bees communicate through dance

let's try this
next time,
dance out your instructions
and perhaps i'lll be able to follow

winter stars

look different
tonight they shine, high but close, above my round home
carried by deep, twilight colors of winter night
sometimes it is just as well to see them with distance
as to know them intimately
as our own burning
we stand in awe
mesmerized by our reflections

noviembre viejo

Work by Sarah Ferreter

Avoiding change is the only recent one. Recent? I feel like a toad, a rock, a layer of earth. That’s fine, old, settled. You look like a tree frog, diamond, a sky sharp with setting suns. Future questions that shouldn’t be asked, but burnt into the soles of the first foot forward.

Is it right foot, clubfoot, wrong foot?

10, 9, 8, etc. landing in this swamp of social intricacy, fallacy. You made a show of the mess of the world and it’s cold modern values. You let it grow frothy and candy coated mocking the clubfeet stuck in this muck, in this sugar, this sticky slick sanity substance. A vision of normalcy and boorish morality and more truth than ever could be found in the reality between the bars of the absolute. Value. Stuck again.

I can’t make promises of what I’ll know tomorrow night. I might forget you…but there is residue I keep finding between things and hot places on my body. If it’s tacky enough, oily, shiny enough it sticks and oh, you have plenty.

I was re-re-reading some things. I didn’t mind.

We need our own party two doors down. Sitting on polish-made dog park benches, wrapped around trees that our heads rest upon, eyes to the sky, necks exposed; waiting, asking to be ripped apart through/by our own apathy. Heads back, crutched by the tree, one rolls off balance, to the side, nearly touches the other. The mouths continue to move, humidity pouring from them as thick and useless as the words that come with it. But the words are not entirely useless. They are a sort of barrier. They they act as a gradually thinning boundary- one that can just as easily completely disintegrate as thicken and solidify on a moments notice. I feel like at this moment I have two walls- each doing the opposite at precisely the same time. Having my own party two doors down. Love to destroy you.

Something about when he was working? No. I was looking at his hands and their scars and my immediate reaction was that I had wanted to be the cause. I wished I had been the reason for each of them; that I had inflicted all of this pain, memory.

The wind blows hard tonight, rattling my windows, threatening to turn them back to liquid in half the time. And I can’t keep my eyes from closing.

Need me to fall down so you can climb your hero ladder Piecing together with hindsight and defining current based on the past. God is the universe. Universe is your head. God in your head. Put it together running backward. Unless you are too busy, invested in what has been placed in front of you. Born into it? Easy way out, you have an escape---which strangely enough, you understand that you need because you lie to yourself daily, nightly. Excuse, blame, remain in the between, no stand where you say you have one and no morality that you say you’re built on. (this must be complicated and divide the brain: how can you take the easy way out and achieve your individuality? By functioning as part of a group that will do the same?) Circular lies and bullshit. Back to the influence. Here you go, ranting, angry. Society-–re-evaluate terms and requirements of sanity. Groups.individ./if it can get so messed up between two, imagine the complications in society. Scapegoating, blame.

One chance to get everything right, forces you to remember that you are alive for the first and last time.

Dogville. People turning a hate by neglect into necessary hate by/and dependence. It is a commentary on America and its values. Using. Capitalism. People are dispensable on the way up. But who is going up? Morals become guillotines. Is dogville the effect of these fears on society- our special brand of evolved and rapidly catalyzed denial? Yes. If you look at what it represents/portrays: capitalism. Bigger SUVs and less concern. Denying the critterdom. Showing your status/importance/individuality and immortality by using others carelessly, recklessly, etc.

That guy on the subway and how disgusting I found his creaturely-ness.
In the Places you go, see place you’re from
Faces you meet, place where you’ll die
On day you die, see people you knew
In the Faces you see, see who you’ve been
I know where you’re from, but where do you belong?
In this life like weeds, You’re the dirt I breathe.
Heart is made of strings to be pulled.
Mind made of strings to be pulled.
Afraid of own life- disappointment in getting what you want?
No one knows the ones they love.
Hard to remember that we’re alive for the first time-
Hard to remember that we’re alive for the last time.
Hard to remember to live before you die.
Hard to remember that our lives are such a short time.
Hard to remember when it takes such a long time.
This is the way some thing are: example: I like this.
My hell comes from inside myself, why fight this?

. Good luck, I hope.

oktober...

And so it goes. Helen and I were in a car accident during my visit. I am sitting on my couch wearing the scary cat pjs that she gave me as a memento. She also gave matching stationery. Sweet. The PTSD discussions: priceless, you know. I don’t want to write very much because it only ever seems to downplay or “poopoo” or make a joke of the sincerity. So I won’t continue. Those who know and care do just that. October full of thought, pregnant with anticipation of? Recovery? Can’t even say that- too? I’m asking future questions of you and you are making your house in the past. Someone I know has a new house of the future. She makes it up with someone else and they push it over hills to find the right spot. But they never do, it always finds them first. You’ll see that. I tried to tell her but she laughed because its ok. Its fine to not talk and not see when you live in your own house that can move over hills and circle out onto the water. If you let yours do it’s rounds, you would see that. you’ll see that.

So we go. July, July. I thought I began already but perhaps it is lost. I have no idea if or when this will be seen, so I stutter. No, I stutter anyway. I have changed rooms and am uncertain as to what to do with myself when I’ve nothing directly in front of me or my list is gone. There are too many spiders in my room. I wonder if they’ve been biting me at night; I have a large bite on my hip/ass that is not clearly definable as mosquito or spider. All the things I want to do: money and time are a necessity. Not in excess- -à drive perhaps too, though.

I don’t consider things in writing as often as I should. In writing I am finding that I have obviously thought often of many subjects, developing opinions and ideas, but neglected to follow through by not putting it down somewhere to look at and manipulate. Tomorrow I will walk to the back of the property at K’s old house and look around. It’s been a while. Also, wheel, kiln, cats.

∞ its crazy. End of July, nothing very different. I want to be somewhere. I might be lost in time but just not quite enough- does this make sense? I am not utterly lost, just barely lost. And barely is not enough. I am tied now to many things, people. Most of which/whom I do not want to be tied to. All the d’s are fine. Looking back, I see that I did the cats. The kiln/wheel I have been less motivated about. I did look at the shack in the middle of the back. I am not certain why. I think I went under the assumption that it could be easy to get some electricity back there for the pottery idea. filled with the stench of offal and thick with wasps and poison plants. I ran home through the corn because the sky was benighted with the threat of rain. But what I started this with was an idea that escaped before I could pin it- about st. john’s and how to approach it. I thought, honestly, that it would be very different from the others but in fact, it is quite similar to both… all three in its questions. I suppose what I like most about it is that it introduces the questions in a very matter-of-fact manner that makes me more comfortable and more inclined to answer in a most natural manner. A discussion- if only between my inner and outer being. Simple, not stone, honest and fun.

And yet I feel somewhat helpless. I think it is the lack of immediacy and at-hand antics. It is something that I want to do on the fly, but only if there is no chance of losing. This one, I care about and want to win. This THIS, I want to work. All of this. What I have now, see now, and the potential of good. That, I want.

juni:

I’m writing big and you’ll be able to see it. No excuses, like driving drunk and (w)recklessly, for not seeing. There were things in May that I know I was thinking of and just never got around to writing- I’m upset with myself for not having done so. I wrote them somewhere, though, right? Or do I have to try and remember? It doesn’t matter…those things are swimming around anyway. I wrote and sent Don a letter; because I felt like it. I don’t know what it says anymore. I didn’t even read it over before posting. I recently went to the gym with May and it felt great- better than all other recent gym attempts; I felt like I really did something but it was so easy. Perhaps she can be Jason a few more times with me while he is gone. I have to take care of my kitty. The barn is waiting with the other cat mewing inside. But don’t call her by her name- I want her to remain just as she is for all of us. Once named, it could change the whole thing all around/ spare parts, you.

I have spare parts for you. I’m giving them all and you’re taking them and throwing me back your own bones to share. We share one another’s burdens and neither complains nor hesitates. And sometimes it feels a little funny walking with your femur, but its just because I am not entirely used to it yet…and you are taller than me.

∞ Did I write to you about spare parts? I gave you something as tangible as words can be- or as the thoughts they create when you read them. I gave her a marriage in life and I can share one or two more. Tonight, though, I should be running and dripping sweat, slightly poisoned. Tonight I am angry, furious even. Tonight I wished I was so loose, detached, under-burdened. I thought of the human race dying and the universal expansion solving problems instantly. Mother nature, Indian giver. Indian princess if you please…it won’t matter then. If it’s frustration at these specific things, can it all inevitably lead back to me? If it does, what about D.’s question? And who started this body of ideas that is just a figment? And the figments of this body…do they too create their own? Are those, then, realistically bodies? Here we come to definitions and ambiguity. D., where is your letter? I tried to give you an explanation, but I miss my targets when I so badly want to hit them. Perhaps caring is my punishment and curse. I try not to but then bite myself wherever it is necessary and sooner than I’d like. If you, figment, idea, body, would open the door to my spleen, could it help me open it to my OWN self? How do you know if it started?

I’ve been pointing at myself all night and the hardest part is that there is no solution- so I’ve got the perfect problem…the never –ending proof…isn’t that what I always wanted? No. because remember the satisfaction from those that did have a solution? I just wanted them slightly longer, tougher. And so by this, I maybe have not given sufficient time. I am not entirely cynical, believe. And somehow I still have this desire, still please myself with this certain mystery.

∞ its funny: the concern that you bring now: not that interesting. But the other, that is growing, changing, feeling really nice, new, refreshing. But slow. Is that what is new? Nice, refreshing? More I think.

Yesterday I suggested to my father that he cut his big toe from his right foot. It is a damaged foot, damaged toe. I forget, a tractor maybe, rolling, crushing, but the point is that now there is a bolt in it and the joint barely moves and it swells up, causing pain and a slight limp. He does not recognize the affectation- although he is almost surely honest in that it doesn’t seem to impress anyone other than as a memorable fact. Then again, the memory is almost always rather fond.

∞ I am combining shades of yellow and white in my stomach today. There are a few drops of blue too…that should make for a pretty green somewhere. Too nice to give up, though…no reason either.

∞ when you dream in another language, other languages, what are you to do? You are accessing space, ever expanding (one hopes), ever changing, growing, space. At times the ropes, trails are foggy and your grasp or footing weak, loose, but you are there, something is tangible.

Sometimes you feel like you are on a roll- you know you’ve said it, put it down in a way that you can call it yours without erasing it with a name. It symbolizes some (sum) of your parts, spare or shared or covered deep. Sometimes too, you know you will ask a question you hate to ask but deeply want answered positively. With arms wide open. With legs wide open. With wrapping you up intentions and filling you up and chiding you on and cushioning you properly- for many falls…inevitable wounds. You ask for help in advance-scarring techniques and melding, welding, shielding techniques- but proper.

mai

∞ It’s May.
Sandcastles and fireworks over the weekend.
Kota chased a young deer into Mecox Bay.
And me? I melted in the cold. A one-dog-night.
Foggy Sunday, big blanket;
Warm, soft, enveloping body-
A beautiful new friend.

Simple, simple, simple.

∞The survival of the farmhouse and the protective mountains after a cool and rainy evening was a funny suggestion. What’s necessary? What’s there.

∞ at a time- when I have so much to write, to express when I am full, o the brim- overflowing even- with a need for expression, it seems that I have avoided the machine and so avenged the pen.

I have written two poems mornings. Poems, something I haven’t dared touch- Since high school- Poems that were foreign to me for so long- Poems have come back without the icy layer That kept them safe so long.

And as much as I hate to say it, to tell you that you may have been right, more often I am feeling like a writer, a prostitute for prose, than I ever dreamed I would again. My only fear is that I have no right as I may not know as much as writers should to profess too much of the ways of the ways of the wayfarers-

But in making that very statement, I feel I know enough. And I think of the others around me who know what they know as well as I know what I don’t. I feel a level level.

∞I’m exhausted and I just got here. Perhaps it is just that I weigh less, but more, I think it is the day. It is so frighteningly (and seemingly suddenly) beautiful here- the day of clear blue and that jolting spring green and the night, midnight, full of stars that lights make invisible. It smells good and the air feels right.

Tonight, with Petra, I went to “I’m not scared”(Io Non Ho Paura), an Italian film. Too nice cinematography but lovely insect and child use. I was crying. Not throughout, but at certain times through and naturally, at the end.

I avoided my neighbor completely and not entirely accidentally. Lots of –ly’s tonight. Lots of lots of things.

∞ It is nice to start things off right. Or when they do. Passive here. I was wavering moments ago between this or the notebook- I wish I didn’t. I feel like there should be nothing that can’t be here; nothing that should be mine alone. I have to think of it like that. I drew for D. my recent thought process. Fittingly, on a paper towel. It looks just right, no perfect circles, only lopsided with branches. I keep imagining that I hear the cicadas coming out of the ground. Last night I took Kota on a 2 in the morn walk and found that I was so exhausted, it felt like tripping. The ground looked so clear, bright. I swore then that I saw some things moving under the top layer and that I heard the cicadas digging out. Doug Martsch is playing in the background now. I am sleeping and heading out to the beach tomorrow with the girl and the boy. A promising weekend. I should extract from the purple thought notes and give some here. It will be available to those who want it, but only sporadically- it enables a smooth transition to addiction.

∞ I am trying to sell my computer via EBAY. It sounds like pig Latin, doesn’t it? I am having a hard time finding out about the meaning of the three nudes on horseback painted by James Michael Newell. D- said something about muses- perhaps they are muses- um, reps of the elements? earth, fire, what? Fire, water, what? Wind? Earth wind and fire? Ha. There is a collision to speak of, an attack. Funny that it should be on an earth wind and fire trip that my parents collide and begin the strange creation of their marriage by four other explosions and lots of personalities. We’ve been changing since. And before, but that matters less. What’s to come is enough to wonder on its own. Suddenly legs sprout and it begins to run around stealing beer from the window-sills at your gathering and although it is small, it isn’t overcome by the alcohol- just encouraged and giggly with its round, distended little belly.

∞ tonight driving in the heat, summer in the southern gateway, upon turning into the driveway I got that Canada road feeling- late-night after long drives, strange sounds…workshop playing well with the noises of the outside world…I stopped at Lloyd’s drive and put on the parking brake to watch the fireflies. I got the feeling that no matter what, we are going to lose everything. Surely it was to do with the Canada feeling. I loved it, its gone. There is a smaller, less nostalgic piece left, of course, but not the thing I grew up in and loved so. We have been feeding the cicadas to the dogs- they hunt them too…they love them. Clancy heard a woman on the radio saying that they taste like asparagus and so no wonder the dogs like them so much. I like the older ones that make noise when you pick them up. Kota does too- they are more fun. They fly better.

I wrote my letter to J, but I am not sure if it will get to her. I don’t know if I’ll leave it. I feel stuffed right now. I don’t like it. I think I will try a short fast after tomorrow’s breakfast with Clance-any. I will have to look one up.

∞ no fast. That’s good maybe. I am in Brooklyn again. It is hot and I am exhausted yet awake and happy.

∞ back in Long Island. Spent the night at D’s last night. He suggested that I post my letter to J on my website as a compromise…thanks, D.

I have waffled over whether or not to give or even write this letter to you- mostly as I’d like to avoid upsetting my mother and aggravating your distaste for her (she even lacks taste in your eyes, doesn’t she?).

I was struck by your comment that my mom should stay home and work “that week” so that she can pay back the money she owes you. Novel indeed. If you think for one second that she wants to owe you (or is it C?) anything, no more proof is necessary, I KNOW you are delusional. Although it must be difficult for you to understand as it is so far removed from your own reality, I can vouch that my mom works harder in one week than you probably ever have in your entire life. I know that sometimes she has a hard time focusing on particular tasks, which often makes things unnecessarily harder, but she works. She is not perfect; she struggles every day to keep her head above water, and most days, the only things that keeps her from just letting go and drowning are her children.

I know your issues with her go far deeper than money and beach date requests (I am the one who so quickly responded to GA’s email- my mom has not had time to even check hers for roughly three weeks). I know there is probably nothing I can do to get it through to you that she loves you and cares about you and does not want to hurt you. I wish you could see that your behavior makes you seem delusional, manipulative, narcissistic, and completely devoid of the ability to truly, deeply care for or understand another human being (or like, in your own words, “a loser Nazi with no friends”), and thus you manage to alienate yourself from the people who care most about you…or would if you could begin to let them. Mostly, I am sorry that your damaged psychology alienates your children from people that would love to love them.

I digress. The point is this: we can’t all afford to not work most of our lives and then escape our lack of satisfaction by taking a week in Paris and another in Belize…then another in Paris. Nor can we afford a babysitter by hiding in our rooms for the better part of each day or by shopping or just being nasty. My mom works hard day in and day out (what a novel idea) and is lucky if she manages to get two full days of anything close to relaxation in her short lucky-if-its-annual trip to Long Island. For what? A bitter sister that hates her and jabs a beautiful, bony elbow into her ribs as soon as the opportunity arises…and four kids that love her. The very least I could do was to request beach time for the only dates during which she might manage to escape.

Under developed, I know…but mom was right…at least a little cathartic. Good for that. I am in Long Island now and it makes me feel funny to know that in a few days she will be here and I will not have left her this piece of my mind. I like to leave pieces of my mind. I like to leave them, but would like each to be tread over- at least slightly, rather than be ignored or unnoticed completely. Although- even if they are, I seem to give them enough attention. Oh, but maybe not…maybe that is part of my problem. Mmm, it’s gonna be cold tonight. Three dog but one would do but the one I prefer is in a neighboring state. Neighboring states. Can a state do that? An emotional one, I mean. I suppose they are always lingering, waiting, neighboring. They are lurking and haunting. Or they are all the same thing, one continuous, flowing, ever-changing state. It needs no neighbors.

∞ it is no longer May, but I have May things to say. I will put them to June, Juni.

april... : two

Right, here we go…

∞The ∞ oh-ohhhh dreeeeamweaver! I believe you can get me through the ni-ight! My hands smell like josh tonight. That’s a strange thing. And pleasant. I’ve been dramatic lately. Ted suggested that I should be a character. He said he wants to spread the experience, make sure people get some of me. It’s a nice thought, but how? A character. I could do stand up...I think he thought more along the lines of a cartoon/comic type thing. I am afraid that if that were to happen, the character would end up being pseudo-tough and stylized as such. And it’s the stylization that I wouldn't agree with ('couldn't' might be the more appropriate word). I would need help with the development of this character as I can't see myself as others see me, only as I do. This would almost certainly color the creature wrong. I found a picture of cherry pie today. It colors the creature wrong. What the shit. Who says that anymore? The last time I remember hearing anything even similar was in an Eddie Murphy deal that was filmed in the 80's. So what happened? I guess there must be a reason for its disappearance. What the fuck rolls well. Fuck rolls better. Fuck rolls butter, butter fuck rolls, butter-fuck rolls. Sleep is upon me.

…

∞ ecstasis, staircase. More than simple circles, its spirals. Part and parcel of your hole. I have a feeling that the nausea will resemble many of my own thoughts and it makes me wonder if Sartre did in fact feel these things as intensely, or if he just picked up on the times that he felt more in this manner and elaborated, expanded, on the tougher ends. Like in Bukowski, these things seem to be autobiographical, but at least slightly exaggerated. And what is that anyway? Exaggeration. Who is to say that it is not exactly how it was for that person? If the memory is all that is left of the physical instant/moment, than it is the only truth. Swear me in, I believe what I remember and remember what I believe. But...then there are those things that you simply cannot convince yourself of. You have taken them to the point just before entirely believing them, but can't get past the last bump on the road to delusion. Good or bad. Some days I start to wonder if I am there and that is when I realize that I am exactly not. How can I be aware of such a discrepancy with belief in my right hand? I can't. Then I know that belief is really hiding under my left foot and only under a few toes. Two and a half, perhaps. Nausea. A fascinating thing. Unmistakable sensation to make one aware of some ill process without permits, a strange invasion, your hopes come true, fears realized, bad decisions. A feeling you get in the world from the world, in the world's context.

…Continued

∞ tonight was wild. It was my grandfather's 70th birthday party. I won't go into details, but the fact that one of my aunts called one of my uncles a loser Nazi with no friends before storming out with her three children in tow should give you a very rough idea of part of it. All in all, I found it rather refreshing and interesting from a psychological standpoint. The cake was good. Today at the occ store, a kid came in and watched Clancy moving little bunny cookies around on a tray, making more room. He was so pleased with them...I think he looked at her and said 'wow', then after a moment, "I am five years old and my name is Daniel but I like Pokemon cards." conversation over. Simple, straight to the point, honest. Funny that it sounded like a personal ad you might find in the KIDS Post section of the paper. Daniel knows what he likes: bunny cookies and Pokemon cards. Also, the conjunctions are interchangeable. The more I think about that, the more I like the idea...such a free use of language. He gets his point across and leaves you with something to think about. Did he say 'but'? Did he mean that, or did he not know or care? He said it in rapid-fire succession. This makes me think more that he lacks a complete understanding of the meaning of those words and had something he needed to get across- very important- before he could go any further with the back and forth that had begun with he and my sister. Only children do this.

∞ bulleted list of things that are wrong here:

∆can't pick up the phone without asking if Tyson is on the internet ∆Tyson is always on the internet ∆Tyson no longer goes to school ∆my parents can't communicate ∆no money to get things done so they can make money ∆lack of discipline ∆lack of organization ∆lack of concern ∆Tyson barely reads and writes ∆he also thinks he owns the place

Ok...there is obviously a pattern here. It always comes back to- yes; I do seem to be having juvenile anger issues with my brother today. Actually, make that just about every time I come home to visit. Is it because he truly dislikes me, or that he has slightly less of his way when I am home that makes him act so shitty with me? My guess is the latter, and not just to make myself feel better. Tyson has no structure here and my parents aren't focusing on that problem long enough to even start thinking about it. I’d call it an obscure/ambiguous form of abuse. Ambiguity is something I usually think of in really good terms and often...because I think it has potential to go many directions. In this particular case, it will probably turn out ok in the long run. Until then, though, it just looks and feels terrible. What else?

There are a few things that I mean to do and keep not doing: call Sarah Ferreter, call Alex, get my money, pay some bills, go back to NY (tomorrow), figure it out. The last one is pretty big, so I haven't really expected to finish it, but I’d like to make myself get a better start. One of the biggest reasons (aside from the list of things that are wrong here) that I am anxious to get back tomorrow is that I want to get the mail. I am hoping to have received some notification from someone. Fuck. I don't know what to do if I get into neither.

Getting along…

∞ thinking about a bunch of things right now, unsettling myself. $. I think I have that covered for now, so I will not dwell...just know that it is on my mind.

Next, EROS: it is impossible for him to get what he wants if, as soon as it is had, he no longer wants it. Meditate.

Taxes.... solved. Tomorrow meeting with Jon who has ever so graciously offered to do this free of charge.

School-->nervous when I came home to 2 notices that my transcripts were missing form my application. Yikes. I called and they said that they did in fact receive the transcripts and that there was nothing else missing from the application...but for some reason this gave me a bad feeling. Why? I suppose I feel that if I were going to be accepted, they would have done so by now. But perhaps this is just me being paranoid and full of confusion.

Thrilled with josh's gift to me: set of Proust's 'in search of lost time'. He was telling me about these books and how impressive they were and to me this means something very flattering and made me very happy. I started the intro last night, later than I should have, and am very anxious to jump in.

Now I must go use my credit card- incurring debt so as to no starve.

∞ I forgot to write the other day, when I was home, that I had dreamt that I was a raspberry. I was in a bowl with other raspberries and I was succulent and juicy...then I was being eaten, but by myself (as a person). I teased my dad and told him that I must be feeling neglected by him. This morning I saw a dog with flair- purple mardi gras beads. Kota needs something like that.

I am trying to decide when to sublet my apartment. People are looking already, it seems, and I could find someone right away if I needed to. Thing is, I would like to be able to come here in the summer sometimes, maybe.... but? I have no neeeeeed to be here, so I feel like I should sublet and save myself the money. That way I could also help my parents, etc.

~ I said something like: I think I always consume myself. I uttered it in written form. It became something more solid, some truth that I didn't know until I saw it. Like what I wrote about being right and how that works out. Or what I wrote about being unable to engage without being engaged. There seems to be this constant motion, evolutionary feeling, revolving emotion--> oh, is that my soul? I don't think it was there when I was a blastula. It is constant from one person to the next, but it is it there when you are a ball of cells, dividing? Is it there upon collision? Whose collision. I think I accidentally found where it becomes arguable. Shit. And like most everything, it has to be taken on a case-by-case basis. See, it never has to be passionate and can actually be so unfortunate. Lazy collisions, fast, danger, pain collisions. Sweet collisions, soft, tough, right collisions. Take your pick; they're all 50-50. At least the last two weeks. Sometimes 1 in 100. But who's counting when it counts? Its amazing how half-assed we can be when it comes to life and death near the extremes when all around the edges we take the most useless precautions and straight to our hearts. Funny what your psychology nests itself in. you know, sometimes, you sense an insecurity in someone who so steadily and solidly seems to reject the possibility- and really they are doing things they hope you're not. And you probably aren't. I know I’m not. But when you realize this, you want to. Break away. Because you got hurt by someone that is damaged and it’s spreading.

And I mostly lack focus. In many areas.

∞ or maybe not lack of focus. Maybe, too much focus on detail, concern for some grand great scheme, theme. When really, all the multitude of ideas and things are potential masterpieces in their own ways for many reasons. No schema. Just infinite realms and worlds.

∞ it’s not so bad being in a designated room. I thought I wanted to sleep in the living room and that I liked it better for a few reasons, but it might just have been that it was downstairs...where I already was. Am I so lazy?

I have made an important discovery: it’s not an itch- it’s a plea.

So we were talking just now: what did that mean to the person who wrote: the father, the son, the holy ghost. That trinity of nonsense. I said- oh, no, it’s something more; it may have meant something far more important, something far less tangible. It was a snake, consuming itself. It was infinity, a circle, etc. you, Tyson, carter. And someone didn't understand. It was blown way out of proportion, out of context. A mass thinks it gets it, feels something. Unwitting brainwash, accidental. Sorry. Now jesus is god and an egg is the chicken. But I suppose that is really how it has always been.

∞ the computer is moving so slow tonight. Not unbearably, but amazingly. I suppose it is one of those things that simply happens at times and you must put up with. It has me thinking about ways to be more kind to it. Or not. Maybe just slow down a bit myself. But I keep hating the moments when I am on a train of thought and it begins to develop, then poof, distraction loses it for me and I try for some minutes to fog myself over enough for the thought to come back. Its funny- it has worked. Like I step back from my processing for a bit, but keep a vigil on what is slowly ebbing. As soon as its clam foot oozes over the neuropathway, I snap it up and immediately go to work- like a spider wrapping its freshly snagged prey. Needless to say, I don’t remember any of those hard-won thoughts now, but I want it to be known that I am working at managing these things better. I am learning.

∞ there were a few things...the night I was angry...that I wanted to remember. One was about writing down the dream that I had of popcorn and josh and everything. The others are lost on me now. I hate that. Oh one was about prison- the Lorton prison and driving by it and what I would do to it.

And the next day...today, I wanted to remember this thing in my head: we found it, frog chorus, inhale like surprise, chorus again, etc. I think there was another line. We found it and something. I wrote it down in the car, though.

I find myself thinking that as much as I wish people were just people, I have a hard time being a person myself. Too much cramming (thoughts, looks, opinions, you know too well, Rilke) and not enough ease. Ease, slip, caress, slide.

Ah, Rumi, it is time:

Last night you left me and slept
your own deep sleep. Tonight you turn
and turn. I say,
"You and I will be together
till the universe dissolves."
You mumble back things you thought of
when you were drunk.

∞ I want my book. without it, I might feel like a liar. because with it, I reassure myself that I am. sometimes when I think that liars scare me, I realize that being scared is synonymous with being exposed. Not over or under, just out.

look at your heart and tongue
one feels but deaf and dumb
the other speaks in words and signs

my beloved grows
right out of my own heart
how much more union can there be

That’s the thing, though, right out of your own heart. That might only be ok if you grow out of theirs. Who are you making up? Who is making up you? So maybe it doesn't matter who you are...because I will be making you up anyway. And you me. So how do I stop caring who I am? Stop looking in the mirror, do whatever else you want. More importantly...how do I stop caring who you've made me up to be?

∞ It’s a new night and hot. I am fairly certain that my NYU letter will be one of rejection. This doesn’t bother me very much. Its what I truly expected. Not that it wouldn’t feel great to get in, just that it doesn’t feel that bad not to. Even so, I feel more inspired than most nights. Perhaps this is due to the new friends I’ve been passively making (aside from one that I more actively forced a pepper upon). Perhaps it is the warm weather and numerous days full of potential that lay themselves at my feet as soon as I turn my mind’s eye toward them. Does that count? I’m making it all up in the end anyway, aren’t I?

Tonight I am juicy and delectable. Feeling volatile in the best of ways. Alert and ready for a change in the wind, a thunderstorm, an eclipse.

He set the world aflame,
And laid me on the same;
A hundred tongues of fire
Lapped round my pyre.

And when the blazing tide
Engulfed me, and I sighed,
Upon my mouth in haste
his hand he placed.

Rumi speaks of god, I speak of something even less tangible.

∞ it is uncanny and beautiful when you meet someone that shares the love of your favorite books. You know the frustration that comes with the knowledge that almost everyone you tell about these things that you love will take it no further? You want so badly to express your passion about these things, but you are never able to and the hope that was so high eventually gives way to the doubt that held its sharp tongue in the back row for so long. Oh, but when it goes the other way and this passion is common to you both, it feels like a soft, light blanket, rich in color and smell, lifting you up and holding you down in the most tender forced play you’ve felt in so long. The muscles in your cheeks will hurt and your focus will be shattered like the glass in the kitchen that fell when you ran through the dark and tripped on your dog while trying to hold on to that focus.

∞ isn’t it strange that if you should tell someone that you love them and miss them, they think they owe you something and it feels to them like a burden? I think that is a sad statement; a sad reflection of society’s preconceptions. Nothing need be reciprocated and to what extent? Who is to say the kind of love or longing that is present? You may think very highly of yourself in all respects, but this doesn’t mean there is truth in it. Stay.

∞ Dear sweet something. To quote Mr. Buckley “Oh, that was so real”.

Even in this world of lies, I’m still hopeful, very sexy. Very sexy. Very sexy. These poets, artists, all of them- the writers and singers and linguists- all of them. Very sexy, the poets.

march (2003? 2004? : the first.

∞ i think i need a new language. everyone has a language, right? you have your vocabulary for every subject...the combined arts being one of the largest. science, that is a big one. wonder which would win in a fight to the death. tyson might have the answer. he got the action, he got the motion, well the boy can play. dedication, devotion. turning on the nighttime into the day. the walk of life, dire straights. but what i started was vocab, language. lets make it a project to use the more ambiguous vocab from our regular world and give it meaning in a new language. not just slang and not just new definitions for old words (but yeah, a lot of that)- whole new shit too. its harder than you think. we've all got a few words of our own. i am going to start a dictionary page, ok? send me ideas and words at your leisure { by e- or snail-mail } and i will be sure to add, comment, post asap.

∞ i'm trying to think more of myself. its time to be an active influence in my own future- to a greater extent. i have been with my family on tha farm for two nights. the first night driving back from work i nearly ran over a cat. this evening on my way back, i just missed a bunny. i can't help feeling like tomorrow i am going to destroy something and that i should begin to prepare myself. and preparing myself, i will develop a neuro-pathway that had begun some time ago, but was stunted when i stopped driving as much. my real concern lies with a more important pathway under which there is an urgency, a time limit, that cannot help but be heeded. move forward, doll. i'm trying.

archives, coming soon and slowly.

i plan on posting some old stuff from my website that i never finished all those years ago. i want to bring them back for myself so that i may access them more easily and remind myself of a thing or two and where i was so that i may know where i'm going. perhaps it will give me some inspiration to start up again? or not. there are some many tools out there- like this- that make it easy. i suppose if i put any effort in that the other might be easy as well.... we'll see where i go with that. gimme a little time.

but where do you belong?

there is a detached wing past the asparagus, at the turn in our field near the meeting of a creek and the potomac river-
it has been in roughly the same place for weeks maybe, but each time i pass it (mornings running by with ume) it has moved.
usually the move is a subtle one; the kind you blame your imagination for conjuring.
sometimes it has flipped completely over, but by the time it gets flipped back you'll blame your brain again.
i want to do something with this wing but haven't even touched it for not having decided with certainty what would suit it best. i like the idea of holding it up invisibly and out of place in the sky as if it could go on by itself to it's southern vacation.
i don't know what happened. i don't suppose it matters.
it is what happens next that is now important.

livid vivid limes

strange how vivid can be the things i don't remember.
livid can be the non-rememberer.
my lists are growing longer but my house is getting warmer, so something must be going right. i'm not sure the last time i felt as warm. my guess is that it was in 2005... maybe when i was married to the unknown, then so beautiful, now so gone. it's a welcome return. my mixed up family has begun talking and we're getting our circus-act together for some undetermined show-date. the communication is mostly through imagery, but what else? perfect sense.
i'm sending back your things; all of them.
everything else is mine and i'll claim.