You are currently browsing the monthly archive for May 2009.
Headlights race toward the corner of the dining room.
Half illuminate a face before they disappear.
You breathe in forty years of failing to describe a feeling.
I breathe out smoke against the window, trace the letters in your name.
Our letters sound the same,
full of all our changing that isn’t change at all.
All straight lines circle sometime.
You said “Somewhere there’s a box full of replacement parts
to all the tenderness we’ve broken or let rust away.
Somewhere sympathy is more than just a way of leaving.
Somewhere someone says ‘I’m sorry.’
Someone’s making plans to stay.”
So tell me it’s okay.
Tell me anything, or show me there’s a pull,
unassailable, that will lead you there,
from the dark, alone, to benevolence that you’ve never known,
or you knew when you were four and can’t remember.
Where a small knife tears out those sloppy seams,
and the silence knows what your silence means,
and your metaphors (as mixed as you can make them)
are linked, like days, together.
I still hear trains at night, when the wind is right.
I remember everything, lick
and thread this string that will never mend you
or tailor more than a memory of a kitchen floor,
or the fire-door that we kept propping open.
And I love this place, the enormous sky,
and the faces, hands that I’m haunted by,
so why can’t I forgive these buildings,
these frameworks labeled “Home”?
Do you ever wake up feeling ravaged by your dreams? I usually think of my dreams as holding me hostage. I know I should wake up, and have every intention of doing so, but I just have to find out what happens with this one situation, or feel the press of another dream against my eyes.
When my alarm goes off, I half-wake in a fog, with my dream’s hands all over my face. It’s less scary than it sounds. It’s not like my dreams are disturbing, or particularly crazy, they’re usually just everyday situations that haven’t happened to me. They may or may not be real places, and may or may not include people I actually know. I rarely dream of actual places in my dreams; rather, I have dream places. In dreams, I can say “yes, this is my school,” or “this, I know, is my neighborhood,” though it isn’t my daytime reality.
Some people say dreams are the acting out of our unconscious desires. Or the exploration of repressed feelings and thoughts. I think I can go for that – my dreams seem to be the acting out of my subconscious daytime fantasies, with a backdrop. There are a number of symbolic definitions for physical characteristics or the presence of elements in dreams, from loose teeth to pregnancy, water, seeing yourself from afar.
I should start writing them down, but am half afraid of what I might find. What I might have to admit to myself.
You’re here for a reason,
You’re living and breathing
And if you keep on trying, someday you’ll find out why
If I love you, I miss you, cause I probably haven’t seen you in a
Long, long time
Just don’t let it be the last time
you come into my life
Maybe all this rock-n-rollin’
Adds up to nothing
Well right now it’s the only thing that keeps me going
And this road leads home if I turn the car around
But for now I’ve gotta keep on moving
Just don’t let it be the last time
you come into my life
And I could write you a letter
But I’m not sure where to send it
Hope it’s better where you’re headed than wherever you are
Everywhere I go, everyone I know comes with
Wonder how many more can fit inside this crowded, crazy heart.
If you bring lunch and, on a lunch break trek, decide that your packed lunch is not sufficiently delicious and you need some tasty Chinese food instead, you will be punished.
Because, of course, you will be feeling poor but adventurous and decide to try a new dish that you have never seen or heard of, and end up ordering a plate of cabbage with some indistinguishable mush vegetables and only a few snap peas. Main problem: you hate cabbage. You hate indistinguishable mush vegetables. And you will inevitably mourn the loss of precious dollars while cursing your fickle palate.
Tomorrow I Will:
compile a versatile cover letter
apply for jobs
work on URJ
read
not freak out
well, hello.
i spent last week in Fruitville, CA, doing food for the ForestEthics staff retreat. when i took the job, i originally thought “money to cook food and be on vacation? yes, please!” with a pool and a hot tub, hiking trails and beautiful views, i thought i would be kicked back half the time. i brought two books.
reality totally contradicted my dreams of books and leisurely swims. cooking food for thirty people takes a bit more effort than i anticipated. thankfully i wasn’t alone, as i thought i would be. i got to do everything with an awesome badass, who is totally deserving of that title. on monday it began at 10am – i arrived in Berkeley, we packed stuff up at her house, and then proceeded to visit four stores compiling the needed supplies: Lucky, Trader Joes, and Costco among them. i’ll spare the details, but a typical day was: wake up, get coffee going and cook breakfast in a haze, clean up, prep for lunch, cook for lunch, clean up, go to store (Costco or Whole Foods), prep for dinner, cook, clean up. party!
we partied hard, though. it was a lot of fun. there was even a silly 80’s prom that Ashley and Shana came up for. much dancing and prom picturing and later hot tubbing. and i did get to swim twice, though i got bombarded by kids – which was fun in itself. once i got home and slept, however, i became deathly ill and am still recovering almost a week later. it’s okay though, i had to get Crit spayed so we’ve been recovering together. i wish i had spent the week better, figuring out what to do with life, but i was too sick to worry about all that. and i still have the weekend!
