Wednesday, July 29, 2009

thoughts (fragments)






















my shoes are still wet. and the sand sticks to them. and they sit on my carpet. and while i slept for a few hours they dried a little. and the sand fell off, unto my carpet. and the salty air of the beach evaporated into the air in my room. and a part of my dreams must have had foam and waves.


my glasses are dirty. now. also always. sometimes they are uncomfortable on my face.


the pretty french girl who always smiles at me, and who i always smile at, is sitting two rows ahead. beautiful women are an unfair distraction. nothing is functional. in a few moments i will take my afternoon dose, and drift away back into robotic-oblivion, and it won't matter a damn. what i'd like to do, is for just a second ignore the other seven people in here, and walk up to her, and bend down by her chair and say: these two pills, when i take them, will transport me far; and when i come back from the water fountain you won't be here anymore, and i won't either. so right now, come with me a moment, i know a patch of sunlight where it is still heaven, and we will sit together. while i can still manage a smile. i would do that, but i dislike audiences. the eyes and ears of others, when they hear and see, disturb my world. when two people speak, or even look at one another, there is a world between them. with certain rules existing, and others missing- it is individual and personal. there is a language that the two of them understand. that makes sense to them. and words and glances and touches and silences take on certain meanings. and intrusion destroys that. imposes normative structures, so that, we miss what we understood, for what was said. what was done. none of which matters. not in the least. because when i touch your hand, or pat your arm, or kiss your cheek, it is for you. just you. it means a something just for you. and for someone else, it is another thing entirely.



THINGS I WOULD WELCOME ANTHROPOMORPHING INTO, A LIST:

__(1) a Bach prelude&fugue / one of Pärt's violin melodies (silentuim) / a sigh
__(2) a tree in that park in Culver City where i waited for my sister at sunset / a geranium in Haifa / a daffodil on the path to the train station at Hallett Cove
__(3) the blue pen i just bought that's in my pocket / the black pen i edited two days till winter with in Shanghai&Haifa / the mechanical pencil (= pacer) i did my highschool final exams with (and still have)
__(4) the dreams my father had of me before i was born / the hopes my mother still has for me now
__(5) that feeling i get in my gut when i hear 9 year olds pray
__(6) set-meal D at the japanese place i go to sometimes
__(7) the way memories hold your hands, and the way the future always manages to smile at you (even if it's just for a second)
__(8) a dictionary. being dissected back into my atoms like that would hurt. but it'd be worth it. then everyone would know what i was trying to say the whole time


(the french girl packs her books to leave. the person in front of me takes her shoes off and wiggles her toes. women are soo gorgeous when they do that. she holds a bright-red book and reads a chapter titled Understanding International Mediation. the guy next to me, i played basketball with him once, he scrolls through legislation. the french girl has forgotten to take her ear-plugs out. they are flourescent orange, and make it hard to say hello to her.

she goes.
she wiggles her toes.
he scrolls.
i type.
taptaptap.



it's Thursday. whatever that means. and i wear the red sweater my grandfather gave me, it is my favorite. i haven't shaven in days and my eyes are a little dark around the edges. i feel very much myself, which is why i cannot study. why i notice women, and red-books with chapter titles. it is why i hear scrolling and tapping. it is why my heart beats irregularly, and i remember that music does more than keep the beat. it is why i itch to take a train till i get to the water and a boat till i get to the shore and a rocket till i get to the next place. it is why i feel like hugging. and sitting in secret patches of sunlight and tracing the lines on people's palms with my fingertips. why it's hard to breathe.


when this song ends i need to go pee. and fill up my water bottle. and take my pills. and then, all that will be left is the punctuation

___ _ , __ __ _ ___ : __ __'_ _ _.
_

1 comment:

ashleigh said...

i could read these for hours.