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


and make it into letters like





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


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…………………………………..




One response

12 02 2010

Oh, how I wish you would let me say how this elegant writing, balanced on the edge of a knife, is remiscent of the work of your mother. It is so completely your own, and yet so precise and lovely that I cannot but think the genetic voice is an undeniable connection, probably passed through some specific chromosomal anomaly, resulting in beauty and now and then approaching a writer’s prefection.

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