U, faggote by Nathan Masserang
Shout outs are given to empty space. This is where shout outs belong, for the emptiness to absorb. People feel emptiness in themselves all the time. Why not just acknowledge it and dedicate an entire chapbook to the proceedings? Happy that Nathan recognizes emptiness. Emptiness is a necessary impulse in modern life, distributed for free on the internet in PDF format.
Death bed music is an important choice for anybody. To really set the dead mood requires something epic and grand. Most pick Post-Rock. While this makes sense it is a little overused. People who pick happy music do well. Slowcore is another long-ignored genre. Harsh, abrasive noise bands are a good pick as well.
Nathan is everything to a special one. All he wants is to be dead next to somebody. Sleeping is what this is generally called. TVs still exist apparently. Laptops are the new TVs. They require more work but interact more. What he wants is for someone to share bitterness with, to complain with company. Misery needs company. Misery populates apartment buildings and pays rent on the first of every day. This is life.
Every dog needs another dog. Suburbs are full of dog owners. In the suburbs people need dogs to convince themselves that they are doing well. When they pet each other’s dogs it is to convince them that having a dog is a good thing. It is a cycle of dog love dog. How do the suburbs even exist anymore? Suburb are the worst combination, like a combination Pizza Hut / Taco Bell on 80 x 100 plots of nothing.
A portrait of the poet as a pornographer appears. All art is pornography anyway so this makes sense. Nathan arrives on America’s shores with a sense of civic duty. Every year America loses more and more pornographers to age, boredom and boardrooms. Once someone’s done everything and everyone that’s out there to be done, working in a cubicle or an office sounds pretty grand. Honestly cubicles can be beautiful Zen things.
Death is a huge part of music. Sounds decay all the time. Crescendos, swan songs, etc. music is a tough world. Singing along to the top 40 hits is perhaps the emptiest, least fulfilling thing anybody could do with their life. When the headphones are on with the volume loud enough it doesn’t matter. People can sing to the heavens if they never have to hear themselves.
One note ends it. Nathan states his belief that skiing hurts. Mountains probably hate the snot out of skiers. This is the ending however, the downward slope with an upward trajectory. Nathan continues his craft, mixing Macro with Tweet with pieces of poems.