After Reading of Spiritual Communication with Hi-Jack

I looked up stories today from Cassadaga.

Sometimes I lose it to the point where I

feel like I need to try,

try

to commune

with the dead.

But I only want to commune with my dead.

Just once.

Some call that praying,

I call it survival.

I've Been Drinking A Lot Lately

It makes me feel better. It makes me

feel

somewhat

less

alive.

Ignorant Consumption

Break down,

I saw it coming.

Alcohol consumption is a means

for a moonlit night,

and a despondent

morning.

I'd become so immune to the

alive

and the dead.

I'd become so lifeless, so Bukowski,

so methodical in protecting my

mind from my thoughts,

left

hanging

in Erebus to dry.

Without the ambrosia, I'm nothing

to society but another antonym

for the Sylvia Plath effect.

Another minority unwilling

to participate, my mind

slowly

drowning

in ignorance and dying

somewhere outside of love.

So it goes, Vonnegut.