Monday, November 10, 2008

arrested development

____MY cocoon tightens, colors tease,
____I ’m feeling for the air;
____A dim capacity for wings
____Degrades the dress I wear.

________Emily Dickinson

8:30 Monday Morning, by Mineral


(deleted by author because it sucked 90 minutes after writing)

____ii. (negativity song)
never not no cannot will-not do-not
unfortunately regretfully inconceivably
impossible uncontrollable misfortunately
blithely apathetic aloof misanthrope
unsuccessful losing lose lost

____iii. (let the mute speak for himself to try and say for himself what himself doth mean)

i tire of normal mental/emotional processes. my body's mutinous organs and sweat glands
and falling hair and fingertips. like if after every 1000 heartbeats or every time i ate i collapsed
out of breath and trembling and unable to stay awake from fatigue. the mental version of that-
a full conversation, 2 decisions, or 3 minor activities, and i fall unable to recover.


(deleted by author because it sucked 90 minutes after writing)


there go the train tracks. safe and direct. if only i could grip a few hands and follow those along...
this is a fake summer - it's hidden behind gusts of wind and overcast skies and seems to me Nature's worried what might happen to me if it glares and unleashes too much of it on me.

i suddenly realize i don't know where i am. the optometrist today declared i'm pretty much blind - it's a wonder you've managed soo long. i think maybe that might explain these last few years. my constantly referring to it as my failed attempts at a grasp in the darkness.

here comes the memories, bringing with them names of old cities, and old friends, and old lives i don't remember burying but whose eulogies i've already written. (time and again) (and again) (and again)

truth is, dear friends, i don't think i'll ever really learn how to control myself. and... i'm sorry to say, i'll always wonder besides the train tracks, sometimes following them just right, and other times drifting off into the green wall, the blue floor, the white cieling, and stumbling bruised and sorry back the knees of the sitting train-tracks that would have saved me the trouble - had i known.

it sounds like maybe rain. maybe wind. can't tell. the Gold Coast is an exotic place, with exotic weather. Combinations that seem... improbable are a daily occurance here. Like cocktails with chilli and mint and raw sugar - or green tea icecream, or pizzas with sweetened plum sauce. on the Gold Coast the weather can be overcast and dark as the day your dog dies, and still with warm wind at a temperate speed. Other days is bright as all heaven shining down like midas just licked his tongue across the whole city- and cold as an Ice-Queen's heart. Strange combinations. strange mixes of color and temperaure and wind and humidity and half the day pleasant and half the day worthy of only measuring your own grave up and digging it in preparedness.

maybe it's just wind. it doesn't have that pointilism effect you expect from good rain. maybe it's just a few droplets. (that's a blurry rain, that happens here too).

Bon Iver continues to make me incredibly, i listen anyway, hopeing to discover an answer there. i don't. Angus and Julia Stone - Chocolate & Cigarettes has been on repeat all evening amongst reading news, and looking for futures, and slowly draining myself, and trying to find spectacle frames online.


Dear God,
i'm in the wrong life again.
your postal service sucks, you never get the message.

sort it out or we're done.
i'm serious this time, no games.

nice job on November 4th by the way, we were all starting to wonder if you actually existed or not.

bests and bests


i cannot seem to say what i mean. i hate it when that happens. it makes me feel mute. and lame. and deaf. and small(er than usual).

don't you love those moments when you realize the course of several years has led you back to the starting point again? don't you feel like you've accomplished so much and done so much and overcome so much? (only to be nowhere at all. just the same place, but with a different doormat)

no more.
i'm done.


Anonymous said...

i sat across eyes: water blue and black depth, and the white of the sun reflected. open and scared, hopeful and beaten, and there was us - and i wanted to cry. how do we gain our wings back? how do we crawl out from under the knees of angels kneeling in submission? if i find a way, trust i will not leave you behind.

Rich said...

Hey Q, you remember that brady/partridge family like song with that putridly cheesy chorus 'cmon and get happy!', Yeah that's the one! Get some of that:)
(Tonic for the starved soul)