Wednesday, November 10, 2010

       Seven Observations in Four Days   



            He started to get that fleeting feeling- the one where the mind escapes the information being presented, and goes off into some precarious space –all having to do with the person that is sitting a little closer than normal, the vent that is just loud enough to hear over the main activity of the room, or the chair that never seems to sit quite right.






The luxury of late afternoon commitments and a personal bathroom is gradual dressing or dressing in parts. Instead of catapulting from the bed to the stern outside world, the two are synthesized. Pajamas-to-presentable-attire is a journey of bodily preference rather than obligation. Everything should be like this.






Music with soft tambourines and strange guitars looped. Everything was cleared from the kitchen but a bucket of water. She was down on her hands and knees with a small handled sponge. The hardwood was colored warm like the desert, and worn dull in spaces of favorable motion.






The moon is a thin fingernail clipping.





I met my neighbor this afternoon. My roommates and I rang her doorbell, our hands full with flowers- mourning the sleep she lost the night prior. It’s supposed to be easier to plead forgiveness than to ask for permission.

She spoke of the former owner of our house, a big man who starved himself thin and disappeared inside behind a never-ending sheet of gospel music. One day it was replaced with a hammer.  She assumed he was getting his life back together until she caught the smell of his rotting body through the brick.

Now I lay under three comforters and try to keep from guessing which beam his body dangled, from naming the maggots that took up home inside his carcass while his eyes were half eaten out.






The new pink layer under a blister that is revealed after it pops and peels back suggests something of our immortality - forever scraping and healing, these systems never die. Rather, always evolve into something new.






Certain moments seem pivotal when looked at in premeditation or retrospect, but when inside them we are subject to their pathetic inflation. We are standing with our backs sloped, and  the inside of a plastic balloon thrown over our shoulders. How our minds select and magnify - how they mislead according to our desires.



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