Poems and stuff by Maté Jarai…
Poems and stuff by Maté Jarai…











His skin is crumbling away and he’s always hungry,

knows he’s slowly losing his mind, all alone far too often.

His new lover cares for him, plays with him, but she

is toxic, he, aware of her dangers, but, no

self-control. Not in his possession or even

consideration. ‘Say Yes,’ like Elliott Smith

told him to. ‘I defy you to realise it,’ like John Frusciante sang.

So he says ‘yes’ and realises, talking to these

friends of his in the dark, then himself, at first

in the mirror, then without a mirror, until

eventually he feels as though, more often

than not, he is no longer in his

body but outside of it, watching himself, as well as

all the other selves, an omniscient presence

connecting each to the other. He crosses boundaries

of multi-verse genetics also, connecting the ‘hims’

to their other friends, the ones whose words changed

everything, who sang to him in the dark, and now

he starts singing back, they all do, eyes closed, mostly.

He nods his head to a beat, and all the ‘hims’

nod also, some seated at desks in the dark, candle lit, others

happily fearful in forests, grinning on mountains or drowning

in the oceans. Some are doing yoga, or smoking and drinking,

some sleeping, screaming, eating sandwiches,

and a couple of them think about

mistakes and decisions, but only a couple.

This pleases the omniscient floating entity

because in most realities he’s Ok. He ignores the few

in which ‘he’ thinks too much, screams ‘fuck backwards’

and ‘attack, attack you mother fucker’

knowing he can return to his body and continue

to live, with the knowledge he was right and will

never be lonely again. He doesn’t need skin or food.

Empty is good. Unguarded is good. He is mouldable

and ready to be filled, screams ‘yes’ and screams ‘yes’ again

and grins and they all grin and he begins to run

to the sound of a stampede in his heart and while running

and losing his mind he thinks, ‘Made it.’

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