laaaately i want to be in my heaaaaaart

we are but new acquaintances after all. clearly i have gone soft in my old age.
they don't make a card that says "sorry i was rude to you while i was in withdrawal" and even if they did; a)i wasn't that rude, really and b)who cares?
i went to the library and read literary criticism and i even took notes so that it looked more like i was doing something useful. then i told all about it to a first degree relative so i won't be tempted to quote poetry in mixed company. there was this snowy day. there was this infrared camera.
i thought maybe if i was brave enough, but now i can't turn it off & it's the definition of unsustainable-- i can't keep getting less lonely forever! but the alternative, well the alternative is this.

the spare, the spare

i am right, i am right, thank god. i am so right i'm righter than right. i'm also all right, not that you'd ever believe me, but it has to be said. there are no words for this, it's not a word thing. it's a thing where i have to do whatever i end up doing and i'm scared but mostly i am scary. there shall be running and screaming. i shall not think, the future is before us.

pretty early in the morning

i don't know. i have no way of knowing. i can't. very well. read minds. now. can i? it isn't cold, but evaporative cooling is a thing. i must've written it down somewhere, a lifetime ago; evaporative cooling: a thing. you can lead a horse to water, and you can make it drink, or not. maybe not. it's not even spring. it's the exact opposite of spring. i seem to have come up against some sort of duty? it's to win our wars.

un troupeau de morses & other stories

(now i can't really tell this story anywhere else because in my experience people tend to get unreasonably uncomfortable when they are forced to witness someone revealing weakness.)

when i attempted to move out and was forbidden my first instinct, and i'm not even saying i was 100% correct, was to think, of course you don't, because then you won't be able to continue abusing me. i can't overstate how monumental this was, because i had never framed our relationship in those terms before, and yet. something in the recesses of my brain had come up with the right conclusion.

back when i tried to go to therapy i would tell my therapist all the ways i was wrong in thinking the way i think. and this awareness can be a valuable tool, like if you're otherwise a moron.

but what kind of person dismisses a conversation as useless if their interlocutor doesn't tell them they're full of shit in the first minute of it? some people just aren't in the business of telling people they are full of shit, and that's okay.

it is hard to demand respect when you don't believe most people deserve it. but we do these things not because etc.

allergiagalleria

there is something to be said about being, well, happy and knowing, knowing you'll have to pay for it later, receptor by receptor. nothing like it.

là fra le nubi d'or!

hahahaha oh my god

verse chorus verse

me and 1 Corinthians 15:51, we go way back. i saw it first some ten years ago, it was an allusion, it didn't make any sense. i looked at it in context; the context was bullshit. it is a very beautiful phrase but the banality of the sentiment had always bothered me until finally, finally, the missing link was revealed via an audiobook of poems i had acquired, through questionable means, in a recent flight of literariness.

it's a poem (duh!) that perfectly describes what it's like to be a medical professional by galway kinnell which echoed in my head first as "dead! incorruptible!" which i thought was a biblical thing, like "every one of them for his own good" et cetera, except it wasn't. it wasn't a biblical thing at all, it was, in fact, "earth! invisible!" which is exactly almost the inverse, the reverse, the obverse of whatever paul's saying, it's man and his material things

and while the man without a doubt knows his rilke, i hesitate to say, well, anything. i'm not saying anything. it's just a thing that happened inside my head.

the lord is my shepherd, i shall not want.*

for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, i found myself listening to a choral recording of the (apparently) baha'i prayer "o god, my god, my beloved, my heart's desire."**

and for all i think about sexual frustration and religious belief daily, both separately and together, i've never considered the possibility of getting one's emotional kicks from god. i mean i had, but not like that.

because i was translating, er, something, and i hesitated over "i felt pantheistic then" and put an anatopic term as placeholder and did not stop to think, now, did i? when i thought god i never, ever thought object of adoration. (can you blame me?)

(there's the mother, the father, the bird, the knight: you'll notice none of these words rhyme with "lovelier".)

*the kjv is wise.
**there is a story that goes with this. it involves men on some desert journey and is therefore profoundly uninteresting.

it's the breaking up of the ice bound stream of what?

natalie portman and jonathan safran foer's emails to each other also disappeared during the big hotmail purge, so there.
meeting people is easy. not telling them about things you like is harder.
loneliness, of course, is a progressive (and debilitating) condition.
is the biennial awful commentary fortnight here yet?

where I say hours I mean years, mean life

"so gloriously self indulgently insensitively full of shit" i wrote.
"and by you i mean fuck"
"insisted that there is something quite wrong with them, really."
"we don't want more time. this is important."
"scary prospect." i wrote.
"look people in the eye? more ambition? less ambition?"
"i got a laugh out of that, at least."
"there is limited inspiration to be had, here."
"that sinking feeling" i wrote.
"neck pain"
"also, bodies."
"which is really hard to take for whatever reason"
"a dozen open tabs" i wrote.
"drained all the pasta sauce off the world with my cosmic recklessness"
"something awkward and disappointing and, just, sad"
"it reads a little fake, i think."
"blind panic" i wrote.
"this whole thing about missing what may or may not be my only chance at meaningful human connection"
"there. i am turning into the worst kind of person. an american."

"12/03 weekend. anhedonia. force myself to eat. intrusive thoughts."


this is a list i made a few years ago that i never did anything with:
slope
fold
song
prop
dawn
cross
dough
logo
bounce
wool
comb
cup
curl
black
ahead
sneer
lean


this is a poem by emily dickinson:

the heart asks pleasure first,
and then, excuse from pain;
and then, those little anodynes
that deaden suffering;

and then, to go to sleep;
and then, if it should be
the will of its Inquisitor,
the liberty to die.

how's your mood? how's that song?

sherlock is now a truly awful show. i find this less alarming than i thought i would.

"silence in the library" i type. "it's the first of a two parter."

the tarot card bit was at least slightly ironic, it must've been. it was almost definitely may. i remember fixating on a headphone cable which may or may not have been purple. it was raining really, really loudly; but then it was almost definitely the beginning of may. i thought "sound of silence" was, maybe not exactly profound, but at least worth listening to. that version was not the actual album version and almost definitely didn't have the countermelody. i feel like i just made up (wait, what?) a word but in fact i haven't.

i feel better now that i forgot most of my high school days. the embarrassment has mostly faded out of the ones i didn't. unless i dwell on it which i just did, ouch. everyone is now a fully functioning adult applying for grad school and it's all fine. next year i'll go to the reunion. i wiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeiiiiiill. hills like white elephants.

now i have to get rid of a whole month of seeing the same features on the same buildings again and again and again as i zip back and forth on a straight piece of rail. except the bit where it turns a corner to avoid the bit with the nice houses. i forgot the name of the stop where this happens. a good sign. back away slowly.

went through two weeks of ibs and came out the other side with a new appreciation for what sick people go through. someone alert the presses. i am now as a result alone with my brain and get furious at the drop of a hat. it brings back memories of tying my hair with electrical cable with an appliance hanging off the end. i can't quite manage it as it happens. i can't quite hold a conversation in english. i mostly talk the other person's head off because that's always been how i english. 

i might actually be marginally less articulate in my mother tongue at this point in my life. a friend of mine intuited this and i laughed it off because it was the right thing to do. i've also completely failed to make someone understand the sun rises at the same time every year. i thought they were privy to some obscure fact about the earth's orbit at first and listened, which turned out to be a mistake. i didn't force the issue because it was the right thing to do. it still makes me want to bash my head against a wall.

may it is. 1 in 6 chance of rain. 1 in 5 if i think of rain in two day clusters. but this is almost june. i have to give a rough estimate, in words. i don't have much time. as far as operations go, i'll say, this is an easy operation. that's a 1 in 100 chance, which is an order of magnitude higher than "normal". hero to crit: 2%. meaning of life stuff right here and the only winning move is a shrug.

in other news, jonathan blow is a wanker. the trouble with making your art about life in such general terms is that everyone's heard that pantheistic einstein quote a million times already. 

nice try though * nice try.