mostly useless

day fourteen

2005-11-14T12:34:00.000-08:00

today is the first day of the second week.
this hurts me for i have lost the ability to believe in beginning and end.
today feels like a reheated yesterday. it is my ache, chilled, overnight. i woke up full having already eaten it again. and i feel the futility of my digestion. these days are inches in the tracks of my bowels. i release useful extractions to the brain and the meat in thin invisible secretions while the material of my day moves in a well packed procession.
the process does not bring insight into purpose on the first day of the second week.
when the beginning and the end are remembered to be immaginary now is always the middle.

day thirteen

2005-11-08T02:20:00.000-08:00

these are small cries for help to a lonely fisherman in spain who will bend his back into the moon a sunken glide up to my window and let me cast his net for the morning catch to be delivered fresh to the man in st jean who will feed the birds at low tide and speak with the only patrons in the toungue with no know origin

what i don't know is that he is on the side of the road begging to be taken up by a bus or caravan for he has given up the sea in favor of fast moving land, favoring the swift crossing of solid groud to the embedded lilt of a ship at sea

whether you return to your ship this evening or no you will always be a sailor
and behind your eyes there will always be the sea

day twelve

2005-10-31T08:35:00.000-08:00

maxine kingston, when you write memories of cultural habit, historical memory, when you give them life in new form you do what needed to be done for me. where were you with the stories that kept the milestones of my culture, before they became acts of buying and selling, and before i began thinking of them as such. each time i see a wedding advertize a bank, or a date advertize a piece of gum i miss you, like i miss my Parents, like i miss my White Wedding, Your silent face does nothing to tell me what i am to do when my traditions are built by the bricks and cement and stone of traditional rejection. The walls are jagged and new at their apex, unfinished, abandoned to be fortified when compartmentalized vessles are full. And they are filling. And I will not send out the many hands of everyday life to build them again. They will be testiments to their own imperfection, to their own futility, to their own absence of function, and I will let them overflow into one another, and I will let myself wonder where my tradition is. And in wondering, I will find it.

day eleven

2004-11-18T22:38:00.000-08:00

i came home tonight slightly more aware of my mild chronic depressive state, and after talking about myself for a while things seemed a little better. that cat, the sleeker brother, was sleeping on the couch. his very human face rested on a curled wrist, and maintained this serene posture as i touched his coat. he opened his eyes slowly and asked for more by moving into my stroke, positioning his body and face that i may touch it in a manner more pleasing to his own sense. he turned and returned to recline, relaxed under my hand. he closed his eyes and rested his head again as i touched him, and when i looked i wondered how it felt to be calm in the presence of another who is paying such close attention. i can't relax while i touch him, nor can i relax when i am touched this way. his calm is delicious. savory and remote. I am removed from his thoughts, and sit in tense envy of his charm, endeared by his desire to be touched. i withdraw, and look. he reaches to be touched, holding my hand by placing his on mine. he is gentle, and lays his head on my wrist, closing his eyes again. he is calm, and will rest and dream the way cats do, unconscious of himself or the delicacy of his repose.

day ten

2004-11-12T03:22:00.000-08:00

you do not scowl away accusations of perfection, but take them as jokes and lightness. though i don't know you or how you feel about your own life, i could ask. if i did would you be modest? you appear to live such a regimented and prolific life that i can't help but wish i was more like you. either that, or i want to be around you, and as is typical, i am unable to tell the difference. is it at night when you play music for yourself? are you alone? i will not consider the fantasy of knowing what you think of me, really. i couldn't say that you think much. what do you think of how much i think of you? is it quite unappealing?

day nine

2004-11-06T16:33:00.000-08:00

not truth, but something in its likeness.
not liked but loved, and consumed with voracity.
you a gourmand, tout le monde.
have you mistaken the footprint for the body
causing its impression?
are you mislead to believe in
truth and the existence of you or i,
u or eye?
i would forgive you, but that would be impossible.
i do forgive you, but you were already forgiven.

who am i to say that i am not ill,
or that you are well on your way. no thank you, and
seconds please.
am i trapped or have i been
let go?
this is not for me to say
or you to know.
either way knowing is overrated by
those who cannot feel the difference between knowing and realizing that
there is nothing to know.
are you absurd? am i informed?
can you help me?
can i help it?

day eight

2004-10-31T11:28:00.000-08:00

last night i dreamt viscious anger about someone close.

day seven

2004-10-20T13:16:00.000-07:00

last night the room around us was not empty, but i could see that it found emptiness familliar. for a moment the walls looked the same as they would in the dark morning, when places like this feel sad and wasteful. but last night we were not sad. we hugged, feeling good in the right way. it seemed so apparent that we lent our lives to the space, that once we left the lights would go on, the life gone. and you, you were bright on stage. brighter after you left into the night, still on though the spot was off. i know how that place must look right now. eviscerated.

day six

2004-09-13T23:57:00.000-07:00

what a lovely prosperous nation i inhabit. we are now setting the standards for repressive government anti-terrorist attacks! V. Putin, aside from demanding that he nominate all governors in the future, has proposed taking on US style anti-terrorism tactics. long live the rich, may we bask in the glory of their informed and prosperous rule for generations.
http://news.independent.co.uk/europe/story.jsp?story=561445

day five

2004-09-12T18:27:00.000-07:00

must i share my politics with the barefoot dancers and vegan peddlers? to see my heroes speak their mind in the daylight, beyond the walls of lecture halls and somber faces, must i too twirl topless and hairy in the grass? must i swear and preach with my arms outstretched to the circle of love speaking of children, injustice and outrage? must i shock and alarm people to fear hatred, be the center of the group hug, smell of body and oil?

i hate you. take that and love it, because until you can you will never grow, you will never learn, you will never speak truth. you will never hear the needs of your enemies, nor will you be able to express your own to those who oppose you. nor will you be able to see that the truth is invisible. it exists between us and them, between them and them, and between us and us, ultimately to be discovered a bit at a time, slowly uncovered but never fully revealed.

open discussion of justice creates justice, and it never exists until we make it. we are here to learn, and we have positive things to learn from everyone's ideologies. the poor, the insane, the wealthy, the old, the republican, the foreign, the domestic, the familiar, the young, the libertarian, the strange, the feared, the serene. all these people have valid rational reason behind their actions, though their actions may be invalid or unreasonable.

we are all responsible for calm assessment. we are all responsible for our own clear heads. we are all responsible to know when we need to take a minute to gather our patience which may have been lost in the uproar.

cool it people, because you all look ridiculous.

day four

2004-09-09T22:44:00.000-07:00

out there the sun is rising cold over me, silently explaining that i am no longer inside. light invites itself into my space to show off the ugly real, to blow away the fulfilling immagined. better to be asleep today. then you cover my eyes with your arm, whispering far away things until there is calm in the light. i really don't care about you, only the comfort knowing who you are and where you're from provides. I listen intently. what happens next is irrelavant and out of my controll, because nothing is effected by the ill. your motion lasts head to toe. I know it exactly. we are not old in the morning, nor will we ever be.

perhaps i will not speak today, for it is not expected. perhaps i will taste my own silence for hours warming and cooling with thoughts of things niether here nor there. i can feel my blood and its perfume. i can feel the softness of my hair and the weightlesness of my breasts, and the slick press of my largest organ against yours against mine. i am calm and you are nothing. you are sweet.

day three

2004-09-08T22:56:00.000-07:00

current elevation: 3.5 feet
cruising speed: naught
expected time in flight: reflexive, please restate

sickening bland antichromatic blind insight teeming linear masses
atrophy
atrophy
banal

have a nice day. just one and it ruins everything.

day two

2004-09-07T16:37:00.000-07:00

it's a sickness, I think.
somewhere on a high shelf is a text of exotic maladies found in industrialized nations. in a chapter titled "semi-urbanized adaptive dysfunctions and disorders" there is a paragraph describing tendencies of moderate people towards the extreme. it reads "in the case of acute mediocrity, particularly noticable throughout all aspects of the waking life of the afflicted (ie: personality, intelligence, net worth, effectiveness et cetera) those suffering from advanced cases tend to cling with extreme fervor to their silent notions of possible or potential greatness. they are known to inintiate self-inflicted mental agony via participaiton in activities that permit extended viewing of those perceived to be great or extraordinary. during these phases a perpetual internal dialogue ensues, throughout which the subjects under scrutiny are alternately glorified and debased. there is no known cure. those suffering from advanced stages are prone towards excessive snobbery and low self esteem. this often causing a normalized hatred for all things perceived as beautiful or ugly. this applies particularly to the self, which is commonly placed under both categories simultaneously. See: love/hate relationships, chapter 4."

it would be lovely, no? so perfectly packaged into a case, delivered postage paid and arriving intact, unbroken, correctly spelled and free for all to read and appreciate at your favorite public library. with the right p.r. doctors trained to diagnose such disorders could reach international renown. sufferers could be open and direct to others about their "problem", get a famous sponsor, and thus rid themselves of the perpetually average by riding out the fame until the winds of trend turned their backs, at which point hemmingway toe curls would be the only cure.

bless you all, you filthy beautiful.

day one

2004-09-06T13:35:00.000-07:00

better to keep these things to myself. better put them in a place where no one will see them. can't find a box fucking big enough.