Long is the ramble, I say. Let it flow.
How often do you get to shout at a wall
that never yells back?

‘Always, I guess’ is the answer, but long is what
your rant deserves to be. You’ve been denied
the podium an inordinate amount of time. All the

more reason to not shut-up these days. Wail at all
the walls, just post-up and shout.

You can cry and if you do it in the corner of an alley, no one
will even notice. Only the brick will get a little darker due
to your tears watering the building.

If I were you, I’d just yell and cry.


Fake daisies litter the ground, around, near my feet.
Firmly stuck, still to the earth, they don’t come up high

enough for a breeze to catch them and make them (mark it)

make them say. The wind forces so much on us and around.
Even in a place like here, my vanity follows. Thin legs sway

into my thoughts; they are pressed, crossed on a chair; or some
dirt is on the thigh; boot tops cover ankles and a little more.

I often think about kissing you in that restroom. We could kiss
and rest in that room,
and more.

without means, do it

in the 3 am dim
I did not have the strength to listen again.

this is the con with eating your crow
alone. it’s lonesome.

better off to have the friends over, turn on
a screen or two, break out the bags
of drugs, crack open the cold ones.

make things loud, for godssakes.
otherwise, yes, the listening
to creaky Cole Porter records

spin an old memory of doing it,
falling in to an old experiment,
de-lovely, anything goes for a bit…

is a pretty type of painful. ‘I would
prefer not to,’ thank you very much,
I say to myself, scrivenerly.

can’t you tell?

It’s a burnt orange sky– like,
signaling-hell-orange with a purple threat.

My windows are tinted with sleet.

Those lit portals from the projects
seem like watch-posts,
or something. A hard thing is,
wondering whether or not to
still be sad.


The music sounds tinny and bleak,
but it is maybe one of your favorite groups.

If you do not eye-roll at the occasional bad
accent I don’t want to hear about it. This will

depress me. There should always be someone
coaxing from you a happy reaction; your true

laugh makes friends and family brighter. Test it.

Don’t Cry. Shane is Making a Tier List: Smash Ultimate Edition

Tires Don Exit



Be that as it may,

I think just as many people come to this blog to read poetry as they do for killer gaming techniques (ie, no one). So, I decided to give the public what they want and create a tier list for the 74+ characters in Super Smash Brothers: Ultimate.

It’ll be… a rather slow process to say the least. I mean, I’ve got over 70 goddamn characters to play and give my half-baked opinion on. Not all half-assed things can be done in a short amount of time. This half-assed project will take… jeez, at least a few months.

But check in every other day or so. I’ll be continuously adding characters to the tier list and giving my impressions on them as I play through the game. Comments and critiques are always appreciated. Also, I’m just one wrong person and these are my wrong opinions. Take them with a wrong grain of salt.

You can view the tier list and how it’s progressing here.



these days

bubble tea in your belly, we roll together
on warm sheets, not washed in a while.

days like these, you find fun where you can
in times like these. laughter–‘please,’ she
said, so you do, or rather, I do. I did. we could

run away just me and you, go to New Zealand
or Canada: let’s do it, let’s become a Cole Porter song,
a Joni Mitchell jam. I haven’t had a case of you yet,
but a few bottles is enough to fuck me up. I’ll always be in the bar

and you should know that about me. at words pathetic
I’m so poetic, it’s grating, I’m sure.

tapioca is good in tea
but that’s about it, we both agree.