it all began with lines and boxes, straight lines and sharp right degree angles. i loved algebra as a child because of the demand for precision, for exacting angles and stalwart lines. Quadratic equations were the best: both sides had to be made whole and equal, the beauty of symmetry. i would map them out across an imaginary grid, as if all of space and time could be simplified to quarter inch squares stretching across a finite boundary of paper and lead. as if i too could be made clean and perfect and graceful through extraction and exactness. as if i too could fall from grace like a meteor but rebound before crashing into the zero point, into the hard nothing, and triumphantly ascend, rocketing off the page into the infinite, into a pure state of bliss.
Category Archives: words
a/musing
ever closer to forty, the fury of forty, the resignation, the sputtering out, the desire to revisit, revamp, re-do, undo. impossible, all of it.
and this, voice, this disembodied embodiment of disappointment, of judgement: once youthful and wise, now smoke laden, tired and sore. done with itself even while speaking. out of the dark, something returns to nothing.
and yet, yet: doomsday scenarios that would tear the heart asunder; daydream vistas of compassion and love and the beauty of immortal children; fearful transgression into the very depth of a death only a smattering of decades away.
how do you do it?
Greek Independence Day Parade NYC
did you dream this
did you dream this? i slept through waking nightmares and sleep through precious moments where i rest and they rest and we laugh but i am gone, absent, ethereal, unreal.
i cringe at the thought. i cringe at all thoughts. i cringe at my thoughts. i cringe at the sight of me: imperfect, oblong, irregular, irrational, unattractive, ugly, obtuse, meat sack sagging through the kitchen, the living room, the stair the bedroom: avoid all mirrors at all costs.
only for the close ups, the face, the bags under the eyes, the eyebrows dense, the slight grey at the temples. just barely looking at, if at all.
only to them
there had been a time, a something for the day, every day: visceral and gaunt, toothy and wrapped in sinew. and now, now, silence within a semblance of peace. but it’s all there, under the floor boards, like poe’s beating heart ranting and screaming and bursting at the seams and i dance over it instead, steps stomped out in routine and mediocrity, with dressing the children and washing their hands and holding them tightly as we venture in to the world, day in, day out. bang all you want, tortured demon of mine, but this isn’t your time: i belong only to them.
best. christmas. ever
and quiet falls upon us, the hush of winter
and quiet falls upon us, the hush of winter, the hush of promises waiting to be fulfilled it’s christmas time and we’re waiting ever so carefully, like orpheus, fearful to turn around, fearful to look over our shoulders and to see what we’ve lost, what we’ve worked so hard to acheive, fearful and hopeful and expecting and snuggling up under the covers, keeping warm against the seeping cold, reaching to each other through the dark, entangling each other in the dark, candle light spirits, flickering against the drafty windows and creaking doors, waiting quietly, patiently, for winter to envelope us and deliver us unto christmas morning
watch me
no you don’t have to listen. i can’t make you listen. i can’t make you do anything. but you can watch. you can watch me fall apart, you can watch me scratch at the scabs and gnaw through the callouses. you don’t have to listen, but you can watch how i disassemble, how i grieve, how i mourn, how i choose to no longer breathe. you see watch me struggle through every move, every step, the agony of getting out of bed, out the door, into the world. you can watch how i strive for oblivion, for anarchy, for entropy, for collapse.
start of daze
ok. how to do this? with pliers and will and something sinewy, something that gets stuck between broken molars:
day 3 of SAMe. new week of Unisom and 5 Hour Energy Boosting. Like MZ said, “This, this is what’s going to kill you.”
not yet a word
isn’t it funny? all these metaphors for life: computers, language, music. all these things, a thing for something else, a place holder for something we know is there but do not yet have a word for it.