thoughts (fragments)

061 Jacob in NY 08, Lina Scheynius


he is finally awake at half past noon. showers. manages two cheeseburgers and a frozen coke for lunch. stumbles to a class he can't keep his eyes open during. prints some papers - enduring a mild anxiety attack seeing the stack of unread documents. mumbles his way through an early dinner. drives home. showers. prepares to fall asleep again. dizzy and numb the whole time.


*___*___*

sometimes i wish i were a photographer. that way i could point to images and say, you see my dear, this is how i see you. and better: i could give it to them and let them take it home. and maybe it would be on their wall, and every time they walked past it they'd see for a few moments the way i saw them, not as in a mirror, but through my face (like a prism diffracting them apart and back together again). (and on the back of the photos i'd write little things, abstract titles:

__dear xxx,
____because sounds are too strange for us.
_______love always, q's eyes.

__dear yyy,
____this one time, you said to me... well, you remember
_______so do i. (always do). q's eyes.

__dear xxx,
____if i were trapped anywhere, it'd be here.
_______not with you, with us. love always. q.


*___*___*

WRITER'S BLOCK is when you cannot think what to say. it's not that you stop noticing things, and taking account of then, and thinking to yourself: yesyes, i must remember to write about that. it's more an impediment to putting things together. a problem discerning a starting point. and navigating a path through the muck of your day(s) and experience(s) and conversation(s) and plotting a course in words. it is like not being able to sneeze when you really need to, just holding your mouth open going uaah , uaah , uaah. (unclimaxed, but close).

goddamit i hate that i want to write about everything and it is simply too much and i do not how to cut it down piecemeal and... i want to write about this one time, i'm serious, this really happened, i was driving and close to a traffic light slowed down and looked out my window and saw a young man on a bicycle. and got to the red light and stopped and looked out the same window and saw a young woman walk out a house and put two bags of trash into the garbage bin. she had messy blond hair and was in PJs it was obvious she'd been home all day. then, i saw a miracle. a real-life truth no-lies i promise miracle. the young man on the bike arrived at at the waist-high gate of this house and jumped off the bike- not bothering to stop it it just rolled on and fell to one side making a crash. neither cared. he was tall. she jumped up so her lips would meet him and he grabbed her both hands holding her in the air her feet dangling a few inches off the ground and they kissed. and the world stopped. (for them). just then the light went green, and my world started again. and i was depressed as all hell and it had been a rainy week and it made me feel happiest to have been looking through a window into someone else's world for 40 seconds and to have seen that elsewhere all was well.

WRITER'S BLOCK is when you don't know how to put that into context with the million other things. million other people. i can not think how to relate it to the 4 subway cookies i bought today and brought home with me to dip my tea into. or my amphetamine comedown which has left me shaky and tired all day. or that i am sitting in ralph lauren boxer shorts and a black sweater with brown stripes that Justin gave me in Madison Wisconsin when i saw him. and he was sad as all hell (it was his turn. a few years later, it'd be mine) because his girl had left him. he went to the gym and drank every chance we got. ah what the hell i had said, if you're sad i'm goddam ready to kill myself what should i order? and he laughed because he'd always been happier go luckier than i and it was always my 'head' in question. then the bastard lost his car at midnight in downtown Chicago and we spent four hours trying to find it me cursing the whole way you goddam stupid piece of dickfaceness and him shrugging and laughing and then us starting the process all again.

WRITER'S BLOCK is when you can't find a way to... make sense.