“I want to feel what I feel. Even if it’s not happiness”

- Toni Morrison 

Born like this, into this.

As the chalk faces smile, as Mrs. Death laughs, as political landscapes dissolve, as the oily fish spit out their oily prey.

We are born like this, into this.

Into hospitals which are so expensive, that it’s cheaper to die.

Into lawyers who charge so much, it’s cheaper to plead guilty.

Into a country where the jails are full and the madhouses closed.

Into a place where masses elevate fools, into rich heroes.

Born into this, walking and living through this; dying because of this.

Castrated, debauched, disinherited, because of this.

The fingers reach toward an unresponsive god. The fingers reach for the bottle, the pill, the powder.

We are born into this powerful deadliness.

There will be open and unpunished murder in the streets.

It’ll be guns and roving mobs.

Land will be useless, food will become a diminishing return.

Nuclear power will be taken over by the many.

Explosions will continually shake the Earth.

Radiated men will eat the flesh of radiated men.

The rotting bodies of men and animals stink in the dark wind.

And there will be the most beautiful silence, never heard.

Born out of that, the sun hidden there, awaiting the next chapter.

-Charles Bukowski

my father always said, “early to bed and
early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy 
and wise.”

it was lights out at 8 p.m. in our house
and we were up at dawn to the smell of
coffee, frying bacon and scrambled 
eggs. 

my father followed this general routine
for a lifetime and died young, broke, 
and, I think, not too
wise.

taking note, I rejected his advice and it
became, for me, late to bed and late
to rise.

now, I’m not saying that I’ve conquered
the world but I’ve avoided
numberless early traffic jams, bypassed some
common pitfalls
and have met some strange, wonderful
people

one of whom 
was 
myself—someone my father
never 
knew.

- Charles Bukowski

I’d like to say: 
As a former member of your clique 
(and a current member of your representation) 
I know it’s hard to be a young woman ages 18-to 24-years-old.

They put you in a time slot 
that doesn’t reflect your views 
with a ratings system 
that doesn’t respect your truths.

Listen: 
From one cynical self-hater-by-default to another, 
please put down the magazine article that has bored you 
into hair extensions and reality television. 
Stop with the 20th century redux:

Make your own era. You are not out of your own league. 
Fake eyelashes will not get you Ryan Gosling. 
Nor will sporting a Barack Obama keychain.

No need to break all the rules: 
Just bend them into balloon animals, 
give them to your little brothers and sisters. 
Show them how silly and cute American culture is. 
Time will naturally deflate all of it.

Start mosh-pits in the crowded thoughts of tycoons: 
Stir something up with your tongue. 
Sip someone else’s logic then spit it out 
(preferably when they’re looking).

Taste test your own style.

Get your mind into the gutter of others:

Search for the things they let go down the drain or threw away.

Everyone’s scared to tell you how they really feel.

Including Oprah.

Stop getting wasted and throwing up 
your individuality outside of clubs. 
There is no fast food to help you cope with that.

Leave your mark on the world 
with something that can’t be chosen from 
a tattoo book of Chinese symbols 
for the lower back.

Pierce something other than your skin: 
When I tell you to think for yourself, 
don’t give a shit what I say.

-Dear Demographic, by Amber Tamblyn

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