31 december

we had other ideas at other points but then something else happened instead and it was this and it was good although yes true sometimes there are splinters and often I go off script as if I can revise it better but then anyway there's a twist that fixes the line the diagram the triangle of plot although roller coaster is the trite term it's somewhat earned although we'll say mountain range instead because it's a bumpy stretch sometimes but oh the view indeed

30 december

making space to invite in something else -- sometime somewhen somewhere with no leaky ceilings or dust coats no excuses and no guessing -- no eating to fill the empty no dark that cannot face light -- it is a different genre entirely, or so I've heard and drafted

29 december

It is on the way home from what feels like it might be the week's 27th grocery run -- not bad for a lazy holiday -- and what is definitely the week's last grocery run -- having already managed thirty minnutes out of the house once the sun went down, errands and quick retreat on this hot times! last Saturday night of the year -- that I was struck. It was at the red light and reached for the unopened half gallon of one percent chocolate milk, which was just before a total stranger pulled up in the next lane and I knew --even in the dark -- he would glance over at me in shocked judgement (can't she at least wait to get home first?) and I would spill all over myself as honking behind jerked me into the shortlived reality of the left-turn lane.

28 december

more of the same to drain the rest with to pass the test with failing colors and a cup of soup of tea of quiet understated platings with slices of ratherward fading in confusion --

27 december

I spent a dollar fifty on optimism today and that's exactly all I got. Six quarters worth in plastic digital chip form, underwarmed by the second dryer -- trying but not very hard, umpteenth time and more. And yet, somehow, felt better for the purchase, although despair is cheaper and pessimism free.

26 december

as if a switch off or on and it's hard to tell which way until your eyes adjust to what's new and it's true what they say but just can't remember how it goes

25 december

in a short story it would be seen as magic or a plot device, as if setting -- talking time, not just place here -- can impact the outcome, and we know it can -- but in real life just two characters trying to make a go of it and not sure where they're getting --  

24 december

a year in this notebook and won't look back too closely over the dips and trips -- slipping up and sliding down like an underground animal cracker housed like a foundation of devastation and also hollowness the way best described as down and also the certainty that someone else deserves better -- the missing weather when the climate fell off and the cough that never quite went away -- play and rewind a dozen times to the same scene and we've seen it all before like a door shutting on your finger but still you linger as it happens -- never fast enough or trying much to pull it back -- harm's way and home again, stranded by hope and cast off like disappointment coming around the bend

23 december

a small step slipping shipshape into slipshod slapdash excuses -- the caboose is rolling in but the passengers have no time to get onboard to step aside to simply ride on to the next destination -- the stretched imagination of those blurred by rain and wonder -- torn and turn and misunderstood by design -- a fine unpaid and a string that's afraid not all can be solved -- hard going with no knowing what's next -- 

22 december

to recycle metaphors the score was unsettled so the lights went out and the tables turned like clockwork disregard unwashed and lazyoiled for the creaking hand that feeds the mouth that cannot shut like a ridge unridden and a path forked by knives alive and sharp as goodbye

21 december

and somehow then there was nothing else to do and so the dark instead and also wind although what was blowing in or out was nowhere to be seen nohow anyway -- 

20 december

definitely the end of something but nobody knows which switch is on and which one's gone already with the holiday scene and the tangerine dreams already overcooked and underlooked beyond the point of many happy returns unearned and overserved -- 

19 december

and we are coming to the end and yet unsure if there's any more in the cupboard or if it's bare or if a lucky spare is lurking just beyond the horizon of imagination, which, frankly, must be very far away indeed

18 december

as if there is some forgiveness to be found in seeking despair when there ought to be something else entirely instead -- said backward and convincingly the nature changed once the calendar cleared and there's no dates for anyone now

17 december

something to apologize for but more the way the waste places blame and the want knots like the have gots and the lesser wants more than a full score of decks to collect the aces that chase the hands around like ground cover and ducks in the night

16 december

no doubt there is another way but it's hard to see from here and no path is clear enough to travel with closed eyes and no surprise but some other sort of ramble turns tangled and high tails but failing again to form the edges and lost in hedges I planted myself I toast the health of those ahead and wish the best to all those beyond the door -- 

15 december

breaking down and also we apart but within bounds around the corners and under siege like a league of untying nations in consternation and deep steep to stew the truth free of metrics and also beyond abandon -- a stand-in for sensibility and a filled cheese danish worn out with the effort of socialized delivery -- sniveling with the unlikeliness of it all -- 

14 december

I want to see better hear feel know better but in the way there are cloudy headlights and passive passing passing on and out and up without the thought stepping in or up or beyond the expectations -- the collections of disappointed out of jointment jangled by confusion lend illusions to the constellations -- the dots that don't quite connect

13 december

but by then the sun had set and we didn't know if it would be back -- tracking the path and turning the corners with onerous twists and mournful considerations -- the nations untied and fried their own eggs halfway through the scramble they couldn't see past -- 

12 december

never mind the find and the additional subtraction -- we've lacked an easy strategy but the time has -- still not come -- let us hum, let us pray --

11 december

coming apart and the seams but the scene is still steady enough to ready the setgo while the yet low tide takes its high time and side turns to earn rusty trust in a roadside canoe gone flat from the damp and let loose from the map -- 

10 december

up and down but also somewhere in the middle the idea that we feel better with less is tested and the rest seems historically inaccurate though the jacket fruits and the maple poles like a trolley unforeseen and undeserved like the swerving between lanes in the backwoods dark or the park we used to meet in like defeating some other future like the sutures we can't see from here or the lima beans we'll never see in the same way again -- 

9 december

and sometimes if you just keep going you may end up closer after all although it's hard to tell where and to know quite why and further answers to key questions but the odd dimensions surely soon must measure up although still quite hard to see what color the blueprint will turn in the end -- 

8 december

as it breaks down we shake down the feathers and ups the pillows -- the will of the winds and the turn of the tides with nowhere sure but the hidden beach combovers and lawnotes a float with expectation -- the situation unstoned overturned hightailed and neverfail alarm clocks the stock of renegades and B-roll tolling not for bells and waiting much too long for tea -- 

7 november

For the past thirty hours or so -- although who’s counting? -- the idea of jelly donuts has appeared recurringly in my mind’s eye. It’s better than actual jelly donuts appearing over and over again in my hand -- and then, most likely in my stomach… although jelly donuts are more messy than tasty, given the choice… although, handed a jelly donut, it’s probably a natural choice to eat it. Who am I kidding?

Honestly.

When someone tries to deliver bad news, they have to be really really skilled not to let the cat out of the bag too soon. Only metaphors and cliches will do in this case, and -- in this case -- I’m using a meta-mataphor to set it up. Mindblowing, really.

So your back… so your discs… like jelly donuts… and between these, the jelly has been drying out… with age (Q: What age do you call 38? A: Exactly.)... and if it was just those two spots we could… but down here… this donut is completely flattened… all the jelly is squeezed out on this side… 1.5 cm… which is actually a lot… nerves… compression… etc.

So: jelly donuts as an exercise in compassion.

Except I’m pretty sure I’ll never eat another jelly donut again.

7 december

and then i woke from a dream of being asleep and it was hard to figure what else I could possibly dream of instead and to a better effect but it soon became clear the blank stayed empty and i laylie in it to curl up but i didn't quite fit in the short space and so i placed my faith in some other structure and sutured together the present with the past while the last common denominators between now and later multiplied their variables and subdivided their times -- 

6 december

quiet down and lielay low in expectation of space of quiet of wandering toward or away with no difference in betweeen -- seeming to say and staying away out of the sorts 

5 december

and it turned out that was all there was -- to reflect on without doing any new or right or good -- to carry on with a path collapsed into pixels and reformatted with a stradivarius intention but a nickeldime tune -- a night of mourning and a circle we can't square -- not sure if this is my stop here -- 

4 december

brown butter undertaker
sugar sliced ham
all the weakened rutabagas
slipping through beyond expansion
let the turnips sing
keep out the alabaster
nobody sleeps the soup on
fearful final roots
turn up the sky
underwrite the breakapart
add another inch of dark

3 december

a two potato more evening as the dark shovels up and the mouth goes dry -- try and find the way out of dark and up the river down the creek around around around

2 december

although the logic is not there a strong sense of overwhelm bans against the common sense and batters ramparts already unsteady with overuse and disabused notions of strength -- a tent in a storm keeping warm by candlelight on a rainy night split by frightening sadness and also the fear that nothing is clear but the end which is always with us and the stars that miss us in the dark -- 

1 december

but now it will be dark to rights well enough to be left alone like an unstone overearned turned from pencil to pretzel like twisted words unheard and seldom said again -- I planned this all differently but that's not how it goes -- we show ourselves to be lacking in tracking all the guesses for the mess is more than the blueprints worth and rehearsals never went like this