Saturday, February 17, 2007

the ghost of birthdays past

february 28, 2006
i turned 29 in the chena hot springs. later in march i had the biggest birthday party. we sang and ate at the ba mien food court on broadway. it seems like a great place to get married. then we went to kodiak and to the hopleaf. i gave my bottle of cider to some french man. turning 29 in the hot springs may be a life highlight.

and from there you can see the aurora.

february 28, 2005
i ate dinner at goose island on clark. the next day i went to san francisco with jenn. i slept in the most secretive bed i've ever been in. later in march i had a party at the underground lounge. i drank all the ciders they had. dancing was fun. my hair was dark red. i beat karl and steven at mario party in the wee hours.

february 28, 2004
i was in seattle eating a scone at the crumpet store in pike place market. i flew home to chicago and went to the pumping station bar to meet some friends that were out for some other reason. i got a burn that left a scar in the shape of a smile from alan's cigarette lighter. i had a party at matilda's later in march. karl did not come, we had just met. mike brought ice cream cake from culvers. the delightful charms of lainie and nanette prompted mike young to remark that i only hang out with nerds and hot chicks. pretty much.

february 28, 2003
i went to hawaii in early february. i sent an email called "drip" and another called "drop" to canada. i ended up in winnipeg, i believe, on the actual day. if so i went to the record store, and ate at a new but not so great mexican restaurant and had a mix of positive and negative experiences. i may have played speed scrabble in the misercordia neighborhood. that was a nice time.

february 28, 2002
i went out with lainie, justin and jeremy to dinner and then to spin. on my way home from spin, i ran into jon. jeremy and justin got naked that night.

february 28, 2001
i was flying in an airplane over my hometown of oshkosh, wisconsin. for some reason this is the only time i've ever flown low enough to actually make out my hometown (it's on a big lake so not that hard to spot). later that year the flight path changed entirely so i've never flown over oshkosh again. i was flying from chicago to boise, coming home from my interview at the American Library Association.

Friday, February 16, 2007

slack - don't talk back

the great majority of people does not consider it contemptible to believe this or that and to live accordingly, without first having given themselves an account of the final and most certain reasons pro and con, and without even troubling themselves about such reasons afterward: [---] But what is goodheartedness, refinement or genius to me, when the person who has these virtues tolerates slack feelings in his faith and judgments and when he does not account the desire for certainty as his inmost craving and deepest distress [----] (Nietzsche)
Be as a bird perched on a frail branch that she feels bending beneath her, still she sings away all the same, knowing she has wings. (Victor Hugo)

All the forces in the world are not so powerful as an idea whose time has come. (Victor Hugo)
slack (adj.) Look up slack at
O.E. slæc "loose, careless" (in ref. to personal conduct), from P.Gmc. *slakas (cf. O.S. slak, O.N. slakr, O.H.G. slah "slack," M.Du. lac "fault, lack"), from PIE base *(s)leg- "to be slack" (see lax). Sense of "not tight" (in ref. to things) is first recorded c.1300. The verb is attested from 1520; slacken (v.) first recorded 1580. Slack-key (1975) translates Hawaiian ki ho'alu First record of slack-jawed (1901) is in Kipling. Slack water "time when tide is not flowing" is from 1769. Slacker popularized 1994, though meaning "person who shirks work" dates back to 1898.

slack (n.) Look up slack at
1794, "loose part or end" (of a rope, sail, etc.), from slack (adj.); hense fig. senses in take up the slack (1930) and slang cut (someone) some slack (1968). Meaning "quiet period, lull" is from 1851.

in conclusion

it is not 1851, i am not quiet. i am too loud. i am high maintenance but i have not squeaked enough. i need grease.

my parents never listened to me, or did i just not complain? i really believed for most of those years that everything was fine. then i realized it wasn't fine, and i ran away. then i came back, they want me to act as if everything is always fine so that they have one less opportunity to contemplate how it is not. i am unwilling, but i am unable to make it better by pointing out how unfine it is. it seems best to be silent. i cannot tell my other family as she will tell them how i said it was not fine as if we all any of us have ever believed it was. as if it is wrong, unfair, unloving to state the obvious. i do not understand.

i would not leave you alone. i worried you might feel alone, i let you know i was here. i would not find it hard to make you not feel alone if someone else was lonely too, i would balance. i might make a mistake but i would try. i would not leave you alone.

i would not ask you to worry about me when worrying is all you've done.

but i won't let you not. i am alone, i am not always fine. i don't want to care about you anymore. i won't. i mean it.

i will put my name on this, and this and this. and it may be a new name and in taking pains to place my name on it i might miss this and this and this. but it will be mine, and they will know it is mine and the time spent making it mine may make it less ours, and for us, but i will own it and you will know it. you will know you were not part of it.

after centuries of evolution (?) (?!), society (culture, what have you) is at a state wherein one of its individuals (biproducts, what have you) might seek out sexual stimulation on the internet as is becoming commonplace in said society at this time. after discovering a heightened sense of connection with the author's ability to weave sentiment and sexuality to such an extent it best encapsulates the sense of spirituality wherein said individual currently chooses to experience their sexuality, it is concluded that there is very little prospect of appropriately conveying and sharing the experience of said connection with any human being which whom said individual has shared sexual relations, ever. as a result, said individual could, as is commonplace in said society at this time, be motivated to share said connection with strangers on said internet. to what end?

my parents never listened to me, or did i just not complain? but i do remember they told me time and time again "don't talk back". i hated it, mainly i did not understand. how could my understanding evolve if i was not allowed to talk back, to ask questions, to get answers?

i keep trying to understand you. i don't want to understand you anymore. i won't. i mean it.

i'm not fourteen, as much as i want and tend to experience the positives and negatives of life as such. but i've been cut too much slack.

nonsense is one of the most understandable words in any langauge.

Monday, January 15, 2007

sticks and stones

"But words are things, and a small drop of ink,
Falling, like dew, upon a thought produces
That which makes thousands, perhaps millions think."
last night i ground nutmeg (a stone) and cinnamon (a stick) into a sauce. today i stewed.

there are phrases i carry in my pocket to worry on. some are painful, yet like tongue to bitten cheek i dart back to them and press. others i bring out before bed and curl up against, a blanket tossed over a nightlight blocking out a room full of shadows. my aunt still thinks i burned her comforter this way, but i'm not sure it was really me. i've never been particularly afraid of the dark.

all of these are words, simple words strung together and tossed over my neck. peace garlands from lovers and friends--heartstrings--or, at times thoughtless angry nooses from the same. with my sentimental mind so few have been lost, surely i'm in over my head.

sometimes i can't write about the things i feel most. i want to be raw. sometimes i can't even say them for fear i've uttered them already too many times to too many people. al dente. what if they become thin and hard, worn brittle from overuse.

like the new snow. it's cold, it sparkles, it crunches, i wanted to tell you about it. but i already have. and you, and you and you and you. and i must not mention the streets i'm really walking down inside, when winter hits. i've wanted to keep those times soft, yet memory's visited them so often. there are calcium deposits in my heart and as i get older the drip's only steadier. the path; slippery and increasingly obstructed.

so i wait and meditate on whirlpools. unexpected, deep and slowly turning. still, it isn't new to hope you'll drown in me.