perishable

reading the news headlines every night before bed, i tend to become tired and uninspired. reading a book does me better. i think i am perishable. i need to care for myself a little extra.

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super.moon

Monday, 4 December 2017

super

Super was the moon and animate the trees; the winter winds arose and bled right through my clothes. I was dodging in and out a moment right before your eyes, yet you were tracking down to daydream. Be very kind and stay alert. This is how we may survive.

maybe 7 years

the maybe 7 year process

i once had words for concepts i no longer carry words for and i wonder where those words went, or did the meaning of those concepts change, or did i change, or do i simply use language differently than before? the hardest part may be finding a place where i can work and provide for myself while i locate myself amid internal recalibrations. then again these places do exist in my country where struggle and effort are appreciated and that will join you in your own locus, however exotic, with  curiosity.

magic

life becomes tolerable
moment by moment
it won’t ever be acceptable
in analysis

life won’t ever add up
to any magic number
it won’t hold in retrospect
it won’t measure up
to any ideal

life falls apart
then regroups
life is never the same
always changes and

cannot be predicted
by forecast or made
meaningful

no
life is unkempt
windblown
bedraggled

life will not love you only
you may love life
for the moment
you are lucky
to exist

who you are

My sweater has holes in it and you will not forgive me
I tell you I bought it this way and now you really cannot forgive me
I tell you I lied

I made it

I cut these holes with knives

when I was bored
You stop blinking and stare

Trying to smoke
me out

I shrug and pour myself a cup of coffee
I’ll never be who you want me to be
And I forgive you
You seem to always have that look

On your face

In my kitchen
It’s who you are

generics -iii

The association in her case was not transparent. If she introduced the darkness to light, they might achieve net neutrality and no one would have to pay. She would funnel all the nonsense down the pipes built expressly for that purpose, and run the drainage of his company into a far corner of the yard where nothing ever grew, she thought. Then reproduce the unkempt sound by some peripheral brilliance, and follow a stream into its relentless river, with side effects of curling back and slowing down. She saw herself surfing a wave and tumbling down, again and again until she got it right. The sharks would circle, yes, but she had chum to feed them. Some day she promised herself an escape from undertow, the gravity above all.