That is the question. I am like a word that has been overused.
What is
mother?
sister?
friend?
comrade?
What did you purchase in exchange for your humanity?
Showing posts with label notes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label notes. Show all posts
Shall I bend or break...
124
The moon slipped into my room
just now and is annoying me with its light.
I focus harder on my work
determined to ignore it's invitation
but anything might happen here tonight.Voices
are implied everywhere—against, with, under, in,
and through everything. I want to be empty and silent
but
that
is
becoming
increasingly
impossible
Parallel world
I am melancholy tonight so I came here to sit under the palm frond tangles and wisteria vines that embrace this cafe terrace. I'm barely visible from the boulevard but from here I can see people passing by, the beach, and the stars and, for a moment, find a measure of peace.
Excerpt 34
One word, one sentence at a time I will reconstruct the story. I've written it before on countless scraps of paper. One word, one sentence at a time I will reconstruct the story. Forgive me. It is composed of a seemingly endless succession of beginnings. The original order of the words has been lost so I rely on you to supply the details. One word, one sentence at a time I will reconstruct the story. Forgive me. The original has been lost but I promise to stay true to its drift. That is not a matter of memory. It is a matter of being. One world at, one word at a time. Forgive me. The original version of this story does not exist. One word, one sentence at a time, this is its drift. This is the drift. The notes are scattered. No. Not scattered. The notes were never collected. Jotted. Scribbled. On scraps, in notebooks, on flaps. They have never been collected. They have seldom been re-read. Or read. The words, disjointed, have been set down and abandon. No, not abandon. There is much thinking between them, the phrases, the paragraph and elimination of words. And ideas. "Why?" I am telling a story. Build the house. Paint it later. And later still introduce the particulars. Each letter reverberates, twists but...
#32
If you want to know the truth about me, I have lived in the shadows all my life. I am a watcher. I hover in the current. I look like a reflection cast upon the water. Transparent. Your hand moves through me. I break into myriad pieces and only reassemble after you are gone. My substance, if can be called that, is ineffable, deduced but never certain. What I know and who I am is held apart from me in a vault to which I have no key.
If you want to know the truth about me, I have lived in the shadows all my life. I am a watcher. I hover in the current. I look like a reflection cast upon the water. Transparent. Your hand moves through me. I break into myriad pieces and only reassemble after you are gone. My substance, if can be called that, is ineffable, deduced but never certain. What I know and who I am is held apart from me in a vault to which I have no key.
Bird as Pixel
bird n.
Ancient resident of earth. Descendant of the beast-footed dinosaur.
as n. Abbr. AS or a/s, air speed
The speed, especially of an aircraft, relative to the air.
pixel n.
Basic unit of composition for an image on a television screen, computer monitor, or similar display.
Pixel death
The world is advancing on me. A fly is eating my sandwich. Black eggs embedded in the pale sage are sucking away its life. I am too weak to mount an offensive. My mind is spinning backwards, slowing coming apart like a nebula unraveling in catchless dark. I feel my face, pixel by pixel, being carried off in bloodless beaks. When I speak the world looks away.
asha
Priestess
having found no suitable priestess
I have become my own
transforming and
transforming
myself
asha
Still afternoon
It's an afternoon with nowhere to be but home, away from the street crowded with strangers. Here in the neighborhood a woodpecker gets down to business. A fly starts and stops on the still warm window sill. The little black dog asleep on a penny twitches, wakes to bark then, convinced, curls again into sleep. And still it is afternoon.
The big dog hears something in the muted distance, rushes to the door, presses her nose on it, snorts, goes back under the table, licks a crumb, goes back to the door, then leaves the room. I hear her flop and sigh in the dark innards of the house. All is well. The afternoon begins so dim. My thoughts are like vapors, memories of memories rise and drift away. I list in the silence like a wrecked ship. Perhaps I will never cry. Perhaps, when all this is gone, there will remain one small tear hurling in its own orbit in black space.
asha
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