Saturday, February 12, 2011

apennyfortheoldguy exists again














Book, let me walk on the roads
with dust in my shoes
and without mythology:
return to your library,
I'm going out into the streets.

__from Ode to the Book (1) by Pablo Neruda














i see you by frederico erra


believe me. i'm as surprised as you are. __i was wondering how long it would take me to work up the courage to come back here. __(and if there'd be anything new to say) __(is there ever?)

let's just do this once, and then we can all move on:
the Phillip C Jessup International Law Moot is no joke okay. you might think there's time for things like brushing your teeth and writing on your blog, but there's not. there just isn't. so i did that. and that did me. and now we're both sick of one another, and at long last i've come back to my infinitely silent little place on the internet. if i haven't responded to your emails, your text, your call, your... everything, then, please please accept my apologies. six months it's been since i've been on your planet. where i was before was somewhere else. far far away. unless you've been there you wouldn't believe me.
i've just come back and i don't believe me.


*___*___*

so. someone remind me how this thing works. i remember the process, pick an image, pick a random sentence, the rest kinda just happens how it wants.


*___*___*

everyone i grew up with is pregnant. __it was raining. i remember that. __five months i've misplaced somewhere. doesn't seem like much, __but there's a scariness to knowing you misplaced yourself. __and then you wake up and remember all your friends are pregnant and Martha got married, and GF was gone for 3 months and came back without me really noticing, __and i had a 4 day break at some point which consisted of me sleeping. i think i woke up 4 times to eat. cereal. bowl. milk. back to sleep.

i find myself sitting thinking about who i was before, who i am after. i think it's the same. the very same. just that for a few months in the middle i was ...


*___*___*

it's coming back slowly though. __took me a week to kill the spiders in my house. __i shower four times a day , just to make sure i'm alert.
i have a to-do list. __but i move slowly.

i want to write. but i'm scared to. i'm not sure what i've hidden or where i've hidden it. not sure what the sentences will spell. maybe that's what the spiders were about. a portal-link between my psyche and the house i haven't slept in for weeks. baby spiders. everywhere. little freckles on every flat surface. i'm not scared of spiders really, but when the inside of your bedroom looks like a woman's freckled back, moving and breathing and conforming to your motions... it's creepy.

"hi is this pest-raid?"
"yes it is, how may i help you?"
"my bedroom is Jumanji"
"excuse me?"
"the amazon, it's in my bedroom. and spread to my living room too. can you come?"
"are there bugs?"
"yes. they've evicted me. i refuse to go back there."
"haha. okay, so what are we dealing with?"
"i need you to come."
"haha. we will, how bad is it?"
"do you have napalm?"
"haha. i don't think that will be necessary!"
"you keep laughing. i'm not laughing. we need napalm because it is too difficult to procure enriched plutonium nowadays."
"hahaha. okay okay, tomorrow, first thing? i'll change the schedules."
"now you're understanding me."


*___*___*

in about 8 weeks law school will be done. (bye law school, bye!)

the rest is unscripted.

i suppose we'll just do what we do. meet. smoochy. be dicks to one another. be lovely. get married. or not. get jobs we hate. find things we love doing. dance uncomfortably under strobe-lights and with manic glee around our bedrooms in our underwear. write songs about it. cheesy poems. make babies. stare at dogs at the pet store and contemplate buying one instead of making babies. stuff like that. jogging. running in circles, that's always necessary. take our pills, forget our pills, dream big, live small - fall big, live large ...

what does all this add up to? (Saturday February 12th i suppose).

i love Sinatra's little introduction before he starts singing Send in the Clowns. __someone should teach me to sing. __(or write) ____(or live)


*___*___*

i cleaned everything. under ever couch. vacuumed. sprayed. mopped. disinfected. washed everything.

then i sat on my couch. stared at my bookshelf. thought about April. __about May.

i thought about hiring someone to play somewhere over the rainbow on the ukulele so i could dance with my eyes closed and forget where i am. how far i am from who i am. (whatever that means).

one day i'll remember how to write again.

until then... i suppose we can all just listen to Scarborough Fair-Canticle by Simon & Garfunkel and dream of those quiet heavens that sometimes we stumble upon in the corners of our weekends when we hadn't expected to.

much love to you all,
i'm glad to be alive once again.
i hope you are too.

4 comments:

mar said...

missed you. glad the spiders are dead.

Capone: said...

come home!

Ghetto Blaster said...

big middle finger to the existence of spiders. the only thing I don't understand about God

golriz lucina said...

i'm reading this. on repeat. and feeling proud of you because you have an uncanny way of saying what everyone is thinking.
**

i suppose we'll just do what we do. meet. smoochy. be dicks to one another. be lovely. get married. or not. get jobs we hate. find things we love doing. dance uncomfortably under strobe-lights and with manic glee around our bedrooms in our underwear. write songs about it. cheesy poems. make babies. stare at dogs at the pet store and contemplate buying one instead of making babies. stuff like that. jogging. running in circles, that's always necessary. take our pills, forget our pills, dream big, live small - fall big, live large ...