WHAT'S OUTSIDE THE WINDOW?
I’ve been away from the stack for a bit, working living swimming etc. There have been ideas bubbling up gathering together having to do with Situationism, youth revolt, academia, internet shopping, and ecstasy. But the ideas are not ready to be shared! I’ve been weaving them together in hopes that I could send off a post before I hop on the train towards weekend island revelry. But the time is not right. Instead I’ll share a short winter poem and be back some time next week. I know everyone is telling you summer is over but THAT’S NOT TRUE. We aren’t in elementary school anymore! It feels good to believe in the quadrant turning of the seasons and rest affirmed in the knowledge that we have a whole chunk of this beautiful quarter-year left.
Also, I will be subbing someone’s Freeform slot tonight from 6-8 PDT, playing summertime tunes of many genres styles and flavors. You can listen here.
I got the title of this post from the very end of The Savage Detectives. I can’t possibly think of a better ending to any book ever.
Here’s something I wrote and later discovered on my computer:
Now, a poem…
The dream has the mass of a fried lung
dripping from your face along with the soft part of egg
(yellow and threatening rot)
Community members gather with all
the accoutrements of religious ritual
to watch the light gut you like a temporary animal
and there’s fish drying on the windowsill
It’s only natural to smell apartments and their contents
ripe for dreaming
How about offering the world a bit of silence?
The brittle noise of mowing instruments
calcifies the inner lobe
I watch with a thrill
because there is no way of
predicting any outcomes
The one who crawls from floor to ceiling
in a deceptive robe
will never live in the subtlety of muscle
and emerge like a real person in the
mud of suffering
I saw that stuff
it stuck to my hands like cake
There is no noble way to go about things
but a bunch of small ways