Sometime in 2011

Not spending all my days in a thoughtless daze, but that mood set in last night–one of abandon. I let the wheel go and drove several feet on the opposite lane.

A nightmare followed. If I were to describe its affect, it would be something like being let down in exactly the way you feared you would, but that you would not have expected to actually occur: the feeling of having an unlikely possibility actualize itself.

Now I sit and keep planning, knowing there is no secret to feeling better through planning, but planning because it gives the semblance of safety and control, though I very well know its legs to be as wobbly as mine.

Would have liked to phrase it differently, but I couldn’t allow myself to write down the sentence as it wanted to be. Rearranging the words was just as difficult, so I stripped it of all other words but “love” and went back to bed.

Learning To Not Spill Our Numerous Problems On Strangers

the latest Distant Castle conversation poem

 

You’re lacking serenity, you’re mushing.

Your fingernails are the same color as the interior of Chopsticks.

 

But focus for a second before you snap, figure out the word for it—

pin it down like when you lay a woman down.

 

This woman is a lot of sound, texture, growling, growing.

I threw my bow at her and it broke in half.

 

The damage now is several generations away

from Amos and Andy, the society of ill illustrators,

from my first moment of self sacrifice:

cooking salad, throwing rocks at trees—I’m having Java Hut flashbacks!

 

He’s a sociopath, that’s why he’s important,

and that’s why you’re wearing lipstick.

 

Will you look at me for a half-second, Jim?

My pussy is in distress.

 

I’m going to know the answer: what’s the question?

Your ears are too small to put words inside of.

Tourist at Home: Week One

I decided to visually document my summer trip for reasons such as having neglected my camera for a while, and because I do too much with words, and sometimes words can’t do enough. Before going to the Balkans I am spending two weeks in Worcester MA. This week, the first one, I have already gotten a good taste of what Summer of Worcester 2013 will be like, and I’ll share some of it here.

This is Holmes, on the night the Istanbul protests got off the ground, explaining to me his experiences with tear gas.

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And this is Martina writing a secret story that, she says, only she is able to understand.

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Holmes reading to Martina before bed.

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The following day, friends and I went on a picnic and also read to each other–about real encounters with real ghosts! They were bad stories, poorly written, but laughing at them was fun.

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I also had a surprising amount of fun taking pictures of the sunroof reflections while in the car.

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Certain challenges did arise however, such as how to open a wine bottle with a spoon and how to decide which kind of Russian candy to buy among the different varieties. Both challenges were surmounted.

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Funeral Cone played a show in a windowless room of blood-boiling temperature; it was appropriately beach themed.

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I met a new person–Mary–whose house I stayed in for a night before going to Boston for the day. She told me about her life of travel, studying anthropology, how she lost her husband in a rock-climbing accident, and her own accident that permanently impaired her short-term memory. She spoke about women being topless in Ecuador and it not being a big deal, and she showed me photos. After two hours of speaking frankly and jovially, I left and, by this point, Mary had forgotten my name and everything I had shared with her during these hours. But the stories she shared–her stories–are engraved in her memory as the few and only things she has and that cannot escape from her like my name or what she had for breakfast.

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Today, I ran into a stranger-friend named Hannah. She and I met while I was at a work convention last year–her partner and I both worked for the same organization, and she and I were drawn to each other during a planned gathering, one reason being because we were the youngest people there. I ran into her a few months after that at stART on the Street, where she was selling her jewelry. And I ran into her again today, at the same place, one year later! Neither of us live in New England anymore–I’ve gone west-ish, she south-ish, but there we were, immediately recognizing each-other and not having forgotten each-other’s names. Hannah is easily the best artist/jeweler I know. I bought a Gatsby-type locket from her that I will cherish.

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I also ran into Eab and his wood carvings.

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And took Lars (looking cool with a cool lady) by surprise with my camera. This is how Secret Lover prepares before playing an outdoor show. And I’m now not only a fan but paparazzi.

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And then ran into Phuong, my BFF from elementary school!

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To top it off, Jen Burt ran to hug me with a plastic sculpture of Turtle Boy in hand, and Mike Benedetti gave me the new issue of Happiness Pony (with instructions on how to get my very own free Turtle Boy sculpture…provided I have a 3D printer).

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Beastiality aside, I have little doubt this will be a positively memorable summer. Stay tuned!