day after Christmas

why fear anything? I’m just going to write a few sentences through this dull time and cold temperature. you will see this as you see TV. lists of commercials, lists of fears. list of lacking faith. Lord, why should I be afraid? shouldn’t I just accept whatever comes? this is who I am and if you can’t accept it raw, then… did you see the partial eclipse. then you’ll see the next one in three hundred years, with your insect eye. a small man walks down the sidewalk. you didn’t notice him either. just finished up typesetting . . . work. meaningless work. disconnected.

I will be back later.

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note from noteville

for some strange reason we’re all layed back and telling these intense ghost stories, and everyone seems to be okay with it. the only radio station we can get is dedicated to playing strictly xmas music for the next 96 hours. I’m getting through the hours one at a time, getting ready to go home, at least mentally, and relax. why worry about all the crap that’s going on. tune out to it somehow. their conversations are running on, this isn’t solitude, I can’t write with full concentration… like this guy is coming up to me letting me know that I can check my email from any computer that has an internet connection… I tell him that I know, and that I’ve got that joint already hooked up and can’t remember what the hell I wanted to write next.

note

drinking this stupid punch swiped from the lobby next door. the radio keeps getting turned back on, all the bad stations, commercials, utter hell. 80 percent chance of snow, which has me in a good mood. chew on ice cubes and think how later I can be reading. away from this mess, let me tell you. no privacy, all the walls knocked down.

nervous as a cloud of birds. the hurricane comes. I am not in my car that does not exist. snow us down to nothing. washington d.c. does not have control over this. I wish I had more patience. I wish the xmas lights on the houses could do even more for me. possibly strand them around your face and I could bare to look at you. how to pray for your oppressor? this music has variation, not like the radio, unlike the day on same carpet which I could be falling to, this rotten place has a name like any catastropy.

dupont circle discussons. silver spring, wheaton, bethesda – all our little towns.
they’re arguing about the subway system. snow will be pleasant if I can get away from here…

sick to my stomach, for the past four days now on and off. with fever, a headache. I think of causes. I want something to blame. so much anger in me I’m sick in bed with sore neck and shoulders burning up the universe. thinking of Matthew and walking and the Psalms. I go out on my own walks by the houses decorated and return back here. walked two miles to the store in sleet and rain to get something to eat. John and Jesus were born, that’s all I’ve read so far in the book of Luke. an angel came to the shephards who were sleeping in the field to tell them the good news. I thought, no one is coming to me, what sort of consolation do I have? just the wind.

I hate that people have to be such asses, that I have to live my life with them and there’s nothing I can do about it sometimes.

okay,
that is all for now.
chop.

tuesday writing

the winds are picking up and predicted is bad weather typical of this time of year. there is much bad television which I am tuning out tonight. to add insult to injury, my day at work. a lesser man would return the next morning with a machine gun and spray the place. I wonder if the people split in two would fountain up green bills from their insides. destroying them is like destroying vending machines, ATM machines. thought about this today actually, how they will bring their own doom. how sad it is. I really don’t want things to be like this. I’m in such a compromised position that sometimes I forget about it, but I walk around in that compromised underwater world and try to live a decent life. it’s to frustration. sometimes I don’t realize it. and then I pray, I remember to pray, and pray for remembrance, and all things personal and spiritual. these are intimate tortured moments of a struggle going on which no one else can clearly see, waiting for an .eps to rasterize. praying, hoping, quieting, thinking, believing.

I hope
and they
lay bricks together
in the refurbished sidewalk
my head scatters
a moment
these are moments
in a life
everything coming out of my mouth
is an enemy
none of it represents the true heart

so I write

bricks are loose
walking over them

fell asleep like I was in the back of seat of a car in the garage with the engine running. the cat knocks his head into my mouth like a little ram and gets angry attacking my arm with a pile of razor blades. sleep is sound and … the sports are on complaining about our lousy football players the weathermen are fearful sons of bitches. eyes are heavier in euphoria-land. disneyworld commercial, damn them.

fell asleep like I was in the back of seat of a car in the garage with the engine running. the cat knocks his head into my mouth like a little ram and gets angry attacking my arm with a pile of razor blades. sleep is sound and … the sports are on complaining about our lousy football players the weathermen are fearful sons of bitches. eyes are heavier in euphoria-land. disneyworld commercial, damn them.

more christmas advice: go see “it’s a wonderful life.” my heart is all torn up because I’m a sap. and I miss my vacationing wife. though she would tear the lights down and knock the tree over when she got back, it’s that time of year that puts me in the spirit.

xmas music playing

don’t go cold into the wind like that or you’ll catch cold and fall over and not get up and worry us and cause the relatives some trouble of a drive and the holidays will be ruined. Elvis is singing “Santa Clause Is Back in Town.” my eye all red irritated rubbed sore swollen shut wet with tears from the pain. I’m allergic to being alive, you could say. or, I’m just not myself, ever. I’ve lost my voice, pen, and wallet. soul is not just missing, it’s painted over. piano. sleep with the music on, the lights, some comfort, sentiment, feeling protected under the covers, that time you have to yourself, block off the world with the door closed. if you have that you are lucky. recognize it. start from somewhere and try to live a new day outside of robotic thought.

a return

my cat says hello. would you wave back. I should only hope so. we have both been on sabatical. our zone away from the world of internet text, but alive nevertheless, and writing still, but like I said, away, the hell far away and not looking back. blame the redskins. um, blame the folks digging up the road for little reason except for looking busy so they can make money. it’s sad some make it by easy like a legal steal, put some kind of overnight business together and sleep a lot (which is natural for the body you know) and the rest of us little folk look muddy.

a return

my cat says hello. would you wave back. I should only hope so. we have both been on sabatical. our zone away from the world of internet text, but alive nevertheless, and writing still, but like I said, away, the hell far away and not looking back. blame the redskins. um, blame the folks digging up the road for little reason except for looking busy so they can make money. it’s sad some make it by easy like a legal steal, put some kind of overnight business together and sleep a lot (which is natural for the body you know) and the rest of us little folk look muddy.