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leaving montgomery park

we’re careening— well, that sounds dramatic. not careening— but sliding, holding you and myself in place— because my disposition leads (and has always led) to believing abandon reckless will kill if I let it as close as myself and yourself held only by bicycle rope or kayak rope or moving box rope side beside inside truckbed backseat forgone throats slicked with City of Roses forest gin and Artemis Moons I’m sober and you’re not I’m anxious and you’re not you’re carefree spit-balling about side parts and saying love and love as we pass long-haul truckers— eyesclosed Lyft drivers— that pinkie-promise coworker to fast friend elbow to elbow barefoot to clogs off in the cab shallow river dipping mask off cheek pinch I-tell-everyone-you’re-my-cousin kind of love that no mother could ever that no father could ever that kind of love that door we kicked down and threw into that mustard bonfire of before that old worthless hinge don’t work so won’t bother not ever not now not in this truckbed— I toss my thoughts to traffic fine me $900 for littering lock me up for language you say what a beautiful city my glasses are in my pocket those empty offices stacked apartments and windowbeam glitterblurs fall into the nightvoid I’ve seen beautiful and more unmatched in those words you weave so keep weaving them— I’ll be here listening long after we pull into the driveway. (& if u like it, I linked my poetry newsletter :)

@chickeninshoes

May 14, 2024

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brief nighttime reflection

I’ve spent the whole morning looking for a lost key that would open all the doors. It was like waking up small cuts in the throat, like searching for the past and remembering the pain. Another thing crossed off the list, but was it worth coming back home? Will it help to bang your head against the doors? What we do is shameful, it’s shameful to neglect what we have around Walking back home, I unplugged myself and looked up at the sky. It was 8:34 PM and there were a few stars. I realized the trap - dispersion. I don’t know how long it’s been since I last looked up at the sky - usually, we gaze blankly down, the deepest point of a screen.

@alikelylad

Jan 29, 2025

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Substance

Really i am coarsing through your veins. Bleeding you out. Striking a cord. Relinquishing my spine. Relegating autonomy to the massive misogyny. Reckless. unstable and a brat. Something to say at the least appropriate moment, It was us all along. The flute stayed in tune. I decided long ago I would stay. Only to let go of who I actually was. Be there when you can. You never were. Bribe your way to my heart. Lend a helping hand. Decide to be yourself. The glass shatters and I reflect on myself and who I used to be. Bad bad bad. All the same to me, I don’t care if you die of thirst. Your green with envy and it shows. Quite the pussy cat. The elixer is mid greatfuly so. I take my bath and lay myself bare. It shows. Just where have you been. All the while I have been searching and finding no release as to who I want to be. I choose this time. I decide where to put it. Wide awake and endlessly falling asleep.

@gk

Mar 1, 2025

Top Recs from @steelyfan1998

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reading through all your old recs

sometimes you just need to read some real shit straight from the realest person you know .

@steelyfan1998

Feb 24, 2025

3

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becoming a gymcel; COWARDICE

I've been Hitlering myself, Stalining myself, Musollining myself, Maoing myself for the past 7 months. I do this because I am a coward, and totalitarian regimes are conducted by and inflicted upon cowards. Something interesting about me is that I am 5'10.225" in the morning. As the day goes on, my spine compresses and I am shorter by about a quarter inch to a half inch come evening. I generally refuse to acknowledge to myself that at midnight I'm 5'9" because, as stated above, I am a coward, and a vain one. This past September I weighed in at 210 lbs, putting me undoubtedly in the "overweight" segment of the population and just on the border of mildly obese. That's funny to me, that last summer I could have been 5'9" and obese or 5'10" and just bog standard overweight-american depending on the time of day, really. But you have to understand that if I were not a coward, this would not matter. The non-cowards among us, the brave and the beautiful, they pay no mind to these things, they can drink milk without spoiling it.  I am no longer as overweight or obese as I once was. The last time I weighed myself, I was at 187.8 lbs., meaning that I've lost somewhere in the neighborhood of 25-30 lbs of fat when you factor in muscle gains. I still have a long way to go, of course. But I have been lifting weights and counting calories and yes, this has unsurprisingly made my life less unbearable. But I'm still a coward. You can't lift away cowardice, cowardice is not something to be shaved off by a caloric deficit. I operate under the delusion that if I can reach a certain set of numbers it will be mathematically impossible for me to be a coward. Lately, I’ve been coming around to the conclusion that my cowardice is parabolic— diminishing itself quietly into infinity but fundamentally unable to arrive at y=(0).  Yeah I lift brah. You must understand that I do not lift to feel strong, but to make external my constant, gnawing, smothering internal weakness. I used to hope that I could draw it out and smash it away beneath the barbell. I'm beginning to understand that my condition is chronic-- it's cellular, in my cytoplasm. When the muscle fibers tear, it is the cowardice that rips itself apart, and when the muscle fibers rebuild themselves it is the cowardice that comes back all the more potent; I foam roll at my cowardice in hopes that my lower back will be less tight, my hips more mobile, the fear made flesh less aching and sore. But really it just looks like I’m having awkward missionary sex with an imaginary partner alone in my living room. What is it that I’m so afraid of? Why am I saying all this? I don't know. There's a girl who I want to talk to and every time she texts me I feel sick. I apologize for how mundane the answer is, really I do. But every time I try to communicate with her I feel like I've said the exact wrong combination of words. She texted me happy birthday today and I somehow found a way to say the wrong thing. She thinks I’m funny, she likes to talk to me, and every time I make her laugh and I hear her laugh I'm reminded of the insect I truly am. Only a coward feels this way when he's around a beautiful woman. No other explanation. Every single woman I’ve ever loved has terrified me. 

@steelyfan1998

Apr 8, 2025

29

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anti-rec: smoking weed

This is a confession post, not a recommendation, not even much of an anti-recommendation. Tbh it reads like a humilation ritual. Honestly just keep scrolling; it's not worth reading. I'm just posting it because I think I had a point when I first started writing this, one which I lost pretty wuickly. But I spent a good couple of minutes typing this all out, so I'll post it anyway. Thank God I'm anon. If you do read it, please forgive me. My friend Tyler brought a joint to the super bowl party last night. He handed it to me & told me about how it had weed diamonds in it while I smoked, he told me that it was some good shit and that I wouldn't have to smoke so much of it since I've got such a low tolerance & all, but I could also smoke as much as I liked, seeing as he had a bunch more & that it was the super bowl & we had a bunch of wings on the way anyway, so might as well smoke some more weed so you know what? yeah, i smoked some more weed since what's the harm anyway it's just weed after all. I've been a mess all day. I've been slow & stupid & disgustingly horny since I woke up this morning; but really honestly since I smoked the weed. If you're one of those types that "actually becomes more functional when you're smoking weed" & that I should "just let people enjoy things" I don't know what to say to you. I'm going to be weird for 4 weeks now and it's all my fault. This happens every time. Even when it doesn't turn me into a non-verbal paranoiac nutcase, even when it's enjoyable to me in that moment-- I become something lower than a beast. I stand over the platter of chicken wings & gorge until I am sick and then I gorge even more. My stomach becomes distended & my face and fingers are covered in thai curry buffalo chicken fat goo. I waddle around & fart & I find this very funny. I confuse the sound of my own voice with that of my younger sisters & this is incredibly disqueting to me. Do I really sound like that? I become a big confused overgrown fat baby. I'm going to be be weird for four weeks now. Slow. I was supposed to meet up with my friends to watch Luka's debut for the Lakers. I'm stitting at my desk typing this up; procrastinating going to the gym (which I can NOT neglect [especially after my evening of spiritual obesity]) & the game starts in 5 minutes. Stupid. Typing out this confession right now is painfully difficult. Every word that I type has the appearance of a whitehead that can't be popped to me. This textbox full of blemishes so infuriatingly, stubbornly, immutably DISGUSTING. I feel sick just reading back what I'm writing here. Once again, if you've made it this far, forgive me. This is a confession, not a recommendation. Disgustingly horny. This one I won't elaborate on. Forgive me. It's not because I smoked weed. The smoking of the weed was just the first movement in a sequence that had already begun before I'd even accepted the joint from Tyler. My own spiritual weakness is the mantle upon which all of these failings hang. I'm not this way because I smoked weed, I'm this way because I'm the type of guy that smokes weed even though I know what it will do to me. There are 999,999,999 other weeds in my life that I am all too willing to permit myself. I haven't eaten anything but bread & butter all day. The lakers game is starting soon. Off to the gym I go.

@steelyfan1998

Feb 11, 2025

21