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Showing posts from March, 2002
And it did. Sarah said that my melancholy would lead somewhere beautiful, and it did. I really tried to go to class, I did I did, but the clouds were just too beautiful so I went to Wicker Park and took a walk. While I was walking I got such an idea that it almost stopped me in my tracks it was so powerful. I AM A WRITER!!! There. It's going to happen. I'm not sure if I'm a teacher yet, but right now I am a writer, and I feel like a REAL writer. I was down yesterday, low. It was cold everywhere and I felt like a heel, took a nap but didn't sleep, couldn't look up, or make connections. But did you see the clouds today? ! They explode me. I was powerless to look away and I got a big idea while stumbling under them and exploring and walked around for an hour playing this idea through my head. It is a massive idea, the biggest thing I've ever had. Sarah came and helped me smile again. I love her. My jeans are muddy from making my own trail into t
I guess that things are okay. Can't seem to find anything wrong with them, but I seem to be living in cycles and cutting myself off gradually. I've read cycles, I don't have a cycle. Wake after long, bright dreams. Turn off the alarm. Prepare. Stumble into the snow. Look out across the yard into the clouds and breathe in. Ask for a great day. Drive somewhere. Lost in thought. Wander. Work reprieve work reprieve work reprieve longwalk work done. Find connection and hold on. A slow kiss goodnight. William Faulkner. Deep. I don't have a cycle. My brother is still gone, and I keep dreaming about him. Last night he was in Atlanta and I found a bass player whom I had just met but we knew each other well and we were gonna start a band but we had no drummer, Brian said he was in Atlanta staying in very pricey hotels, I drove a very very long way but never seemed to get where I was going, time is not linear. And I woke up to snow. Again. But it's okay.
The snow falls unhuried.
Today it seems that life is getting in the way dreams. Lonesome for some reason. I dreamt last night that my brother came back and he told me that he had been out on the road, traveling like I do, and had just returned from London, Ontario. Weird. My dad thinks his in Tampa. ? It's been a good, tired time lately, blurry and happy, fighting the weather and the clock. I tell you what. Let's not fight either anymore, okay? I rode my bike today, even though the weather is nothing special even if this were January, but because I have been fatigued and lethargic. Last night I was more tired than I've been ever. I couldn't function. I looked up Rowan Oak (the Oxford, Mississippi home of William Faulkner until his demise in '62.) Beautiful. Stately, pre-Civil War sturucture, surrounded by shady gardens and old oaks, towering and stately, everything green and warm. Today is not positive. Today I've been fighting the wind that's blowing me in a dozen
I have a cut on my tongue. Right at the end. You can't help raking it against your teeth to experience the tiny, terrible thrill of pain. I have NOTHING! I hate the sound the door makes behind me, kind of a squeaky thump. It sounds like a cut right on the end of my tongue, and I really do have nothing. I've been prolific today, churning out a review and a long Cubrants article, shopping, scraping my tongue on the backs of my teeth, pleading with middle schoolers for small pockets of sanity. Enya on the snowy way to school today. I felt very big, alive. The snow was delicious as I sucked down my daily glass of destiny and smiled in the mirror. What the hell was I gonna say? It's right there at the tip of my tongue. I want a nap. Last night I was in Africa, but it was not Madagascar. Some obscure country where the president is changed about every 5th day, driving around in Jeeps with open tops under open skies. It was a very moving night. Sand and air were f
My Dad is writing poetry again. He was a great writer but he never acted upon it and slowly his brain went out. But there are still a few rattling synapses sparking and humming, and I'm very proud of him for it. My brother is still missing in inaction, either a modern day Keroac or a modern day loser who walked out on his family. I hope he knows what he's doing. Sometimes you have to take big chances, but I hope he knows what he's doing. I went to Canada (London, Ontario) with the cute girl who works in the Language Lab. London's the type of place that doesn't make the news, and that suited me just fine. I was burned to a crisp, burned to a crisp, lights out in the bunker. I haven't really written in awhile, but I've seen the flashing lights which means that soon I will write. Sarah needed to get away too, and she had fun shuffling through the streets and eating in nice restaurants and playing the mosquitoe game. At least I think she did. We talk
i was working in the writing center wednesday i think when a guy walked in for help on his paper he told me over and over that i had to go slow 'cause he had a disability very soft-spoken mexican guy so intense and eager he wrote a paper on darwinism and his paper flowed logically but there were some sentence level errors we corrected them the paper was better at the end he had written a poem for his son to sort of bridge the rift between his belief in darwin's theories and his belief in christianity there was little or no punctuation and this gave it a stream of consciousness vibe unintentional brilliance he told me that his son was afraid of the dark but now he is with God where it is light i cant remember the poem exactly but it had something to do with his son getting bit by a goldfish a big goldfish and him putting a bandaid on his finger telling his son it would be all right telling him that God was with him punctuation would have ruined it it moved me profoundly it had s
Sarah had the audacity to tell me that I needed to update! Sarah! She updates 4 times this week and thinks she's cool? Well, it's actually been 4 times in the last 4 months or so. But I will anyway. After my last post, which no one understood but I loved, it's been hard to think about writing linearly. It was about writing. And TV. I'm so burned out. The birds are singing through the window. It's 10 'til 8 in the morning. They sound really great, the sun is on the wall. It suddenly feels like Spring. I'm going back to Canada, Sarah and I are going to Canada. Tomorrow. Dance. On lidded eyes. Swayundulationmovegroovedanceonliddedeyes!!! I blow out the lamp And am left in the dark The dry summer breeze whines in the eaves You are my spark And I am at ease In the river the water runs fragrant with music In the darkness of twilight I see the leaves folding The acrid smoke rises in the dawn of the evening The lanterns sputter on The gu
Bone. Sticking up out of the ground. Is it bone or just a rock? No, from here it looks like bone. The way the sun hits it. Like eyes in the dark, like eyes opening up in the darkness, dormant eyes still red with inactivity, definately BONE. He is so weary but picks up when he sees the bone. Obtruding from the ground. He runs his hand through his hair, shorter now, squatting by it seeing if the outline is visible in the dust. Now. Careful. If it is bone you want to be careful. Far off. He hears it, the way the sun hits it, the way far off, still far, far off, deep down where it is green and never turns brown, where bone looks only like bone where there are no mistakes about it, and they called her a bitch and a nigger and she turned her back and still had fun dancing in the rain because every house has its story and her's is beautiful. It was her birthday. Once you see the outline you know that it is bone.And you know that there is more bone under it. And under t