Beach Sloth

                Joseph Moore lives a wholesome all American life in dope dens. In these sketchy moments one senses the kind of life Joseph Moore has not chosen but has ended up. Many drug stories/poems glorify the use and abuse of drugs. There is absolutely no judgment in the pieces. What you see is what you get. Consider Joseph Moore as a journalist, sending off non-biased dispatches of what it is like to be fucked-up and know it. 

                PT 1 covers a boob of a crack-addicted homeless woman. That is what he sees. Figure this is what people generally choose to not see or un-see. Joseph falls asleep standing up while his mind is totally gone, wasted. Dorito tacos look like normal tacos in this mental state. Guess if there is ever a reason to not do drugs Doritos is always involved. One can’t escape Doritos if they are all messed up. Possibly Doritos may be the most ‘gone’ of late night snacks. 

                PT 2 shows Joseph in a bar. 7UP takes like alcohol if you concentrate hard enough. I give Joseph props. First he shoplifts jackets while on pills. Tao Lin tried to steal a shirt and got shut down (via ‘Shoplifting from American Apparel’). Perhaps if Joseph was unsuccessful this would be a longer poem. I remember a friend of mine tried to shoplift a six pack. He got arrested via the ‘dumb as a rock’ mentality. Assume Joseph needed the jackets for that purpose. I do not endorse shoplifting here but damn, that’s an impressive haul of free shit. Not many people can point to shoplifting as an accomplishment even in their somber minds. 

                PT 3 is incredibly dark. Like, you need a drink after this one. There’s the name of the place called ‘dope spot’. If that doesn’t advise you of how messed up it is, the lack of electricity with dope fiends running around with flashlights on their heads might freak you out. Finally there is the name of the brand of heroin from ‘bulletproof’ to ‘bodybag’. Ouch, that is the bleakest thing I’ve seen for an extremely long period of time. 

                Sketchy moments are unbelievably bare bones and bleak. This explains Joseph Moore’s complete and utter lack of any web presence, sans this single appearance on Muumuu House. I love the hell out of these three pieces. Joseph Moore’s poems embody the Zen of decay. Find yourself in the stripped clean naked language.