all those funky peopletestall those funky places

untitled, shesaskeleton

i am feeling like poetry is bothersome. too... dainty. also colors, i am uninterested. Today i'm going to write in black-and-white photography. Straight-up. Just a plain old chat, like the old days, not sure who was around for Entropy Pieces, but like that. Mine eyes to your eyes, nothing to connect us whatsoever. floating people. floating.

Hi Liam. Hi Emerson.
I've been thinking alot about you two.

Do you ever feel... [unable to describe the feeling].
probably you do.
everyone knows that one.

*__*__*

NOTAPOEM

i am in this house.
this house is in winter.
this winter is someone's closed eyes.

alternatively, i could say:

(we've kicked the rocks of our home towns,
we've cursed the names of our homes towns,
we've crushed the stars of our home towns,
we've ran out the dreams of our home towns,
we've dreamed the ends of our home towns,
we've burnt the bridges of our home towns,
we've lost the eyes of our home towns,

we've lost our home towns)

*__*__*

Schubert has a rather famous concert piece, the Wanderer Fantasy in C Major. I dislike it. He had no idea.

There is no reason to feel sad today.

I am making an effort to go out. To call people. To stand at the bars of clubs and look around and attempt to not feel left out. To feel my own age. To discover the wonder that such an event used to have for me. (and usually fail on all counts)

*__*__*

- Adelaide's an awesome city, where'd you rather be?
- Melbourne __Haifa __Los Angeles __Shanghai __the hills of Kyoto __Paris (Paris) (Paris) __Vienna (but i can't do that alone again) __Prague __Chicago __definitely Seattle __London __at very least Tel Aviv __Hamburg in the snow __Venice when it rains
- You actually been all those places?
- [nods sadly. keeps looking at the floor]
- wanna dance? you can warm me up on the dance floor
- [looks up. blue dress. too much cleavage] na. it's alright. i'm gonna go home.
- wait 20 minutes and you can drop me off? (wanna crash at mine?
- sorry.

*__*__*

i run along the streets. look down. can't lose myself in thoughts or anything. dislike the names of the streets. can't find anything worth finding. sit around hoping the phone won't ring. play Mozart on the piano. hate playing Mozart on the piano. play it again, urging my fingers to get it right so i won't have to play it again. (get it wrong). sigh. try reading Joyce before bed, fall asleep. sleep too long. dream of old decrepit houses. dream of walking along miniature eroded valleys. dream of missing busses. dream of too many bags of luggage sitting at airports. wake up feeling lost. find bags scattered around my room. feel lost again. stare at my phone, numbers from Australia, Israel, America, Europe, Japan, China... none more than the others. Where am I?
(there's no air in this house. the heater rules)
i should run. along the streets. the leaves haven't fallen yet. won't fall. autumn has passed now. three times i had autumn last year, once in Australia, once in China, once in Japan, managing to escape winter till I landed in Haifa. again, it's autumn now. almost there. a full year. if you ask me what time it is all my clocks are still stuck at December 12, 2006. i can't find a new thing to hang around my neck.
(do some scales. b minor didn't go so well yesterday. maybe the chromatic scale on the major 6th, you hate that one)
dear future, you mother fu&^ing bastard.
(sorry had to get it off my chest)

(tomorrow you should catch the bus. go somewhere. write. read. forgive. forget. forgo.
or not.
just being is enough)

*__*__*

i listen to french music i don't understand,
and dance like a fiend at an OD funeral.