Archive for October, 2012

Posted: October 29, 2012 in otiose

He was upset about the tree, and when I asked him why, he told me about benzene in the water
Exxon and Chevron and “The State.”
All non-sequitur ramblings with naught to do with paper.

Republican doctor.
Republican boss.
Republican plumber.
Republican stalker.

I shut the window and took a cold shower.


I must dig a tunnel out through the burning leaves.
What year is this?
The ground has been soaking for two days. It has been two days since you were coherent.
I’ve stopped counting.
It takes 30 seconds of fuzzy math to determine that you’re disturbingly ill-informed.
The cat attacked me and ran away.
I didn’t recognize the eyes.

It wasn’t Casper.

She was crying, but I don’t think it was because her tooth hurt.
I didn’t know what to do, and it felt terrible to watch her cry.

The wind will carry away the residue of bad dreams with gusts to knock me down.
The ground is cold and wet.
It sinks with a slosh with my weight.

I must tunnel out through the water.

Wait for the world to freeze.

what my brain is doing

Posted: October 25, 2012 in otiose

It is giving me frequent, incapacitating headaches
heightened insomnia
severely reduced physical stamina and chronic muscle fatigue
heart palpitations and nausea.

My short-term memory has improved, and my mood has leveled slightly.

My brain is mad at me and having difficulty adjusting to my recent decisions.
Be patient.
Inpatient ECT waits just around the corner.


Posted: October 23, 2012 in transliteration

I can hear you breathing through the floorboards
four years from where I rest
edging the water out as the cavities collapse
and the roof comes down on our heads.

Outpatient Circle Tapes

Posted: October 22, 2012 in otiose

I’ve been avoiding all of the people where I live as if they all have an airborne contagion, and I’ve been successful.
Someone blindsided me with a handful of CDs at work, however. We refer to this antiquated storage medium as the circle tape.

Strange creatures.

check doublecheck

Posted: October 18, 2012 in otiose

Giving Trainspotting another look for some reason…

I think I first watched it while still in high school.
All I could remember from the first viewing to the second was the bathroom suppository scene.
I’m fairly certain, my second viewing was as a freshman in college.
I was somewhat indifferent to it, or maybe I didn’t like it.
I read the book, decided I didn’t like it, and forgot everything but the dialect.
Late in college, someone I liked and respected recommended the title.
I couldn’t remember anything about it except that I’d decided somewhere along the way that I didn’t like it.
I picked up the book in the library about a year later while browsing.

I don’t know why I just rewatched the movie.
I’m not sure why I decided that I didn’t like it years ago.
Maybe I identified with the character, Tommy.
Maybe I lumped it in with shit like Requiem for a Dream and American Beauty.

Sigh…maybe, I still identify with the character, Tommy. I’m just a little further along in the storyline now.
I won’t remember later.

There was a dog at the bottom of the steps a few weeks ago, and I thought I was losing my mind.
I listened to the dog and the sound of someone breathing
at the bottom of my steps.
I didn’t go outside.
I didn’t want to know if they were really there.
I was afraid they wouldn’t be.
I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to handle opening my door and finding emptiness.

There was a man sitting at the bottom of my steps with a dog that wasn’t his.
He was concerned about the dog and contemplating what to do.
He sat out there with the dog for most of the night, and I sat listening.

A few nights ago, I woke up to pounding on the door.
Pounding followed by shouting.
Pounding followed by shouting followed by near silence
with a man sitting on the bottom of my steps
without a dog.

It wasn’t you.
I’ll never see or hear from you again.

Evidently, my mind is having an extremely hard time getting over that.
There was a dog, however, and there’s still a man

sitting at the bottom of my steps



Posted: October 18, 2012 in otiose

Americans do not call it aluminium, but the rest of the world does.

The crazy cat lady pronounced, “It’s illegal to take those cans!”
She should know better.
It is not.
“Contact your property manager,” was all the man offered in response.
He took my cans away.

I bring the cans home from work once a week, and I put them in the recycling bins where I live.
I fill the bins to the brim.
I would collect them and take them in for the deposit myself, but I have nowhere to store them without the roaches finding out.
I bring the cans home, because no one else where I work is willing to shoulder the minor inconvenience.
Only cardboard is recycled there.

I do not mind the can collectors.
Aluminum is very easily recycled, and very difficult to mine.
That is why a deposit is still offered for its safe return to the recycling facilities.

I wonder what made the crazy cat lady so territorial.
She does not collect the cans.
If she did, I would simply hand them to her every week.