Leaving the infamous words out on to the void where once stood my dust as a shape. I hear you are not saying them back. I chant anyways to form a new shape out of the dust. What matters yields itself to the practi- cavity of ever- y day life and the lines not consumed out of fear of pollution. As I have been trying to disappear. As we have all been here. Now, as if we are.
Museum* (noun): decorative setting in which people seek to capture images of other people surrounded in a site of what they are told to be of art. closely tied in with the home decor economy.
Hand* (verb): bodily extension to be used as decor in any given setting. call to action for charity work. essential tool for the porn industry. can be used a second time.
Am I walking around like a starter pack? or worse, am I walking around wondering which starter pack I’d be? or worse, do I even begin to leave the house without looking like one? Yes but did I want to have an office?
Office as the word circulates in unexpected and well accepted corners of the superstructure, haunting one as the second most popular place to end up after a graveyard. Except you have to be employed somewhere somehow to see one. There is no place for the kind of love I talk about when I talk about you in an office. And a graveyard is often within reachable distance even if you don’t hold a corporate or a creative competence. The experience required for it passes through how deadly love is: an office with comfortable chairs.
Dear team, Could we arrange sending some flowers to my sister's boyfriend? I'll email you the address. Also, is it a problem if we only go backwards? Best,
She could well storm in any minute to my room yelling me to quit smoking this time without hesitation and well throw all my beautiful glass ashtrays to the walls while ripping apart the many packaging and I’d have nothing to say or do this time.
As the year draws nigh, I open the door so I can cry. My stated state of being, I speak like the old and sound like one. The foundations of a house as in destruction. Walking with a door under my arm.
I don’t sweat as much. I’d blame it on my new deodorant.
I guess freedom partly lies in letting go of the concern for whether the lover shares the same sense of duty as the loved. I’d hoped to see your face among the crowds, knowing I made part of yours, or for either of us to have shown the courage to say goodbye. Do you remain to be a non-believer? Mine was a silent nod to the unnecessity of it. Did my jeans rip from more places? Our family is being thrown out of the apartment I was brought to before I even celebrated my first birthday. I have declared myself as the ministry of impatient affairs. Housing crisis everywhere.
I’m still whispering the word geni*us. Or not saying it at all. Talking way less in general. It helps me to be more specific. I’d blame it on my diarrhea medicine.
I got a job, a real one, in a pretty office with lovely people who believe in me. The problem is I don’t believe in much these days. Just in case.
I remember how to be or become a little bowl to contain love inside again. This is good news, like Christmas. It lights up like the fake tree in our living room. And unlike a mountain, who remains dark no matter how high the climb. No matter how real.
I’d say your bike is still around. And other precious things chained right outside your door. Close enough yet far enough, just how you like it. I often want to feel your gaze upon me as I’m walking through the city, often motivated to find love doing that, and I take it seriously. I hope it takes me to places I would otherwise not be able to see. That’s what happened the first time.
Dear team, I have noticed something recently at the office. There is always some sort of a background noise, some song someone plays I wouldn't pick to listen. Perhaps one of us hid a speaker somewhere. Can I change my desk with the guy in the corner? Also, I wanted to confirm again about the secret santa presents. My mom said it'd rather be odd to gift a framed poem of mine, thoughts? Anyway, happy holidays. Perhaps we can make a playlist together next year.
I REMEMBER! I remember finally what it is that I like about grocery shopping. That it leaves me with a purpose, a bag. Something to carry from A to B.
Have you ever lived in a really cold place? Then, have you ever left that really cold place? Good, because you get to have two summers. One for the actual, and one for the winter becoming a well of human kindness containing all the memories you made in that cold place, all that you had to wrap yourself in to warm up.
I have been reading:
Ed Atkins, Primer for Cadavres
I have been listening:
Stereolab, Pack Yr Romantic Mind
Dean Blunt, Skin Fade & BLACK METAL
Duval Timothy, Dust
Isaac Hayes, Going In Circles
I have been saying: