but inheritance is accidental

said

do you remember, remember the first position

how we
went back to bed when we woke up
and turned off your yell-oh, alarm clock
do you remember,

the socks that i lost
while crawling inside after sun down-
remember the first position

The world you want is just around the corner, up the stairs, around the corner, up the…

Let’s Stay Awake & Afraid Of This





(All of the brightest things live in the darkest places.)

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES

as a young kid, i learned the rules of magic until it wasn’t magic at all. early adolescence was a wasteland. it was music - the space between intervals & minor chords- that restored my belief in you, me, them, us & everything.

children yearn, i think, for a language that does not reveal its secrets, but amplifies them until each thought is a song.

Underexposure of an Overexposed Man

Of my entire first roll, this was the only one that didn't turn out. Still I feel like I somehow didn't miss anything.

UPHILL LIKE STRAIGHT INTO THE SKY

[this is the experience of a man named Joshua]

i woke early & went running along the sea-breeze  sun climbing the steel beams of the bay bridge as the city collectively rolled out of bed & into an office chair.

[and it moved me, so i internalized enough of it to use his words twofold.]

“Maybe we are cups of water from the same sea. Sometimes you still feel lonely.”

Some nights I sleep so deeply I cease to exist. My belongings, as well, unravel. 
Picture the ocean poured endlessly over the ocean, et cetera. Then erased;  Still the morning comes & I’m there, half awake & holding my coffee in the doorway.

The Impossible Ladder

The elegant plan, the simple inarticulate hope
the incessant dusting, the uncovering that hovers here
the unremarkable rungs of the impossible ladder
that you think of these things at all.
The cups that are clean, then filled, then cleaned
the nowhere fear, the terror of arrival
the sad spaces in front & above, the sap of happiness
the matter-of-fact alleyways
the proper thing to do or say at the wrong time & place
that you think of these things at all.
The honest beggar, the blinding white lie of language
the stubborn smokestacks & on-ramps, the dull ache of static
the bored understanding of traffic patterns
the unspent plea, the common cold openings
the nature of torn pockets, the multidimensional smile
that you think of these things at all.

Good exists. Bad exists. There is some disagreement which is which. 

if it aint broke, don't fix it

i just feel so f'ed up that i have no idea how to fix this thing, or what parts ever broke.
only just that once it wasn't at all like this.
at all-
not even, sometimes

In the land of one season, you can pretend that no time passes.

room after room of such waiting

We are bothered by crowds, choked with the wings of our angels,

standing on the sidewalks, wobbling through alleyways- coughing
;

Projected on the streets like stars


All those lovers in the foreplay of morning


If time reversed, sunsets would sunrise & sunrise would set,

& we’d wake up so tired, we’d fall asleep full of rest-But still there’d be dark, there’d be light. Thunder, then lightning.

& room after room of such waiting..

because, if you want to know the truth, the fabric of our lives5 is full of little ruptures.

i wonder what this thing that i am feeling- how i would experience it's mutation, had i not had any feelings prior to right now.


and if there's still time to get pure.

the night, of course, plays on our secret fears that we, too, have repressed memories—that we, too, have perhaps done things in our pasts that our brains have whitewashed for the sake of our own sanity. This is how interrogations and false confessions work—after being battered with the question “But did you do it?” for a certain number of hours, even the sanest human being begins to doubt her own mental reliability, her own version of events. 

How many people is “I”? 

"Maybe what makes life so terribly fatiguing is nothing other than the enormous effort we make for twenty years, forty years, and more, to be reasonable, to avoid being simply, profoundly ourselves, that is, vile, ghastly, absurd. It’s the nightmare of having to represent the halt subhuman we were fobbed off with as a small-size universal ideal, a superman from morning to night."

Louis-Ferdinand Céline, Journey into the End of Night

hounded fortnights, multiple dreams in a vignette of an unfortunate strangers alibi's

so, i am trying to learn to accept being less holy, ornate, and deceptively resilient 

but i'm nauseous all the time -

so, i am going to have to learn to save some money, silence, dislocated feelings

for a trip to somewhere, with a decent toilet bowl

to let some of this shit spill out; it's almost spring-time;

(and she's less tolerant than February Mondays)

4am

in my bedroom, dissecting fireflies, but when you cut them open
then the light goes out

Problems with horizontal.

thirteen-thirtyfive
a word for this state of malnorishment for,
abrupt clarity
the most tender thing

entirely different but in madness all the same

I press my fingertips against my eyeballs as my computer whirrs into life. There aren’t enough Mondays in the week to describe how I feel this morning.

This means something entirely different to me than it does to you.

things that bitches do

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Venn_diagram

then there's this:

http://www.technomancy.org/google-suggest-venn/#start=Why+are+X+so&end0=men&end1=women&end2=parents

Real life becomes its own parody

In a real dark night of the soul it is always three o’clock in the morning, day after day.

 F. Scott Fitzgerald

was streaming through you

Omitting fillings severely reduces preparation time of sandwiches.

the thermostat is a household battleground and i am winning the war.
there's got to be a greater cause to which i can apply my sword.
perhaps,
laundry.

to so delicately undo an old wound,

tatlin

dumb and blind, the pieces looked into the heart of secrets; which he has demonstrated