get up and pace the room

wrapped up in things to do
split up into nothing all the things you want to do
society’s needs are controversial
some parents
need to be cast aside
my past is behind me
when my mother says she ran into so n’ so from
the old hood I’m thinking
what the hell does that have to do with me?
wasn’t connected then
not connected now
been above it but didn’t have the leverage
I have now

are you going to behave arrogant?

one of the biggest lessons I’m finding in writing:
don’t get caught up on words
type them out in a fury
move from one to the next
then edit

today I get up and pace the room
thinking about my next essay

I come back to the keyboard, write:

skeleton
gravity
dream
death

lines on face
wrinkles
gravity

beginnings, thoughts whirl around, form from small pebbles, misspellings, and day-spells.

no way to deal with hurt feelings. they hang around. I hang around. the heartache. tumbling down a hill. I wait for less of an ache uneasy upset elated overjoyed transcendent artistic left-wing (the very tip, radical) bruised healed brass knuckles a father to felines.

no way to deal. climb a hill, get some air. bludgeoned by betrayer.

I don’t like advice but am always seeking advice so I must like advice, drink it beverage-style. it has been a week for incredulous customers who have pole vaulted into the store demanding atrocities no other print shop has endured. I have become a foul mouthed typesetter, a mind reader, a designer of business cards from Excel spreadsheets, a sponge to soak up bitchy remarks and slamming doors, a phone operator to distract the mind, a keyboard shortcut ninja, and many other things. whatever a job requires, one must adapt or be expelled. my life and belongings balance on a grass blade tip of mild temperament. the journal (live or dead or in limbo) wants to achieve all the things beyond prim and proper and non-opinionated.

so I have time to bask in the sun. hedonistic.
morals bagged up and hauled across oceans
fingernails grown out and clipped short . . .

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