on a wednesday

insert: a walk and then a food and then a nap

blogger

whenever i feel extra adventurous and hit the NEXT BLOG button, a little spark of hope that i might get inspired runs through me. for about .03 seconds. when i actually begin to browse, i inevitably find a revolving door of the following blog types:
craft people
religion people
family with little babies people

now, don't get me wrong. i love crafty crafts as much as anyone, i certainly have a lot to say about religion, and i am no stranger to families with little humans but... none of their approaches has anything to do with... me.

a thought:
perhaps i should consider a relocation.

a question:
is there a way to search for existential crisis/ lone wolf in their 20s blogs?

thoughts?

over everything

sometimes i just want to be unabashedly repulsive. i want to sit around in yesterday's clothes, hair greased back and harnessed by 47 bobby pins. i want to gulp soda really loudly and send really repulsive noises out into the universe. i want to let my face contort really strangely- let my eyes bug- or stare with that face that make me look like i'm dead. i want to not tend to body hair for whole weeks. i want to let gaping pores and fresh pimples reign freely all over my face. a day without penciled in eyebrows. i want to hum whole songs in really off keys and walk around all day baby talking to my cats. i want to eat 20 kinds of dip and not bother to wipe remnants from my face or chip crumbs from my clothes. i want to fall asleep every few hours for a deep sleep cat nap where my mouth hangs open and makes me look like a toothless old hag. drool all over everything.

and without apology.

inside or outside

these months invite introspection. holidays and time markers always make me think back- for better or worse. usually i relate past holiday seasons to hair color or styles... like they are some kind of concrete indicators of whatever else was going on inside or outside at the time. some kind of hazy blur.

we gather with family and try to remember how we fit into where we came from. we reconnect with friends and try to remember where we are. now. at present.
like who we are can be a memory, forgotten sometimes
or like it is ever any given, nameable thing.

read Identity over Christmas. thoughts.
finished Jitterbug Perfume before that. yes.

entered some poetry into contests. all rejection so far, which doesn't faze me. the point is in the doing- the trying.

i want to do more of that this year- doing and trying.

i imagine how my life could be different in a million ways... choices and paths... locations and people... yeses and nos. i am happy and unhappy right now- which really doesn't matter at all- but the deal is, i don't want to find myself too comfortable- too sleepy-eyed or complacent about this whole existing thing.

where does the battle against ennui take place? in the day to day drives and familiar destinations? in the little hermit hole of solitude? in new places, still surrounded by the same collective humanity? inside or outside?

inside with the door open, curtains tied up, i suppose. purple and gold.

it is tuesday- and there is a special on burgers. choices. gets cold at night. a relative term, like so many.

relatively speaking, i am happy and unhappy.

this is me, on a tuesday.

one robot at a time, sans french toast

i woke up at 4:30 a.m. from a vivid dream in which i was an actress in an improv group. i had just finished a scene in which i had deactivated a robot disguised as a 40 something housewife. then i began to rehash the situation with my improv group. at 4:30 in the morning, this was hilarious to me. and it made absolute sense. it went like this (pretty much exactly like this, because i woke up and scribbled it down through squinty eyes):

"killed a 40 year old housewife robot the other day. yeah, dumped some glue down her shirt and she short-circuited. why is it that when we find ourselves in a situation like this, our first instinct is to kill? It's never, you know, 'yo, bitch, make me french toast every morning for the next 45 years.' it's always kill. and always with something completely inept like a colored pencil or something. 'you will not conquer me. I WILL NOW STAB YOUR ROBOT HEART WITH A COLORED PENCIL.' colored pencil, elmer's glue, whatever. Fuck. you can't think to negotiate 45 years worth of french toast, but you think you can end a robot take over with a colored pencil?!"
...
guess you had to be there.

regarding cat leashes

I bought a little harness and leash for the littles. I had these visions of frolicking together- bounding down the sidewalk- eagerly moving from new curiousity in the new wold to new curiosity in the new world.

Instead- the little turds just slouch down as close to the ground as they can get- sniff around the same spot on the sidewalk for 20 minutes- move really slowly like old people.

it is all too much- and they know it, too. as soon as they are confronted with the big picture- they lay right down where they are. proceed with caution.

cats know.

belly to the ground.

sometimes knowing

sometimes knowing
takes
one
to
no
one.

a tough call to make

14 layers of confusion on 2.5 hours sleep.
i've got it
i'll get back to it
clean it up, bit by bit
inspect it carefully
own it
accept & reject
verbify compassion
turn
learn
get back to that girl.

outline

aren't we all just older versions of ourselves?
palpitations like rapports
the kick back will throw you
odd angles
resting on concrete
cracking
a habit of splitting infinitives
two cats
i'm alright i'm alright
and sometimes that's unethical
to loudly silence

just waiting for the passing
say something in the meantime

improved

rebellion just makes sense
rebellion is all we can do
it's rebellion or deevolution
rebellion against some too long stay
rebellion against old genes
rebellion against what we used to know for sure

and in the process we age.

fact

fact: sometimes when teachers stay up too late watching motorcycle tv shows, they take naps behind their desk during lunch.

ancient wisdom

and they wore red coats
and that is not a good sign
this isn't going to be good.

and you will know them by their shells.
you will think you know them well.

clam up for a spell
just to spit it out
the shell of a worm
left rotting

maybe the bare bones are less like facts and more like
spirits

rising

"yet the frame held up:
we passed the flame: we wonder
what saved us? what for?"
-h.d. "The Walls do not Fall"

tiger tiger lady

feeding raccoons cat food out of his hands.
sister janet, disgusted, picking up trash with tissues.
no substance to settle this.
sugar and weight.
but in the middle of the night, the day doesn't matter---
the day doesn't restless at all.
doubt is the safest net
catch those childhood dreams.

snippets

"does this in-class essay count as a grade?"
new class rules: stop raising your hand. stop being weird.
strange meat and unlaundered clothes
is everything NATURAL good? define good. innately neutral, morally ambiguous.
"i've never seen an ouija board in real life."
"i saw one once at a birthday party. but we also rode in a limo."

brian wilson
post coma
weeping like a baby.

when i'm happy and try to write

life is good
everything's fine
i like stuff
baby baby
everyone is cool
foreva
baby

casa whatever

And that man and that woman at Casa whatever. That woman. toothless, gaping mouth. bug eyes, glazed. out of her goddamned mind and barely functioning.

i honest to god had to stop eating for awhile after i looked at her for a few seconds. just her presence disturbed me. made me uneasy. disgusted and ashamed for being disgusted. tried to smile at her then felt ridiculous for smiling at her. like the effort was so obvious. could she even see me?

and that man! that goddamn man! who fed his wife or whoever bite by bite. helped her drink from a fucking sippycup. and fucking smiled all the while and caught my eye and just beamed at me. just beamed.

how the hell does he conquer even one day?

i suppose you just do.

But, smiling?

and as we leave he smiled toward me again- can hardly help but speak (desperate for interaction? genuine?). "how'd you get to be so lucky?" he calls to J. chuckle. beam. "Or, what's wrong with you?" to me. chuckle chuckle.

That is some question.

and he just smiled and beamed next to his decrepit wife or whoever. and i smiled a stupid smile and couldn't even find one word to say. couldn't even verbalize one thought (like someone else at his table. (horror)).

and what i should have done is hugged him. or asked his name. but, genuine or desperate or genuinely desperate, i didn't trust him. automatically suspicious. leery of motives. i don't trust anyone much anymore.

what is wrong with me.

day 3

a dull anger.
has it always been?