porch porch porch // a spot for poems/short prose // eric moore

@ericlovesgwen

[ericmooreporchkid]

Into the New Old Gas Station-remolded and muddy in the December snowy sludge.

Through the neighborhood that I grew up in. Through the trees that have doubled in height. And the house I became a teen in, knowing the people who live there now via their daughter being in my high school class. Not close enough to ask to step inside and see the place now. To see the sledding hill even.

But the drive is dependable and the town feels smaller, like an Animal Crossing-sized orb I can't believe I used to have all of my waking moments in.

The porches seem sadder and the trees seem sweeter. The late 2010's trend of (*saying while puking* "Modern Farmhouse") style has even made it to the heartland that's supposed to be authentically farmhouse.

We go in to one new store and one old one downtown and suddenly I'm oscillating between feeling like I've got decades of emotional homework I've put off and remembering I haven't owed anything to the people of Pella in 12 years or so.

So it was undramatic and easy to sit in those booths and sip that tea and speak about old friendships with G. and F.

In the spaces where we didn't know what to say there'd be a quick general small talk question of the now, of the how and how we don't survive in the modern context of the world. Alternatively there'd be some old story we both know and either retold or slightly modified for more relaxed accessible to F.

Driving out all I could think about how was the thinks that looked new and different made me feel alienated from the uglier and older buildings and houses that were there before. And how the magic of all these places I used to live isn't there anymore in physicality but does ignite when my heart is near them.

I see my friend's old house and I see nothing special about it, but I feel overwhelmed by how familiar it tries to get with me.

And F. asks what I'm thinking about and I sort of smirk because I wish it was just one thing I was thinking about, ever.

[ericmooreporchkid]

once again, a new job.

more money, more benefits, more blah blah bullshit.

i'm able to hold jobs but never am interested by them. i always resent them.

why can't i have a job that's the writing or drawing or talking or goofing or expressing i do?

why are we all stuck in these weird dumb systems of existence.

my 20's drag on and i drag on marijuana.

and i can't quite

quit wine

even though it doesn't like

me and i

have the stomach of a small bug

no shoes no socks just raw little vulernable

bug feet getting scraped up and

don't even get me started on how i can't love

or won't or

whatever you think is the case

i haven't legitimately loved anyone as much as my friends or

anything as much as standup or

been fully in something as much as i've been in the scenes i've written.

i hope i wake up tomorrow and feel like going on.

[ericmooreporchkid]

okay so, i'm here.

what's going on?

am i doing standup? am i writing?

not fucking really.

am i on twitter seeing people constantly post about all the amazing jobs in comedy and writing they've obtained?

of course.

are some of them more talented than me?

yes.

are some of them not?

sure, who gives a fuck.

i don't really work that hard for anything lately. i'm happy to fuck the hell out of my girlfriend and buy her dinner and sleep next to her and say that i miss her when she's not around. i love her and that's pretty fucking wild and i think i do feel happy lately due to the precise cocktail of

anti-depressant and

booze

and

weed.

but i don't know. can i blame the pandemic anymore? do i actually have the tenacity to get my writing out there? do i even need to get it out there?

can't i just do some poems and writing and songs and be happy with that? a little standup on the side? some acting gigs here and there?

i'm ready to get things moving on this life of mine.

i don't know why but

even though i'm so dang happy with the person i'm with i still keep thinking

this isn't forever

i don't love her like i should love someone that would be longer term

i don't know i love her i just

wouldn't move in with her and

wouldn't marry her?

but that doesn't feel like it's a good enough reason to not carry on.

that's not a good reason to stop enjoying life

to stop breathing and tasting and fucking and typing, even if you aren't typing anythign good.

i know friends like meeee i know life is kkkkkk

okay so taht's all for now. therapy, yada yada yada.

my family is aging and i feel disconnected from them and not necessarily connected to or interseted in anything else so.

okay yeah bye

[ericmooreporchkid]

Having a tough time getting myself to journal lately.

I have been dosing myself with the semi-truth of Covid Stole My Creativity. But I know that narrative is only partially true.

Sure, Covid did reveal to me that I am constantly busy and trying to do things to be creative. But the stasis has also reminded me of all the time I've spent saddled with depression or doubt or IBS or laziness or booze. I mean, I've been in LA for 6 years and fucked around with a lot of different things.

But what's the plan? Keep writing? I mean, sure. But like, how am I supposed to actually grab ahold of this place like everyone always says too. It feels like every time I put myself out there confidently, I'm being rude and I get bit. When I'm too subtle or hold back, I miss opportunities and age.

I don't know, I guess my anti-depressant has made me feel more okay about my daily joys or lack thereof. And I'm in a really strong relationship. I'm not (SUPER) low on money. I'm more active than I have been in years through skateboarding. I have a better apartment for a more amazing price in a more stellar location than I could've pictured having before.

I guess I still feel kind of dumb for where I'm at. But I feel better about it. I know things haven't been a waste. Most of them.

But sometimes I feel like I could've done better or explored more or relaxed more or had more fun.

Okay, trying to chill now. Having a reasonable amount of wine. Texting my girlfriend because she thinks I'm cute. Shaved a little of my hair off in the shower for the fuck of it. Am sitting shirtless as I type this. Am looking forward for COVID continuing to shrink.

I wanna be wasted and having a blast in a pool by the end of the summer.

PEACE / LOVE / CABERNET

[ericmooreporchkid]

we don’t talk about the sex like when we were “dating”

i think you fear if we did, i might ponder too much and

you’d lose me.

of course, yeah, if i do think too much about it maybe

you will lose me.

but probably not because you’re one of the people who

can make me feel pretty

remind me i have not fucked up too bad.

it’s hard to be a person and

sometimes i don’t want any others around but

you make me want to 

remember myself so

thank you and

i am working on it.

[ericmooreporchkid]

NO DRINKING DAY 1

I am so done. I am so sick of waking up with my body sore and my head throbbing and my thoughts shameful.

I do not need to drink when I get home to help me get out of the day. It only makes me more bitter and depressed and angry about things.

I only waste money on feeling shitty.

And I hook up with people I don’t want to. 

If I’m going to kiss someone it should be fully my decision.

I hate the hallow look of my eyes in the mirror when I am hungover. The toothpaste stains freckling my dumb face.

Day 1. No drinking. Here we go.

[ericmooreporchkid]

you’re over tonight and i find myself wanting to recreate the night i had with

her not you.

when she gave me a tattoo and wine and we watched the edges of the city

from the window where powerlines crackled and

sipped wine and 

ate mac n cheese and

smoked weed and

sat on the bed so close but not romantically and she

was like let’s watch this show

and it wasn’t my thing but it became really sweet and cool

to me because she liked it

and i loved her more for it and

so i’m stressed at seeing you tonight because

i just want it to be her.

but i don’t date her anymore

and we don’t date anymore either.

i just have all these friends i see and love but

sometimes the nights are just off

[ericmooreporchkid]

i am grateful for the time in between when she doesn’t listen when

she does ask if i’m okay and then is able to 

listen.

i am grateful for the music i can play

and the people who the music

makes me think of.

i am grateful for the times i’ve been in the arms

or drunkenly over the shoulder of

caring individuals.

i am grateful for the moments i haven’t

been afraid

it is good to get some of those.

i am grateful for my therapist seeing me in a certain way and the

glass at the end of the day sort of being something and 

i don’t know, everything. when i can see it.

[ericmooreporchkid]

just cook

save money

save back

save soul

keep heart

inside

don’t think

just kiss

breath hard

love fas

you used

to know

how to

do that.

at least

<#

[ericmooreporchkid]

mona lisas and mad hatters.

the pretty and the wild.

the young and the tired.

the oldest you’ve ever felt.

the worst you’ve ever said.

the littlest you’ve become.

the most you’ve grown in twenty-seven years.

the loveliest voice.

and the most recently dead friend.

all the things between me and bliss

all the things between joy and loss

all the neon bar trickery

all the suds and glass pick pocketing your heart.

just know it’s all your first time

painting and we love 

what you’ve done with

what we gave.

[ericmooreporchkid]

So, listen, the important part is this. That is, the part I’m starting with is the important thing, because when I get high like this and I feel like something’s super impactful or distinct or cinematic I sometimes don’t even get close to representing it fully, okay? So, I know I’m stoned and I’m going to fuck it up anyway, but I want to start with it.

Okay so what I’m starting with is I miss you and the bar and all our friends, but I’m glad I moved down here. I know, I’ve only been gone for six months, but it feels like much longer. Every time I look at Facebook it feels less like an update on our friends and their lives now and more like a cruel yearbook for a school I moved away from or a future I don’t get to participate in. I mean, I know we’re both 27 and I’m talking about our college town so that doesn’t make sense but.

Okay, so what I’m saying is that the waiter at this place at dinner tonight. He was this guy, I don’t know, picture me but like more muscular and taller. His hair looks the way I want my hair to look. Great guy. Handsome, even. I wanted to fucking hate him when he was walking toward our table at first. I mean, I really wanted to fucking punch him right in his veneers. Whichever teeth those are. He had that flop to his walk that good soccer players have. Not that I know how good soccer players walk, but I don’t know. Some little jive thing to his step and.

So he walks up and he’s so genuine and so smiley and he doesn’t even care that I ask for their vegan options. In Texas. And he’s looking everyone in the eyes and he’s fully there for what everyone’s saying and there’s sort of this implied feeling that he actually wants everyone to have an experience and a night and a real meal. You know what I mean by that, right? Like you know how some dinners are like MEALS where you like might remember years from now how the rain was pounding on the windows and the train went by, but inside there was a great orange glow and the food was great and everyone was laughing in the right frequency? And sometimes a dinner is just a dinner. Just something you don’t even remember doing. Not even really tasting the food.

So, anyway, he’s taking our order and he’s bouncing between tables and I see him looking at everyone with such genuine niceness. Such genuine “I want y’all to fucking have a good ass time no matter what” and there’s no way he’s making great money. He definitely just enjoys this as part of his life. It’s just a little bit of his skin and teeth and Vans to really be this way. In real life. To people.

And so I’m eating and I’m sipping my drink and I’m losing all the fretting I had been gripping about my flight being delayed the next day or my work day sucking or my paycheck not being something respectable and I’m just drifting into a real moment that’s me and my new friends here and there’s nothing pushing away at us or sucking us into somewhere dark. It’s just us warm inside this little pizza place with a harsh and foggy vibe outside and we can’t be sad. We can’t be ruined. We’ve got this blonde waiter who is somehow a necessary component to making life a moment.

And I hate the word moment because of its Kodak-y ness and all the times it’s just connected to something being very forced. Someone being like “a nice moment” is what instantly destroys it. A real moment doesn’t need definition and signs. A real moment is a body suit that transports you from your psyche.

And so I’m out of my head at this restaurant and all I can think is this is the part of life I need to really, I don’t know, treasure and not forget and not lose and that’s right when it goes. That’s right when the place becomes a gross pizza place and not a lovely portion of my brain and heart’s memory and that’s when I just become an idiot person again.

I hate losing magic like that. I really hate losing it and I keep doing it. So, I don’t know, I’m sorry this is so boring, but I’d really like to try to describe it to you in person the next time I see you so I can use my stupid arm movements and impersonate this dude, poorly. 

The point is I love you and you sort of get me to feeling like this sometimes, and that’s why you’re my friend. That’s why any place could be life pausing with you. Or rather, that’s why we’re friends. Because you have that ability.

And I hope you know that now if you didn’t before. I hope you understand how good it is that you do.

Love,

Jeff

[ericmooreporchkid]

eric. you hate weed.

i hate weed.

once every few months i buy some weed and smoke too much of it and remember i hate it.

here’s your reminder for next time, buddy. 

[ericmooreporchkid]

that’s it.

i’m 27. that was my last night drinking. i’m so sick of acting like an idiot and acting like everyone’s little jokey play-doll and having no one see me as a real person.

no one gives a fuck about an idiot drunk who’s too skinny for anyone to like me and too goofy for any one to respect me.

i’m a 27 year old loser piece of shit and i hate myself .

fuck drinking. i can be better than this.

[ericmooreporchkid]

on the eve of turning 27

I don’t feel especially special or reflective this year. That isn’t to say I haven’t been ruminating on the number of years I’m about to mark down on this plastic-er-by-the-day earth, but I do feel lulled into a little bit of birthday boredom. By that I mean, I care about this less every year, in the way that adults seem to be real good at.

I remember being a kid and learning that at least one day of the year could be all cake, toys, surprises, and the reminder that you’re taller than last year. Pretty much every year feels pretty dope. Sure, your mom makes you invite some kids you aren’t really friends with because “I don’t know if their mom ever gets them cake and you should make an effort to be friends with them.”

I don’t know, though. Even at like, 12, 13, birthdays sort of became. Embarrassing. It just feels gross to have everyone pay attention to you when you didn’t necessarily do anything. It feels weird to have some people care a lot more than other people. And then watching the people who care less just sort of fake it. Like, I know you don’t give a shit about my teen angst, Uncle Dennis, so you don’t have to mumble along to this royalty free song.

So crazy that there’s a royalty free song we all just sing.

Anyway, I don’t know, it’s also very not rad to be 27 in a lot of ways. It’s definitely LATE twenties. I was thinking it wasn’t at first, but then I thought, “1997 was definitely considered LATE ninetines and the same with 2007″).

And that just sort of sucks because I really haven’t even come close to making a living as an artist. Which is such a crazy thing to aspire to or ask of the universe when so many people are so much more highly fucked than me on a daily level. I don’t know, though. I am definitely bummed that I work at a flowershop/landscape business for rich assholes who see me as an iPhone that works worse yet has a body. That’s how I feel. Like an iPhone 3 someone forgot to pay the data plan for.

I guess I’m also not in love and haven’t been in love in 5 years. And have been out of college for 5 years. And out of Iowa for ALMOST five years.

In some ways I am gradually more numb. Which I used to think was special to me but I have been reminded frequently is sort of what a lot of people do in adulthood. I just don’t want to lose excitement for things and enjoyment for things. I want to be one of those old people whose eyes twinkle at sunsets and bullshit, but it’s hard when your brain is just trying to make sense of the world and begins to summarize experiences. This protects us when it comes to like, becoming familiar with parking lots or friends’ difficult personalities. But I just feel like so much of me working through life now is summarizing it rather than discovering it.

God, when did I become such a bummer? (Back surgery at 14, Celiac disease at 21, moving back in with my parents at 24?) All great answers. All pretty pathetic.

But I am proud of a lot of the art I’ve made. And friends I’ve made. And fun I’ve had. And stuff I’ve done. And people I’ve loved. And people who have fucked me real good.

I just have trouble feeling sloppy and pathetic a lot of the time still. I don’t know what I’m expecting to feel. Maybe less of an old boy and more of a...guy?

I’m hoping for life and art and joy to keep finding me. I’m really better at it than I’m letting on. I guess I’m just feeling that weirdness of being a person that feels more pertinent before one of the time/age constructs we all acknowledge. 

Community can be infuriating.

[ericmooreporchkid]

when we kissed in NYC 

her eyes so bored with 

my honesty.

slopping sneakers across

frigid blocks in

April magazine torn fog.

in blurry candle bar fuzz

she said she’d forgotten my 

voice’s stomp

“more like a tap” 

bought her cookies

smelling like Iowa evenings

we both vaguely construct on tarmac.

the pulsing city did start

to sleep

and though we couldn’t

when i woke

at 5am she held me

as no one ever has and

her bravado gone and her

soul raw and her

arms nocturnally unconcerned with my

semi-gloss facade.

[ericmooreporchkid]

yes, but.

i get that we established we’re

non-exclusive but

fuck.

if i go to a party of your roommate whom i barely

know and make it

clear i want to love on you

tonight and you want to

kiss her instead

then like

don’t let me hang around till 2am

how about tell me to go home

how about tell me to

LEAVE

don’t wait until i’ve sat around trying to have fun or be interesting or normal or a person who deserves to be alive before

you say you “feel like you’re being an asshole”

just send

a text

saying you’re vibing with

someone else.

that would’ve been fine

instead here i am listening to the MENZINGERS and feeling raw and sour and bad and not at all the sweet person  i

would normally like to be.

like the coca cola at that bar in downtown LA that night

dancing with that girl who i’ll never see again

that’s how distant i feel from you right nor

or how far i feel when we’re talking or kissing really even

how can anyone feel anything for anyone again???

i don’t fucking know.

i’m sorry i’m bad at being upfront about my feelings but

i don’t know i feel bad now and i’m sorry i scared you

it’s not even halloween

just leave then.

[ericmooreporchkid]

To the bad place again

where I spend money recklessly 

where I say things I don’t mean

where I don’t know what I want

where nothing seems good

where I must be drunk to do anything

where I must get drunk to not have to do anything

where I leave myself and everyone else

over and over and over and over

and the key clacks 

can’t salve me

and nothing can help

nothing can help

nothing can help

no one can help 

and i can’t cry

i can’t cry

i can’t cry.