Never mind, just knocked out another page, up to 2,047 words. Still feels very young, and I'm pretty sure this is the first time I'm doing family dynamic instead of just relationship dynamic. Feels vaguely evocative of going from bicycle to car, so many more moving parts. Yet they all excite me just the same. I get the feeling this could be a really good one, but then stop me, that could just be the whiskey talking.
I'm sorry story 8, I'm sorry blagh, I have neglected the both of you. I know I will write again, and I am reading plenty but I feel so empty lately. RAWRAWRAWR Looking into getting a new job.
Someone recently said to me "You're really smart, but you don't seem to realize it, which is so much better than being really smart."
"I'm so glad you keep your pockets in your pants"-Story 8
I am very much very close to something rather nice.
I get to see my favorite band of all time from November 30th to December 3rd.
One album a night, four nights, four albums straight.
And thus I will share them with you from time to time
Right now this is perfect for me, right now this is true.
A soft breeze
with the slippery concrete
black and full of muddy slush,
contrasting with the hoarfrost,
clean and hung
on a tunnel of silent shivering trees
(the ones you said you'd like to be),
and the birds that screamed at the sun
now buried deep
down below the ground,
beneath the snow,
I press my shoulder to this wall between us.
I know you are behind me
and I press my shoulder to this wall,
determined not to turn around.
I didn't see you standing,
that statue that I molded in my mind to kiss,
so beautiful you'll never move again.
Someplace far away,
at some sad table littered with chipped plates,
with bad light,
in 48 frames from a movie on the cutting room floor,
"True meaning would be dying with you,"
and though I wanted to,
I did not smile.
But now I will give up on this wall that I have fought with,
never uncover meaning behind our rich words.
If I could I would make you a raging river,
with angry rapids, supplied with rain,
so you could always meander
and forever be able to run away
with myths wrongly interpreted,
A harsh wind.
I'm in a writers workshop, I'm sorry I never told you Blagh. I was asked to write a very short piece of fiction for the workshop to be read this Friday the 18th at Book Passages in the Ferry Building. It had to be around 500 words, and to read in three minutes flat. I wrote this in half an hour, one draft, careless like my poetry, which felt nice. It's untitled, if you have any suggestions for the title toss them in the comments.
My fathers profession was chosen for him, in a sense. At the age of ten we had moved to the midwest, the very middle of the west, my mother had said, to a town just shy of a city. The towns name was always changing so even if I told you about it now well, you wouldn't be able to find it, the locals were always taking down the street signs leading in, it was a town just shy of a city and they wanted to keep it that way. We had gotten lost to find it, which is a fun thing to say, we had gotten lost to find it, but my father never would ask for directions anyway so it wasn't that surprising. I say he fell into his profession, or it was chosen for him because he became the weatherman for this town, and without any previous experience either. He just opened up the newspaper bought from the hotel lobby where we checked in two hours prior and that was the first thing he saw and circled.
Needed: Weatherman for future predictions, no experience necessary, KRED radio station 430 West 2nd Street.
Now he moved fast on this one. He said his instinct had brought us to this impossible town and now he would use his instinct to get this job and then use instinct to predict the weather.
He didn't think twice about knowing nothing of weather, when asked at the interview if he was a meteorologist he told them he had once owned a telescope as child and did very much enjoy hunting for shooting stars. To this the two radio owners (his interviewers) glanced at each other with a hint of a smile, both in three piece suits one tan, one brown, both with matching thin brimmed cowboy hats.
“I think that will do just fine then,” the one in brown said. My father was left confused though, scratching his head wondering what the stars had to do with the weather. He stood up and shook their hands with a good grip, he attributed his getting the job nearly to his hand shake alone, the interview being so concise and quick. He was told to return tomorrow morning for the six o’clock show for the first of his predictions.
“But why would they choose you,” my mother had asked, “do you think it’s your radio voice, I can’t wait to hear you on the radio.”
“It should only be about thirty seconds every morning, but the pay is oddly just enough to keep us shacked up here, until something better comes along.”
I didn’t believe it one bit though, that much money for only thirty seconds, with no experience. I took my younger sister down to the hotel lobby to ask around, something my father would have never done.
That was when the front desk clerk told me something I will never forget.
“The new weather man? Your father? Well good luck to him, we’ve had four this month, seems no one can get it right, and they’re all just guessing, they all just get fired when we wear shorts and it rains, or we’re sweating through our new slacks, this town doesn’t have the money to go through clothes like that, we’ll just see how long he lasts.”
When he told me this I figured it was over for us, we would be out of this town in a week. It was the strangest thing though, like I said, his profession was chosen for him, and for the next fifteen years he guessed the weather, and he guessed it accurately, and he had no idea how. We finally moved out of that town one day when someone asked him if he ever played the state lotto, considering his luck, and so he gave it a try and he guessed those winning numbers too.
In every jail you will find a cathedral,
your god in a small space
enclosed by cement and metal bars
surrounded by murderers
rapists and thieves
or so they had always hoped
I get the feeling they are mostly,
mostly praying for escape
sanctifying their jail house blueprints
blessing their escape routes
and if I figure well enough
I figure it's no different at your church
to get away, to escape
your job, your wife, your life
and this sanctuary
original sin is exclusive to this prison
and their confessional is empty
their father is not listening
prayer, love, want, need
the lord works overtime
when the prisoners are grinding their teeth
if there is anything that that cross means
it is better to ask with no response
than to never to ask at all
the difference being
when you are locked up
you pray with fists
instead of praying with your hands
open and receiving
It's amazing how many parts of my body hurt, it's odd that when they do I smile a little. I went snowboarding yesterday, third time ever, first time in at least seven months. I took a couple of pretty bad falls and that snow was hard and unforgiving. The first couple of times I went it was like falling into a bed, parts of yesterday felt like concrete. One of the worst falls was a collision, with a very pretty girl. It happened insanely fast like a car crash, I looked back and she was five feet behind me going about 25 miles an hour, I think I had about two seconds to brace for impact, it was exhilarating. We were both thrown from it, and after all the rolling and tossing of bodies stopped we both laid about 10 feet from each other. Right when it got quiet, we just started spouting off "Sorry," so many times, "Sorry," and "are you okay?" But hers were wet, she was crying. I laid in the snow staring up at a million stars listening to this girl cry, she said she was okay, I asked if I could go get someone, I asked where it hurt, If I could do anything. She kept saying she was fine, it was about 28 degrees out, it must be terrible to cry in that freezing cold. I didn't know if I was supposed to stay with her or go, give her her peace. I left after I got her to laugh, I don't remember what I said to make her laugh, but I remember the sound of her laugh and the sound of her cry. I've always been curious why our brains remember the things they do when we have a ton of adrenaline running through us. I'd rather remember that she did laugh than some corny joke I made anyways.
Sometimes I forget that I write
Most of the time I don't believe myself
to do one thing well
I have trouble believing most everything
When they say we only see straight ahead
that our eyes make up everything else out of memory
well I don't know if thats true
but it sure feels like I make up a lot out of memory
out of trust
and if I lost it all, if my computer crashed
and all my copies were burned
if everything I ever wrote was destroyed
well you might have to convince me
and wouldn't that be fun
someone else's beliefs
trust through amnesia
and maybe then
I could finally make sense of always hearing
I don't want to