i'll let you know when i get there

they are singing in unison faculty and staff squeezed into ill fitting polyblend dresses eyes scanning the crowd for dissension praise for peace mouthing words like incantations watch on the clock parents cranking their heads to witness the spectacle of hundreds of students singing craning to record the miracle on smartphones just beside themselves at this display of dedication this display of faith so civilized this is the hope and the proof and the miracle! their babies might remain naive forever! "and i'll abandon happily the earth/ surrender all i am in this rebirth/ you lead the way and i will follow" listen. if these happy chanters actually mean what they are singing, we are one poison koolaid pitcher away from a mass suicide another exodus a cult classic amazing what we'll do for a little sense of approval. amazing what we'll believe for a sense of purpose. there was a time when i thought of religious martyrdom as a high priv...

also, i happen to be very happy which happens to be an excellent distraction.

a few very short thoughts: strange that we usually do not have a problem teaching novels that portray rape, but if consensual sex is depicted, the novels are more likely to be contested by parents. redid the place. basically felt like moving in to the same address. i feel like i have a home for the first time in a few years. regarding the evolutionary function of feelings: feelings distract us from the sheer banality of existence. were we to look existence in the face consistently for any given amount of time and realize what a wretched and utterly pointless mess it is, we would probably all off ourselves. a small terror to really consider the fact that all the things that we think are so special or unique to us are just cookie cutter, text book medleys of psychosis and traits that have been and will be repeated... all going through the same damn phases... having the same revelations... making the same mistakes... all predictably... predetermined by no one, but set on a cours...

we are all so gross up close isolate those little places the ashy dead foot skin cellulite visible right through the pants those ear hairs just reaching out to be noticed pores collecting grease acne scars pale, unhealthy gums rogue eyebrows blotchy skin so irritated it looks angry strange folds and double chins and veins running blue like high traffic highways isolate those feet after a good run and they might belong to anyone- a middle aged overweight man, say. but we look so nice from far away.

pants are like so many things. they fit so well for awhile then they lose their shape. worn out. need washing again like so many things.

awkward in the asking. i don't, always, and this is why. it is not separate for me. things are not separate for me. everything is everything nothing effects everything just like an actual something because it's like little unseen webs or threads or a pebble dropped across the water oh i feel it oh it is felt splashing around looking for a source and the whole body gets worked up again still on top little legs treading under water effort required to stay where you are calm on top still

'tis

what does it mean to only gulp air in little moments for weeks? what does it mean to remain submerged? I couldn't stop saying we. I could not stop saying we. shouted like neon worn like a seat belt. snug and bound at once. we sometimes I know what that means.