Wednesday, August 18, 2010

thoughts (fragments)

untitled by shesaskeleton

i think i'll write these holidays. __this is the first thing i think everytime i have a break. i'll write. then i think but what?. what's left to say? what needs to be said.

that's intimidating.

people are people. they do what people do. they have the same experiences give or take. they disappoint. they redeem. they dissolve. they come and go and start conversations and hold doors open for each other. __not too much else is there?

then of course there is the problem with telephones. i can't write when there're people around.

so, that idea having been set aside (and so soon), the next question is: but what will i read?

(1) Norwegian Wood
(2) Pale Fire
(3) In Praise of Idleness (Bertrand Russel)

(that's the list, in order, for now)



days sit on my hands. like cars you can't sell,
and sick of seeing in the driveway.

i put my phone on silent to lessen the blow of it ringing,
sshh, speak in a whisper i say to her; she promises to.

but still, it is now.
and later still hasn't shown up. or called to
say she'll be late.
so we wait some more.
and our dinners go cold.

of course i wanna be famous she laughs with her hair in the wind.
followed a moment later by hey can i put the window up it's messing
up my hair. __which makes everything quieter.

i blame my cardigans.

on my drive home a brand new ferrari does 10 under and the whole lane's
stalled. i change lanes and stare in.
balding, mid 30's, glasses.

watch a movie. flip through a magazine.
still no later.
still only now.

dear still:
fine, i'll write you a poem.

(hating every moment of it: i hate when women
manipulate me to write for them).


Dear S,

you found me.

our secret.


i get home. i've got my periodic amphetamine comedown. asleep and stumbling and a bad-ass of a headache i collapse on the couch. text my stepdad to let him know i managed to get home in one piece.

then i sit there and stare at nothing. with my head bent at a perfect 90 degrees so my ear rests up against my clavicle.

then i wait for something to happen.

you know, there's treatment for this stuff he says. two sessions a week, maybe less. then you won't need the pills. i nod. yah. that seems reasonable. last time 'talk' fixed anything... so i just leave it at yah.


Q's psyche: you planning to write?, did i hear that straight?
Q: always plan, never write. you know how this game works.
psyche: maybe it's time.
Q: it's not.
psyche: maybe it is. have you got something?
Q: no.
psyche: a character?
Q: nope.
psyche: a plot? a mood? an idea?
Q: no. nothing.
psyche: first line?
Q: "this isn't a game of win and lose. i'm starting to doubt if it's even a game"
psyche: no good.
Q: see ya next break.
psyche: 'fraid so Kerouac.


i play some more.
she sits besides me on the stool. waits for something.
"i know you want some attention. but you're not going to get any. sorry"
she wasn't expecting the honesty, but she's slowly getting used to it. "fine."
"you should appreciate this you know. statistically speaking you're not going to find too many people who will play for you."
"you're playing for you."
"which is how i know you don't appreciate it."
"it's not your fault. it's an age thing."
"excuse me?"
"girls under 21 like that i play but don't wanna hear it. girls over 21 don't care that i play but love to hear it anyway."
"how would you know?"
"wrinkles on my forehead taught me. age is a biatch."
she walks away.

i play another Bach minuet from when i was a child and try and pretend nothing's changed since then.



- divorce
- finding a perfect name for a cat
- that feeling when you wake up after 3 hours sleep with a headache and your heart's still tachycardic and you reach out for your pills, two in your sticky mouth, swallowed with the same water your brush your teeth with.
- distance in kilometers and distance in hours. time and space. distance.
- home.
- home as a divisible concept: real , and idealized. __which means you can lose it twice.
- gravity by bic runga
- my mom worrying about my sex drive
- all the things i think i once used to know and i'm not sure if i still do. __which i know makes no sense but which i can't explain any better.


dear granddad,

you've been passed-away for a few years now. this means you've had a good few years to observe. i guess by now you've gotten a good enough idea. i mean, it's hard to hide from you now. you've seen it. sometimes i masturbate. sometimes i get stuck between the fridge and the pantry because i don't know whether to get the milk first or the cereal. so i just kinda take a step this way then a step that. sometimes this goes on for minutes. four, five minutes. time frozen. [she comes out the room. what are you doing? she asks i can't decide whether to get the cereal first or the milk. she stares at me a little worriedly, asks why can't you decide? i'm preoccupied, i don't answer straight away. eventually i say i'm not sure which makes the most sense.
- does it need to make sense?
- no. nothing else does, why should this?
- then get the milk first.
- fine.] __now that you've seen it all, what's the score?

how much are we down by? sometimes i worry, i need some perspective.


No comments: