Tyler Fugazzie

i
feel
like
a
stranger
to myself

how much is me
how much is the weather

no
one
is
exempt

from searching

i
can’t
disappear

i
can’t
shake
the
craving

my
coming of age
owes
a
lot
to
the
dot com boom
so
why
hasn’t
the internet
solved
all
my
goddamn
problems
yet?

i lost
the willpower
to
suppress
whatever
floats
inside
of
me

humans weren’t meant to be;
we’re extinct

yet i can’t undo myself

or

these
little
dramas,
fictions,
stories

my insides would cave if i lost anyone close to me

Years of work and monthly payments and fitful sleep
To become Dr, Prof, Hon,
Sen, Sec, Pres
Maj, Capt, Gen

Not me, not now, I remain Untitled Man
And that’s the way I like it

Diogenes rather than Over-the-Counter Genius

I find me the Ms, Miss, Mrs
For me
(For I miss love)
An Untitled or Titled Woman
No matter no matter

Not like a grade school fancy,
high school crush, college passion,
postgrad “something-to-do;”

Not a middle-aged “Way to Reclaim Youth”
(college passion pt. 2)
nor an old-aged “Last Hurrah”
which may be awesome but nowhere near as crucial as leaving younger companions
with my remainders

As long as what we share is untitled
For me
For I miss love
And an empty cup aches

Monday: A good day to consume [gray depression] content
Tuesday: A good day to consume [grey capitalism] content
Wednesday: A good day to consume [postponed] content
Thursday: A good day to consume [rosy] content
Friday: A good day to consume [prohibition ale] content
Saturday: A good day to consume [undiscovered] content
Sunday: A good day to consume [holy ghost] content

---

When you’re part of a shifting community
When your generation is large and far from in charge

Hold up a torn up flag
Stir good intentions

We are portrayed as one group
When we are barely ever

Societies, civilizations have yet to figure out how to function like a thriving organism
In which the heart doesn’t sacrifice the lungs

Each week is an unceremonious realization
Of another rigged game, another false hero, another dead end

---

Read 2016’s best and only collection of Word of the Day poems

What if you’re currently living your dream?
What if you have everything you need?

Are we always rich and living on a beach in our dreams?
Don’t we have nightmares and plain days before we wake?

What if life is a cartoonishly big calendar and all the important moments already have a date?
What if fate is a squeaky gavel?

Do you remember what the famous character Socrates said about being an idiot?
Know nothing to learn everything?

Isn’t knowing just guessing with social confirmation?
Isn’t existence just everything else?

---

Read the collection of the first 100 Words of the Day

Somewhere in the world there’s an octopus shark
With smart tentacles and sharp teeth
And it glows in the dark
And it feeds off the weakest of the sea

Somewhere near this somewhere
There’s a seasoned seafood hunter
Who feeds off the strong and weak alike
But prefers the strong since it means eating for forty nights

One fateful storm
The hunter met the shark
He gasped underwater
Almost drowned himself with shock

The town rejoiced
Eating with their voices
Praising the hunter
Salivating over their choices of meat

The hunter says no
We save this beast
The town scolded him
Threw his honor to their feet

The townspeople tried to sneak
Out at night to please their needs
But every time they went to use their teeth
Their eyes were in awe, they fell to their knees

---

Read the collection of the first 100 Words of the Day

Here are five possible scenarios for the apocalypse: 

1. We learn our orbit is changing and Earth is toiletbowling into the Sun. Climate change is real yet temporary because the student will be incinerated by the master. 

2. Paul Studebaker, an accountant working in Des Moines, forgets to remove his bananas from the company fridge. These rotting bananas combine with some chemicals from the office air to cause an explosion equivalent to 8,000 nuclear explosions.

3. China, Russia, the United States, the U.K., the Netherlands, and Canada all begin feuding over a disputed piece of Arctic land. This awakens Ictfred, a troubled ice spirit who is a murderous cunt and doesn’t go back to sleep until it kills every living being on Earth.

4. An alien civilization of giant partying entities spills rancid alcohol on the Milky Way Galaxy. 

5. Jesus returns to Iraq, walks into a nondescript building, goes into the basement, finds a device that looks like an old fax machine, and unplugs it from the wall. This ends the Simulator X.2 as Jesus records particular vitals such as number of James Blunt fanatics produced and amount of time passed before the enchilada was discovered. 

If your brand and my brand got together, they would have themselves some handsome brands. Their brands would have brands of their own and our little grandbrands would run around teasing other brands for being shitty little nuisances while they are shiny literate nuances. Our grandbrands will generate business through generations and they will build knockoffs in their shadows.

I want to demonstrate value. I want answers for all the uncomfortable questions. I want to avoid “fucking up” and being dressed down. I don’t want to lose control of myself through others. I want to be listened to. I want to be young but I want more experience. I want it all now, not yesterday or tomorrow. My wants are vague, changing, hard to understand, hard to communicate. What I want is not realistic because I think bigger than thinking.

I want my family to be happy, healthy, and living their dream lives. I want the same for friends, strangers, and myself. I want a perfect ideal and those don’t exist. I want undying love. I want to strip my bones from my body to express the inexpressible. I want to die in front of billions of people in forms of art that move them. I want better than art, better than language, ankle, or force. I want this greed to cease. I don’t want fires overactivating my mind when all I want is sleep. I don’t want pages and pages of attempted explanation with no epiphany. I don’t want to talk, think, or feel; I want to burst unexpectedly and bond with all the fading stars.

It’s more important to have warm palms than patience. Holding a cup of coffee before a new handshake allows me to forget I’ve been paralyzed from the sense of courtesy down and I can communicate warmth physically, with a little consumerist hack. When they tell you to be yourself they don’t tell you how badly you’ll feel about it. When your parents fight they don’t tell you that internal turmoil is genetic. I’m not sure what right I have to ample personal space but I will fight to the death my right to defend it. Invading my immediate air space is usually interpreted as a hostile act except in rare circumstances. As long as my spinal cord is still intact, there’s only so far I can stick my neck out for others. I’m tired of external forces moving me but there’s only so much time to fight. I like little social tricks because I can’t be bothered to not be an asshole.