Tag: blog

Things have been going alright with me

September 1st, 2024

My mother gave a cry in her sleep, a cry in her shower when she didn’t slip, there’s a difference in the recovery story, isn’t it?

My ears have not been working for some time I now hear on breath and memory, it’s the side of my spine that’s on the wire on the left, some trigonometry that’s

Ligamentally wrong. It throws off my facing- pacing, spelled wrong.

And when to pinpoint, or when to punish, when to pretend to have had a point, and when to have lost it in the end. when to publish, my friend?

Never, these are inside thoughts.

(Deleted: regret)
I lost a sentence

September 24th, 2023

Writers sometimes think up sentences that say beautifully what is intended, and they rush to their device to capture it in the light; they are crushed if they miss the portal.

That’s sort of what it is, inspiration.

Precision coming from practiced skill does not always make the best sentence, like this one. I know it was wrong, I did it any way to make a poent. This is poeitry.

Think of anything as poetry, think of everything as one.

I surprise myself with directions my fingers take, the shapes they make are sad cowgirl blues, worship of autumn, clouds taking shapes behind you, ladyfingers jobs, those delicate touch shapes that move only just enough to be a little bit happier.

But I’m still mad I lost that sentence.
Yesterday I Wrote A Silly Story

March 15th, 2023

I did. I wrote a silly story. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a victory. I recently had to start taking psychoactive medications and, if myths are to be believed, those little fuckers take away your creative spark, your force d’anima. I wrote a story anyway, and a pretty good one at that.

I don’t know how to describe what it feels like to know that I am not my mental illness, nor is my creativity. I, and what I possess, that Robin Williams would call my ‘little spark of madness’, we are not the misfiring happening in the lunch meat inside my skull. We are not a symptom.

I like writing with as few words as necessary, and as many words as unneeded.
The Impossibility of Living in a Stream

February 14th, 2023

I like to take the time to type, tap tap tap tap tap, because the sounds feel nice in my jaw home, at least when my ear isn’t fit to pop. The typing is a challenge. My fingers are clumsy. The fear is true, I’m just a challenger with no direction, but as much as I want to get to the other side, I’m not sure there is one. I choose a peaceful path, but the path that chooses me is rocky and ready to punch. The quickest way to derail my train of thought is to stuff a pinecone in the rails. Is there such a thing as a healthy anything, or just an owl sitting on a tree and hooting for the pleasure of making the sound? The struggle of love is apart from what we were made for. Happy Stolen Pagan Holiday. I’m dressed as Hades. I want him to love me. Tap tap tap tap tap. I deserve love, huh? Cute. I do care, I really do, but what’s the point? My gums lost their flavor a few years ago. I thought it was July when I kissed last, but it was November and it went nowhere. I’m not settling anymore, but…tap tap tap.
Hip Shot

January 30th, 2023

I had a dream last night that I was being held hostage in a hotel conference room by a certain Russian megalomaniac. The one with his hands where they don’t belong. You know the guy.

He was behaving like a mob boss. I suppose that’s really all these “world leaders” are, and what is a mob boss but a scared little boy who’s afraid of seeing his toys compared to those of the other scared little boys who are also peeing in the sandbox.

I told him something to that effect. I watched him pull out a handgun, fire five bullets into an old woman’s stomach. Her hair was dyed red and she wore too dark a shade of foundation. Hardly a reason to shoot an unarmed woman, if you ask me.

He turned the barrel on me. He shot me in my left hip. I watched it happen, felt myself jolt back from the shock. As I held my bleeding sacral, I asked him if he felt like a man.

I did not escape.
A Night In a Hotel With My Parents

January 28th, 2023

Travel is not always what you expect. I did not expect to get drunk with my parents at a Red Lobster in Valencia, at any point in my life. But there I was, drinking a “lobsterita” and thinking about where I’d gotten all this caucasian from.

We returned to our shared hotel room. Two queen beds. No privacy. I shouldn’t complain. I’m only able to travel to my beautiful sister-in-law’s baby shower because they allowed me to hitch a ride with them, got a hotel room with enough space for me.

The joys of being a starving artist, apparently, include the sweet serenades of late middle-age sleep sounds. Here transposed:

THE SONG OF MY FOREBEARS

ssssssssssssssssssssHHWKsssssss

toooooot toot toot

haaAAAaaah haaAAAaaah haaAAAaaah

hhwksssh hhwksssh

< sforzando di CPAP >

toottoot toooot too

hhwksssh hhwksssh

haaAAAaaah haaAAAaaah haaAAAaaah

< crescendo di CPAP

coughcoughcough. coughcoughcough.

> decrescendo di CPAP

coughcoughcough. COUGH. coughcoughcough.

toooooot toot toot

haaAAAaaah haaAAAaaah haaAAAaaah

hhwksssh hhwksssh

ssssssssssssssssssssHHWKsssssss

> decrescendo tutti al fin

Tag: blog

Things have been going alright with me

I lost a sentence

Yesterday I Wrote A Silly Story

The Impossibility of Living in a Stream

Hip Shot

A Night In a Hotel With My Parents