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No Spoons, Only Knives · Jul 30, 2026

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Themma Goldman · No Spoons, Only Knives

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The North Cape by Moonlight, Peder Balke (Norwegian, Helgøya, Nes 1804–1887 Oslo (Kristiania)), Oil on canvas
“The North Cape by Midnight,” by Peder Balke, courtesy of the Met’s online collection. Image description: A gothic nocturnal landscape of mostly black, dark blue, and gray depicts a vast northern fjord with towering cliffs, a cloudy sky, and a hint of golden moonlight peeking out, lighting the way for a tiny boat with three passengers. .

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Need to dead dead

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The best of those memories

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These

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That won’t forget me

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Regret’s revenge

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THROTTLE ME LIKE A

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QUALITY LOBOTOMY

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Take me back to the end,

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When you thought of me

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As a friend;

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Invent a universe

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Where we made it all make sense

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What grows in all this soil

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Coiling out of me??

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Ground me down

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So you could

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count on me

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But you’re still not

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Proud of me

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The crowd and me

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Turned cowardly

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Wage war

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Hourly

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Devoured by

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Devoutness

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Undoubtedly

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.

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Loudly

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Drowsy

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Still drowning

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In overdraft fees

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Please;

Stop shouting at me

.

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Forging a path ahead

From best guesses

and inherited dread

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Each pleasure

Stretched

To the thread

.

spaghetti thin

plate full of

death threats

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If the world ends tomorrow

At least we’ll look our best

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Desperate to be

Pedestrian

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Pledge allegiance to the lesbians

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Measured by messiness

Etched in emptiness

Penned by the penniless

Tended by unsteadiness

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The monstrous unconscious

from the corner office

Mock modesty of

The mobs of jobless

Living out of boxes

“Poverty” and

“Options”

too often

at odds;

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Who, not me,

Could beat these odds?

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Trapped in this

the traffic of tragic

the laughable illogic

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From the past

To the blast

From painful praxis

To the truly batshit

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These little

Prisons we all inhabit

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My very existence

Your own little

Freak show exhibit

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of

Invisible rhythms

Gifted and grifted

Frisky and unfixed

A binge and a bridge

And the offspring

Of a brick

Just brought back

From the brink . . .

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Think it into ink

Will it into silver

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bill like

the ones

who own the buildings

With the ability to debilitate

Don’t you feel liberated

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GOD, THIS FUCKERY

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Run for recovery

Drugged into discovery

Corrupted by the othering

Smothering and suffering

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This reality is rather rubbery. . . . . .

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When will any of it be enough for me????

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Read the original on knivesonly.substack.com

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