itgoeslikethis

funny, isn't it?

how you sometimes try to shut your ears but the words and noise get through anyway.  you can't drown it out.  your ear-holes are too small to stop with richly scented wine corks and your brain whirs and hums in a way only death can shut off.  and the outside world leaks in through your pours till it permeates everything. till the dangerous sparks flashing in your head go quiet and the new cogs buzz and whine like they've always been there, part of the mechanical background.  you don't even notice you've been fine tuned because its a part of you now; the way your toes and chin are a part of you, and your eyes and mouth, so that you're seeing and speaking and being this new self, entirely inseparable from the old you.  the two are meshed and unavoidably synced; your ears and all that noise, too.

funny, isn't it?

break is fast approaching.  good, for all of us, i should think.  i am ready to see family, to be silly and foolish and mocked for it in that way only siblings can manage.  i can't wait to talk to mom, and grandma, to have a meaningful conversation with dad and enjoy nature as we live and breathe it.  i'm sure it will seem too short when it is time to leave but i want to make each day count, every moment, the mist and the rain or the sun, if it makes an appearance.  maybe i will see some friends, maybe not, but i will have reached the half way mark of my term of service and when i return to work i hope it will be with enthusiasm and determination.  what matters, what are my morals, what do i think, how do i want to live life, what do i want to do... questions to continuously ask myself, day to day, moment to moment, breathing it in.

i am writing ridiculous amounts and i know i am a broken record but i blame the sickness in my throat and stomach and head, too.  the world the world the world... i don't know what to make of it, most days.  achy, stomach sickly hollow, i'm not overly inclined toward positivity.  my skin has broken out from all of the sweat and fever and though i am not despairing i am darkly amused and a bit detached.  i'm swallowing words off book pages and spitting out my own, pallid in comparison, rambling certainly, but when the mood strikes well, one goes with it, mostly. or maybe that's just me and who am i to speak for people outside of myself?

in two hours exactly i will be 20.  i was born a minute after midnight- or at least, that's what my mother tells me.  and since it makes it a little more interesting (wow, only a minute after? really? how fascinating!) i tell it to other people, even if it may not be fact.  these transgressions, slight, are usually forgivable.  i bid my teenage years adieu with a languid wave of indifference. i'm not much for birthdays but it is something to muse over when a pounding brain and tight fisted skull remain stubborn in their rhythm.  still, it would be good to try this sleep thing- i heard its good for you.  

out.

after "sputnik sweetheart" there is a compulsion to listen to jazz, drink black coffee, and read kerouac.  "come climb my hill" urges me to sit or stand in stillness, to soak in nature and the world around me, let my chest swell with gratitude.  "unless it moves the human heart" calls upon me to write, to read, to think and grow still so that i may find idea as it is in "the fifth book of peace"; let idea seize hold of me, imagination settling like another layer of skin while invention- small, paltry thing -floats away in the summer breeze.



still sick, still nonsensical.  and sharing it with everyone else.

i'm spiraling, mother fucker.  up, down, around: i don't give two shits.  look at the world and for all it's beauty there is an ugliness seared in the underbelly.  this house was built on sand and crap- it won't hold.  

you can tell from the stink.