ca. 1992
Sang in the car, nearly caused a crash to us.
ca. 1993
Fell in the pool. Water gloved my lungs and for minutes I thought I might end now. I remember some hand, not sure whose.
ca. 1994
Choked on a glove. Choked on ice from a glove.
ca. 1994
Woke up from a booth dream. In the dream I had faded: I woke up face down and smothered. I had nearly fallen asleep in that dream. I remember thinking "that was close".
ca. 1995
Fell from a tree.
ca. June–August 1995
Imagined a soldier, shot a real gun to made music. Nearly struck by birds.
ca. December 1995
Bit in the eye by the dog. Dad bit the dog back, sort of.
ca. January 1996
Got shocked by the wall trying to plug in the television, watch the fuzzy colours in there. Instead they were in me; I saw them for a second, the ceiling hours later.
ca. April 1996
Noticed we had an attic: what a serious door.
ca. November 1996
Dove under Dad's car, got scolded.
ca. spring 1997
Caught my first glimpse of a naked woman.
ca. summer 1997
Caught my first glimpse of a naked woman that wasn't Mom.
ca. fall 1998–spring 1999
Learned a lot about octopi.
ca. April 1999
Flew low with weird wings; woke up.
ca. August 2000
Broke the back door. Dad broke a mirror at me later.
ca. September 2000
Tried hard to keep beat with adults. Cried a lot, at first.
(incomplete)
December 30, 2009
um, circles and squares
another dream about the vanishing back of you; i have been thinking about words, i have been thinking about how we are a good fit
December 26, 2009
old notebooks pt. 2: hood rat
my mind bends and splashes like water would. it's empty, like water seems when viewed at from up above but in all actuality it's fraught with action, the water in a pond or a river that is.
my mind is like that, i'd like to think. though to be fair, i am arrogant, a lion, a creature who lives in a region mostly devoid of it, or i am thinking of something else.
i go constructing little links via electric synapse or microtubule. there's water, it seems, in all sorts of places in your body: cut it up and see for yourself. all six-segmented me with a shiny spinal core, i am a fragmented apple.
close your eyes and see red in the sunlight. i learned colours doing the kindergarten clock dash across my mother's floor, leaning back in my precarious chair, leaving half-circle moons in the hardwood. the stairs up to the attic were very narrow i remember, only room for half of one of my four year old feet. there wasn't much to see up there; our family isn't much for memory.
we had marmalade summers and kept up cozy winters. i remember building snowmans alone on the goodbye street, the one where dad would leave forever for work until night--snowmen all sad and grey from the grime on the pavement. the snowman was more gravel than snow, man.
with giddy orbits i would venture into the forest and drink with cupped palms from fetid pools of still water. with giddy orbits all the weird creatures would trace sick circles in my stomach and i would throw up in the middle of tick-tock park.
they made voices at night and one mean evening they toppled down to get me.
those plaid cobblestones were ingrained in my memory as the place where i did things with a lifelong significance unbefitting to such a small person. there were two; they were bad things.
those nights spoke monobone creatures like stick insects, they were all one bone, resting in the knots of trees they meld with the trees, bone on bark and i'm sure they feel real smug in their safety. underneath the tree barrow they hide teeth bared and eyes aglow with a thirsty light, like they want to drink up the moon and never stop drinking until the moon is all gone, the marrow out of it, and the tree is bone too: the bugs were bone, the road is bone and i am bone, everything is bone, everything might as well be one bone.
my mind is like that, i'd like to think. though to be fair, i am arrogant, a lion, a creature who lives in a region mostly devoid of it, or i am thinking of something else.
i go constructing little links via electric synapse or microtubule. there's water, it seems, in all sorts of places in your body: cut it up and see for yourself. all six-segmented me with a shiny spinal core, i am a fragmented apple.
close your eyes and see red in the sunlight. i learned colours doing the kindergarten clock dash across my mother's floor, leaning back in my precarious chair, leaving half-circle moons in the hardwood. the stairs up to the attic were very narrow i remember, only room for half of one of my four year old feet. there wasn't much to see up there; our family isn't much for memory.
we had marmalade summers and kept up cozy winters. i remember building snowmans alone on the goodbye street, the one where dad would leave forever for work until night--snowmen all sad and grey from the grime on the pavement. the snowman was more gravel than snow, man.
with giddy orbits i would venture into the forest and drink with cupped palms from fetid pools of still water. with giddy orbits all the weird creatures would trace sick circles in my stomach and i would throw up in the middle of tick-tock park.
they made voices at night and one mean evening they toppled down to get me.
those plaid cobblestones were ingrained in my memory as the place where i did things with a lifelong significance unbefitting to such a small person. there were two; they were bad things.
those nights spoke monobone creatures like stick insects, they were all one bone, resting in the knots of trees they meld with the trees, bone on bark and i'm sure they feel real smug in their safety. underneath the tree barrow they hide teeth bared and eyes aglow with a thirsty light, like they want to drink up the moon and never stop drinking until the moon is all gone, the marrow out of it, and the tree is bone too: the bugs were bone, the road is bone and i am bone, everything is bone, everything might as well be one bone.
December 12, 2009
have you seen the girl?
repeat after this: i am an island because.
i did not speak for hours because an island is silent and does not speak.
i did not stop and think about it because an island does not stop and think about it, it is mainly busy with being an island.
instead i searched for the prettiest face, because an island is ultimately concerned with boasting having the prettiest face.
i am an island, at once violent and alliterative. i will move or i will sink.
i am a planet.
i swell and groan because i am like a planet uniquely gravitied. i am probably the sum of all my distance and the distance of that which is close or moves close to me.
i am a far planet and therefore the glub and or swirl of my planet is harsh.
i am a planet because like a planet i will become heated, i will become glass and as glass i will shatter.
i did not speak for hours because an island is silent and does not speak.
i did not stop and think about it because an island does not stop and think about it, it is mainly busy with being an island.
instead i searched for the prettiest face, because an island is ultimately concerned with boasting having the prettiest face.
i am an island, at once violent and alliterative. i will move or i will sink.
i am a planet.
i swell and groan because i am like a planet uniquely gravitied. i am probably the sum of all my distance and the distance of that which is close or moves close to me.
i am a far planet and therefore the glub and or swirl of my planet is harsh.
i am a planet because like a planet i will become heated, i will become glass and as glass i will shatter.
December 8, 2009
December 1, 2009
call to dive
nowadays my world seems so small i feel i could fit it onto a piece of paper (or twenty).
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