Untitled (writer's block)

Horizontals: Trash, manganite.

For all flesh is as grass,
and all the glory of man
as the flower of grass.
The grass withereth,
and the flower thereof falleth away.
But the word of the Lord endureth for ever
__________1 Pet. 1:24-25


a few minutes tick past.
Brahms plays on, effortlessly divine.
(i know whenever somewhere in the world someone is listening to Selig sind, die da Leid tragen that a concourse of angels is summoned to their side. Not to help, but also to listen.

(i... cannot think of anything else to write.
___(the music is too strong to compete with)

*__*__*

Dear V:

inadequate supply of time has hindered me from responding.
please forward complaints to the great unknown, you may perhaps try sending a letter addressed to G O D ,
whom i imagine is most often to blame for these tings.

other than that,
feel free whenever to write me interesting things that i will undoubtedly enjoy and read and occasionally, i will also push off God (or at least God's world, or at least God's life, or at least God's challenges, or at least myself) long enough to string together some few lines of words for you to read.

*__*__*

it is almost nocturne-time.

i really wonder if Chopin wrote them late at night, or if he wrote them midmorning and then waited till midnight to play them. Perhaps he wrote them midmorning, then walked past the kitchen table where the scores lay scattered late at night- having just brushed his teeth on his way back to bed- and thought to himself: nocturne! indeed! and cheated a few generations out of our rightly earned dreams.

(i always preferred the Etudes anyway. or the Preludes. definately the Scherzos and the Ballades. (the Ballades most)).

anyway, my favorite is Shostakovich's. (from the first violin concerto).
(i last listened to it in full in Seattle. it transformed Seattle to Transylvania. I am certain if I had listened to it in Prague I'd have relinquished myself to become a vampire, or a bat... or a shadow.

(there is hope for me yet)


*__*__*

WORD GAME
player must endeavor to use various words to demonstrate how (s)he feels just at this moment.

resigned. lost. (soo) lonely. calm. satisfied (with Brahms, Part, Shostakovich). suspended. (somehow) forming (part of Shostakovich's melody line). Russian. Unstable. Humanitied. Heavy. Volcanic (alternatively: geological). Old. Cloud. Tempted (to: cry, laugh from the lungs to avoid [love. embarrassment. breath-air.], laugh from the stomach [i cannot feel good after i eat anyway], laugh from the heart [sounds empty, hope always has a hollow tinkle to it]). Formulaic. Forgotten. Not-yet-made. Transcendental. Epic. Sardonic. Inert. Volatile (as in: unstable, flying-floating-freely-faraway, explosive, spontaneously turning to gas). Lento assai.


*__*__*

(i feel Shostakovich in my room. i do not understand the feeling... only that in the dark corner breathing silently under a pile of clothes lives a very thin man, topless- whose ribs and vertebrae are too easily seen, whose cheekbones are concerning, under there (I can see with each breath a slight rise) lives the melody of Shostakovich's violin). (thankyou for not leaving me alone Dmitri)


*__*__*

i cannot_freaking_write.
(i have too much in me,
there is no easy way to resolve this-
i cannot get it out.


*__*__*

for three hours i sat in my ridiculous looking shoes in a pyramid scheme info session that i thought was a queer job interview. I should have been more suspicious when she insisted "oh, we're very professional, even at our info sessions we require everyone to wear ties".

how unfair to liquefy hope.


*__*__*

Blessed are the dead
which die in the Lord
for henceforth:
yea, saith the Spirit,
that they may rest from their labours,
and their works do follow them.
__________Rev 14:13

(i am too morbid)

not quite yet (nocturne)

seaside, scarlet traces

nicknames my not.yet.wife will call me
do not exist yet.

*

Martha was the last to run her hands through my hair. it's natural when she does it, i barely take notice. only today, three weeks later, i missed it suddenly and unforgettably. We looked at each other, there's just no where to go home to she said. It's the first true thing I'd heard in months.

*

the day slowly slowly
does
itself
in.

*

everything i might be,
i might be.

(sooner or
never.

*

also:
dear world,
dear night:

a song is sung too slow for other ears to notice:

mein favorite
borderies
SYTYCD

somewhere a song no one could hear will end,
____(or i think that's what she said

Impromptu (fragments)

undressing is still sexual to me. even when alone. there lies a potential eroticism to it that i find particularly potent... a latent brutality.tenderness, the tempestuousness of the body; there are moments: i cannot decipher soul from body, body from body, or soul from soul-did you think your body was soo different from a winter cloud?, only that it (the body's) lightning is softer.

and i always find it distressing to see pianos sitting in homes that i cannot be alone with. it is a miserable flirtation. i walk over- the conversation is boring to me, and the conversation finds me boring to it; so i walk away, into the next room. it's brown, and it does remind me of honey colored eyes i was.am.forever.never in love with. i put that thought aside (in its special mausoleum i've constructed for all those broken memories). i don't dare sit at the piano, my mother has a stern eye and an austere ear. i tremble. i can hear her (her is the piano). I can hear her lift her lips to my ear. she whispers to me. i have not heard that in too long. a lonely man is not immune to these charms. i drop the hand at my side and rub it across a high A, not depressing it. she's tickled- but she likes my restraint. i rub her a little more, then select B-natural to press. I hear her sigh. I press again, A and B naturals together. a slight dissonance- my mother's ear is piqued. a wondering displeased look finds its way across a kitchen table, a cup of tea, a handful of pistachios, some inane conversation, a hallway, a family photo hung on a scratched wall, and finds me. i shiver with anger, and walk away.

i have been practicing my clairvoyant faculties. i sit and stare at the air (you can do this by letting your eyes shift out of focus, so you are not looking at anything in particular, and are thus focussed precisely between yourself and an object, and that is to say, you are looking at transparent air). Whenever I do this, a list of exactly two names comes to mind. Gol and Monz, and their insistence that this year is the year of miracles. (either that or year for miracles, i could never decide on which was the more appropriate title). I address myself to the air:

__"well?"

__"are you?"

__[some wind passes by]

__"..."

__[a blur of color passes me, miracle or taco-stand patron i cannot tell]

__"can you please be?"

__"it's not too late you know. __we could just start now."

I don't know. Perhaps I need to try another trick. I stand, put my hands firmly in my pockets, and start walking aimlessly towards nothing. (somewhere between here and nowhere, something will happen, that something will trigger something else, somewhere along this, I'll meet Circe, I'll go to Hades and chat to Achilles, I'll blind Polyphemus the Cyclops, I'll dine in the hallway of a King that is really myself- dressed as a mendicant, and haggard as the wayfarer i am, and eventually, slaughter everything that stands between me, Penelope, and Ithaca).

Some Answered Questions:

__- If I could be trapped in one movie for the rest of forever, it would be Baz Lurman's Romeo and Juliet
__- The single saddest song I know is: Don't Smoke in Bed, by Nina Simone
__- If I could be trapped in a pop-song it would be: Brown Eyed Girl, by Van Morrison
__- I am simple, straightforward. I prefer vanilla icecream to all else, plain white oxford shirts (no cuffs), and to end meals with black tea.
__- Here are a list of things I am becoming slowly terrified I'll never achieve (sometimes: achieve again) in life because I'm always struggling to juggle 4 heavy universes: learn French well enough to read Flaubert for myself, and Le Petit Prince to my children. Play the Appassionata on the piano. Bench press 100 kilos again. Sit alone in a dimly lit room and memorize a map of the world (with a silly grin on my face), continent by continent (I had it half done last year), followed by memorizing ancient maps- Judea and the borders of the tribes of Israel, Greece at its prime, etc. Orgasm together.
__- I have compiled a list of the books I will read my children. also, the music they will listen to when they're babies.
__- I have the white macbook

In a novel I wrote, a man turns slowly transparent. in his invisibility, he takes his hand and places it within himself, he can cup his own heart. I wish i could do that. my heart needs a hug, and a long rest.

i thought this was a 'transition phase'. now i am becoming worried it is actually my life.

i have only ever seen one shooting star. When Eman's car broke down, we were running in the streets with Ilya. I was jumping and dancing. I saw it. It is one of the miracles of my life. Perhaps one of the only memories i have of me as a child- and i remember everything. I am tempted to list out the miracles i have seen in my days- but i will wait till the end of this potentially auspicious year. perhaps there is a latent miracle in it i dare not hope for (deeds cannot dream what dreams can do- Cummings has said everything I want to say better than me)

if gravity lets go: i would float slowly away, somewhere between sleep, rainbow, and that pleasant monotony of sitting on a train... i would nestle in your lap again, your fingers in my hair, and fall asleep in the way that rocks sleep- hearing the ocean, and loving the sound so much, they'd never interrupt her.

the highest compliment i've ever given someone is: when I'm with you, i feel alone.

if using blunt, sharp or other object, you were to deflate me, i imagine you'd find: three quarters water, a bundle of acute angles defining love, several browny-colored-organs, precisely 8 notebooks filled with dreams i lived or lost or saved or moved away from (ps when I cannot write I listen to Damien Rice's O album, usually I can think of something if I'm listening to that) and I've moved away from everything, so you'd find an endless list of names, places, lovers, friends, roomates, menus i've memorized, train and bus schedules (4:04 after school everyday but Tuesday- Tuesday was my piano lesson)(I met you on the 345),

in other continents, the boys and girls i grew up with are slowly forgetting who i am... they look at my pictures and have decided i was an apparition. Some anomaly in light and focus that isn't really there. Sometimes I hear them in my head saying: who is this email from? Q? Anyone remember him? I still have a card he wrote me on a birthday... i can't place him though. It is only sad because there is no new life to welcome me. i am lost in the cracks.

Amongst the things I've achieved in life are included: discovering I have.had.sometimes a soul. Falling in love, twice. Discovering electricity. Deconstructing history to accommodate myself. Seeing once, when I was a child, a shooting star, while jumping up and down in the middle of a road on a hill by a beach where Eman's red sportscar had stopped working. Once crying on a train because snow was... unparalleled in beauty. And dying more frequently than anyone else I've ever known.

(the future is coming on
is coming on
is coming on

is coming.

Q & A with Q & A (part 1)

Dear Readers,

we've been lucky enough to secure the time and attention of the wonderful Ghetto Blaster; she has agreed to have all her wits and senses challenged in an intense Q & A session. So, Q will ask, and A will answer... no one knows what might happen! (enjoy the ride)







Q_On somebody's sweatshirt today I saw written: Juicy Love. What does this phrase mean?

A_I actually know this answer, for it is written on my laptop case as well. "Juicy" is a brand for girls, by 2 women who wanted to make princess like accessories, sweat pants and overpriced jewelry. I actually have alot of Juicy things, all to which were gifts and there stuff is really cute. "Juicy Love" is just one of their expressions/sayings. Without prior knowledge, I can see the confusion.

Q_If everything in the world was reversed to its exact opposite: 10 became -10, and -10 became 10; black was now white, and white black, and feet were hands and hands were feet; would the world still exist in a stable form?

A_Green is the new black… also: "Reverse psychology is an awesome tool, I don't know if you guys know about it, but basically you can make someone think the opposite of what you believe, and that tricks them into doing something stupid. Works like a charm."

Q_ Once when I couldn't sleep, I thought I heard the murmur of a star outside admonishing me. I looked out the curtains and listened to what it had to say best I could- it was soo faint. Then, I realized, this advice was approximately 1200 years old, having been said for another then.boy whose history I now walk on, and kick his dirt.body around, and whose future I am. In what way is this memory relevant to anything?

A_it is a memory completely relevant to the showmanship (which all of us faithful readers know) of your out of this world mind + out of this world writing capabilities...are you trying to show off with this one? I thought this was about me?! ;)

Q_I dislike noisy motorbikes, can you offer a Jungian interpretation of why this is so?

A_I'm glad you brought up the Jungian theory, professor Q. The lucky few who are wise enough to actually understand this theory (aka: me) will explain to you and the rest of the "slower" community a simplified reasoning for this. Basically, the Jungian interpretation explains an individual's childlike fantasies and fears. It is commonly found in people with abnormal dreams. Therefore, the Jungian interpretation of your "dislike" would explain your rooted emotional attachment to sexy animal prints.

Q_A pelican and a swan play a game of texas hold 'em on the banks of a muddy river. At last, the pelican throws her cards into the air (and they are caught in the tree branches above and never fall back down) and exclaims:

____logic without imagination is deceit

Would you:

____ (a) Climb a tree and decode the alchemy of her cards
____ (b) Walk away, devote your life to the scholarly pursuit of translating see-er stones into children's marbles
____ (c) Claim that taxonomy has failed mankind
____ (d) something other, please specify:

A_(e) a swan near a muddy river? You're pulling my leg here!

Q_14 babies sit side by side. 13 are bald, and one has a full head of black hair. The others are certain she's a different species, how would you resolve the disunity?

A_I'd read them all "the ugly duckling." Also, why is the "different one" a "she?" I think I need to work on you first, Q.

Q_If I were to suddenly exclaim: that's what she said!!! give us three possible preceding statements.

A_1. I wish I were Ashley!
2. The Ghetto Blaster writes so well!
and 3. Why is it so small?

Q_20 paces marks the distance between a spider the size of my furry afro and a doorway into a spiderless world. You are positioned precisely equidistant from door and spider. Please outline the noises you might make on the way to the door.

A_There is a process to this:

1. Freezation occurs. Hands flex, slightly set off (6 inches) from my sides while my knees take a slight bend into a half-football stance.

2. The second the evil blood of the hairy devil decides to move the bastard, my previous im-bigger-and-better-than-you-stance turns into a tap dancing, hands flaring, "eeeeeeeeeeekking" mess.

3. I spin in circles for about 15 seconds with my head flared back, occasionally flicking my hands through my hair and brushing off imaginary spiders from the rest of my body. All the while (now grunting) thinking "damn you spider! I hate you and your family." Also "ash, you can do this, just relax!"

4. Once I stop and "collect" myself, I stare at it, have an occasional jolt into dropping to my knees and laughing. Clear hysteria.

5. At this point I call out for someone in the room/house/neighborhood to come get rid of the thing (if they didn't already run to my aid from the previous eeeeking. And/or call someone to come and get rid of it. But in this scenario, im assuming that I am alone in this…

6. Therefore I bang the floor (that's what she said) enough times to try to get the thing to scatter across and away from the door.

7. If that doesn't work, I will brace myself, back up and go for the run and hurdle over and through the door approach. All the while hesitating and then finally running for it screaming & eeeeeking: "I freeeeeaaaaking haaaate you spider!!!!! Ahhhhh"

Q_Translate the following passage into Ashtree:

Sunglass reflects light back towards the sun, lamp, or lover's lips depending on the angle formed by pointed-toes lifted airwards and how deep a heart is buried each time it's broke and since I forgot to unleash it, when I walked away it choked me till I was violet, then pumped its way out from 6 feet under and beat me to the finish with me panting like a plastic dog following the scent of a maestro conducting a symphony I knew by heart without ever hearing: ie namely love.

A_"Woman, get me another beer! And the damn baby's crying again, im trying to watch the game!"

Q_Do you think you're too sexy for your shirt?

A_Um, do you even need to ask?

Q_Magellen, Aristotle, Kernel Sanders, and Count Leo Tolstoy are on team A. Team B consists of: Leonardo Da Vinci, Michael Flatley- Lord of the Dance, Bertrand Russell, and Humbert Humbert. Team A is given: a sextet, a sheet if Egyptian hieroglyphics on a papyrus scroll, and an ipod with no music loaded. Team B is given: a black pen, a drawing done by Mary C. Oswald, 11 year old third-grade student from Welby Way Elementary School, and a translation of the Dead Sea Scrolls into ebonics.

What would team A and team B argue about?

A_Who shot Biggie Smalls?? (if we dont get them they gone get us all, im down for runnin up on them crackaz in they city hall.)

Q_If someone shouts at you very loudly: RELAX! DON'T DO IT! Are you most likely to punch them in the face, do a funky dance, or say in a sexy voice: 2 minutes in heaven is better than one minute in heaven baby?

A_funky dancing is kinda my thing even without the prerequisite of shouting and my sexy voice is pretty cool, therefore... 2 minutes is better than 1.

Q_Do you hope that somewhere in the deep depths of the black lightless ocean, somewhere, a giant squid really does exist?

A_hope? I dream of him every night.

Q_What exactly is a tiny dancer?

A_your not.yet.daughter in her not.yet.pink.tutu twirling around in your not.yet.kitchen.

Q_You are faced with a text message exhorting you to GET ON IT! What precisely would you get on?

A_1. That's what he said.
2. I'd ask myself why I was text messaging myself?
and 3. Space Mountain.

Q_Bach, Beethoven and Bela Bartok brace as brothers believing in blue basketball bliss. (who would win a best of 3 rock-paper-scissors tournament?)

A_the UCLA graduate

Q_Somebody is playing Rachmaninoff's G-major prelude on the piano as beautifully as it can be played: will it summon an early Spring into existence?

A_Kinda how Britney Spears jump started Summer with her VMA performance? If so, then: YES, most definitely!

Update (Fragments)

tangent 3, tommy Oshima


- I believe I am an expert in listening to people shout at one another, people's unreason, and diffusing situations by exceedingly tasteless humor.

- The car ran out of gas on the highway offramp. It shook and puttered, stopping just at pump #2. (we laughed). The sandstorm made it hard for me to exit the car, lift the nozzle and fit it into the gas tank.

(several minutes later)

__"Triple A?"
__"Yessir, what seems to be the problem?"
__"We've ran out of gas."
__"Right. Are you in a safe place?"
__"I think so."
__"Where are you?"
__"Yermo, California"
__"Where's that?"
__"10 miles south of Barstow on I-15"
__"never heard of it"
__"wouldn't be surprised, it's comprised of a closed-down diner, a trailer, and a gas-station."
__"Are you near the gas station?"
__"Yes. __ I'm parked at pump #2."
__"... I don't understand, why don't you just fill up your self?"
__"the gas station has no gas either."
__"..."
__"..."
__"you're kidding?"
__"no."
__"Last time I got a call about this... was... 1987"
__"How time changes."

*___*___*

BOOKS I HAVE READ RECENTLY, A LIST:

__- The Book of Certitude, Baha'u'llah
__- The Art of Reading Poetry, Harold Bloom
__- The Goat (or: Who is Sylvia), Edward Albee
__- i: six nonlectures, E.E. Cummings
__- The Way It Is: Collected Poems, William Stafford
__- The Best American Poetry 2004
__- Collected Poems, Frank O'Hara

*___*___*

I got a haircut. For no reason. I was walking past, I looked in. I stopped. It seemed to me the world could change little either way. I walked in. Walked out. The world had not changed. I was not surprised. (and continued to walk)

*___*___*

WHY I HAVE NOT WRITTEN:

__- exhaustion
__- a serious lack of humanity
__- I see most things as a blur.... I cannot focus my eyes. When I sit still I see myself walk on. There are 14 versions of myself contained in just one chest.

__"How life twists and turns.
__How some fall, some... climb."
__"[nod]"
__"What's that line you always quote?"
__"Judge no man lucky till he dies, free of pain, at last."
__"you mean he's lucky to die?"
__"no. As a measure of success- you can't quite know where you'll end up, which way it'll twist... till it's over."
__"what's it from?"
__"Sophocles"
__"Who?... wha... never mind. (intellectualite)"
__"(stop calling me that)"
__"in any case; Life's ups and downs."
__"shifting sands. all of us. no bedrock."
__"You've seen more at your age than me in my whole life."
__"true."
__"you've seen too much."
__"true."
__"you're wise because of it."
__"old."
__"that too."
__"[looks down]
__"Don't think anymore. seriously. you're too old for your age."
__"..."
__"(too old)"
__"fine."

*___*___*

NOTEBOOK HIGHLIGHTS FROM: FEAR AND SELF-LOATHING, THREE DAYS IN LAS VEGAS

____II.
the car is finally still.
the keys lie flaccid on the table.
(the earth continues to turn soo
fast I can't hear my sister
say 'I love you' in sign-language.


____VII.
sing me my dirge
and let's be done with it-
I see you, your sickle, and
your hooded figure following me.
(who... me? he responds)

semi-sincere resolutions written in anger during bout of fear and self-loathing:

__-
__-
__-
__-
__-
__-
__-

I feel the moon move all day.
My 3/quarters water edge towards
my side at noon.
At night I am high-tide,
drowned,
__my heart unable to beat

Also it sits up on a rock
and fishes memories out.

- I'm not what you
wanted.


*___*___*

Soon my sister will be independent.
I am expecting a crack at the border of the sky and building rooftops. The horizon to fall off. Gravity to reverse. Th universe be anew. Also, I simply don't really care about all this very much anymore. I am life's prole.

*___*___*

WHY I HAVE NOT WRITTEN:

__- writer's block
__- internet cutting out
__- midnight showers seems to have regained some of the cathartic properties they had 8 months ago (thankfully)

*___*___*

__"what about you?"
__"who?"
__"you"
__"..."
__"sooner or later you're gonna have to-
__________________________"I know"
__"do you?"
__"yes."
__"what's your plan?"
__"oblivion"
__"oh God. stop with the poetry!"
__"[shrug] what other language is there for it?"
__"for what?"
__"life."

*___*___*

An arrogant young man, handsome but balding leans against the outside nightclub wall. His girlfriend is beautiful, and his handsome face manages to not be obscured by his ill-chosen clothing. He doesn't say much to me. He seems pleased he has a thing or two on me. I play along. Self-deprecate here and there to guide him to wittisms he doesn't have it in him to think up on his own. I set the play. he gathers a few of my words and the pun comes to mind. He smiles as he delivers it. I nod and smile, encouragingly. He nods more enthusiastically. He puts his hands in his jean-front-pockets and exudes a confidence only a second-best can muster. I smile, always courteous, almost never friendly.

__"what d'ya mean you're not doing anything?"
__"I'm doing this and that."
__"are'ya goin back to medicine?"
__"probably not, no."
__"heh" (he likes that)

Later, upon farewell, I offer him a hand for a shake. He does a strange brotha shake and gives me a pat-hug. He no longer feels threatened. I have no need to compete.

__"well, best of luck with doin nothing."
__"thanks, I'll need it."
______(he looks confused)

response to V

Back in the Days When I Was Young, I'm Not a Kid Anymore, foundphotoslj


19 years now she's sat in her metal chair,
the wheels are round and the spokes sometimes
resemble flower petals if you close your eyes and wish
the right way,
____other times, thin steel bars,
____other times still, metallic spider webs
____other times still still, the thin bruises of thin identities.

this is what she's wanted most: to be independent.
she's outgrown all of us, and we've outgrown her,
seems to be Fate's decided: coin's up clowns, now's the time if
any-time's the time...
(and i still know nothing about any or time
(and i'm still scared of both.

in short: that is why she is scared.
(and in her fear more brave than a dozen me's)

*___*___*

and questions always pile up. who are these invisible people who write their invisible lives out in elusive words that m.a.k.e. no sense? (to quote you) who are they and where do they live and what do their friends think of them, and is it always as smiley or as sad as they make it all out to be?

if no one asks... then... maybe i am nothing but these words. (invisible at last) (a ghost)
and if someone does... then....

*___*___*

NB:

i have not had my hand held in months.
we broke up a year ago.
6 months ago i saw her,
i kissed and was kissed
and could only look at her
by squinting because she was made of stars-
and all the other things
love does to our eyes,
and memory,
and lips,
and my hands:
unheld since
are soon to be the branches of
dusty trees
that breathe off shadow.

*___*___*

NB 2:

i cannot remember an idea of 'home'
i stumble when i walk-
gravity has chosen me (out of everyone) to let go of,
i occasionally float,
occasionally stumble...

(and the seconds tick on)

Update

shine, .:*ghost*:.

50% a notapoem, 50% a LIST:

- i don't know much, there's stuff going on that could tip the universe everywhichway away from here (where is here?
____and my sister's scared (which is a good thing, it means the universe is finally starting to quiver, and I see stars being shook loose and falling away behind the horizon (beneath my feet, where at last I can stomp my way to infinityism.

- i hear voices. i turn up my headphones louder, the voices have an incredible capacity to keep up____(i have not known such fatigue, i cannot sleep it off, i feel heavy, i have not had a breath of air in a week... i wonder what i am living off. (then i decide hope. and i shrug. seems obvious, even from here

- following tying up this loose tragedy (it's swayed in the wind far too long), I'm going to set sails for myself (the great(est) unknown). at some point in the near( or at very least a few paces farther than foreseeable) future I'm going to move past me. it will be swell to take over myself running in my white sneakers panting.
____(somewhere father in the unforeseeable but partially-possible non.future.yet.to.come: I see my non.yet.wife give me that you-just-said-a-stupid-thing-you-shouldn't-have-said look, and I, I giggling myself into a frenzy will take three quick steps and throw my non.yet.baby over my shoulder and put herhis hands over my eyes and say: da da da da dooo! (still giggling uncontrollably) because I know she (my non.yet.wife) cannot bear to throw a shoe at my non.yet.head with our little baby's limbs dangling like half-monkey, half-seaweed, half-miracle from off my head. So instead she will say: that's not fair put herhim down! To which I will reply: gigglegigglegigglegiggle HA! gigglegigglegigglegiggle foxtrotting the little dear into definite princessdom.

- and a story is yet to be written by me about the homeless men who gather in and around the public libraries by my home. There is nothing I love to see more, then the institutions of public and communal learning and wonder attracting those men and women whom most need a place to gather and commune. My story will be about several homeless scholars who sit daily and (quite insightfully) discuss Henry James, and giggle at de Sade, and despise Camus (for no real reason other than group-unity). Think what you will, the story is attracting me.

- and a story is yet to be written (about) (by) me, the homeless man who gathers in and around a specific place.time (in Einstein's language: {x, y, z, t}, that's me) and wonders about how dark he is inside himself, and how old he is, and if you cut him open if you'd see the rings you see across the trunk of a tree.

- other than that: __sunlight returns, __the jogs are getting longer and shorter, __the height of my soul changes daily, __Portishead (third) is what makes my days amazing, __i cannot understand the passage of time, __i abide by the laws of Brownian Motion: a free particle in a medium (air, water, gas, God, etc) appears to move randomly because of randomized collisions with the medium-particles; since all collisions are random, the particle is bound to move (since the only way it would stand still is if all forces were perfectly equal, and there is no equality since Bach and Cummings weigh more than the Lakers winning tonight, or the soup that unsettled my stomach at lunch), and so, I have no choice but to (move)(fail)(win)(die __someone hold my hand? __oh sweet wonderful dominions that are mine alone and no other man shall ever know!

- other than that: __a terrible stagnancy that has given life the smell of decay and the whizzing sound of life screaming past you as you sit on a train you cannot control and look at blonde children stationary on bikes, taste of snot already having reached their lips, as they wave little dirty hands at your blurrrrrrrrrface. __this scheme that has had me here is almost finished (sooooo close!), with one end a new beginning can sprout, and ashes make for great grass

- or as I told my mother today: if life didn't keep getting in the way, you, I and Sahar would have each conquered the world twice over by now. don't worry.

- or as Monz and I always say: this is what we do.

- or as I tell myself: of the infinite worlds of God, this is the shortest... brace yourself man, we're nearly there, in a sigh we'll be done and away and:




(there are no words for that part)