thoughts(fragments): here. now. life.

untitled by brett walker


before anyone arrives it is so quiet.

and not quite so dark anymore, summer is near.
___(you know it is when the afternoon storms start,

___perfect bedlam from 3 till 5 everyday -

___from the 15th floor she waits for me to spot the lightning. )


___*___*___*

two days later, when i wake my stomach still hurts.
did you kill your abs at the gym? she wants to know. 
no.
then what?

between midnight and 9am i had so much sex i'm still sore.
uhm. oh. she says.
i look down.
___when i was lying naked on the carpet besides her front door i felt pretty grand.
___but in the sunlight ,
___when i'm not careful ,
___a little
______[something]


___*___*___*

i love the damn thing. i admit it.
it's green and purple and looks more like a tin-shed than a house.
in my head it's perfect. eventually it will be.
i believe in it. one of the few things left i believe in -
___(along with sunday brunch and the perfect everything of 4am)

white. everything white. my mother shakes her head. she wants me to be 'daring'. 'fun'.
i just want it to be fit for angels.
what will you do with all the trees? she asks.
get more.
more? 
many. more.
and then? 
sleep. shade and shadow. the hum of birds and infinity outside my windows. creeping in. if i'm not careful a vine will weave its way in and i'll be lost.found.forever.never.always.
dramatic much? 


___*___*___*

did you think about me? she asks, whispering into my ear hot breaths.
yes. [i'm not lying]
what did you think?
i'll show you.
[a sound that resembles a 'yes' and a pant]


___*___*___*

three months we've been speaking. in summary i have: an existential crisis because i think my life, my role in the world (write large) and my participation in history is meaningless and without significance; am emotionally walled off and unable to risk vulnerability; an neurotically ambitious out of a deficit in self-worth.

against all that... i'm more concerned with how much i want icecream (it's 7:50am). and sunshine. and to sit with my trees and listen to Bach. (if anything can fix those problems it must be that).


___*___*___*

i thought about you she says.
show me. 
show you what?
what did you do when you were thinking?
[i watch her bloom]


___*___*___*

i can't decide if i'm happy or the most miserable i've ever been.
and the problem is... (apart from i can't tell the difference)
that i think the answer is irrelevant.

i measure relevance in stillness.
and i haven't seen a straight surface in weeks.
every glass of water has ripples on its surface,
the empty ones sound like open windows.
___
___[the lightning is silent,
___i knew that, remember it when i see it,
___but never cease to be fascinated with it.
___silent lightning. silent snow.

house hunting / conversations with people paid to listen pt 2

there are no chairs so i slump down next to the bed. i refuse to lie in bed, i do that too much (on account of the lack of chairs). my suit is on the bed. no wait, half of it. the rest is on the ground. the wardrobe door is open. the score of shostakovich's viola sonata is half open on the ground to where it was when i fell asleep last night listening to it. there's shaving oil i spent too much money on today still in its brown bag. i'll resent it every time i shave for the rest of the month. a book i'm supposed to write a review on sits unopened. it makes me nervous, it reminds me of all the things i have to do.


___*___*___*

- so why do you think you have so much difficulty coming to grips with your existence?
- what?
- what?
- what does that mean?
- have you been listening to yourself?
- ...
- it's strange that you should say that. i have ... you know - religious leanings. so. it's kinda odd that there's... well... an existential dilemma i'm having
- is that what it is?
- what did i just say?, [it's like a wave or something in the ocean. it's there, fine. there it is. you can point to it and it's there. but later it's gone and another takes its place and nothing much is any different. it just keeps going. and that's... all i am. a fill in. there's nothing that i do, or... am that can't be replaced. people will find new friends. a new lover. whatever role i play in my family can be dispensed with if it can't be replaced. my job... my entire everything is just a momentary is and not a particularly forceful is at that.] sounds pretty existential to me.


___*___*___*

really i don't care anymore. i would have been happy living anywhere. as soon as you have to put some serious money down it becomes the most crucial decision ever. really it just comes down to how much i dislike the architecture in this town. there are so few buildings i like. quirks of mine. there are the easily replaceable things (i won't have tiles. i can't have them). and the more difficult ones (aluminum windows and sliding doors make me nauseous). i imagine living in my current house forever and i'm panic stricken. the colour of the walls bothers me. i hate the carpet. i hate the room - always too cold or too hot or too stuffy or just too full of me i can't sit anywhere else there's all this noise (thankgod for it if i were alone without the sound of roomates laughing i don't know how deep beneath i'd be right now)


___*___*___*

- when was the last time you enjoyed something?
- like what?
- do you ever notice things like wind on your face?
- [mumbles] like wind in dry grass or rats' feet over broken glass
- what?
- [mumbles] nevermind   . no.
- what?
- no. i don't notice that stuff. i used to. but now i don't.
- what do you notice?
- the time. if i'm late.


___*___*___*

suddenly i feel old again.
in the hague i rode my bike and kissed too many girls and was fascinated and lost in the best way. i felt younger than i'd been in years.
and now, twice shrunk.


___*___*___*

without exaggeration she has the most exceptional breasts i've ever come into contact with. i'm breathless.

an hour later when i'm walking home,
two days later i write this
how can it be i haven't thought of them in the time inbetween

someonethingeveryall has wiped my brain. it is full of unimportant things surely if it can't remember that.


___*___*___*

dear wes anderson,
thankyou for moonrise kingdom, i thought it was lovely and sweet and playful and fun and it made sunday so much candy and hugs.


___*___*___*

- so, how are you coping then?
- i'm fine. it's strange.
- that you're fine?, that's strange?
- yes. it is. i'm miserable. i hate every element of my life - there's not a single objective thing that i'm satisfied with.  and yet ,
- ...
- and yet i'm doing alright. getting up and walking around.
- that's good right?
- sure. i've got the same drive as a zombie.
- that's bad right?
- no. i love zombies. 
- hmm.