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CODY WEBER IS THINGS

Lately, my head has been stuck on this repeating thoughtand it loops back to me indefinitely as the days trickle onlike rain water on a gutterIsn’t it kind of sad that we live in a place where not having moneymeans you’re fundamentally brokenas a person?That’s even the word they like to use.  Broke. Our fear is amplified by the notion that we won’t be ableto participate in tasting the cheesesmeared on a goldenmouse trap
Never thinking once that this could endwith our heads smooshed,leaking blood fromhungry lips andtwitchingI might be hanging on by a threadbroken and broke alikehungry;conditioned to behave like a trained petpraying for success and the respect of peopleI don’t even particularlylikeAnd even though I might want the cheeseI resent the notion that I’m brokenwithout it.

Lately, my head has been stuck on this repeating thought
and it loops back to me indefinitely as the days trickle on
like rain water on a 
gutter

Isn’t it kind of sad that we live in a place where not having money
means you’re fundamentally broken
as a person?

That’s even the word they like to use.  Broke

Our fear is amplified by the notion that we won’t be able
to participate in tasting the cheese
smeared on a golden
mouse trap

Never thinking once that this could end
with our heads smooshed,
leaking blood from
hungry lips and
twitching

I might be hanging on by a thread
broken and broke alike
hungry;

conditioned to behave like a trained pet
praying for success and
the respect of people
I don’t even
particularly
like

And even though I might want the cheese
I resent the notion that I’m broken
without it.

BETWEEN AMBITION AND DESERTION

Music used to fill me with a sense of entitlement
Like I belonged somewhere in the sonic atmosphere
projecting every qualm
every insecurity
And every blister in my palm justified it

All for the recognition that was always on its way
Basement shows that nobody showed up for
Piss and stale beer coagulated on the floor
like some sort of fairy tale

because this was where I belonged.
It was where I saw myself being.

And the lights went off so fast that I couldn’t make out faces
I didn’t see their indifference as the cadence rolled on
and the songs that we replaced with

a war on one another
our brothers
our friends
the very thing our mothers worried about
was tantamount
and coming true

We took the stage like a militia without a leader
dropping bombs on unsuspecting civilians in the form of
bad lyricism

Contrary to what some people might remember
We killed ‘em all,
slaughtered them with our own indifference
as we took any drug they handed us
and passed it off as our own brilliance

It was how we knew that we did well
marching through the front lines of the interstate
dropping off somewhere toward hell
but not quite there yet, because

We were cannibals.
Feasting on one another not because we were hungry
but because we weren’t at all.

And that made me hate the rest of them
It made them hate me.

It made me hate music.

It no longer filled me with a sense of anything at all.
And I knew it was over when the van rolled back in the driveway
and nobody said goodbye.

Nobody said anything at all and nobody asked why
until now, when hindsight is 20/20
and my floors are no longer sticky.

What the fuck happened between ambition and desertion
to cause each of us
to die a little?

The Difference Between Paris And A Large Number 7
You know what I realized today?I’m just too damn American.I like super-sized meals with 62 oz. sodasand I really enjoy eating it allwhile I watch badreality TV.
And I think Paris looks pretentiouswith people that are somehow proudof the uninspired architectureand of all the god-awfulfrench cinema.I’ve read that many people get depressedwhen they visit a foreign placeand it doesn’t live up tothe fairy taleAnd that’s why I like America, too.Because people come here and think,Man, that wasn’t as bad as I thoughtit would be.We are trained from the start to be this wayto have some hidden prideabout where our parentsfucked.And I’ve trained myself out of it by paying very close attentionto the way we eat atone another.but if I had to choose an Iowan cornfieldor the cold beaches of Lake Michiganor even the ninth ward of New Orleansover Paris;it wouldn’t take long.I have grease running through my veins at all timesconsuming super-sized meals and giving myselftype-two diabetes.Maybe that’s causing the nausea I feel wheneverI hear people romanticize some foreign placethey’ve never even been to:No matter where you goand no matter how fast you runyou’ll never escape where you wereand who you were always boundto be.

The Difference Between Paris And A Large Number 7

You know what I realized today?
I’m just too damn American.

I like super-sized meals with 62 oz. sodas
and I really enjoy eating it all
while I watch bad
reality TV.

And I think Paris looks pretentious
with people that are somehow proud
of the uninspired architecture
and of all the god-awful
french cinema.

I’ve read that many people get depressed
when they visit a foreign place
and it doesn’t live up to
the fairy tale

And that’s why I like America, too.
Because people come here and think,
Man, that wasn’t as bad as I thought
it would be.

We are trained from the start to be this way
to have some hidden pride
about where our parents
fucked.

And I’ve trained myself out of it
by paying very close attention
to the way we eat at
one another.

but if I had to choose an Iowan cornfield
or the cold beaches of Lake Michigan
or even the ninth ward of New Orleans
over Paris;

it wouldn’t take long.

I have grease running through my veins at all times
consuming super-sized meals and giving myself
type-two diabetes.

Maybe that’s causing the nausea I feel whenever
I hear people romanticize some foreign place
they’ve never even been to:

No matter where you go
and no matter how fast you run

you’ll never escape where you were
and who you were always bound
to be.

It’s Not Worth What It Costs To Have
I’m so fucking tired of talking about moneylike it holds dominion over everythingand takes precedence overall else. The dollar sign is a crucifixand your bible is a list ofreceiptstransactionsATM statementsThings pile up in the housefor that momentary, fleeting feelingof reliefcomfortand gainonly to wake up and do it all overearn, buy, rinse, repeatalways chasing thenewest thingsshining like the morning sunsore gums tired of their incessantjawing.And since there’s no time to enjoy what you already haveyou scoff at the notion that maybejust possiblyyou might have enough.No.  
You call it Catholic guilt, butyou don’t seem all that ashameduntil you’re out of money.You call it growing up, but I can practically see the childhood envyof a three bedroom housewith two carsand a picket fencea wrap-around porchand a detached garagethe doors raise and your enthusiasmstarts to slip.All you want is everything you don’t have.Forever lost in your own consumptionpaying close attention to incoming trendsand outgoing utility bills.If this is what it means to be aliveIf this is all it ends up being about:the chasethe unyielding desireof the fleeting feelingthat accompanies buying something new.then what the fuck is the point?Nobody is ever happy and everybody wants too much.

It’s Not Worth What It Costs To Have

I’m so fucking tired of talking about money
like it holds dominion over everything
and takes precedence over
all else. 

The dollar sign is a crucifix
and your bible is a list of
receipts

transactions
ATM statements

Things pile up in the house
for that momentary, fleeting feeling
of relief
comfort
and gain

only to wake up and do it all over
earn, buy, rinse, repeat
always chasing the
newest things

shining like the morning sun
sore gums tired of their incessant
jawing.

And since there’s no time to enjoy what you already have
you scoff at the notion that maybe
just possibly
you might have enough.

No.  

You call it Catholic guilt, but
you don’t seem all that ashamed
until you’re out of money.

You call it growing up, but 
I can practically see the childhood envy
of a three bedroom house
with two cars
and a picket fence

a wrap-around porch
and a detached garage

the doors raise and your enthusiasm
starts to slip.

All you want is everything you don’t have.

Forever lost in your own consumption
paying close attention to incoming trends
and outgoing utility bills.

If this is what it means to be alive
If this is all it ends up being about:
the chase
the unyielding desire
of the fleeting feeling
that accompanies buying something new.

then what the fuck is the point?

Nobody is ever happy and everybody wants too much.