ARTHOUSE: If You Don't Read This, I Don't Care. (But I think you should.)

ARTHOUSE is my free Substack series, a small window into my world that includes a poem, its backstory, and accompanying audio ear candy.

Free gets you glimpses. Paid gets you the full grimoire.

“This is a Van Gogh museum only some will get”
by Maverick L. Malone

Moments dancing barefoot between squares,
each version of me so freely shared, rendered real by witness,
if even a single digit. I never wished for silence
or invisibility, yet both were handed to me.
I’ve made art in the meantime, a party
from the in between. I have a PhD in Keeping,
and a masters in Confetti.

What I have to give is the diamond that I see
when everyone else says, “That’s a leaf.
That’s a dead flower. That’s a tacky antique.”
I will take all three and present them multifaceted.
The leaf joins others and becomes a pavement masterpiece.
I snap a photo and present it to the world, “Look what I have made!”
Someone scoffs and swats it away.

I preserve the bouquets
and hang them upside down until they turn the color
of muted memory. I adorn them in ribbon and lace,
arrange them proudly on my wall.
“Look what I have made!” I say, as someone makes a face
and asks why I collect dead plants.

I buy the porcelain cat from the thrift store
and extract what hides within. I reveal her magic
with pink paint and make her cosmic.
“Look what I have made!” I say, placing her on my buffet.
Some nod, some shrug, toss a like or two my way.

Most scroll past each time I arrange myself in shapes
and put my words on display, every facet as real as the next,
inclusions included (some of my favorites: the fuckups
and the mistakes for the lessons that gave way).
I’m not a performative parade and will not condense myself
for virality or algorithmic “success.” I get undressed
in the feed because authenticity pairs well with honesty.
Honestly, I am not easily categorized nor predicted
because mystery lives in me, and I want to share it all:
the art, the stories, maybe a video here and there,
but there may not always be cohesion.

People don’t prefer that.
They want repetition, consistency, the same content
delivered on demand in 10 seconds or less,
to know what to expect.
If what I share today is different,
the thumbs will scroll on their merry way.
And that’s ok. I’m absolutely in love with what I make.
A poem, an outfit, a strange digital collage.

I think the great mirage of life
is missing what’s right in front of you
that only perspective can reveal.
I think the pain and heartache bring it out,
turn poker faces to aces
from the shitty cards we’re dealt.
I will carry myself through that quiet,
speak of everything I have felt
for none of this is worth a damn
if I cannot be myself.