Some of what he says disgusts me, but the way he says it is the song that I want everyone to sing no matter what the words are. I want heartbeats to pass through lips. Irony is a flatline. I wish a could purge it, I wish a could run steel wool over my porous mind to shed the grime that refracts my presence. I expect to have something to tell, but the speech is empty at the podium and the audience sends their regrets in absentia. Polish anything and it shines, we find it's all made of the same thing.
I can't imagine someone touching me. I wonder how I will feel in a week. I will dance into a crowd and drums will kiss courage into me and then I'll face the people. What will it feel like. It's amazing but I sometimes wonder if everything is about to fall apart. Our experience is built on a thousand social contracts, and a few of us break them every day. When the critical mass crosses over... it could be that nothing happens. I see everyone at a stasis--if the worst were to happen and my dream come true--and they are trying to pick up where they left off while avoiding eye contact and the exchange of mutual blame. Anyone could say to anyone "You let go, you brought it down," but people hate to speak in unison and the chorus would overwhelm the diva. I just can't imagine how one could strengthen the contract, I only see trust dissolving into dust, blown to the edges of the map in ancient stacks of what used to be.
I think I have a hidden store of energy. Perhaps the exhaustion is just habit. Or the release is simply ritual. In any case: something is not as it seems. I should be fighting in a crowd tonight but I am writing in my bed because my record is the only idol I have to worship. I'm also tired and quiet and personal.
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Distance
I've traveled. I've followed the sun and she's followed me. We've met in the middle on fleeting days and missed each other on brief nights. It's light forever, or dark for lifetimes. We've never been close, and I look up from my labyrinth to measure our separation. Constant, constant confusion. The same sun feels different through new skies. The same burns peel pink every summer, and I touch the raw skin with fresh fingers.
This year won't leave me sleep. I'm sitting calmly for the sunset. My head droops as the months birth each other and my vigil shivers in the cold and the spring. I have never been so tired. Sap tickles from my hands and glues them to the ground. Roots I grow pierce my sides, because I am the only water for miles. My body begs for a cool afternoon breeze, a signal of salvation. The blinding light sees through me, it makes me small against the glowing shadows. While I wait for a night I remember how I was impatient for the day, and I wonder if this is what it is to be full.
Mirrors walk by, their bodies welcoming. The glassy faces tell a different story, and I try to hear the conversation we should be having. It is all soft touches and bumps tonight, accidental contact. When I can't believe in people I believe in art. And beneath even that, there is a layer of knowing unknown, the promise of the learnable. People are lessons disguised as teachers. Feelings are forgotten memories that have found a softer bed.
When I climbed the hill, I had not made up my mind. I planned escape routes as I walked towards what I wanted. I was ready to duck out and run wide to avoid my clearer hopes in favor of muddled imagination. Not ready to admit or commit, my path stayed strong against the torques of impulse. Falling back into the shape I had twisted out of, my back yelped in pain. A sweeter sound than mumbling groans. Sometimes I dream to hurt.
They say look no further and I shut my eyes. Figures dance across the red glare of the blood in my lids, persons dissolving into each other and questioning my motives. I can't hide because they come from me, and I start to see that no one put them there. Outlines condense and I blink to see them more clearly. The current and the past blend into dark suggestions that I didn't hear for so long. Audible now, echos from inside, they amplify until I believe them blindly.
I wonder what it is to be warm, here in the winter-nest of isolation. It's not the feeling of dirt, though I've felt warm dirt. Truth can be warm, but only in small doses and warmth that does not persist is only a stutter of the ideal. I felt a tingle in a familiar chair, sitting down again like the last again, and this time sinking a little bit deeper than every before that was before this ultimate again.
A hand held out to me. The picture makes me sick. I will tell any story to distance myself from that reach. The depth keeps it fresh, stored in the dark where only I can corrupt it. Choosing taste, my fairy tale of decisions grows wings and flies home. I wander and spin in circles, moving not up nor down, but just wondering which way the incline points. I dream to the beat of my steps, counting tip toes until I wake up sweating and dizzy, and a ship sets sail without me. Oarsman wave goodbye underwater.
There is a drive to build houses in all of us, and I want to shelter under paper. My history drowns on shelves until it's bound into books. Walls can reach terrible heights, brick by brick and click by click, assembled with graffiti pre-painted and the mason's impressions fossilized in the foundations. Dedication and preface are all they will ever be, but they shed rain and salt winds that would chill me to my core.
Bent in pieces and scattered on the floor. Mouth muscles clench and sigh because they are determined to rule. They ride through the night screaming a warning and I absorb their confidence. I never know when to close my window or how to open a rusted latch, yet I do both instinctually with my nature sabotaging itself into unfavorable selection.
The fact remains: to feel unwelcome is worse than to be turned away. I bring my own darkness because no one turned on a light. They believe it's unnecessary in broad daylight, but some things are outside the visible spectrum.
This year won't leave me sleep. I'm sitting calmly for the sunset. My head droops as the months birth each other and my vigil shivers in the cold and the spring. I have never been so tired. Sap tickles from my hands and glues them to the ground. Roots I grow pierce my sides, because I am the only water for miles. My body begs for a cool afternoon breeze, a signal of salvation. The blinding light sees through me, it makes me small against the glowing shadows. While I wait for a night I remember how I was impatient for the day, and I wonder if this is what it is to be full.
Mirrors walk by, their bodies welcoming. The glassy faces tell a different story, and I try to hear the conversation we should be having. It is all soft touches and bumps tonight, accidental contact. When I can't believe in people I believe in art. And beneath even that, there is a layer of knowing unknown, the promise of the learnable. People are lessons disguised as teachers. Feelings are forgotten memories that have found a softer bed.
When I climbed the hill, I had not made up my mind. I planned escape routes as I walked towards what I wanted. I was ready to duck out and run wide to avoid my clearer hopes in favor of muddled imagination. Not ready to admit or commit, my path stayed strong against the torques of impulse. Falling back into the shape I had twisted out of, my back yelped in pain. A sweeter sound than mumbling groans. Sometimes I dream to hurt.
They say look no further and I shut my eyes. Figures dance across the red glare of the blood in my lids, persons dissolving into each other and questioning my motives. I can't hide because they come from me, and I start to see that no one put them there. Outlines condense and I blink to see them more clearly. The current and the past blend into dark suggestions that I didn't hear for so long. Audible now, echos from inside, they amplify until I believe them blindly.
I wonder what it is to be warm, here in the winter-nest of isolation. It's not the feeling of dirt, though I've felt warm dirt. Truth can be warm, but only in small doses and warmth that does not persist is only a stutter of the ideal. I felt a tingle in a familiar chair, sitting down again like the last again, and this time sinking a little bit deeper than every before that was before this ultimate again.
A hand held out to me. The picture makes me sick. I will tell any story to distance myself from that reach. The depth keeps it fresh, stored in the dark where only I can corrupt it. Choosing taste, my fairy tale of decisions grows wings and flies home. I wander and spin in circles, moving not up nor down, but just wondering which way the incline points. I dream to the beat of my steps, counting tip toes until I wake up sweating and dizzy, and a ship sets sail without me. Oarsman wave goodbye underwater.
There is a drive to build houses in all of us, and I want to shelter under paper. My history drowns on shelves until it's bound into books. Walls can reach terrible heights, brick by brick and click by click, assembled with graffiti pre-painted and the mason's impressions fossilized in the foundations. Dedication and preface are all they will ever be, but they shed rain and salt winds that would chill me to my core.
Bent in pieces and scattered on the floor. Mouth muscles clench and sigh because they are determined to rule. They ride through the night screaming a warning and I absorb their confidence. I never know when to close my window or how to open a rusted latch, yet I do both instinctually with my nature sabotaging itself into unfavorable selection.
The fact remains: to feel unwelcome is worse than to be turned away. I bring my own darkness because no one turned on a light. They believe it's unnecessary in broad daylight, but some things are outside the visible spectrum.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
what does it mean
Sometimes I have nightmares that I'm being chased. There is always a moment where I am hidden and my pursuer is near by, looking for me. Then they find me and I make eye contact with them and they're no longer villains, just empty and full. I walk towards them to let them kill me. That's when I wake up, every time.
Hum Play MXIV
I walked down the hill, smiling. An altoid dissolved in my mouth,
sugar and LSD making their way through my tongue. Soccer moms walked by
me, avoiding eye contact. I slipped into the Hum Play line as it was
standing up to enter Vollum Lecture hall. I filed in with my friends
touching me.
Stepping on seats to cross the audience, I absorbed the excitement. I hugged the old cast and squirmed through the new one as their breath quickened and the hour hand clicked closer to seven o'clock. When the opening credits rolled, I was crouched on the ground, a serious Reed political science professor standing against the wall a few feet away. I threw my glitter and fell into my seat.
My body was tense with laughter, and my depth perception flitted in and out of operation as faces grew and distended. A physics professor sat with her feet on the table, and though I couldn't hear her words I was glad that she was there.
The cup on the floor was full of gin, but I wanted water so badly that I decided to pretend. At intermission I knelt by the water fountain and drank and drank.
After the play I "helped" clean up. I had monopoly money and tampons in my fists, but no clear goal with either piece of litter. Finally I was relieved of my wandering efforts, and scurried to the balcony to reflect with a friend.
Walking home to breathe before heading to the after party, the trees dipped and stretched. The parking lot curved concave and the cars sat like jelly beans on its surface. Shadows and lamplight tickled the cartoon scene. I felt like I was in a Miyazaki movie. Mottled trees hung above my forehead as I tiptoed up the slope. I felt like a child again. I walked up the hill, laughing.
Stepping on seats to cross the audience, I absorbed the excitement. I hugged the old cast and squirmed through the new one as their breath quickened and the hour hand clicked closer to seven o'clock. When the opening credits rolled, I was crouched on the ground, a serious Reed political science professor standing against the wall a few feet away. I threw my glitter and fell into my seat.
My body was tense with laughter, and my depth perception flitted in and out of operation as faces grew and distended. A physics professor sat with her feet on the table, and though I couldn't hear her words I was glad that she was there.
The cup on the floor was full of gin, but I wanted water so badly that I decided to pretend. At intermission I knelt by the water fountain and drank and drank.
After the play I "helped" clean up. I had monopoly money and tampons in my fists, but no clear goal with either piece of litter. Finally I was relieved of my wandering efforts, and scurried to the balcony to reflect with a friend.
Walking home to breathe before heading to the after party, the trees dipped and stretched. The parking lot curved concave and the cars sat like jelly beans on its surface. Shadows and lamplight tickled the cartoon scene. I felt like I was in a Miyazaki movie. Mottled trees hung above my forehead as I tiptoed up the slope. I felt like a child again. I walked up the hill, laughing.
Friday, April 18, 2014
quantum midterm
I decided I would leave to do some last minute studying for the quantum midterm in 7 minutes. Hum Play is today, I just finished the softball logo, I'm thinking about going to the Tattoo place maybe to talk, I need to start my Renn Fayre project and plant my garden.
On the other hand, Nitrogen Day went swimmingly and so did my J-Lab presentation and the electro midterm was alright I think. I'm in the finals for my perfect summer job, me vs one other mystery Reedie, but I think I've got it on lock. It is a perfect job for me. It is everything I've struggled with perfectly nested in everything I am good at. Plus it leaves me plenty of time to work on my own projects and also play and pick berries and lay in the sun and travel Oregon on the weekends!
And I guess that's my life. I realized that this semester I've gotten so close to all of my friends as I distance myself from my work. I feel so lucky to have had that experience. Even when I felt isolated and was crying every day all I had to do was go to commons or invite people over and they would come and spend time with me and make me feel like a worthy person.
Look, I don't know when my artistry will come back (probably summer, lets be real) but I think a little genuine synopsis never heart anyone.
On the other hand, Nitrogen Day went swimmingly and so did my J-Lab presentation and the electro midterm was alright I think. I'm in the finals for my perfect summer job, me vs one other mystery Reedie, but I think I've got it on lock. It is a perfect job for me. It is everything I've struggled with perfectly nested in everything I am good at. Plus it leaves me plenty of time to work on my own projects and also play and pick berries and lay in the sun and travel Oregon on the weekends!
And I guess that's my life. I realized that this semester I've gotten so close to all of my friends as I distance myself from my work. I feel so lucky to have had that experience. Even when I felt isolated and was crying every day all I had to do was go to commons or invite people over and they would come and spend time with me and make me feel like a worthy person.
Look, I don't know when my artistry will come back (probably summer, lets be real) but I think a little genuine synopsis never heart anyone.
Monday, April 7, 2014
at a minimum of the absolute value of the derivative
my mood swings have been less severe lately (for a week). But now I'm feeling a little down and I'm worried they'll come back. Thinking about trying to get some long term birth control so I don't have to deal with the monthly insanities.
I don't really have time to write anything right now, because I have to print out transparencies for screen printing nitrogen day stuff. I'll put the designs up here; I'm proud of them.
Whenever I do have time to write I play Doge 2048 or I watch TV. I need to make sure I'm doing meaningful things with my down time.
I found the digital sketchbook of a senior physics major. I thought of him as a total misogynist an creeper but the art makes him seem more human. I find it hard to distrust artists, but that's my mistake.
I don't really have time to write anything right now, because I have to print out transparencies for screen printing nitrogen day stuff. I'll put the designs up here; I'm proud of them.
Whenever I do have time to write I play Doge 2048 or I watch TV. I need to make sure I'm doing meaningful things with my down time.
I found the digital sketchbook of a senior physics major. I thought of him as a total misogynist an creeper but the art makes him seem more human. I find it hard to distrust artists, but that's my mistake.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)