Monday, December 1, 2014

going, going, gone.

______by way of introduction

when i wake up she's staring at me. you're always doing that i say. it's not the first time. she keeps looking at me. Eventually she replies, you're always thrashing around. and mumbling to yourself. so i wake up and watch you thrash and mumble till you get up


[over the phone]
- what's interesting about it? 
- seeing who you are. instead of who you thought. and then realising you've changed. and drawing a line between those points. 
- how have you changed, now i'm curious. 
- [there's too much to say. not easily.] there's so much
- fine, tell me one. 
- i miss you. that's something. 
- how's that--
- i don't miss people. i don't even really... notice. not for years. and for the feeling to be localised in one person... it's scary
___well i'm pretty fantastic. 
[... we talk ...]
- ... anyway, that's when i was seeing you ... 

___which is a statement constructed in past tense. 
which, is, i guess ______correct.


______so, then,

i'm inside a new creature. he's unusual to me. i'm not sure who packed him. 
it's creepy because he's familiar, but every now and then he does something out of turn
and i grow concerned.___, for both of us. 

and he wants to open the windows to let some air in - which i permit him to do. that's fine,
we all need a little of that. 
but inside the new creature ... he's sprouting memories , soft fairytales that rub against my ears as i walk on in the darkness. there's a hum in the background, a slow, slow song. he's distracted, 


___collecting things that it took me years to burn and donate and bury. 


______and finally. 

it rains. sometimes it's misty. it's dark early. 
mostly i read. in my room , in this room. 
i have a football, Wilson. he's on the island with me. i hold him. he comforts me. he's the conch. 
some nice people i met gave me a little toy penguin. he's here with us. i think his name is Parnassus. 

i'm past tense. i'm not there anymore.
it'll walk it's way, i'll go mine. when, if, we meet again,
we won't recognise one another. it'll each be something we once saw ___saw together. , 
simultaneously , for a while. 

i'm here. this is here. it's dark early , and my heater sometimes makes noises. 
i'm told so do i - noises - in my sleep. 

and everyday i'm farther from something i see.

but to which i was seen.  


and dreams are dark waves
felt and never understood, 
and whatever i am mumbling
are the death-pangs of a thought
remembering how it had appealed to be kept around,

and how it lost the appeal. 
___the ghost of a dead thing listening to its bells. 

and there are no pills to revive the dead things. 

and outside it is misty. it's dark early. 
mostly i read. in my room , in this room. 
and try to forget the things that have forgotten me

and fill their names with new words.

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