apologies in advance

they say that smell is the sharpest sense; that it can pull you back to a memory faster than a visual cue or a sound. something tonight prompted me to go back to ani. listening to 'little plastic castle' certainly gave the aforementioned theory a run for its money. i played the album relentlessly when i first got it freshman year. it was the first strong female voice i'd heard, and despite my upper-middle class, suburban background, i identified with her. (for which she would probably hate me.)

then 2nd semester of freshman year started, and i left the album for the bright eyes, andrew bird, the weakerthans, and others. then, the beginning of sophomore year, and eventually i left a lot more than just my music.

the beginning of 2nd semester sophomore year, i dug out ani again and listened voraciously. when i listen to songs like swandive, loom, independence day, and not a pretty girl, it shakes me up. details i haven't considered in years--the putrid yellow tiles in our bathroom--hit. the difference is now they hit as memories, as the past, as something that was lived through, and there is an odd comfort in them for that reason.

our senses are for taking in our conscious present, for being alert and aware of our current situation. they can throw us back to a past, and yet they have no reach into the future.

sort of like the odyssey

so. i believe we
have a mouse
visitor. based to the
ongoing ruckus last
night, feral cat may
have gotten it. just
wanted to warn you
either way!
to: alison downs
sent: mar 16, 7:49 am


--immediate response has been lost due to human error.--


from: alison downs
haha yes. well if
tilly did catch it
(awesome
mar 16, 8:18 am


1. thank god you are
the roommate you
are 2. not sure.
thats why i'm not
entirely convinced
its dead. also, she
better not put the
carcass in my
slippie.
to: alison downs
sent: mar 16, 8:25 am


from: alison downs
NOT DEAD YET! i
just saw it run from
her. oh my god. ha.
whoa. but tilly is on
the hunt.
mar 16, 8:36 am


omg! is it missing
limbs? i only signed
on to live with one
pair of whiskers!
to: alison downs
sent: mar 16, 8:38 am


from: alison downs
haha seriously.
looked like it was
all still intact.
brown little thing
with a high pitched
little scream. . .
this is clearly going
to be an epic battle.
mar 16, 8:44 am

12 words

twelve words to succinctly describe so many in our generation who do exactly what everyone else deems appropriate, mainly graduate, marry, move, procreate.


"we closed our minds, we shut our traps / we built a house, the house collapsed"
-when we were alive, the thermals

signs

fiddle lesson

zack: the rolls are mainly accomplished through the swooping bow and a strong rhythm of the ornament. swooping and good rhythm.

me: so many things require swooping and good rhythm.

zack: yes, a little metaphor for life.

casual friday

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.

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