it is true, it is hard to get out of the house in a small town. and it is hard to go about without seeing someone you already know. there are advantages and disadvantages. this world is this world. I think we are all caught up. I mean to say, times are not so innocent any more, no matter where you go. we are blatantly caught up to harsh times. even in the smallest of towns, when you think you’ve gotten away from everything, the rest of the world is some how pushing its way in. of course I mostly only know this of small town America, but even when I was in India, in a village that could tap into just a bit of electricity, they were playing Madonna. and there was plenty of soda.
we’re either caught up, or going back. back into time. same fights, new faces. I’m one who is often imagining scenarios. it’s like this: if you and someone, say, in the school cafeteria, or stopped at a traffic light, get into an argument, and one of you starts swinging fists at the other . . . I imagine aliens with studying eyes, observing the entire thing. and it is regretful, for all of us I suppose, that this is the particular situation being recorded, and . . . decided upon. “are the humans worth keeping around?” “we peered in again today. they were being the usual scumbags.”
a scene is recorded
that is, if it is not recorded in any other way
it is at least being recorded by God, and/or gods
or inserting itself into the ether
floating around in the air
a friend once came over to visit after I had been crying in my room a lot, for a day or so, over some girl at the time. “whoa, it’s too heavy in here,” he said. “you must have been really depressed in here. let’s go somewhere else.” to the eye, the room was in perfect order. there is much more to see than how furniture is picked up, stood upright, objects straightened parallel and perpendicular with one another.
the wind could
blow a building over
panels are sheets of
thicker, heaver paper
you need to get away
somehow
get out
get out of the house
get out long enough
so that you want
to come back
and when you do
everything is nice
I’m wishing, yes, for boxsets at xmas, too
but that’s not all
I want to grow from a point of lack
go from one point to the next
um, wishing, wanting
what does it get you?
I just don’t want to be
sick all the time
when I can get to…
get healthy, feel well fed
I can reach a sanity again
and then?
give back to the world?
give what?
give love? not give chops
to your throat at red lights
because road rage is how
we self-limit?
give-take holiday
steal away
mindset
peace and joy
Jesus was
a revolutionary
they all forgot . . .
America trampled
whomever to become great
we have no sense of humility
no sense
. . .
writing with one light on. it is all I need at a bare bones level. but I am stubborn. I wish I had more time and space. only when it comes to me, such as on a holiday, do I realize its power and what I would do to take advantage of it. see a movie I’ve been meaning to see. go and relax at Barnes and Noble. when it is too cold out, I have to stay in, and feel limited. then I adjust. when Spring rolls around, it is such a pleasant breaking of shackles! but for now, we keep mentioning to each other, Spring will be here before we know it. yet Winter has yet to really start. when it gets here, we’ll know it. we’ll know it all right.
. . .
a word pad
a contagion. cough pseudonyms. breath mints attack a quill pen. dink, dive below surface. detonate. calibrate daily. cavity pains in mouth. teeth must be removed. they say you are so negative. tell them you are HIV-negative.
some thing on the thing. an animal affair in torrents. a schedule to meet. I started recording my voice into a mic, played back a voice that sounded different than my own. is it someone else? cats groom themselves, and each other. big brother bear. little sister bear. various names, they are lovingly called, they lovingly jump onto our laps and rest, and when they wake up, stare into our eyes with their big eyes. I love them to the point of not looking where I’m going and tripping and falling on my face and waking up in a hospital two weeks later. bring me a picture of my cats and I can smile in the midst of a stock market crash. recorded her little meowing voice at me, played it back by the microwave at work – others were wondering why I was laughing out loud. thinking of them makes me forget where I am sometimes.
or I could say, I am in my heart. you go places, and while going places, you could be thinking and going to other places simultaneously. go within.
sink. dishes pile a mountain. fill an area. file for a cabinet. another 9/11 poem is written. I read it with interest, because, well, it is well written, and I was near the Pentagon when the whole thing went down. did I tell you? I was “sick” at home that day, in Alexandria. there was a crash, or the sound of a bomb, in the distance and a shock-wave came rushing through our neighborhood. Rudra was in the window sill at the time. I had to pick up Casey from work, but there were traffic jams. finally catching up with her, we stopped and ate vegetarian chili at a Hard Times cafe. the waitress asked us the usual “how are you guys doing?” we kind of looked at her. then, “could be better, right?” she slightly laughed. yeah. and there are more memories. paid. paid in full. erik b. and rakim. krs-one, bdp, that live album back in the day, is so awesome. my favorite live hip hop album these days: Mr. Lif’s “Live in the Middle East.”
what else? it is getting later. I should step off now. but what else? empty the trash before it overflows. blow your nose. check for rainbows. tip a line of dominos.
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