i'll let you know when i get there

seven year olds drinking nonsense by the see saw she has crossed them off her list twist into braids fish braids french braids french twists come later invited to the birthday party the shock of other people's lives and rooms and small places and taking home little boxes (consolation prizes for not knowing her best) little plastic boxes to put rings and things that girls are supposed to have in birthday parties pool parties slumber parties come later you are this name this is your seat gulp what you can but there are people waiting line up cross your legs and listen spit it all out at the see saw and guess about the rest.

this requires a dedication & an introduction consisting of at least hours if not a complete hiberation. this requires a shirking off and closing door and withdrawn eyes and a sinking in a solitary sinking in.

"Sometimes. We forget. things. people. moments. Don't forget me. the end." and I said I wouldn't but, upon further thought, people do forget. people are forgotten. even sometimes, the most important become names from old stories sometimes. But. But still, I have not forgotten.

A: how u L: sick of work A: so sick of work too. and we have so many yrs left. L: seriously. why. why is it necessary? this is life. A: it's ridiculous. nobody told us this nonsense at birth. L: i do not remember signing consent. A: exactly. "Hello baby. You are here to work. Deal with it." "NO." L: woulda crawled the fuck back in and rotted there. L: and people are like, "but your job is meaningful. you get to help people." really, I don't give a DAMN about making a difference most days. if someone paid me more money to go back to burger king, i would. i'd go back to burger king and "help people." that's just being real. jobs are for making money or meeting people to distract from loneliness like the old people at walmart.

if i never attempt to get published, i attribute it to the residual effects of middle school rejection. i blame adam bartlett.

phone calls sound like business meetings :What are you doing with your life?: injected into every question disapproval coating every comment money work school car whenareyoucominghome but i do not wear your brand of adulthood no size to fit me cannot be contained i listen to your arterial ups and downs but i do not hear the same beat attempts to interject in vain my blood runs free and contained over here in me i bite my tongue at the way jesus pours out of your mouth as the reason and cause and effect of every thing i bite my tongue until it bleeds through the phone line and across the distance silent like i wish you would sometimes think to be hail mary til it bleeds and in my own way it is- let that be- the way i say :love:.

we write during middle times. either other side brings a dizzied state of living snarling or laughing but not forming words. in the middle state words bubble up from either other end and we catch them splatter them squash them freeze them onto paper pinatas stretching------ exaggerating the now.

i am no fool. i know that those things we feel are not unique to us- chemistry has rhythm and rhyme- natural as a - and as mapped out as a table of elements-- columns of caresses periodic and cyclical the ebb and flow the pulling in and pushing away as known as the way home or the address of the house where you spent your formative years. A home in a million places formed from a million mothers and stand-ins needing them all; rejecting them all being needed by them being rejected by them and I know I am a home now, too but i am no fool there is the beginning of knowing and then the aftermath of undoing all the assumptions a move toward seeing as is without the distraction of long lashes without drunkenness from kissing new breath without the judgement of slowly accumulated resentments to see as is and as is always shifting changing moving toward some new development a catastrophe or renewal waiting at the end of each calendar week or month or year ...

three things that have moved me in the past week: 1. on Thursday, Frost "After Apple Picking" and "Stopping by the Woods...". There is a tension there, an exhaustion, a restraint, a disappointment, the terrible play between expectation and reality. attempts at reflection, cut short by promises to keep. 2. a stimulating conversation with a real live person. it involved adult babies, serial killers, and pubic hair. 3. The movie Catfish: "And there are those people who are catfish in life. And they keep you on your toes. They keep you guessing, they keep you thinking, they keep you fresh. And I thank god for the catfish because we would all be droll, boring, and dull if we didn't have somebody nipping at our fin." The movie in general, made me feel repulsed by and so sad for and a deep love for humanity. i am thankful for the catfish i am thankful that at least one of the above experiences involved interaction with another human being...

That repulsive smell of too many lunches mingling in the faculty room. Little lunches. Big lunches. Lunches planned with excruciating detail. Lunches warmed in the microwave. Lunches raised from the air tight near dead of little tupperware coffins. Garlic. Low Fat Low Nonsense Dressing. Pasta noodles. God, so much pasta. Individually, they might be alright. That garlic bread or Mexican dish might smell good on its own. But together, it's just too much. Like a floral headache from Macy's. Little lunches in plastic bags. Lunches from houses filled with little screaming children. Lunches from houses full of fat people who eat salad every day. Lunches from people who *gasp* live in sin with their significant others. Lunches from houses whose people choose every piece of deli meat with care- eyeing the ounces- forming the curls and folds of honey roasted ham like some kind of private art. From houses full of cat hair. Lunches for people who won't keep it do...

of the entire lecture and discussion- the barbaric yawp and the circle of life and loafing and boot soles and all that celebration- what they remember about whitman is that he was gay.

an effort. the placement of desperation a pity a shame d own the spiral staircase of doubt unwanted for reasons unknown the help is in the trying an unveiled effort an effort. to express gratitude or release a sob.

learning

a fix makes me feel like something is broken breaking.

ever notice how there's nothing really too grindy about the daily grind? i think most of the mental or physical exhaustion comes from having to be somewhere for a given time each day. the fact that i am not free to nap right now multiplies my fatigue x3. we just walk around all bitter about that, dragging our feet through the day. marking hours by trips to the bathroom, organizing desk drawers, making copies. logging in and out of various distrating websites. having silly contrived conversations with people desperate to fill their hours too. we feel all worn out because we know subconciously that what we get paid for each day could probably be accomplished in 45 minutes, and will some day probably be accomplished by robots in 45 seconds. so, that's kind of grindy. just let's not fool ourselves into thinking any of this is all that taxing.

"I'm thankful for my past. It's made me who I am today." Of course it did. That is the definition of past. It is a before in an order that ends in after and points to now. Of course the past was necessary. But THAT past? THOSE choices? THAT life? Who the hell knows? How can anyone ever claim to know that their choices were for the better or worse?

it feels less stable... the walls less soundproof... but to look it all in the face and say THIS IS ALL SUBJECT TO CHANGE feels more satisfying in the honest kind of way. less energy spent trying to protect the things you think you know for sure. Content and allowing contentedness without needing to understand its implications or lock down the source or scrutinize the possible effects of choices today ten minutes twenty days thirty years from now. because it all just keeps going, you know? men and women and cats and tired weeks and awake weeks and filling up gas tanks and wondering what will be next and thinking about and forgetting the details of what was then. judging others and judging our past selves and mostly thinking our present self above reproach i am today, and subject to change.