information comes together

the question is, is there other life among us? then, is there life inside us? can you beat it out on a rock in the action of doing laundry? is it beaten out during a board meeting? for me, will there be more breath? or more poems? or will quiet increase? silence increase? numbness increase? suffocation increase?

the anger from this suffering, from this questioning suffering, gets poured into the objects around me as they contain more and more their own history, therefore transfix identities, cities, with me, in the night while I drink tea, while Rudra chronically sneezes in fits, wakes me and I cannot sleep again. while C. is in Mexico and I am all over. pain is all over. joy, knowledge, spreads all over. life is found all over.

and I can be glad knowing I’ve escaped some of the more horrid things so far, but experience your pains in fractions just in hearing them, and go on hearing them in told accounts, what they’ve done to you. I suppose when it comes down to you, I don’t mind. pour in more stories. I will be here.

think that, at work, they, them, are too personal when asking questions outside of ink coverage, when they ask details about what I’ve done with my time outside, and that, only in passing, as if I would lower myself, lower myself to fast food an explanation out so cheaply and risk what? I don’t know. I can feel something not right in it, being “personal” with empty persons – therefore ringing a bell, a roller rink lacing of skates on, of snobbish embellishments, accomplishments, yet still humbled by debts and calls from debt collectors.

what is this wheezing, the deeper you go, the deep down definition? I’m waking up with words outflowing, one of the only things that feels good this hour. and it has been too long. and it has only been right, I can’t force something like this or that, whatever it is, it cannot be explained, not easily.

freakishly, I am spending hours at a time recycling UFO lore and other underground topics that do not widely circulate. um, controversial subject matters, what it means, that feeling you get when you encounter someone by the likes you have never seen on this earth before. tossing and turning in questions, and in new answers, convictions, a stretching of consciousness, the news of the world around me, and so on.

winter blues a war all consuming
fire place bug shot
out onto the carpet
start a
fire when
your eye
not looking
pull your place
down tragedy
someone
is stomping out
lies
as they know them
good intentions
are
coffee pots
free of
third worlds’ karma
you
count carbs
you
can see
he starves
newspaper liver
going bad
toxic spill of ill
intentional poison
face of death
last breath
unbearable
heartbeat
dull to you
you dull to it
misplaced
in glove box
mother
on springer show
disease of
fact / fiction
playing out
“look at me” syndrome
did chicago get
you what you
needed? didn’t
think so
boy I can
easily dream up
some insults
the easiest are
the worst things
believe me not
does not
matter
but I am
going
I am
going
on
new
fuel

. . .

friends, journals, wordpads, excuse me for not being myself lately, extraordinarily quiet, not getting off the ground, empty headed, depressed, under the weather, etc. these things happen, so, no gushing apologies. I am otherwise kept busy and mentally engaged in many different subjects. For instance, I went to see the fine movie: 21 Grams on Friday, and was floored. I am still mourning inside of those stories.

And I am piecing together ideas about the world around me, coming to deeper understandings, perhaps developing a few extra worries (but don’t know if they are unwarranted).

C. is leaving for Mexico in a few days, will be gone for three weeks. This is no small separation. Life will get interesting. Life will get dull.

. . .

It is hard to speak, my God! At all. At all. Man. Man on the moon. Did we leave, desert you there? Man left on a space rock. Robot on Mars, take some shots for us. Bring us back some money, some oil, something. Oh, you’re not coming back? What’s that, you’re hungry? The best we have to offer is we can send you back pictures of cheeseburgers and, well, you can at least imagine you’re a gluttonous alive human American. Life is grand down here with the sheep. Information comes together.

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