610

9 06 2010

my chest wants so badly to heave and the breath in me wants to go somewhere else

its just one of those nights, nights and darkness and i am trying to focus on the house and the sound of the fan and the tv and something my friend is telling me but im just not doing so hot right now

like i said, stomach wants a fight

bad news, like a bad cut or a bad fight or a bad seed it is never welcome and i am sitting here watching my email waiting for more bad news because thats just how we are, isn’t it?

feeling powerless is the worst feeling in the world, especially when you try to anything you can for anyone. but i just can’t help, and i certainly cannot do what i want to do because being selfish doesn’t work either. sit here and wait.

i always make sure i pick things that will never ever work out. its a gift, of sorts.

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3/16

16 03 2010

i parked the truck and the doors opened and the dad and i get out and the pants are wrinkled and the shirt is wrinkled and the shoes are scuffed and dusty and i tug on the sweater and push my hair around and then we, that is myself and my father, we get to the door and we walk

inside and it is cool and there are so many people so many here and there and they sit and they stand and they look away and so we walk over and find a seat conveniently next to my friend and his family and i nod to those i know and i nod to those i don’t know and i squirm in my chair for a bit and play with my hair and oh my god do i look appropriate even though i’m not in black? and so much like this because it all matters, right?

and then the sobbing begins and we sit there because the whole place is silent and the poor girl she sits there and she just cries and cries and cries and the tears flow i assume even though i couldn’t see her face which is good because i wouldn’t have looked at her anyway even though i missed her all these years well here she is, kid, and all of us just sit there and listen to her sobs

and suddenly all my wrinkles and all my hair well it doesn’t really matter does it? and i rub my hands and we all just sit there because no one can offer comfort, and the service begins and we stare at the tv because we are taught to and we look at it and the scene plays out on the screen and in real life right around the corner but i guess if you watch it on the tv its not real right? right? RIGHT? maybe she should watch it over here, right? right? you ask right so many times it becomes wrong because her mum is still dead and the tv lies so much, so much, lies and nothing real and nothing real except the important stuff, because all this stuff on the screen comes from people’s heads who have seen this stuff for real, in real, on real, around so much real and so stay there, Haley, stay there because the tv will lie to you, too.

and the crowd nods and the crowd repeats and the carpet screams and tears flow and then it is all over how nice and we all start to get up to leave, my dad and my friends and we look at the pictures and i realize that i didn’t actually know this woman, i am just here for her daughter, the one that i haven’t seen in how long, kid? ten years? so i realize i am not here for anyone but myself, i guess because i feel guilty, i guess, and then i know that i don’t really know, other than how i hate going to these things because they hurt so much, because one day i’ll be doing the same thing, won’t, i [will?] i, guess so.

and then we walk down the aisle and i make sure i look at every single person in the eyes because we are all here for this woman, so we are all connected, at least for this moment, second, minute instance no matter space in time, wrinkles forgotten, hair a mess, hands clenched, who is this person and who is that and well oh well oh well, not so well, that’s a deep subject.

smile, kid, you look better when you smile, and so i do, because grandfather told me to, in my head, which is the only way i still stay sane as i put one foot in front of the other foot in front of the [door]

door, [door], door handle please get me out because its stuffy and damp and the floors crawl and the ceiling i swear is getting lower to the floor to never ever ever let me out and then i find it and does my hand grip because it’s so sweaty turn damn you and daylight and i am

out, out

side and out

doors, and out

this door, this entrance and this exit and this black hole, daylight, sweat gone, breathe again, go to the truck kid, go find the party, because parties are what you do after someone dies, right? i guess, celebrate life, if so than why so much crying? why are those sobs the only thing i still hear?  no ringing, no singing, nothing, sobs, cries of oh god and tears, surely on the cheek. does a finger wipe them off? not mine. mine is on my hand in my pocket getting the keys and turning the keys and playing some music and i hope i can drive.

if this it what it takes to reconnect with someone you lost, well, i don’t know if i like it all that much.





2/27

28 02 2010

i found  out that [she] cares, as [she] walked out the  door,

tonight, and

i found out  that the moon is only about  as big as my thumb, when i hold it up to the sky,

tonight, and

i found out that the  wind gives you cold kisses every time you step outside lately,,

,

and that the trees aren’t green at night, they are black and silent, and

i found out that the  leaves will crackle for me just loud enough for me when i am on the  right  path home, just to let me know ,

tonight, and

i found out that i can smile and frown at once, as long as one of them stays hidden [but which one??,?,] and, tonight, i found out that the

train tracks make sweet harmonies

(steel rail choir miles and  miles of singing, measuring voices and songs by the  distance it takes for the last sound to float off, what kind of math is that, and Goethe laughs and jots down a line or two,but you’ll never know about what)

it might sing her to sleep, too, if she  listens, she doesn’t listen, except to herself,

[confusing, confused, might as well try writing only in shades of blue, that’ll get ’em]

and did you know that your ears hear exactly what you want to hear, when your mouth can say exactly what you want to say? i didn’t, until tonight

you don’t know her, and neither do i, although i thought  i did, back when i thought i could think, i thought  i knew her but  i didn’t and so every now and then, Full Moons mean full heads and thoughts about thoughts about memories about thinking about  things when thinking meant smiling and waking up in the morning was a pleasure and not a chore

but oh well oh well buck up buck rogers the  night is young and the moon is out and tonight

tonight

tonight

your thumb is as big as the  moon, and the wind kisses you, and

the trains sing you to sleep, with whispers in your ears,

— just what you want to hear,





2/23

24 02 2010

i washed my  hands tonight under

hot water and i kept wondering while i washed because when i was done it

they, that is

my hands were still dirty, and so i wondered there by the sink and the water and the dirt going down the drain, i wondered why my hands are never clean

and i sat back down at my booth where my favorite waitress came over and took my order and i hid my hands under the table so she wouldn’t see all the cracks and creases filled with the dirt and the  black that won’t won’t will not

will not, mind you dearest darling do

not clean, not clean, hot water and soap and scrub scrub scrub and why does it matter?

you see because lots of people have things on their hands like tattoos and such

and blood, and guilty consciousnesses and the like and such and all of it but you can’t see that blood, you can’t see that guilt and that worry, not on your hands. people they don’t seem to care that much about that

but god forbid there’s some grease on your hands or some dirt under your nails or some wrinkles in your shirt god forbid good god get out get out

so i hid my hands and she invited me out for a drink after work but i don’t drink and i don’t go out, not like this, not with my hands so dirty so i made some excuse and she smiled and the wall was back up and she was the waitress again and i was that guy in that seat

(does he even have hands? i’ve never seen them hrm)

my dad’s hands are never clean, and i still love him. but when i look at his hands and i look at mine, i realize i have never seen his hands any other way except stained, and as far as i know he was born with stained hands, whereas i was not and i know it and i remember days when i had pink soft hands and well now i don’t do i son no i don’t and so now like always sleep is reminding me that i have certain responsibilities and so vivaldi and a blanket and the darkness between rest and fatigue, shall we dance?





2/11

12 02 2010

writing after work and after the day and while i am laying in bed and while i am tired and worn and beat and sleepy

——-   ./.,,,;’;’lp’p ‘;’;’,;,’         ;/,/l,/l,/llm/  m.m.k,n/k lahcb

afguafvbabkjjkjksjnd,jsdjk     asdjbkasd   p BKDSKBBK akkkkkeiiiiiii

a nd t  h     is is w          hat is in my he a d an d the n it

comes out in these letters that come together and make noises in /your/ head /bed/ said/

letters are so funny because you can take a work like

word

and make it into letters like

w

o

r

D

and all it is is is is letters on a page looking weird with space

and so we smush them together like a sandwich or an accordion

[WHO PLAYS THE ACCORDION ANYMORE ANYWAY, HUH]

l-l-like we choose who we stand next to or sit next to or talk to or read to or anything verb insert verb here, right here, like the beach or the bay or somewhere nice, with some trees, and we can sit on this bench and look at these birds and talk about those books  because that is us and our moments are our letters and we smush together our moment letters and someday soon, my dear, my darling, these letters will write our books, like ‘house’ and ‘kids’ and fancy warm words, and then when we make our mistakes our words are like G/qdv’;’; jksdjkbc and wn :AAVN 362 and if it weren’t for sesame street we wouldn’t know our letters anyway, would we children?

but i guess the real point is whether i want a book or do i want, do i want do i want a script for the movie

[and who will write the soundtrack, my dear, my darling?]

or do i want a sentimental song?

can’t decide, can’t decide,,,,

and if youre good you can make good moments and make new words and write new languages and find new lands and someday someone somewhere will play the accordion of your life and someone somewhere

might just be dancing, too…………………………………..





2/10

10 02 2010

and it takes a phone call or a letter or an email and reconnect and then we realize how long its been

i went for 6 months without talking, once, which was a very very very l o  n   g    t    i      m       e    f    o       r        [m             e]

…regret probably yes maybe

then a year, and more now,

and an email and  no reply and i realize again how hard it is to reconnect

selective reconnecting like selective hearing

[…i don’t know if i chose to not see you or not]

we all do it, selectingly, like choosing the rootbeer at the coke machine,

, push, button, get, drink,

close eyes, not see, see not, no idea, no thoughts, no nothing, no         no no no no no no more i can’t tell because i forgot to hear you and whatever did you say? i was too busy ignoring every god damn thing i can

but i’m right here, and so maybe i need to stop opening a pair of closed eyes and sometime  soon i might reconnect but its the  hardest thing [diamond and pearls before swine today, aren’t we all?]]]

she told me to just ring but she doesn’t ring anymore either so how can you take advice from someone who lost their voice?





2/3

3 02 2010

i use a laptop to get the net to find the number to call on the cell phone so i can drive over in my truck  but all this doesn’t take away from the fact that its all to bury a horse that is now dead. dead horses and holes and people to dig them have been around since forever i think and so here we are modern day fancy and nice and clean and spicspan but it all comes down to a shovel and a hole and  the race to fill it with the horse before it fills up with the water.

what can one expect from the rest of the day when the alarm is ringing  but it isn’t the alarm its the  phone and no, you can’t sleep in because, well

its hard to fill a hole when you’re unconscious, unless of course the hole is shaped like you