December 19, 2011 § 2 Comments
1. How to handle problems.
2. What is grown up/ who is grown up?
3. Christmas shopping, or: all I got you was this intimacy problem.
a. Drinking the Christmas present you got for your father that has been sitting in the trunk of your car.
b. Parking on a tree lined street at dusk, reclining your seat, crying until you run out of energy/ you realize the world will end sooner if you don’t turn the engine off and cut down on pollution.
c. Listening to a netflix instant movie (any documentary will do) while reading something internet-y/ephemeral and listening to an album that you have never listened to before (and don’t particularly like).
d. Taking an Ibuprofen and an antidepressant simultaneously while fantasizing about the two pills squaring up in your bloodstream and arguing about what real pain is.
e. Cooking a vat of chicken noodle soup, Chicken curry vindaloo, or something that tastes like the sweat of a shamed carrot.
a. That woman over there with a Lexus and two children who she baptized because she was free that Sunday is a grownup.
b. That woman over there that has a wallet made out of bone chips, dry skin, and the grease of an inner elbow in August is a grownup.
c. That woman over there who is no one but herself and has no one but herself and thinks of nothing but herself while she is next to you is legally able to default on her loaned life.
a. Your friends who throw up on one another may be grownups.
b. People who vocalize their problems after having seriously trying to exit out of them may be growing upwardly mobile.
c. Probably not someone who can’t care for something or someone else. If you can talk to children, you may want to consider becoming a professional grown up. The world is filled with children.
a. Let me take the train to Fulton St. and look at the sprinkles of lights on BAM and feel how cold concrete can get no matter how sharp or unsharp the focus or edges of buildings. Let me enter a bank and come out with all of my money and no gift. Let me call this place the Brooklyn Flea, let me use their bathroom.
b. How about the Westchester Mall? Exit said mall and pay “exit fee” while holding blueberry pineapple smoothie from “Baby Yogurt.” Leave White Plains with no gas, no presents, and not even the consolation of a drink at Lazy Boys.
c. Perhaps you’d like to shop online? Order three tupperware containers that will not ship in time for Christmas.
d. Notice there is a sale on old-timey bubblegum at CVS. Buy eight bags of it while picking up 35mm film.
e. Buy books for children.
f. Buy kitten for boyfriend.
g. Buy expensive cards you could have made yourself if your hands weren’t glued to an endless “conversation.”
h. Walk through guts of tinsel, digesting nothing, waiting for the colors to stabilize and the brain to reset.
December 5, 2011 § 2 Comments
I can only tell you that our present life is made up of the sneaky streaks of fading sun coming through the windows. Smudgy drying lemon with no velocity, just a passive glance of used spectrum skittering across the oriental runner.
We have these pilly green particles of blanket that wedge themselves everywhere. I’ve got some food wedged in where my wise teeth once howled: “You know better” (they’d gripe, unheard but felt, when too many drinks drowned their nerves; making my teeth saddle up and black out).
Our present has this pleading tone to it. (Like) there’s some persuasion in the mixed bag of conversation- As if our feet were going to walk across a beach or through a museum at any given moment. Our heels (rough)hide from polished textures and the grainy surface of a Long Island planet. “You’re supposed to take your socks off before you get into bed.”
I feel dissembled. I am able to put myself back together regularly, not carefully. When I am sitting still— exposed receptor before some moody clot of sky or some angry jut of pavement, I am sure I am not just whole/undone. I am not a work in progress. I am existing, I feel that.
I am dying a little faster because I can hear my heartbeat slowly counting down. I am something not entirely real to myself, and I am not special. I can not tell if these feelings are to mend myself, relationships with others, affirm the energy that keeps slipping away (like losing light, like gaining weight).
Our mass is one of fast forward stars and
I’ve read about them ending
but when I look up they beam back burning-
I know I’ll die before I see them snuffed.