you are forgiven by the who
2007-10-27 12:14 a.m.

petty monsters in the closet rifle through my scarves and tell me things that don't matter.

--
the fest reminds us all:

even being different is a way of fitting in. there's an unaccounted-for space in between culture and counterculture where i sit and doodle on a napkin.

not even a space like a valley between two cliffs, the typical kind of rift. no this is tighter and less flat, between the body and the jacket. a very confusing terrain, very very. i have walked around and occasionally found another person crouching in the armpit, lying parallel to the seams.

when i approached them they dissolved into salt.

--

i've never been very good at anger. i've got sad down. anger is still mysterious to me.

honestly it exasperates me. my first thought is always, jesus christ i can't wait to stop being angry.
--

i was going to throw a glass against the wall slow-motion style in your honor but the space-time continuum refused to cooperate.

--

today my writing is not good. (possibly true always?) i've been freewriting forever and it's still just nonsense babble. good for a blog, i guess. like,

i am a leaky dinghy. you are the donut of me. there's nothing of raisins within me. i would shower except i'm not convinced it would rinse me fully.

there's an irony in the tablecloth. can you irony the tablecloth tonight?

i knew a boy who reached out to me. i knew a girl who carried a jug of oil. i knew a couple that were no longer two separate people. i knew a hand that reduced me to rubble.

--

dear tony,

tony, i told you i would write something concrete, tony.

i'm upstairs in my room wearing white pants. i should be working on my thesis, but instead i'm considering buying a fish. downstairs curtis is watching a rolling stones special and dancing around. chris and daniel are writing--or maybe they are thinking about pet fish, too.

last night several people crouched in the pantry and drank miller light. or is it lite?

tony, i can't remember why i promised you something concrete. i have to say, it bores me to be so grounded.

--

back to the sky. i knew a mantle made of satin that clung to her shoulders and leeched out the good.