despite going out thursday night, i awoke friday ready to take on the last day of the work-week. standing in front of the closet, i wondered what to wear on "casual friday." by any other company's standards, the ALA is casual monday - thursday, and on friday the dress code just sighs, "i give up." i'm suspicious that one coworker comes into work in whatever he fell asleep in, which might also explain the musty smell wafting out of his office...
regardless, i was energized, i was dressed [down], and i was early. as i shut the door behind me, i took a moment to peer in the window, curious as to what matilda-the-feral-maniac first decides to destroy when i leave each morning. instead, i saw her yellow eyes staring back at me as she sat in the window sill. i flashed back to kansas, walking off to elementary school, looking back to see phil [the best dog ever] sitting in the front window, watching me walk away. i smiled, waved goodbye to matilda, and made to put in my headphones.
a shot of pain in my lower back, i'm looking at the sky, my flailing hand's ripping away from the banister, another slap across my should blades, six more stairs, a hard landing on the concrete, and what the FUCK was that?! it is then that i realize i've fallen down the front steps. i slowly stand up and gather my discombobulated ipod. pretending as if nothing is out of the ordinary--why, yes, that's always how i make my morning exit--i concentrate very hard on wrapping the extra length of headphones around the ipod, mentally assessing the damage. it's hard to breath deep. can you feel internal bleeding? doesn't matter, my hand is bleeding. rather than navigate those fucking stairs again to clean myself up, i find a receipt in my bag, slap it over my bloody thumb, pull on my mitten, and march off to the el.
i was lucky enough to get a seat on the train and spent the ride wondering about my toughness. i gave myself the following ratings.
toughness of spirit: A-
toughness of mind: A
toughness of body: B-
toughness of ego (when prepared for criticism): A
toughness of ego (when unprepared for criticism): D
after settling on that, my mind wandered to thoughts of survival. imagining myself forced into certain situations, i again rated myself on my likelihood of surviving.
soldier in civil war: 62%
soldier in WWII foxhole: 74%
sinking ship in shark-infested waters: 28%
homeless in chicago: 83%
trapeze artist in circus: 3%
coming home from work, all the ice had melted off the stairs, and matilda was perched on the sill shaking her head, don't pretend. i saw you fall this morning and you looked pretty stupid. on a scale of 1 to 10, i rate your grace a 0, your poise a 3, your dignity an 8, and your resourcefulness a 9. now feed me, i'm hungry.
2.28.2009
2.25.2009
if we just keep on talking
used the night as a cover to notice what typically got missed. the glass church windows sparked like a million tiny fires when the streelights bleed through. got home from the job and worked out my drunkness.
the steam poured out of a bricked up pipe like music from a trumpet, to fan and disperse. crept up on a woman, watched her rearrange her purse and clutch at her car keys. heard her sigh of relief upon realizing the shadow was smaller and whiter.
there is the frustration in it, yes. but it is more the empathy that stings. the "so close and -- yet -- so far away."
the muscles that tensed when those words were spoken clenched again, and because we hold such hard associations you know it's the jaw. if only we knew all the things we needed to know.
and the light still flickers
and the fridge still hums
and the night still beckons
and i walk on
the steam poured out of a bricked up pipe like music from a trumpet, to fan and disperse. crept up on a woman, watched her rearrange her purse and clutch at her car keys. heard her sigh of relief upon realizing the shadow was smaller and whiter.
there is the frustration in it, yes. but it is more the empathy that stings. the "so close and -- yet -- so far away."
the muscles that tensed when those words were spoken clenched again, and because we hold such hard associations you know it's the jaw. if only we knew all the things we needed to know.
and the light still flickers
and the fridge still hums
and the night still beckons
and i walk on
2.16.2009
an urban version
the red wheelbarrow
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
-williams carlos williams
2.14.2009
oh, irony
Word of the Day for Saturday, February 14, 2009
myopia \mahy-OH-pee-uh\, noun:
1. an abnormal eye condition in which only closeup objects are seen clearly; nearsightedness
2. shortsightedness; lack of foresight
2.12.2009
2.11.2009
ptsd
last night i had a dream, which included this blog and google.
as far as i can remember, this is the first time i've dreamed about the interwebs. regardless, in my dream there was a very angry, hurt male mentioned previously. his emotional distress was a direct result of discovering he'd been mentioned in such a negative light within these virtual pages.
whether inspired by my dream or just curious, i decided to google my name tonight. a variety of boring things came up, but i did happen upon this. indeed, it is a little bizarre to see your name popping up in other's blogs, especially if they're strangers.
if i had to examine all this i'd say i'm perhaps suffering from some twisted merger of guilt and karma that has resulted in my subconscious experiencing a case of post traumatic stress disorder.
as far as i can remember, this is the first time i've dreamed about the interwebs. regardless, in my dream there was a very angry, hurt male mentioned previously. his emotional distress was a direct result of discovering he'd been mentioned in such a negative light within these virtual pages.
whether inspired by my dream or just curious, i decided to google my name tonight. a variety of boring things came up, but i did happen upon this. indeed, it is a little bizarre to see your name popping up in other's blogs, especially if they're strangers.
if i had to examine all this i'd say i'm perhaps suffering from some twisted merger of guilt and karma that has resulted in my subconscious experiencing a case of post traumatic stress disorder.
2.10.2009
absence and presence
a black vest and long shirt still formed to the shape they once encased, but lying on the ground, commemorating the snowman's last breath.
footprints sunk deep into dried concrete-- filled with rain water.
we are everywhere in our presence and absence.
footprints sunk deep into dried concrete-- filled with rain water.
we are everywhere in our presence and absence.
2.08.2009
2.02.2009
2.01.2009
p.l.f.
they were three. three intrepid individuals, come together for one purpose.
as they gathered underground that night, however, this was unknown. in the room-- where the light quality lent itself to being either "day" or "night" but nothing in between (no late-afternoons or early-mid-mornings)-- the three busied themselves, unaware of the developing mission.
certainly the cloudless sky and fanged moon played their part-- an appropriate background for which the goings-on underground could unfurl. (most don't want a bubble bath during gunfire or whimpering amongst the tulips).
neither can it be denied that the all-kinds-of-liquids, which took to the size and shape of their containers, assisted as well. the tall, round, and golden filled the elastic organs as easily as the hot, squat, and piquant.
it was flowing and fuzzy.
creeping out of the styrofoam woodwork, uncurling from the lace curtains, the room was suddenly crawling with hidden purpose. it gathered and slithered up the metal table legs and assumed its position, big and fat, on the lazy susan.
the three couldn't ignore it, after all they now had a purpose-- a collective duty and mission for something they had neither felt nor smelled before. how had it surprised them? they had been surrounded in purpose the whole night-- knocking on its fibers, walking on its veins, sitting on its threads. but they understood, without hesitation or regret, that they were now the three and only members of the puffin liberation front (p.l.f.).
the one with rosy cheeks grabbed the camera for documentation. the one with curly hair alighted on the purple parasol. the one with large glasses seized the key, and they tore off to liberate the puffins.
the journey was shorter than one might have imagined for a mission of such magnitude. in a matter of seconds they were at the terrible vehicle which contained the two large-billed birds. without confrontation or struggle, the pair of winged creatures were rescued from their cramped and confined compartment. the parasol opened to shield them from lurking cleptoparasites while flashes filled the dark to capture the joy. out in the night the animals took a new shape (like the aforementioned liquid) and filled the space that had been their hopeless spirit. as the p.l.f. retreated back underground, the puffins dug at their itchy feathers with the anticipation of freedom and cheered their muffled chainsaw cheer.
as they gathered underground that night, however, this was unknown. in the room-- where the light quality lent itself to being either "day" or "night" but nothing in between (no late-afternoons or early-mid-mornings)-- the three busied themselves, unaware of the developing mission.
certainly the cloudless sky and fanged moon played their part-- an appropriate background for which the goings-on underground could unfurl. (most don't want a bubble bath during gunfire or whimpering amongst the tulips).
neither can it be denied that the all-kinds-of-liquids, which took to the size and shape of their containers, assisted as well. the tall, round, and golden filled the elastic organs as easily as the hot, squat, and piquant.
it was flowing and fuzzy.
creeping out of the styrofoam woodwork, uncurling from the lace curtains, the room was suddenly crawling with hidden purpose. it gathered and slithered up the metal table legs and assumed its position, big and fat, on the lazy susan.
the three couldn't ignore it, after all they now had a purpose-- a collective duty and mission for something they had neither felt nor smelled before. how had it surprised them? they had been surrounded in purpose the whole night-- knocking on its fibers, walking on its veins, sitting on its threads. but they understood, without hesitation or regret, that they were now the three and only members of the puffin liberation front (p.l.f.).
the one with rosy cheeks grabbed the camera for documentation. the one with curly hair alighted on the purple parasol. the one with large glasses seized the key, and they tore off to liberate the puffins.
the journey was shorter than one might have imagined for a mission of such magnitude. in a matter of seconds they were at the terrible vehicle which contained the two large-billed birds. without confrontation or struggle, the pair of winged creatures were rescued from their cramped and confined compartment. the parasol opened to shield them from lurking cleptoparasites while flashes filled the dark to capture the joy. out in the night the animals took a new shape (like the aforementioned liquid) and filled the space that had been their hopeless spirit. as the p.l.f. retreated back underground, the puffins dug at their itchy feathers with the anticipation of freedom and cheered their muffled chainsaw cheer.
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