due to the circumstances I’m afraid to say I make a poor student if I choose to put off all the blame on the circumstances, but the other thing in the way becomes my overall lack of desire as we make our way deeper into the course. I simply loose interest and everything is downhill from there. I become that aerodynamic side view mirror in test labs – the wind shoots up over me, the wind shoots down below me. I turn off the learning switch.
then I send a note to tomorrow night’s teacher that I will not be in class and this is not a lie. I am sick to death and it’s killing me.
so tonight, a breathe of fresh air. burdened less. I’ve got a whole Unicron weighing down on me. a breathe without having to think about it. a dream. a million dollars.
out of this one alive
you come out
of this one better
the thought of you
hit by a car
makes me want
5 miles an hour
pour me oh pour me pour me tee. hot that loosens. glad landscapes. endeavored small businesses. distinct districts. evolved enclaves. naive knaves. home of braver braves. septum rings. spatula flip flap jacks. holding chest. make prayers payable to the entire chest. I need to breathe again. then I can think straight about walking without limping again, walking upright straight here to there and back again.
. . .
boiling water on the stove
and thinking about
taking break from things
but diving headlong
doing more of this at least
moving around in it
million dollar dreams
boiling water and
parts of me getting
if by natural means I
can open my chest up
I can sleep a somewhat full night
and have a decent
OS X experience in the morning
. . .
I have figured out that doctors basically don’t know what the hell they’re doing. the complexities of the human body are way beyond them. they are utterly baffled and mostly speculate. they are doing the best they can, but I think being a doctor simply means being an apprentice. the body is a universe. you move through piecing together what you understand of a universe. lost in space.
. . .
easy to imagine now dying short of breath. the desperation one feels. the insanity of not being able to breathe. the need. begging for relief. the jealousy. after wrecking the room, curling up in a fetal position passed out, passed away. the big question is, “what’s next?” purgatory? brahma-loka? lower? a downgrade? the insect world? what will happen to you in the first five minutes after you leave your body? what will have surpassed in the first hour? will the concept of time be the same? will you have the same watch on your subtle body arm? will you be tortured or be forced to solve games of logic in order to get to the next level? is God really harsh and an angry guy with us, or are we just abused by the anger of others? open questions…
. . .
word pad. (word pad is where I write out random words for whatever reason, because I enjoy it and insist on it because I enjoy it.)
word glad. word town. green. decorative art. teacher in front of class. word investigatory. stationed in trenches. guns all night. computer gatherings. talk about talking. this. worry. town again. what about it? Grandin area is cool with its revived theatre. roanoke still tool small. two people, two cats, outgrow a town. do we miss busses, trains, almost getting in fights on trains, encountering men masturbating on trains? we had to get the hell out of there. now we have to get the hell out of here. see where word pad takes you.
samurai slice your whole form up into blocks because that whole way is war and civilizations just haven’t grown tired of war yet. chest panicked. vacuum dust out of the air. hair care. rhyme can sometimes be an easy way out, of making associations. sword. word sad. word had. he “had” her. shagged. offed. knifed. gunned away. taken away. gunned down. he sent her to prison. who will take care of the kids. you are punctual to job interviews. read straight news. oh yeah, jackson, another tower falls. dust in my lungs.
questions across lines. yawning. Yanni. that guy. foldgers crystals. crystal meth. other family members can’t stay out of court because of shoplifting, easy and not so easy escapes to other planes, having to be brought back. drinking coffee having no alternative but to watch Rosie O’Donnell while on your StairMaster starts to get to you. lost sleep at night.
word inventory. a graveyard shift counting of things. word tag. word fag. the end of the smoked stalk. balked. jeans washed in the drier. story- wrecking ball slips up and hits wrong house, 90 year-old woman does not notice, inhales the dust though, soon thereafter dies of pneumonia. roanoke chronicles. start from something small develop something chronic. you are jealous of those smoking chronic. yes. yes. don’t say no.
no, yes. chronic conditions. goodnight, goodnight, wherever you are.