Friday, March 23, 2012

i was reading a book today that i really liked as soon as i flipped open to page 24 or whatever, called notes from underground by eric bogosian. he said something about enjoying smoking cigarettes alone, late at night, because he could hear the tobacco sizzle. that made me think about the first time i realized i appreciated that noise, when i was seeing a boy that didn't like me as much as i liked him, but we both liked smoking cigarettes in bed and drinking beer on the roof and that seemed to be enough for a short period of time. there were few actual connections other than that but i think i imagined that there were, some "deep" conversation; maybe just being bummed about life sometimes seemed like enough.

Sunday, March 4, 2012

trolling the archives

man, some of this is ridiculous:

The dread in Steve's stomach, a slow ache and turmoil, increased as he sat down in the cold brightness of the waiting room. He decided to sign up for the new procedure as soon as Karen took the last of her costumes from the basement. She said she was going on tour with her performance art outfit but he knew better. She wasn't coming back.

from june 2011

I heard this rapid knocking on the door, and I thought- "My pizza usually takes 35 minutes to get here".

I hadn't even gotten a call. Once I opened the door, though, there was a dour stranger standing on the sidewalk in front of my house with no food in hand. She gestured towards the end of the block, and then I remembered her sitting on the American flag bench at the corner, knitting incessantly and never making eye contact. Her dogs always looked unhappy. She seemed to resent my presence, my lack of interest in neighborhood gossip or events. Her face was bland, worn, rundown by a lifetime of relying on the discouraging familiar, and her grandchildren screamed in the street.

There was a weird pause where I waited for her to talk and she waited for me to welcome her in, or make some kind of generous remark. I'm not good with chats. I just stood there. Finally, she said, "Have any of youse been next door in that lot?"

Pause. I got worried, thought I'd done something wrong. "No, not since I brought my bike back inside".

She rearranged her face in this extraordinary way; the wrinkles beside her eyes curved upwards and her eyebrows became sympathetic. Her mouth softened from a tight purse to something almost like a smile.

"I seen this little ball of fluff nexta the house the other day. Mom musta ditched him or something. I been bringing food and water by the last few days but he disappeared. You seen a cat hanging around your yard?"

I stepped down on the stoop and closed the door to hold in the air. "Yeah, there are always cats in the backyard. They've been messing with our tomatoes."

She shifted, apparent concern on her face. " I dunno where that little one went. I been bringing him food all the time. Mom wasn't around, so I was worried. Wasn't sure if you seen him over around the corner. Such a tiny thing, like just born."

She peered around the corner into the gravel and weed patch that was next to my house, checking to make sure the desolate area was vacant.

"Anyhow, just wondering if you saw him or anything. I know you have those cats, you're out here all the time, tryna to find out if he's ok."

This neighborhood breeds people with tough skin, people thinking the newcomer is something to overcome, or reject. I wished I could help, only because it would endear me to them or paint a stripe of acceptance on my door, or something.

Instead, I made a sympathetic sound, a generic response to the thought of a cute abandoned animal, said, "I'll keep an eye out! Good luck!" and re-entered my air-conditioned home with my indoor animals and wireless internet and solid deadbolt to block off the people outside.








being super dramatic, from 7/2011

i'm waiting for the birds to let me know that everything's ok, but it's discordant and hot, and nothing's right. my heartbeat is arrhythmic, with no point of reference, no stability. i used to have a foundation.