Canyon cliffs once went under the biggest knife we’ll never know, and that makes me feel better.
Lamentations are ghosts telling you how it sucks to die but then you have to come back as someone else’s memory.
Filed under: Everyday, Exercises, Literature | Tags: aphorism, fiction, non-fiction
Choose Fiction over Fact if you want to study how people imagine themselves to be true.
Filed under: Everyday
Double entendre for the morning: “Wanna screw?” – on the t-shirt of the contractor who works near my office building.
Thought crossing mind while walking down B’way between Howard and Grand: “I have no idea what I’m doing writing amateur writings, but that’s okay, I will do it anyway. Practice.”
Mom’s words at 7:46 a.m. after I returned her 7:38 call: “My phone must have done that on its own.”
[task: no punctuation and repetition of “maybe”]
maybe you will roll me up and time will pass and it will be so warm I’ll never unroll or maybe if I unroll I will find nothing maybe and maybe I’ll be old then or I will know more maybe but maybe when I unroll there’s some love some curled up love maybe maybe it’s a lump maybe it’s more a baby maybe it’s wrinkled and waiting maybe I have forgotten in my big space cloud that soon maybe there is no unrolling maybe i’m holding and softening offering my hands out maybe I would like to stretch and in my stretch shudder shudder maybe as my muscles flex and fold and flex and fold maybe I’ve gotten bigger soaking up sun my cells have grown old and died and come back to life maybe i hope i hope they have come back again those cells those cycles maybe I’ve shed too much hair in sinks maybe the grime I feel is only natural the sickness the sadness the unidentified mess maybe maybe my blood is overclotting and that is nothing maybe maybe i will shave my legs or maybe I will hide my legs wear pants maybe maybe they’re not really there my legs I don’t know maybe or no they’re there silly me maybe I’ll be fresher maybe cleaner in the water maybe this fog this shroud this ghost coating my day with grim and grime maybe it’s waiting for a cleaning maybe I will poke a finger through it or maybe I’ll stick my tongue out to taste some light and it’s caramel and maybe the burnt pieces the brittle pieces fall into my eyes and maybe flecks of gold will rise so I have to look up so I see oh yes there’s blue sky maybe the clouds have gone away to visit their grandmother maybe she will have a bowl of caramels the ones I tasted before and maybe she has a bundle of blankets rolled up in the closet maybe her grandmother made them and maybe she’d never unrolled them and maybe they smelled like lavender those lavender sachets maybe they’ve unraveled I could hold them in my hand maybe maybe this is just the thing for me to hold
I walk down the sidewalk with IT in my ears, and girl group nostalgia snags me.
Every time I listen to it.
I lip-synch the song all the way down Sullivan Street.
“I don’t wanna BE how they want me to BE
I don’t wanna BE how the want me to BE”
“You don’t want ME to be/how they want ME to be/I don’t want ME to be/how they want ME to be.”
IT goes swing to circle. And YOU shows up mid-way through
Turns a selfish revolution into YOU loving ME.
That’s all that matters.
Songs will point that out.