S. N. A. P.
Written By: Ash Catcher
I went thrifting, and to a few cafes.
By myself, lately I had a bunch of treat-you self days.
I Stepped up to the counter to place my order.
Got overwhelmed with the menu, that is just my anxiety disorder.
Managed to stutter to the pretty cashier:
“I’ll have an Americano please.” It was good but not like my old spot in Revere.
The small one looked really big, but that is America for you.
Kinda wish I didn’t give my cousin my holographic ancient MEW.
Ash, dial back to thrifting, I found myself making a bee line to a pile of pictures.
All of the other times, and peoples families, willing to bet my childhood allowance they all knew their scriptures.
All the backs date back to the 60s techno color, pastel substitutional urbs.
All the men, mad looking as hell- like they could all be my grandpa- or on the cover of Forbes.
One I found I called her Gertie, she looked like some psychedelic plant lady- and I saw myself in her indeed.
If we make it past 2050, you best bet I want to be just like that saint, total galactic babe, and star-seed.
Pictures of people used to scare me as a kid.
I didn’t understand at first of all the places that have been.
Time traveling is possible and it can all be contained in a thrifted box.
Of photos of dead people- they probably knew where to get the best bagels and lox.
I have to say some days I am jealous, but I would never wear those skirts.
I would be rocking killer pant suits- I would be that radical bitch in the 60’s in shorts.
All it takes is a snap, something from nothing that beautiful overused line.
A blip in the Matrix, a single moment in your timeline.
Then you start to fuck with the settings, and thats when reality is done.
The perspective and exposure is all off- way too much sun!
S.ingle lens, so I can still sprawl out in the middle of my bed. Cat cornered me, judging me silently like I am up for a performance review.
N.oise, there is way too much collective humming for me to even hear you.
A.perture, it can be a little hard to crack that cancer crabby shell. Not a lot of light or people come in.
P. Oint and Shoot, hyper focusing, and going M. I. A in the middle of the day. Love and hate when people touch my skin.
I am not the best at being present.
Half the time I am not here- borderline fluorescent.
Eyes like lenses, taking way too much in.
Socializing is great, but I like being alone a little more now and recharging.
Written By: Ash Catcher
Panic stricken, jerked out of my dream-like state.
Fluid filled the bottom of my left leg- this is why I don't skate.
I feel it every second now, the breakdown of my physical body.
I would tell you all about it, but my voice has been a tad bit froggy.
Going back and fourths, seeing some new demons and dimensions.
Not sure what I am striving for these days but I have abandoned all apprehensions.
This meat sack wants a promotion, I feel like I am like three times my age.
I've lived through shit most people cannot comprehend, the queen of disengage.
Been waking up at all hours, the most prevalent ones are all before noon.
Questioning what is real these days, is that really a real cup and spoon?
The realizations, and downloads- that we are all interconnected.
Interwoven coven, it is insane how much one is dissected.
Life is just a series of reel idolizations.
It repetitively repeats itself- the same season after season.
The same characters just have a different plot.
I don't blame people for wanting to leave this place and become a commercial cosmonaut.
It seems so fabricated and scripted.
The laugh track in my head is depicted.
As my second grade class, Ms. Harris toppling over us.
That's something I need to pack still, but I am not willing to discuss.
So much to do always, but what does it all matter in the end.
I've lost myself so much along the way, I am my only friend.
I am tired of doing everything- I am sick of working and cleaning my house.
Fighting over dumb fucking shit “ I am sorry for being insensitive if I say this but can you man up and dispose of that mouse.”
This time around the 30th try of playing the game entitled 365.
I Felt reckless the other day, chugged a kombucha and started gardening barehanded.
I am trying to numb out responsibly, cause I have a shit ton of things to keep alive.
But those vices are a bitch to quit, and my morals reroute like Route 66, but I won’t allow myself to decline. [again]
Just edging, teasing, toying with the thought of leaving it all up to probability.
Math was never my strongest subject, all my life labeled a walking liability.
Moving on hasn’t been easy but I am pretty good at adapting.
My motives are always genuine, that is why I know that you are acting.
Ketchup seems arbitrary, this hot dog was never real-
Socializing what's the point? Notoriously the fifth wheel.
It is cheaper to get an 8th of shrooms than fill up my gas tank.
I'll travel in my head again, I am not trying to break the bank.
Written By: Ash Catcher
Spiritually sour, semi split in two.
Don't count yourself as one of us- especially if you’re into IPA brews.
It's something in the air, but goes just beyond the explanation.
Been about the 6th time this week someone has said my wrong name.
It’s not that hard to say, just three stupid fucking words.
Why am I suddenly suffering from massive FOMO and always in the burbs.
Searching for something I am not exactly sure just what.
Nothing new to report, aside from some occults worshiping chestnuts.
Never had a bat mitzvah.
Just hopelessly obsessed with bats.
Was always stoked to sit shiva.
But constantly crying when my cat kills a mouse.
Putting the competition in total opposition.
Both a little grim and spooky, all about superstition.
Not much difference between how I grew up and where I am headed.
But I feel aware and tapped, trapped in this 3rd Dimension.
(If you have a moment I would be happy to share my methods.)
So this “stuff” goes way beyond you, and I.
I am actually at times not sure if we are all still alive.
But, I like the benefit of the doubt, and for everyone's sake of argument, and all the Tik Tok clout.
Say just for kicks it was all fake, just a falsified memory- all makes you doubt.
Everything that you were ever told, was really just a mass story that has been sold.
A single narrative, every time the same. Makes things much easier to be controlled.
Could there be an answer to it all way beyond the number plain, 42 doesn’t seem like a real response.
There are days, I am sure of everything- other days I need to channel my inner Goth.
Nature has been helping. I think it's hard to simulate all that green.
To low vibrational people this shit seems obscene: “ I would never believe in something I have never seen.”
Have you been to the Moon? No but you see it right…. It looks fake- and why cant I ever take a good picture of it huh?
Oh I forgot I am the crazy one, of course burn me at the stakes, just do it in private. I am just not a big fan of pda.
We are all angry, pretty obvious I collectively feel it in the air.
Something needs to change and while we are all going back in time let's reenact the Witch of Blair.
Shaky hands, muddled timelines, somethings off- are we in the deleted scenes- of something evil or divine?
Massively available, but pure personal and all mine.
Not sure how to really describe being spiritual to average people.
But low key lately have been waiting for this to all be once again illegal.
Let's go back in time! Maybe we really did a timeline flip- nothing phases me anymore.
I am the happiest I’ve ever been traveling for free, and chilling on the astral plane