what should i know about you I refuse to buy into the mystery machine. where is Planet 103400.1653? For all I know that could just be next door. Or the house across from me, I see through the window. And you’re watching me through binoculars. Creeping me out.
i tell you I was surprised to hear that you still wanted to become a writer. confident air is a scam. scam yourself: you feel better. I keep shivering. I get the impression that somewhere behind this screen, there's a jocular sneer.
of course, you’re hiding something. No surprise. (I know more than you think.) But the minute you're ready to let Someone Else read your Files will be when you let your skin breathe. Freedom day.
and /crypto buddy:
you are completely right about computers. I find myself writing long-hand to avoid distractions. I'm also noticing how my style has changed. no room to light a candle/burn incense. Impossible to do these things in a space capsule!
I remember you now: in the driver's seat of the station wagon. Dusk in New Jersey. And we pull up to the driveway of my manifest destiny. You grab your camera and take a picture of me with the setting on bulb. You say you'd been bulbing it a lot lately. The blinds in the front window of the house show an outline of a man (or is it a woman?) I wave to you. Next, I wave to the outline. Before I know it, you're gone.
I'm tempted to take a vow of digital silence. Not check my email so that I could concentrate on concentrating. The passport came in the mail yesterday. Further evidence that everything happened as it did.
heart/emotionals, notes: check pockets
the way the sun glints on the pavement
I own this road / uncomfortable CUTAWAYS
imagine never feeling sympathy
like observing a clan of gorillas the humans slink away,
wince uncomfortable under the glare. SPYcam
going places/who is...
write what happened today, create a back-up file
for your memory
today, BIG EVENT, the mustard yellow garbage truck roars by and a Heavy Layered Man picks up the garbage placed on the corner of the pock-marked lawn. It takes half a minute and roars away again. A silence ensues. The view through the venetian blinds becomes a still picture once again. Bird chirps in the background. Somewhere, the distant clamor of the garbage truck's Stop and Go routine.
Welcome to Better Living Subdivision.
Mental clarity peaks in the morning. The silence. The solitude helps my mind sift through the undigested dreams and errands of the day still to come, left still to unwind. I scramble to write things down. Reminders. Notes. Small pieces of paper. This will form the material for tonight. Writing is like jumping out of the way of a train at the last minute.
