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nickmich.bsky.social
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When I proposed, I was so nervous. I'm sure I could have: planned better, been more romantic, made it perfect. Now that the marriage has come and gone, partners no more, I find myself obsessing, worrying, wondering if I had done something different, would she still love me? #poetry

I wonder, will I die of a heart attack? Perhaps an Iranian or Russian nuke? Maybe it will be an ICE truncheon. I would prefer to have a good meal, a nice drink, and (if I had my druthers) a psychedelic experience before drifting into oblivion. #poetry

Umberto Eco’s enduringly popular manual “How to Write a Thesis” is more than a guide for undergraduates; the book is a celebration of the magical process of self-realization.

Hi, this is Meg Barnette, Brad's wife. While escorting a defendant out of immigration court at 26 Federal Plaza, Brad was taken by masked agents and detained by ICE. This is still developing, and our team is monitoring the situation closely.

Subscription based writings, ten dollars a paragraph and it sells, but only for a precious, gilded few, resting on their lilies in perfect portraits sharpened by artifical intelligence. The rest smuggle pennies, praying for success like lottery tickets in dirty rooms and faces. #poetry

Listening to a playlist that is mostly Cocteau Twins and The Cure in the midnight hours. I might be a cliche. Still, it makes me want to open a goth bar so bad so I can read and drink, and comppse poetry and drink, and mope and drink. Maybe I'm a wouldbe alcoholic in addition to being cliche.

Would that I were a witch or warlock to bind evil with salt and herbs. I do something similar with roast chicken, but I hesitate to call it Magick. #poetry

Walking in the hot desert sun, dehydrated. I hold my sign low, heading back to my car. The protest is over, we are going about our day, still strong. A run-down truck revs its engine. Its owner yells at me, calls me "TRAITOR." I don't think he realizes, I just exercise my rights. #poetry

One time I saw the ocean and I was so overwhelmed, when a parent from our group yelled something at little old laughing me, I threw my hat up in the air and yelled "Catch!" She thought I yelled "Fetch!" and got me in trouble. What a way to turn a beautiful memory into pain. #poetry

Time blindness, drinking away and dreaming, seeing each revolution of the Sun, a lie of perspective. It is us who turn, some good, some ill, we all choose. #poetry

No one wants to be a casualty. We shun pain, like all good organisms. The question becomes how much are we willing to suffer, either collectively or as a single, solitary human, alone, anonymous, doomed?

For fuck's sake, no. No one is asking for riots. If they are, they stand to gain. What happened to us? Why are we warring on ourselves? Has our society been hacked? Did some chaos monger crack the code? I just want to live and create, to experience. To laugh and build small stories. #poetry

Is it finally [time, coming, ready] to the point where the pretense is gone, or will there still be dissembling as the batons crush, as the gas chokes, as the boots stomp, and they escalate this self-destruction? #poetry

Always. Even though it hurts. So much. open.spotify.com/track/0X5C4W...

I wonder... will I ever have the will to publish? Will I ever fight in the streets? Will I ever get over myself?

There are cathedrals, great, enormous spires, arches, and buttresses, glass and candles, with stone that amplifies voice, resonate songs, that only exist in dreams. I pray to the nameless saints of these halls, but they know my tattered soul and send me back at morning's break. #poetry

I just sat down for a brief call. Now I'm stuck.

The superbly alert and flexible drummer formed a swirling current in modern jazz for more than 60 years. He was 82.

I have this problem. It is a little one, more a symptom than an issue, though it does cause some pain. I won't go into details, I just want you to know that we all have small tics and that just makes us human. #poetry

BREAKING: NPR and three Colorado public radio stations are suing the Trump administration over the president's executive order seeking to ban the use of federal money for NPR and PBS.

I woke at the appointed time for Yesterday's Me. When I looked in the mirror there were salt trails. I wonder what I was crying about in the night as I have no memory for them. Still, they wash away as easy as dirt. Ah, well. Time to move these bones and be productive, I suppose. #poetry

I cannot repeat enough. As in "Enough! Stop it! Get a hold over your greed, you are a servant of the People." Also, "Enough. I have just enough to survive. Please do not do any more harm." It's not enough to point this out to them. You have to care to hear their cries for help. #poetry

I know I'm roasting here already in the Southwest... but I'm sorry algorithm, I cannot afford $500 for an air conditioner for my bed.

Tiny figures dancing in the raindrops, flipped worlds, brief and violent in their beauty. Can you reach out, grasping their transcience with gentler hands, Or will you rip them from the sky and hoard their beauty all for yourself? #poetry

Any Swedes or Finns want to adopt a middle aged poet with two cats and crippling depression?

I voted NO on their “big, beautiful” bill because it will strip health care from 14 million Americans—including nearly 130,000 people in my district who rely on Medicaid.

You imbue the deck, caress it, give from your spirit, I think? You pick a card, then two more, and the Reader interprets. Goddess, I wish. I wish, I wish it were so simple. To find your fortune, your future in the eyes of a Hermit, or Tower, or The Lovers. Tell me sweet lies, cards. #poetry

I have The Sads. They sneak up on me from time to time, past distractions, and drugs, and food, and meditation. They're quite stealthy when they wish to be. Today I am remembering my wife and how much I miss her even as I try to move on with someone else. It's unfair, to all of us. #poetry

In this time of moods opaque, when all I can do is trigger dopamine and pray my minimum is acceptable, I think upon those little hits. It is amazing how easy it is to distract with, enable, or wallow in the filth of self-loathing all while managing to get by. Not ahead, mind you, just by. #poetry