Breaking Irving's bicycle with twigs.
Well, I feel like a grape
with peeled-off grape-y skin:
liberated, but softer
to forks jabbing in.
Monday, August 31, 2009
4:20 AM
Monet's gardener probably wore gloves.
You swear you've been
born fresh a hundred times,
but, baby, can you even remember
when a hundred was a big number? You make meaning
out of what you're
given, and you've done a good job
selecting your stimuli. There's no hope
for people like us these days.
You swear you've been
born fresh a hundred times,
but, baby, can you even remember
when a hundred was a big number? You make meaning
out of what you're
given, and you've done a good job
selecting your stimuli. There's no hope
for people like us these days.
4:16 AM
Scolding the FutureMouse.
It was just tonight
(it took all the way till tonight!) that I
realized that all
my friends are daydreamers
and all your friends
are felons, and maybe it's got
something to do
with the ways we were raised, but
everyone had
a bad childhood, and that's hardly
an excuse, anymore.
It was just tonight
(it took all the way till tonight!) that I
realized that all
my friends are daydreamers
and all your friends
are felons, and maybe it's got
something to do
with the ways we were raised, but
everyone had
a bad childhood, and that's hardly
an excuse, anymore.
4:13 AM
There's no such person as Alice.
I had a dream,
I had a dream,
but what does it mean?
I painted rubber cement
o'er the mouth of a queen.
I dripped dribbles,
smeared squiggles;
I pasted her quiet
with dismal drizzling.
No more giggling or
chin-wiggling from that
fat Cheshire Cat-of-a-thing!
Her orders then had borders:
the corners of her food-hoarder.
I had a dream,
I had a dream,
but what does it mean?
I painted rubber cement
o'er the mouth of a queen.
I dripped dribbles,
smeared squiggles;
I pasted her quiet
with dismal drizzling.
No more giggling or
chin-wiggling from that
fat Cheshire Cat-of-a-thing!
Her orders then had borders:
the corners of her food-hoarder.
4:07 AM
The gravy train leaves town the same time as the other trains.
I've been staring at your father's
bedroom ceiling for
weeks now, forming right triangles
from the bumps in
the paint, but only now, in the very early
dawn, do I understand
that this habit is
only a feeble attempt to
make something right. It makes me
a little sick
to say, but when I find
myself confronted
by someone eager to spill
his story, to have a moment of
complete
vulnerability in the presence of another, I also find
myself half-listening while the other half
of my attention, the real part, is
critically rating his jawline
on a scale of one-to-five.
I've been staring at your father's
bedroom ceiling for
weeks now, forming right triangles
from the bumps in
the paint, but only now, in the very early
dawn, do I understand
that this habit is
only a feeble attempt to
make something right. It makes me
a little sick
to say, but when I find
myself confronted
by someone eager to spill
his story, to have a moment of
complete
vulnerability in the presence of another, I also find
myself half-listening while the other half
of my attention, the real part, is
critically rating his jawline
on a scale of one-to-five.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
1:23 PM
Today, I learned that in order to get the shredder to make confetti from the brightly-colored post-it notes, you have to insert them with the sticky strip on the side so they don't get stuck in the slot and cause the machine to fly into a fit of beeps and blinking lights. The sad part is that the confetti was for a small party I was going to have during my lunch for the folder full of documents that do not belong to any of the parties directly involved in the case, a folder unceremoniously marked "No Party". Subsequently, I also learned that if there is a tiny face with a frown drawn next to the label on the No Party folder, my father becomes confused, then irritated.
It's been a productive day at the office.
It's been a productive day at the office.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
12:39 AM
The new year brings with it a strange array of possibilities. Maybe I'll force myself, kicking and screaming, to leave the comfort of my apartment and interact with my peers. Maybe I'll make a list of things I've never done before, things I find intimidating or believe to be impossible, and actually do them. Maybe I'll really hunker down, write everything I want to write, ace all my classes, blossom as a late-season social butterfly, stop self-medicating, and find happiness and a not-at-all-hokey sense of inner peace.
Of course, I'm currently doing nothing to prevent Jasmine, one of my freshman year roommates, from entertaining the notion of setting me up on a blind date with her dentist, so in all likelihood, I'll spend the coming year getting stoned and glaring at my phone from behind a pillow every time it rings.
Of course, I'm currently doing nothing to prevent Jasmine, one of my freshman year roommates, from entertaining the notion of setting me up on a blind date with her dentist, so in all likelihood, I'll spend the coming year getting stoned and glaring at my phone from behind a pillow every time it rings.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
12:57 PM
I don't feel like a real person.
My apartment got broken into Friday at three in the morning. Rachel, Colleen and I were home. I saw one of the guys hanging off of the railing on my front porch, and I screamed at him to get off my house. He jumped off backward, and I chased four of them down the street barefoot, but I lost them about five blocks down because they were on bicycles. They made off with a couple of bags, a couple of wallets and a hunting knife, which they apparently used to slash the screens to our bedroom windows.
It worked out to be kind of the best case scenario, considering they were trying to get into the living room where we were when I saw them, and we have roughly twenty-five grand worth of musical equipment and electronics in our living room. The other good thing that came out of the robbery debacle is that now we know that the three of us can clear our apartment of all illegal items and get them to friends' houses in under ten minutes if the police are scheduled to show up.
I've been on a wicked Magnetic Fields kick for the last month or so. It's really starting to affect my ability to function.
My apartment got broken into Friday at three in the morning. Rachel, Colleen and I were home. I saw one of the guys hanging off of the railing on my front porch, and I screamed at him to get off my house. He jumped off backward, and I chased four of them down the street barefoot, but I lost them about five blocks down because they were on bicycles. They made off with a couple of bags, a couple of wallets and a hunting knife, which they apparently used to slash the screens to our bedroom windows.
It worked out to be kind of the best case scenario, considering they were trying to get into the living room where we were when I saw them, and we have roughly twenty-five grand worth of musical equipment and electronics in our living room. The other good thing that came out of the robbery debacle is that now we know that the three of us can clear our apartment of all illegal items and get them to friends' houses in under ten minutes if the police are scheduled to show up.
I've been on a wicked Magnetic Fields kick for the last month or so. It's really starting to affect my ability to function.
Monday, August 24, 2009
10:17 AM
It's like when I spot a live ant carrying a dead ant, and I wonder whether the dead ant is being taken to be eaten or given a proper burial, and I remember that it all depends on the species.
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