oh boy
oh boy ohboyohboyohboy
i am quickly coming to understand the perils of life being too good
speedily comprehending the dangers of being too understood
and by this i mean
i have no fucking clue
how i got to a spot
where i'm revered by you
and you and you and you and you
the flesh and bones of the perfection that i'm experiencing through and through
and the way it exists
is like these knots in my back
constantly there
and not giving me any slack
in regards to how to fix
what's not housing a single hairline crack
a life without holes
lets no air in
so if you find my mind laid down in a gutter
smiles aligned
with a shudder
don't bother taking my pulse.
it'd be a waste of your time.
Friday, October 26, 2007
one one
i probably should have told you that this book would be like a hand game of slide on crack cocaine, or a bad record on repeat. one, two, three. one one, two two, three three. one one one, two two two, three three three. four. you get the gist of it. each setting owns its own number. i’m not going to be subtle about it. i’m just going to tell you straight out that where you start is exactly where you’ll end up, with a few mutations to your inner workings or additions to your deck of cards.
so welcome back. welcome, welcome, to the city that lives in the pupil of my eyes, from the city that lives in the peripheral of my vision. there are things stirring here, and they’ve been stirring for quite a while, like chocolate milk with half a spoonful of mix stubbornly sludging around at the bottom of the glass refusing to get along with the one percent. but in a rare instance of discipline, i’m going to keep them from you a little while longer. like the best investigative reports and the most beautiful rivers, everything trickles out in due time. only then you’re drowning in an ocean, wishing you’d just been patient. so i’m appointing myself your lifeguard. no running on deck, kids.
this book in front of our faces is everything. the bodies around me radiate their heat like softly burning stars? they are everything too. and the only thing that i’m not allowed to read will always be the thing i want to. isn’t that just how it goes? furthermore, the focus of the sunlight through our tear-stained windows is concentrated on the delicate nature of this situation, i’m sure you must have noticed. and i’m sorry, I’m sorry my nature is so delicate right now, but even though I look like glass, I’m really a diamond, strong and glinting, covered in fingerprints and spread over your eyes like a bandana, and you’re holding this stick in your hands like you’re miming a fight with a piñata, and I’m sure you must want what’s in it… but i just can’t tell if you’re being clumsy on purpose.
please, can you keep bumping into me?
if nothing else comes of it, i still like the way it feels.
so welcome back. welcome, welcome, to the city that lives in the pupil of my eyes, from the city that lives in the peripheral of my vision. there are things stirring here, and they’ve been stirring for quite a while, like chocolate milk with half a spoonful of mix stubbornly sludging around at the bottom of the glass refusing to get along with the one percent. but in a rare instance of discipline, i’m going to keep them from you a little while longer. like the best investigative reports and the most beautiful rivers, everything trickles out in due time. only then you’re drowning in an ocean, wishing you’d just been patient. so i’m appointing myself your lifeguard. no running on deck, kids.
this book in front of our faces is everything. the bodies around me radiate their heat like softly burning stars? they are everything too. and the only thing that i’m not allowed to read will always be the thing i want to. isn’t that just how it goes? furthermore, the focus of the sunlight through our tear-stained windows is concentrated on the delicate nature of this situation, i’m sure you must have noticed. and i’m sorry, I’m sorry my nature is so delicate right now, but even though I look like glass, I’m really a diamond, strong and glinting, covered in fingerprints and spread over your eyes like a bandana, and you’re holding this stick in your hands like you’re miming a fight with a piñata, and I’m sure you must want what’s in it… but i just can’t tell if you’re being clumsy on purpose.
please, can you keep bumping into me?
if nothing else comes of it, i still like the way it feels.
three
according to a colourful wes anderson movie, indian airports have temples in them.
i’ve never seen a temple in an airport, but for the purposes of this book, there was one in the rome fiumicino, trying very hard not to collapse.
there are lots of moments where life grabs us passionately by the collar, shoves us up against a wall, and makes us grow up. that is to say, it fucks us, and in the breathlessness of those moments, we don’t know that we’re getting better, realer, older, duller, less innocent, or sweatier. we just do it, grit our teeth, and hope we come out with our hearts in one piece.
a leisurely trip to italy, all expenses paid, hardly sounds like one of those moments. it sounds like a backrub, maybe, or a full-body massage, at best. but getting fucked over and grown up, shaken and sweaty? hardly. however, like i told you, you’re deep in the forest right now, this temple is cool and shady, and the way it welcomes light and opportunities is entirely dependant on its unique angles and positioning. so when i went to rome for two weeks in may, the light distortion was peaking over and under the sunset.
the linear progression of nausea went something like this:
running towards madness
on a gold-plated track
when things are most perfect is when they’re most dead
and dead things tend
to recall
dead people instead
and you can lay down your head
and you can bawl to the tuscan sky
and you can ask the venice cobblestones
why? why? why?
and the tears can flow
and the door can click shut
and the maid can sweep up this emotional rut
and we can drop euros
like soap, like bombs
and we can keep quiet and morph into our moms
and the david can watch
as it all floats to the top.
this may not be
just how you thought it would go
but it IS proof of the fact
that you never
really
know.
i’ve never seen a temple in an airport, but for the purposes of this book, there was one in the rome fiumicino, trying very hard not to collapse.
there are lots of moments where life grabs us passionately by the collar, shoves us up against a wall, and makes us grow up. that is to say, it fucks us, and in the breathlessness of those moments, we don’t know that we’re getting better, realer, older, duller, less innocent, or sweatier. we just do it, grit our teeth, and hope we come out with our hearts in one piece.
a leisurely trip to italy, all expenses paid, hardly sounds like one of those moments. it sounds like a backrub, maybe, or a full-body massage, at best. but getting fucked over and grown up, shaken and sweaty? hardly. however, like i told you, you’re deep in the forest right now, this temple is cool and shady, and the way it welcomes light and opportunities is entirely dependant on its unique angles and positioning. so when i went to rome for two weeks in may, the light distortion was peaking over and under the sunset.
the linear progression of nausea went something like this:
running towards madness
on a gold-plated track
when things are most perfect is when they’re most dead
and dead things tend
to recall
dead people instead
and you can lay down your head
and you can bawl to the tuscan sky
and you can ask the venice cobblestones
why? why? why?
and the tears can flow
and the door can click shut
and the maid can sweep up this emotional rut
and we can drop euros
like soap, like bombs
and we can keep quiet and morph into our moms
and the david can watch
as it all floats to the top.
this may not be
just how you thought it would go
but it IS proof of the fact
that you never
really
know.
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