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Posts Tagged ‘autumn’

Recurring, Revamping, Relapsing

I have much else to say and observe. Things about poetry. About the billions of sounds leaves make underneath the plod of my feet, about their melding colors and about the way I saw a pile of yellow ones overflowing a Boston trashcan today [A safety liability?]. I have things to say about tingles. Air. The tiny hairs inside my nostrils that shiver because of leaves, because of far off fires. I have things to say about light waves and the taste of oxygen. Doctors. Men with crutches and cups and women with ponchos who flap their lips at cars and how it must feel when they drive past. I have things to say, always. Things to write.

I keep waiting for this to end so I can write them, do them, be them. The trick is writing, doing, and being in the midst of all of this. During. I am going to try it. I’m going to try to be happy with the way things are. I am going to rearrange my mind and my energy and my time and life so that I am. God help me.

 

[Me, writing this. Nov. 13, 2008]

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I’ve been slackalackin’ on the post front, for serious. It’s okay, other things are flowing these days.

I meant to Big Five on the fifteenth as customary, but time kept slipping past the creases in my knuckles til it was three later. I’ve a feeling picking the big ones is going to be a challenge for me today. Know that this post is informed by the incredible elation I tend to feel when Dirty Projectors sweetly serenade me (at this moment in my kitchen).

1. Relief.

– After my illness two weeks ago, I returned to my body. Now it’s a matter of staying inside it, but I tell you it’s going well!

– And relief for letting him go and returning to my little life without distraction. I feel like a better human being when I’m alone romantically. I’m focusing my time! Being with folks I care for and showing them such in calculation and pureness.

2. Just living the day-to-day.

– I am okay with being in one place! I am happy with work and going to yoga in the mornings and filling the rest of my days with inspiration.

3. Some stagnancy.

– I’ve been struggling with a feeling like I’m not and never doing enough. I want to create, create, create! but I can’t figure out what to spill my energies in. It’s all about who I want to be, I suppose. But there is so much worthiness out there craving my attention and I find myself scattering all over the place. I’m craving depth in something but there seem to be so many barriers – like cost and future travel. I want to become well versed in things I can take with me, things that require little to no money or material. Dancing. Writing. But I’m craving movie-making and taking up some instrument. I have faith that Warren Wilson will cure me of slight boredom and swing me in the other direction, perhaps feeling a schedule even too crowded. It feels it’s been a long time since I’ve been so consistently active as I expect to be there. I hope not to go overboard, but I plan to embrace intensive activity.

4. Magic and childlike wonder.

5. I am leaving so soon! Cramming everything in before hand and spending time with lovelies.

 

I am high.

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Renting Refuge

I have a plan

to build or buy a property full of fireplaces.

And rent out the rooms

by the hour

to whomever wants to warm by the fire.

You can sit amongst tomes and be brought food and drink by specter’s

a place of comfort

to come into from cold.
Comfort and solitude. Just you, warmth, and whomever else you wish to invite into an ancient dusky space

by the hour.

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Thoughts.

I haven’t felt like writing these days past. Or creating anything of significance, besides a mound of stretched faces full of wrinkles and squints squeezed and rolled between my palms. And that was a fleeting want last night, banished by the realization that art costs money. And I don’t really “get” money enough to know whether I’m able to spend it on clay these days.

Grays.

I’m finding things out slowly, unraveling, winding out like yarn in the way Kant postulated was grounds for this universe. I’m finding that I hold myself back. I’m finding that I’m often balanced on some plane between reality and imagination and unclear on what’s worthy of belief.

A friend wrote me a letter this week. In which he informed me that I’m going to miss out on a lot of love in life because I don’t give myself over. But I do give myself, just in doses. I am honest and I am real. He criticized that I don’t give out love fully. and it’s true –

Until recently I hadn’t come across anyone I’d be willing to do that for [and scare me shitless now the possibility is there]

Anyway, I haven’t felt like writing much. I didn’t know what I’d have to write about

maybe

Leaf Stain

the ghosts of leaves that smear in auburn shadows on the sidewalk, pressed there first by a breeze then by some moisture which clung them to the stone. Ground in again by the soles of who knows how many shoes and eventually disintegrated into these magick autumn specter’s.

Or I could write about the mystery fruit that hangs from the tree on Prospect street-

baby lychee Christmas ornaments, round pink spindles tender to the touch and velveteen. I can’t resist picking one every time I walk by – so barely clinging to the branch that it nearly volunteers to drop into my hand and the sound it makes is a quiet rip of firm balmy meat as I tear it in half and observe the peach color and moisture innards.

Or what of the woman I saw two days ago, as I sat outside Cafe Luna in bright fall.

Two children with her, one about 4 and the other I’d guess around 2. The younger was climbing on a chair and he fell straight over it, onto the concrete below. She yelled his name and rushed to help him up from the ground. He starts to cry. Standing him upright, a bright red smear of blood blossomed onto his forehead. The woman SCREAMED. She picked up the child and put him into the carriage, needing to go. Telling the other child to follow, she began running with the carriage in one direction, it was clear she had no destination she just needed to move. Another woman chased after her and told her there was a fire house just across the street.

I am sitting here, thinking this is the last thing I want to witness right now. I can’t handle this right now. I’m pushing it to the periphery of my thoughts as everyone around me rubbernecks agape.

The woman runs back towards me, the firehouse to my rear. She is shouting continuously and nonsensically. She is sobbing. I look at the hurt child in the carriage and it is plain as day to me that he is fine. He’s cut his forehead and his cheeks are stained with tears, but he is fine. She runs into traffic with both children. Someone shouts that they’ll be hit by a car. Over in the firehouse, she SHRIEKS at the top of her lungs that she needs help she SHRIEKS and SHRIEKS and her crazed desperation reverberates off the open garage walls all around us. I close my eyes and turn it all off.

It’s this kind of emotional self-protection that I’m not sure I should be engaging in.

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