of pain sucking
Blood in your sleep—oh beautiful tree frogs,
Sonic in the nasty oil of evening, I love you,
Sounds by yourselves a star’s life away.
But it doesn’t mean a goddamn thing.
Death isn’t cold, dark, and quiet.
It is a love letter written on an X-ray.
Better still, it’s a manta ray
Squealing in your wife’s drawers.
Is this where your will is kept?
What sleek doing is she dreaming of tonight?
How much money do you have in the bank?
Are your early years filed away
In another bureau under another name?
Ask me no questions, I’ll still tell you lies,
My father would sing like a bull frog.
I thought my father was a flat-out wonder,
A faraway and constant stranger in my midst.
He wasn’t even my father, the cuckold.
So do Lord help the bucket mouth son
Doing a job on doom and eating banana flips.
I for one leave the transcendence of language
To the auctioneers on the widows’ steps,
And to the truck drivers with ears
Looking for smoke on the road.
As for the snow that drifts ever
So silently into the eyes of children,
It is all full of shit from the north
And radiation from the west.