Saturday, July 31, 2010

justwrite 31 july

the song is called compass the empanadas are with beans and also cheese and pleased to find I am pleased with these and other things I sing the life greener and the scene turns lucky having followed the map I am not trapped I am taking steps ready to have leapt but waiting for the moment to be right the sun is bright and all those things as well and it’s swell to find blah blah coincidences colors names strange strands wrapping themselves into my hand it is fictionally accurate to say I have written this story myself and the shelf life is fairly short but I have already chopped the onions and there are crickets humming but I have not scene theme someone outside has screened them and placed them in the right space to drift draftingly in my direction ready for corrections but now they are the only music and I am getting used to it I am building space which is empty but filling it the energy is the only way to play that phrase out but there are other routes or as I’d pronounce it roots and these too we lay down the cards cooling in the sun and waiting for rain the jack of hearts and other phrases second place in the day a limerick and a plan a t-shirt and a man a fan and a cartwheel a newspaper and an invitation you are encouraged to believe you have two arms up your sleeves and with them you can make magic or tragedy there are free Popsicles and there are capitalized surprises such as you and it’s true I am waiting but there are theories freeing themselves into the ether which either exists or it doesn’t but sometimes we share it and we used to compare it more often the currents fresher but soon together we’ll check the forecast we’ll outlast the horoscope recipe calendar almanac outofwhack track starring all the wrong players in the right parts appearing on multiple stages but if you keep turning pages the rearranging ought to please you and me too and we’ll see and I hope and there’s soap and days and lunches before then but we’ll pretend and then we’ll real

Friday, July 30, 2010

post 30 july

justwrite 30 july

while my stomach is thinking about tea a return to normalcy and the cool air there are different phrases lazing and dashing in fashionable morse code in my skull and also across the walls on occasion phasing phrases in and out of doubt here is what I need to do and I dash to make a list then I rest and test the limits inner and outer and it’s certain I’m a doubter but I am doing my best there are beats that go on and songs that I know most of the words to when I see movies like that I am inspired when I see old lists undone I ought to be fired but still I’m the boss and the cost of living halfway is staying high in this economy and of words I have plenty and of worries they haven’t all been spent yet which is disgraceful whatever will be will see itself into happening and there’s only so much to do with your own free will when there are others involved because they’ve got it too and you can just stick yours in your pocket and save it for later for reflection for new dimensions in which I run every morning when I keep my brows from scorning I did a good job recently I think still blinking in the sun but not overrun or undercome just about enough to line up enough sevens and rabbits and wild sunshine signs ringing up all in a row the garden grows and of this we are certain we are not hurting for opportunities there are plenty of these to be had and I am mad with illusions but proud of confusion too there is some pride I don’t need to ride any longer but there’s self-respect too and it’s truly easy to step down from one and fear falling from both there’s a boat and it floats on a Spanish ocean a French film and pieces of art things fall apart and books come together I will write you a letter and it might become a number I am hungering for more of this story and I know I need to make it but it’s a cake so I bake it and wait to see if you’ll take it you always do and I’m glad it’s true

justnotes 28 & 29 july

- corn cob nibblets nibbled by kitten
- Russian consumption of brazilian serials
- santa Barbara let-down after ten years of faithful watching
- she has no belief, and that’s why she’s asleep
- champagne wisdom
- tractors in ukrainian
-“a cloud with trousers on” mayakovsky
- fishing weights waiting sicne the 6th century BC
- boar of course
- 4th century BC cheerio
- “conducted jolly trade”
- a careful carfull of melons
- beauty of pigeons, yes?

justwrite 27 july

walking a talk through the world we ourselves or others down with the wind with the spin cycle trickling right ‘round the neighbors by braver means when there’s just no way and by painted face impressions teaching self-learned lessons the only ones we believe in as we sink and swim clinging to badder banners clambering for answers and taking no chances at missing a false idol or an easy scheme with a side of ice cream which would you rather grab for and it’s more or less certain that our heads will be turned by anything that’s earned flash without pan and glitter with unseen litter we are the leaders of following it’s a calling really and there are many ready to answer to put everyone else on hold and to scold the guard dog barking warning we are always ready for it to be morning a glorious light streaming down from above or within or along the horizon sliding in smoothly across choppy seas ready to even things out oddly enough even now we are waiting crating up our baggage and examining it closely and sometimes pointing out the details to family and friends and even strangers who lend too kindly an ear steering nearer accidentally while we are mentally unpacking all this broken china intending to be sending it away soon for there’s about no room and the neighbors will talk though they’re beginning to gawk already and here it must be said that anyone stopping in might accidentally think that this is a purposeful display see how it’s all laid out and carefully dated even coddled if hated and all the pointy edges have been sharpened by so much harping for what will these details retail and could you ever give them up if you found your cup otherwise overflowing with glowing goodness the lite brite of enlightenment spelling it out in neon plastic pegs begging you to be free what would you stick in your pocket or could you walk away

justwrite 26 july

now I am paying attention now there are dimensions beyond looking in each mirror we are clearer in the reflection there are collections and also tense mentions we cannot bench we have not enough weight we cannot break out of doubt we are taking all the right medications we are facing the nation and some of us find the notions lacking tracking all the forms we are filling them out we are winning in a rout and rainbowing the trout a standard-bearer wearing out a welcome a healthy dose of confidence spent not even making a dent in the mattress the princess and the sandlot we bought all our buns from the same bakery we rake in the leaves we grieve and we do aerobics we are hopeful we have noses full of flowers we fill the hours with minutes full up in it we win it when we plan to lose we rhyme each clue into its own sweet verse I had planned to rehearse my lines but then I threw away the viewbook I took a look in the wrong mirror and now it’s clearer than fear to steer in a different direction I forgot to mention the importance of the table of contents and the preponderance of mess that is the index we have texts we cannot finish we have lies that don’t diminish with time but climb like fines up and through the bricks tickling the lickety-splits in the twisted-ankle wrangles we try and we bangle our wrists we twist ourselves into different shapes and we escape we bake our own cakes and we also take them we make our own rewards and ouroy our own cords we have stacks of attacks waiting in the wings but flying away’s the thing to pay attention to which I do and it’s truly lightening

Sunday, July 25, 2010

justwrite 25 july

when the sky comes up it’s hard to tell which fell was it we or the sea or some other combination of matter doesn’t matter anti-chatter is the next chapter just a bit of quiet after a riot of static attacking panicked nerves unhinged by binging on pinch-hitting cue-balls calling all the wrong shots into the right corners we were mourners before the ship even sank there’s a tank full of bankable bills but still not enough to keep us going flowing over the river and through the green-eyed disgust with self-trust and rusting ambitions in repose I am supposing that I can listen to music but the truth is it turns my words upside in and outside down it’s a clown’s paradise but it’s nice to be able to see where the path leads sometimes but okay fine I’ll pay and okay tomorrow comes after today and there’s no use rushing blushing into line ahead of time and looking down at the ground and counting shoes and also laces carrying decimal places and making it straight to the races winning again gathering all the bets that leapt from wallets to fingers to deposits and houses and other substantial trappings the von the singers that’s a different movie and I need to turn off this song and that looks like success but what’s next what’s the text designed to say to refine the way we look at mirrors and also ourselves will the elves have returned the hot water to where it otter be will we please be able to say thank you and what rank you have achieved by this point will be carried with you imprinted on your kitchen sink and the tinkers will laugh graphing all the progress you’ve made with copper pipes and aluminum pans scandalizing the neighbors and flavoring opinions into a strawberry sense the tension doesn’t need to build but still my hands are filled and overflowing in tiny streams the sand it seem is not being crushed much and the rougher realization is that my own fascination with anxiety leads certainly not to piety more highinthesky-ity twinkletoes performances even in the dark a wakeup morning where dark thoughts linger and the clouds compound the sentiment we meant to tell the secrets we want to come clean but between rocks and clocks and all those hard places those men beneath the steps in the woods should be finding a better place where no one can see them but who’s looking and I guess that’s the question when you have a lesson you think others should learn sometimes it’s the one you should teach yourself and if that reaches health in one fair swoop it’s not a fowl coop or a fell stoop you should be looking for but a view that goes on and on

Saturday, July 24, 2010

justwrite 24 july

well deeply enough it looks like the weather’s going to change rearranging all the dust in the air and comparing molecules in different cells and we might as well acknowledge that college had little to do with that insight it’s a might bit closer than the toaster ever was no oven to hold to have to grab at with burned fingers and to linger longer lovingly with the cord in hand yanking and cranking and packing the tank with dank reminders of mistakes will I break this heart or another and will my own follow suit or will it be clubs all around coming up in spades flashing like diamonds in the red and black conceit the extended metaphor that is its own defeat fleeting thoughts boxed up inside a two-color system glistening with confidence speaking the wrong language in the right country and a bumpkin plus a haystack is a counter-attack on time-telling and there’s no smelling where that came from there’s a heap of fun running off with the groom and a tomb of its own design following dotted lines onscreen in between we make our own answers we are our own dancers and chancers of wild-eyed fantasy I am so pleased I can’t breathe in and out at the same time which is fine because it’d be sad to choke on air when there’s nothing there and to bid a fond farewell to an unfair fare the price we paid today was more than it ought to have been and I didn’t swim and there’s still a challenge to unravel we are getting ready to travel but where will we end up and who will hold the cup as the compote gets poured who will be bored by the tourist sights who will see the lights and also the dark and who will cry out and what will they say let’s delay those forecasts let’s outlast those batteries those outcast hats of different futures of sutured memories raggedly even with the present does the voice seem hesitant or is it all in the interpretation what a fascination with information even when there’s none to be had is it a bad thing to imagine that you know what you know who am I to blow against the previously written words to that song I won’t carry it off as my own because you’d phone home right to your mother or the new york public library or the immense desk reference they produced you used to think you were clever but the cleaver came down and all the little piggies ate eggplant parmesan after they came back from the co-op because that’s what I was told and that’s what I believe

Friday, July 23, 2010

justwrite 23 july

let’s talk about starting over the fence the tense changed from the past to the future we are curious creatures reachers of habits and attainers of stains on various limbs and whims and clothing that thinly clings to secondhand respectability we are willy-nilly salesmen of the correct way to say to play the shade is wide and so is the water the line is not in the sand and the otter will eat whatever it wants because I haven’t had time to cook anything just a can of beans and some garlic rolls trolling for peanut butter and reaching for honey there is no money in such an effort there is nowhere this part is going slowing down let’s step off and start again let’s talk about starting at the beginning where the ending was only the middle let’s unravel riddles not yet written smitten with the idea and full of hopeful calculations without numbers murmuring in the dark the dusty corner drawers yours and tools and useful rules all bouncing around as the knob is pulled we are ruled by various suns and times and signs of the mines we are digging in and blowing up we are cupping puddles in our eardrums balancing sideways rhythms and swimming in them there is a course I meant to take there is a road traveled often but not by me there’s a tree and a bird and again absurdly this has lost the track let’s talk again let’s start let’s part let’s depart let’s heartily agree let’s splendidly be free let me tell you this is no way to begin a toast and hardly even bread as I said before and I’ll say more than necessary I am a primary color of importance in my own life but there’s a thick knife to cut butter and there is bread richer than any other space for eating again depleting sense like I’m buying time and running out of coins I am proud to announce a newfound land which is not in Canada more like a theory with bleary edges a wet-on-wet watercolor design vaguely defined like the best kind but with the general direction of up and also forward armed with nothing but and also backed by nothing but the same

Thursday, July 22, 2010

justwrite 22 july

down comes the rain because what else can it do and it’s true sometimes we think we have purposes sometimes we see ourselves as grand as if our hands were meant to be led along in velvet gloves and not shoved into the dirt maybe sometimes it hurts to hear this but there’s a church and you built the steeple there are people out there and it sounds unfair but they’re smarter and tarter and they work so much harder that it might well get turned into a dr. seuss gobbledygook but also it’s true and what’s the use in pretending why not get over yourself in defending all that effort as useful with there’s a spoonful of future medicine in every present sugar and when I remember what I gave up when I think of all the species in the dirt in my cup I have got to spit it out and I could really have done without that section on bacteria the clearinghouse of disgusting bits mixed up with dinnertime there are lines that could have been skipped but for now we’ll have ripped out all the seams and it’s time to come clean I am tired of missing but I am the one who decided that such a quiet riot ought to be published and sometimes I wonder where the wandering will end sometimes I defend myself against myself and sometimes I don’t sometimes I won’t even see it coming but the plumbing is all off and the cough is a gentle surprise surmised from a trunk full of clues and what can you use to build with we have jacks and jills and filled-up alarm clocks wound to rebound in an endless recovery of all the time in the world and what do we do with it where is it melting to on the living room couch as I deepen my slouch and deliver a quivering heatwave to a humid rest detesting movement except what is necessary and planning for the ferry to carry me home or at least somewhere cooler and hip like a square deal a rounded edge meant to hedge the bets but the next step is to bring some order to this meal and there’s nothing on the menu that I’m planning to ask for but I can’t take to task a more important effort than trying and buying in occasionally the reasons I don’t dance and the chances I don’t take mistakes I am building upon and which are subtracting from my additional progress I am planning to speak more loudly next time and if my grammatical crimes go unpunished then I will have cookies for lunch and I will read longer in the shade with lemonade sunshine fixed at the right angle and blueberries and peaches within easy reaches

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

justwrite 21 july

hurry up faster than the impending disaster of leaping over headachey hills there are no pills ready to remedy that kind of a situation and for your information I haven’t got one at the moment and I’m hoping to keep it that way today I bought a ticket only to there and not back and if that track keeps trending there’s no telling where I’m ending up and I wanted a lower seat but I got the closersky view and I’m telling you I’m not sure how that’ll go how that flow will stow into the overhead compartment that’s where I’ll be and who knows if I’ll sleep any better with the weather and the wondering the wandering overelsewhere I have got to get away toward something not necessarily from but I’m already unbegun the progress started yesterday which isn’t to say that it was much but it was a touch more according to the plan and I’m scanning the minutes of today but none were wasted really most were pasted clearly into the past a mass of collage a color of numbers and a hundred thousand pancakes baked into the frame we have nothing to name but all the others and ourselves as well and the animals can tell for they have unknown tags and we might as well be aquainted with the idea that our names are arbitrary and why are we not called canaries and why are words that we know the ones that look like this not those kissing pictures and hieroglyphs painted on the lips of centuries old soldiers guarding the tombs the rooms the boomboxes and other valuables we are time travelers and we unravel today and tomorrow at the same rate as yesterday and they cost more than before so the score can’t be kept and when the evening floor’s swept there’s no way to know what’s left because it’s gone

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

post 20 july

justwrite 20 july

let’s take that challenge embrace the ballast and then let it go there’s the flow I showed light on and to yesterday it’s true and sometimes those half-ideas ought to be seized and shaken maybe not baken but at least stirred vigorously to see what comes to the top or drops out mid-spin and the whim I mentioned yesterday could easily be here to stay but it means dropping all sounds and floundering with meaning as we’ll soon be seeing okay well let’s say that I’m sitting on a bench in a park and it’s twilightish or almost but definitely after dinner and about some yards to the right and facing me across a sidewalk or at least facing opposite from the way I’m facing there’s a young couple they are maybe just in the middle of college or here I would say university because it’s not the same thing but he is whispering and I am thinking he should speak up because that would be more entertaining and suddenly he is speaking more loudly and the things he is saying are fairly personal in nature and when she realizes that everyone can hear him she blushes with embarrassment but she looks cute when she blushes so she also twinkles her eye a little and this encourages him anyway plus she has dimples I realize oh you have dimples! he says and she looks around to see who has noticed and presses her palms to her cheeks to hide the offending marks but of course they are not offensive and secretly she is proud and almost tells him so but then her mouth is opening anyway secretly I am proud of my dimples she says and I giggle a little because it’s so easy to be an author but then they both look in my direction because really I’m the only one around and there’s an astounding lack of other people at this point they seem to have all gone away and suddenly I’m feeling quite awkward and I think it’d be better if they stop looking at me and focus on each other there’s only so much time of course there’s only so much time he says staring into her eyes of course she says and takes down her hands from her face and takes his hands in hers which is nice she has the power even if I don’t have any hot water and really someone should do something about this it’s not these two and even though I don’t script it they kiss anyway which is what happens when you find out there’s only so much time

justwrite 19 july

while I was going to sleep last night not that I was falling asleep but while I was creeping toward creeping to sleep I had heaped up two cups of coffee in a non-doing day and there was no way I was sleeping yet but I was getting ready to go there just in case the chance should occur but I had an idea and it was something to write about not to write home about for there were some doubts in the formula I’m forewarning you but it’s true that I thought it was worth remembering and I pretended to have the energy to write it down to pick myself up and also my pen and invest this idea under the list of the day’s events carefully spent in black ink and before the hopefully more fascinatingly green ink tall cool drink of dreams ready to be streamed straight through but instead you know the truth because it had been a hot day and there had been no way I would actually prop myself and write something legible once you turn on the light there’s no fight left in you you’ve just given up and I’m not ready to make that declaration even if I know that when I get up there will be no hot water and I will miss the right bus or I will get there too early to do anything about it anyway we doubt it will ever be time to sleep on those kinds of nights and so I left off the light and tried to make it into a catchy sort of something I could remember and I stuck in the park bench as a device so that in the next day’s bright spotlight of recollection I would fetch in a memory and here is what it would be a couple on a park bench and me sitting nearby on another bench and in this story I am the author and in this picture I do the painting and I had a line ready for saying but beyond the bench and the characters I am left bereft of the jist which I can’t say will really go missed in the history of literary theories bleary from blurring into metafiction and maybe was it watching the emma Thompson movie would I put myself in that place would I trace a character’s life in my own pencil line and what would I find to say to those people hello yes I would make bets with them that they would do something ridiculous and of course they would because I would be making them do it and they would whisper to each other behind closed hands but of course I would have to write their lines and of course they’d find they couldn’t escape and how would they react it’d be more like a thought experiment maybe a series maybe a bunch of shorts flashfictionish with the same conceit each time and yes it’s conceited to find yourself in the middle of your own story but that’s what happens in life too of course

Sunday, July 18, 2010

justwrite 18 july

there are two wheels and the waiting dates itself a calendar makes the doors open and the floors take the stairs faring better than the ceiling the sins dimming their own lights and biting each others’ tongues we are experiencing precious winds and momentary relief we have got stopped we have horns blowing we have rowing boats merrily merrily ferrying their way along ones and twos and the shortstack roundtop cablecar compound words I am missing one or two or each you took with you along lining your pockets certain lockets of moments we have shared staring comparison in the eye and blinking or winking but certainly not drinking in all that’s left just swimming in the cleft of a dimple the corner of a steeple and all the steps with the people waiting to blow horns and cut cakes fake cartwheels on the blacktop the backdrop to a thousand hours of footage we are nudging along the strong-armed caterpillars and other such constructors we are missing our mothers and each other and we are suggesting alternate ideas and the fees are quite high the sky is quite clear but fear comes in handy in strong and clear the signal unregrettably gettable I don’t like to take that tactic no one wants brackets in that color I am numbering my own limitations and taking each station in turn burning my feet before the bridge standing on dry land I am imagining the sea I am creating the scene as I’d like it to play but the dialogue is still backlogged waterclogged and uncertain bleary and blurry words hurrying along without listening to advice it’s nice to have gathered suggestions and it’s nice to learn the lessons but no mistakes are your own until you make them bake them into your own pie a cake mixmade and fading other possibilities out of the breezy august sky weeks early and unfurling thickly on a disappointed pillow another morning with early warning signs we are chewing on rhymes until the answer arrives but we are striving for our own conclusions there are too many illusions to cling to at every moment and the donut pass cannot last another round there is too much missing in the middle

Saturday, July 17, 2010

justwrite 16 & 17 july

smashed in between degrees the heat freezes all motion sucks all devotion into it a void devoid of satisfaction all the action halting falting no one and imagining the blame a separate game with unknown rules truth and the cool lies that arise from it surprise hips and legs and shoulders smouldering in the heat the feet pounding the paved departure route I am computing a track straight into the sea a march unlike sherman’s with no reason or was his reasonable treasonable unseasonable like a world without salt and hence gandhi’s similar quest to best the rest of an empire always having its day in the sun one and the same and also at the next stand demand your price pay what you think is nicer and depart with or without the piece today I found the green around my neck the disappointment leapt to my cheeks if not my eyes surprised by little at a certain angle and bangles no more floored by the heat the sweat not so sweet on the swing the mingling charms relegated to last place to wait their turn burning with hope for a different rope or maybe a chain from which to hang to strangle their struggles one dark quiet night and to alight again in the day with no price to pay and a secret song to sing to pretend it’s fiction to elicit appropriate diction I am telling you the truth but you don’t have to believe I am wearing a heart but it’s not on my sleeve it’s hard to tell you’re hard to read he’s hard to seed like a cloud that won’t allow its heart to break we cannot take turns this way I am waiting patiently again for the doctor for a proctor for the right flag to wave and we will all be on our ways we will save the last dance the right chance the best fighting stance and we will lean in eagerly the heavenly trumpets turning their horns inside out and let’s remember where we were going when this all began I was looking for someone and it may have been myself I was telling health and mind and all the colors in between to pack themselves clean changes and rearrange their parts to fit into two years and odd months and to come along please to send the rest packing and as for some attacking of foundations this is also true and as for some cooking of books as for some fielding of fears and some wringing of tears these are also in the same category we are scattering ashes and we are growing canned fruits I am telling the truth and you are listening when you tune in when the channel swims clearly hear me and I will listen too

Thursday, July 15, 2010

justwrite 15 july

drinking in the answers we are chancing to dance stars forward and legs unfurled I am hurling my earrings at anyone within hearing if you’re still within the sound of my pounding feet I am running in the other direction I am fighting off an insurrection and correcting all the spelling with a telling mark parked in the dark of an uninvited evening too soon the moon too long the walk the park the talk we have given extra answers hoping for extra credit but we’ve fed it truly on spice awkwardly and mice giggle in the corner theirs is to wonder why and to live and spy on all the mistake-makers no one who’s watching ever knows less the audience is trapped rapt and wrapped up in the details never failing to have the inside story the glory and the power and the hours passing by no one is asking high or deep questions the added dimensions the multiple berries ferried across the universe and onto my plate I cannot eat anymore I cannot store up the acorns in my cheeks and the peaches the peppers the style miled after myriad attempts running toward the bench and ready to be pulled off the field my efforts are yielding little but a word file and a blog pile but where have all the projects gone when is the day I will sing that song write that story unhurried and words honey to the tongue lunging toward the action caught in the attraction of a fine line leading in the direction of fascination of characterization here instead I am led by language I am pulled along by the syllables all my sounds rounded off bouncing off of teeth and forming a gentle leash pulling me forward toward not much sense there’s a wrench and now I will swallow it here’s some mud and I’ve just got to wallow it although in is preferable there’s no measurable way to say that I’m getting any closer to meaning with either reading let me have a project and let me do it let me have a kite and soon I will have flew it

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

justwrite 14 july

without thinking I am blinking like a cursor but there’s no need for such language such technology performing lobotomies on anyone willing enough to sit still enough and tough through the easing up we are cupping our hands and waiting for demands to fill them and the high billing those tellers receive is enough to be believe in but some of us make our own orders we’re the sorters of our own disorders there is chaos afield and I am picking it licking my fingers but tired of the berries with their scary carry-on luggage the bad baggage set to ravage all it finds but yours and mine are safe they’re cleaned and the lean-tos have been pushed aside no place to hide in an open window the lights are on the company isn’t coming after all the plants are dancing along with chance in the unraining ceiling the sky unfeelingly takes its own time lining up contestants the stress test meant to be passed has lasted for days now and how we’re faring how the fair goes the fare too high the price too wide to listen to with my eyes open I am hoping for answers and sometimes they come and when they wear name tags my mind drags in keeping up they introduce themselves hello I am a revelation hello I’m giving you information you might want to use maybe write down if you choose and I nod politely at my shoes and remark about the weather and it’s hot but that’s not the point there’s anointing to be done and it’s clear I’m not the one so on they go through dark of snow and rain of night we are hailing all comers but welcoming fewer many are called many are walled-in and dreaming of the outside I am in the sun at the window there is evening and there is dawning but the yawn in between is but a dream or maybe the other way around maybe the crown has thorns maybe the sheep has horns maybe the norms are absolutely absurd and if you’ve heard of being uptight you’ve got to wonder what the sight would mean and who in between had written the definition we’re listening to ourselves where we means I and I’m trying to try but the outside is noisy and a little more than pushy no one’s wishy-washy on this dishdrain we’re just waiting out the rain that hasn’t come yet and placing our bets where we means I again and again alone stones rolling gathering nothing but rain and too-loud clouds in the undecided sky burning my pan like watermelon jam let us rest in the sink and think a while smiling through soapy water and nodding at the requests pushing back what’s next waiting just to wait to placate dinner dates and fated calendar skirmishes wishing for something more delicious and cooking cornflakes with fake names in borrowed tongues

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

justwrite 13 july

in the hand sand is worth little the touch too much too slippery we are dipping our fingers in honey at the same time but what sticks is too quick-covered to be licked by any but the most unconcerned tongue we are hung out to dry on our own proclamations the follow-through is fascinatingly untrue we are blue in the face and we erase the chase before it catches us we are pushing forward through fear we’re clear on a few points but dropping the ball for the sake of the point the other team chooses to lose we’re bending the vibes and clustering into tribes we cannot make the call we cannot fall into something we jumped straight out of we cannot recognize what we’ve been looking for when we see it it’s a disease we’ve been feeding upon and it’s been eating whole holes in our own souls trolling under bridges and picking up pieces catching and release is there is any other way is cut and paste today worth a scurried phonecall afraid of racking up the points the text mixed into uncertain reviews we are true and we are quiet we are never planning to riot but the fires we put out are made of troutstreams and the wind is confused unused to such truths preferring the rainbows the upjump shimmers the downstream cylinders playing wax-coated songs twinkling along the muddy paths of recorded technology we’re acknowledging the differences the pieces of resistances across history the twisted breeze hanging history books in the trees the winding road up to the sky salvation in information and the words heard in colorblind rhyme let us develop a conversation let us search for inspiration let me tell you someone else’s secrets I think you already know my own and when you phone home you ought to tell the truth it’s the root of rot and what you’ve got is hard to grow while the flow turns cleaner the laundry greener and the sideways ivy crawling up hardly receptive walls calling out for attention did I mention the dreams the green ink and the kitchen sink waiting for a reader a greeter a bit of listening without a knowitall followup?

Monday, July 12, 2010

justwrite 12 july

tired I have fired all the cylinders and in holding interviews the next round is nowhere to be found I have ground the cloves and shoved apparent misrhymes into time with unheard beats the rhythm of the music of the accidental thunderstorm the norms I find in twining certain precious words hugging the herd of appropriated nouns and verbs stolen from swollen cheeks and brains remaining behind the rest the thoughts testing the limits and remaining within it there are no lights outside they are only within and we sink and we swim in our own imaginings we are writing tragedies and trying to live comedies we please ourselves and insert our own laugh tracks but the plain facts are too brown to be buttered too peanut to be nuts about we are trout swimming in a stream too clean to shower in we are thinking our thoughts and have bought preparatory materials there are tests and they come in serials every day and often we are adopting an attitude and hoping it will carry through to the other end of the bus route the express chute the pneumatic tubes running you along in a little plastic canister sliding down like a banister unhanded in the grandstands how can you manage to read this how can you manage to feed these greedy words into your eyes we are surprising ourselves and here I mean me here I am speaking in the singular thinking in the verticular horizon with surprising aplomb and alarm we are causing no harm to the weary we are bleary-eyed travelers unraveling our dreams and spreading them out like quilts too wondering to wilt into instant sleep we make leaps but don’t know where we’ll land and if I hand it to you and you hand it back we can keep track of the lending pretending a library and a scary-faced calendar are blurred separately we are waiting for the line to end for the pretend plan to twist itself into a nest a next step walking around dogwise catwise circling the center and curling into a ball in the middle of it all and letting ourselves believe

Sunday, July 11, 2010

post 11 july

justwrite 11 july

to take chances in asking for answers is to imagine that all of them are right that we are accepting and listening we are playing the music the soundtrack in our heads but instead of dinner we find lunch we make much of supper but the predilection for forgetting kitchens is high on the rise we are smiling in response to the next song it’s long enough to keep your fingers still I am smiling still and filling my ears with inspired fireflies in the least alarming way I am playing my answers over and again in my head instead of my mouth we are heading south but the train only goes north which is the fourth place finish I’d like to end up in there’s a price for sin and a book that lists and turns and earns our bread daily instead of at a more lengthy interval I need to know the words I need to trade what I have for something better like answered letters or completed projects the crafts laughing themselves to sleep in dusty drawers the cupboards keeping their own counsel I am giving a key to an errant bird and when I’ve heard enough the flight through the night will be over and I will turn to the wall and see all the flat space the wide race no one has to win no one has to spin the wheel no one has to feel how they’re told even that’s an old mistake baked into our grammar stammered out with suggestions of tandem randomness I am tired of waiting for approval I am disinterested in excessive providing which you might ask why about and I’d show you a ticket elsewhere there’s a self where action is its own reward I am dancing in that place not a castle not on a cloud much too loud in color the fresh taste of air uncompared and waiting for literary references the stylistic touches that shape us much faster than slowgo disaster creeping up the past few days weeks pages we are moving along in stages and if we can just turn all the right cheeks and keep the right smile there are miles to go but soon we will sleep

justwrite 10 july

we are far and above the gold the love the stares the bubbles in the sky the reasons why and also the questions we are far beyond mentioning the tension and the easy rapport is far more rewarding after all the sorting’s done after the battle’s won and the cows have all crowed the lines in the road have doubled to resize the jawline trouble we are again huddling together but the weather changes and again I rearrange the clues I am used to being tired of analysis I am fired and I too easily miss the company the corporation fascination deliniation blurred at absurd intervals I have had my fill for now but tomorrow is another way of seeing

justwrite 9 july

we are baking the oven and saving the bread for later a greater container and an open mouth traveling south and into a house built by hack and the tax waged on rage we are paying in stages and turning the pages so slowly you know we have nowhere to go and all the time to get there it’s quite clear that all our answers provide slow dancers in the dark the creams of an imagined twilight the backlighting still fighting against rain and other occasionally unfortunate causes our applauses and also our accents the stacks meant to be read but the window stared out of instead is just a change a choice the chance we cannot dance we can only move our feet our eyes pressed gently into borrowed views I can call you and you answer slowly there are few words only to be understood together but the weather is fine enough the water into wine enough that when the next storm ignores its season and trespasses without reason there will be fuel enough for another fire I am tired of patience but afraid of fear I am easily rejected and difficult to steer and the words that hurry into unexpected order sort into piles with rhymes between the lines three books at a time and no more dairy

justwrite 8 july

wounded by mirror and sawdust and applesauce heartache I’m not so sure about the clues but the truth is harder to see on this sea we all know we all sow our own seeds and reap what we write in our own notebooks broken brooks and struck and stricken looks we took too many and one of the shadier deals is the feeling that air is stealing its own lungs out of the sky we breathe our own clouds and we’ve allowed ourselves still more ways to ignore we have saving graces but we fear they’re erased with each pass of magnetic panic the sky the floor is falling and no more calling will be done the songs have been sung in alphabetical order and the constant last resorter can pickle his own

justwrite 7 july

today I am thinking about the end of the river the beginning of the shivering relief the language sunk into my teeth and the words I haven’t heard enough of I am tired of firing on all or even any cylinders I am sad and also dancing near the edge of my seat my feet do not work and it’s true someone always knows more speaks in weeks worth of knowing I am showing myself up cups full of punch just such an idea there is no one way to escape there is a cape made for marauders and a mask made for heroes I have zero in the tank and the bank is making long work of a short stack of bills a robbery too sloppy to report to the cops we are ready and willing but it’s lonely at this table and the stable ideas are few let’s use those Japanese blues to paint another color the shades we’ve made up for exploring we have our own stories I am awkward in the syntax in the fingers the eyes we are trying to have better response times we are planning scandal we are out to tell ourselves the truth

justwrite 6 july

let us take breaks and raise the stakes higher it’s a fire worth lighting and a day worth knighting with a lance a sword a spear no fear but the present tense we mention our ideas and our limitations but most of the suggestions defy specification we are the prisoners of our own tongues undone and unhung not drying off frying any of those cells the ne’er-do-wells populating that range we are affecting the spectrum by playing dumb and we are limiting the responses possible and deployable buoyable by correspondence to flip charts and open hearts and what you have is what I’d like to see more of but gloves are needed and the garden is weeded in Amelia bedilia style which means that all the while we’ve been sowing those seeds and pretending our own needs are something other than what they are each field guitar grows its own crops adopts its own depth having leapt from the sky and into the red-eye flight brighter than neon beets in hasty retreat through fluorescent fortresses we are our own stresses our fortunes told on our palms our steps close-pressed into out soles the whole print clear and blue like tomorrow’s sky

Monday, July 5, 2010

justwrite 5 july

things have rearranged their properties the thieves are giving back their tackleboxes we are all fishing for something but only some of us are catching what we had intended to we are reaching through the glassy surface the water topping itself off we are scoffing at the middlemen we are ourselves finding the next route in cahoots with the silver shoots turning into hurricane lamps to carry the wind the light the green forward bamboo we are all lucky we keep our hands in our pockets at the right moments we are rockets into the sun but in a bright way not a dangerous one

Sunday, July 4, 2010

justwrite 4 july

sitting on the edge of a pin I was thinking about stepping into a different ring a circle turning in on itself helping the shelf empty itself the flour blooming into the air breading the oven and turning the mouths full we are making our own cakes and we are eating them we are mistaking others for ourselves for mirrors of our dreams but they have their own steam and it powers them on through straight in the other direction or perhaps at an angle it’s hard to surmise how the crow flies in the guise of a train we are remaining in the waiting room for more than ample amounts of time we are rhyming our reasons with the seasons it is too hot it is too not cold we are old and we are young but the truth of the uselessness is hard to grasp we gather data as we may we wrap our hands in it and build ropes to climb and also to bind ourselves our health closer our toes exposed to the elements we are painting them blue so they won’t look cold we are hiding our elbows so we don’t seem old we have bellies and smelly feet and indiscreet carnivals making themselves heard in our stomachs whether we give truck to such wheels or not the will carouse they will surround themselves with audiences we are reluctant to move forward we would rather lean toward the pillow it is softer it offers a different shade of day and there are no tests there are only dreams and when we write them down you’re right it’s a good idea and I see there are patterns I see quilts where perhaps there is only cotton batting five hundred or more and it’s hard to say if that’s good because that’s a game I don’t play one of many and they henny-penny way we gather up numbers might lead you to believe that I ought to know how that sort of story goes but I haven’t got a base to stand on I haven’t got a leg to hand on to the next batter I just stir it up and hope for the best it’s a test I’m passing but I’m not sure why I’m taking it just something I’d like to give something about the way I live my self into the kitchen smitten with the action and the reaction and the ingredients expediently transformed from a slip across the street to the sideways store between storms and there are all the eggs in one plastic bag and still they do not fall they all make it home and away

Saturday, July 3, 2010

justwrite 3 july

cleaning off his windowsill the man on the pause pause sixth floor leans out he is wearing no shirt his face is unashamed he is brushing off dirt onto the lower layers seconds later the lightning no one even looks up we have all been waiting counting pause the rumbles the stomachs barely touching dinner just yet we’ve got to get moving but the oven isn’t warm enough to call the bluff of bread rising to surprising heights or on this night it’s soft pretzels rebelling to yell across a landscape not their own to phone home for a certain perfect twist that’s been missed along with other tastes and faces and quiet words of wonder at the storms and the music and we are our own truths in the mirror but we cannot help but look elsewhere we haven’t got the software the upgrade to save ourselves the time because there is no shortcut we have got iron guts and closed eyes we are risking any surprise with each morning scorning fear and occasionally embracing it we have not bought our own tickets just to give them away and if the ship will sink then we’ll drink in great gulps of water and of air and we will command our own land beforehand we will race against the rain drops and our inconveniently inappropriate clothes suddenly cold in july and trying to find the last items on a shatteringly long list trying to resist the clouds until they have to be acknowledged we are making plans but they are somewhat inadequate to settle up with reasonable accounts these are not the professions of logical people these are the waiters and the watchers and if there’s a better offer if we cannot be more gentle scoffers we will need to learn to listen we will need to christen each mouthful with the flash of ivory a prayer and its answer we are grateful we make mistakes anyway great buckets full pouring down into our ears and still we hear nothing we are looking the wrong way and the rain is on some other head ours is not for this fate we have plans and we must go to them this is simply for someone else a different ticket has been bought and there must be some mistake

justnotes 2 july

market shares is the title and it’s a story with layers maybe more wordrich like a verbal picnic but about a baba or all buying time at the market by finding something to sell paying for friends and attention and the added dimensions of life richer for the sharing comparing the heat from different angles and the family triangles the love and the confusion of caring about other people they would build their own steeples of apples and also houseplants a gentle dance between buyers and sellers and criers and yellers and all the tired sighs that pass for life in between moments of knowing how to feel

Thursday, July 1, 2010

justwrite 2 july

if sleeping made sense in a different tense if we could listen before we had to answer or before we had to hear we would be more clear we would steer the conversation in all the right directions we would make corrections before anyone asked and our tasks would be the brighter for it the higher circuit the softer doughnut no one’s sitting out alone at the conference table inventing a fable of how what ought to be and it seems to me that expensive habits do it faster than rabbits multiplication I mean and a flying leap through the air is an undone wonder we are folding our hands together and we are imagining the weather in relief with relief on a map and collapsing all the right folds into hand-holding you don’t need me and I don’t need you we are the self-entertaining variety or maybe some of us are some of us star in our own melodramas faking out karma which pretends to be misled by the missiles the dreamy tear-stained missives in the unexpected evening grieving for the sun which is already on its way back collecting all the traps and falling right in keeping all the mice in place all the spaghetti faces and distraught embraces we are too far away to see each others’ eyes and the surprise cannot register to vote in this election I like the rain I like the tomatoes there are many other items on the list I will check yes I will eat breakfast and also lunch I have a hunch or perhaps more than that of a craft a project a log-made jam a boat with a sail drifting without fail into the empire of the sun and we have undone all the cords we have replaced hoards of facts and lords of life with the air and the way a strawberry looks as its leaves depart pulled up into the sun as the red lands wingless sweet to the tongue