I’m sorry, I was cut off again. Time cut off that last thought, that last bit of speech from you, that sound bite, your letter. Weighing down on me tonight, heavily: sleep like ropes pulling me in, into something heavy, 12 hours. I probably ate too much for dinner and now everything else is out of whack. My hood is up because it’s cold and I write as fast as I can, with encouragement from others.
People can say whatever they like, my days really are eventful and exciting to me. Tonight’s adventure, before dinner, I roamed around the bookstore with nothing in particular in mind. I always love books about writing; they give me an extra boost of energy and confidence.
The train is pulling into the station, slowing down. God help us! Our place looks nicer and nicer as we add new bookshelves and fill them, and tack up posters.
Sinning in the mind. Wasting time. Sleeping. I’m writing out my Sunday prose, and reading, but my eyes are getting watery, heavy, heavy with food and doom and gloom, as if every speck of me is aware of what day it is tomorrow. I feel a flash of lightening.
Assassination. In your mind you can admit things to yourself, or put things away, things that should not be put away. They can be gone forever. One fine day a baseball comes through your front window smashing all the class everywhere, no one claiming it. The streets are cold and empty black. I force myself to sit up straight before I doze off and forget all this stuff. In order to stay focused, one must jot down reminders.
Thomas spoke to me on the stairs, bright, animated, introducing himself to me as the boyfriend – moving his girl into the place above us. The two of them up there, the two across the hall, us over here, our fights slipping under the doors pissing everyone off, making them red, making them burn up like I did with the old folks before us. “You and your whores!” she would scream at him 12 o’clock at night, the old man who would stare at the ground and never look up, never say hello or anything polite enough to minutely acknowledge we were even present. No gestures, no mail, little food, little on each pay stub. These people become words. We can all be so lucky.
Having a chair to sit in at home comfortably has had such positive effects on me. I’ve learned my lesson. Never again will I take to sitting on the floor, bending my joints all up like that. The heat and electricity can go first. Supply us with candles and pile us blankets to hide under. I’ll draw from this stack of books and knock down page after page.
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