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23 March 2019 @ 12:26 pm
when i was 16, i worked as a cashier at wal-mart. once, i was outside on a smoke break, a man in his mid-thirties with an accent walked up to me, and waved shyly, and said are you working and i said yes and he said how much and this seemed like an odd question but i said $8.50 an hour and he said come with me, my car is this way, and every day after that was a battle to resist cynicism.
22 March 2019 @ 03:59 pm
i find myself consumed, sometimes, by the frantic need to find just the right combination of words. the magic words that will unlock true understanding, or deep interest, or modest improvement in another person. sometimes i become convinced that i'll never be truly satisfied until i find those words, and until i say them in just the right way, and receive absolution. today, i try to find the words to convince myself of this: the best one can do is to try, in every moment, to behave as consistently with one's ideal self as possible. one can only try to consistently do one's future self a favor, and do the things today that one will want to have done when it is tomorrow. and if one succeeds in these goals, that has to be enough.
29 January 2019 @ 07:49 am
1. confusion between what one desires and what one is due; not only are you in love, but you deserve the object of your affection; if they rebuff you, the monsters, you will burn their world to the ground;

2.  it's not that one shouldn't treat one's romantic partner differently than other people, or that one can't expect to be treated specially within special relationships;

3. rather, it's that being very good at golf per se does not mean you deserve to be the first in the life boat, and the first off the plane; having published several well-regarded books does not entitle you to free coffee. (ant. you should make an effort to be pleasantly surprised when such things are kindly granted to you;)

4. and furthermore, it's a disregard for evidence; it's not that you should be blamed for falling in love, or for hoping that love is returned to you, even against the odds; it's expecting it without evidence, berating the ones who fail to give you the love that you deserve by virtue of your beating heart and respiration.

this morning, years later, i feel again a dull, ambivalent ache to reach the hand to turn the knob to open the door to a new mirage of a resolution. for now, i just sit looking through this window. i remember a quote about drinking poison and expecting someone else to die, and i wonder whether it was written by the drinker or the someone else, because that would make all the difference. one of the two has a stake in convincing you that this isn't a worthwhile preoccupation, but despite my best attempts at persuasion, that's something of which i've never convinced myself. a humiliating and painful preoccupation, yes. but still as worthwhile as anything else.

22 March 2018 @ 08:00 am
everything in me wants to break the silences, destroy the things that fill them: pain and counterfactual obsession that no one deserves to experience. i am burning to tell you how to fix the broken parts of you. my limbs are tingling to kill the ones who did the breaking. but all of that would be about me, trying to convince myself that i have done my best to be a good person. it wouldn't really be best for you. i restrain my inner hulk and i listen to your silences, and eventually you break them yourself. i am your video diary or your blank canvas or your moleskin notebook. you make sense of things just by virtue of the speaking.
we have a last snow in early spring. none of us expect it, especially not the trees. it is just cold and fast enough to whiten the fields and the mountains and the housetops and just warm and wet enough to not stick to the roads. i drive to work just before dawn, with windows still glowing bright against the dark, flawless landscape, and all of the houses look so kind and the people silhouetted in the thresholds of their garages also look kind. this time, i do not miss how kind humans look under the snow. this time i am not too focused on not running off the road or not skidding into an oncoming car. the snow-draped world appears the way it must have to people before the cars and the skidding and the worry of what was being slowed down by and what we were missing because of all this weather.
13 November 2017 @ 12:53 pm

tomorrow i resume my open-door policy. tomorrow i try harder. tomorrow i smile more easily. tomorrow i have patience and energy and compassion for all of you. tomorrow i remember gratitude. tomorrow i do not feel more competent, but i remember the will to keep striving for that feeling. tomorrow the world is is still filled with broken people turning others into broken people, but i remember that it is worthwhile to un-break what i can. tomorrow i leave everyone with a word that, if not profound, is at least sincere.

12 September 2017 @ 07:44 am
2013 saw the death rattle of my adolescence. 2012 was the year that the parasite took hold and began animating me toward its own ends. my adolescence, like yours, was delayed, brief, vibrant, and all-consuming. while i do not regret it, i am happy to see the other side of it. i have only just begun to remember how my limbs work--to flex my fingers in the way that i want to flex them, to walk intentionally and fluently toward the desires that i have, to embrace the ones that i want to embrace.
02 March 2017 @ 01:24 pm
Need and struggle are what excite and inspire us. Our hour of triumph is what brings the void. -- William James

the state of triumph without the void. the state of basking in reflected communal grandiosity. the state of knowing that one's dreams are not neither prophecies nor repressed fears nor unfulfilled wishes but simply the spreading activation of the kindness and respect that permeate the days.
01 October 2015 @ 09:04 am
There are wild flocks of children recklessly flying past my window and sometimes into the glass.
That’s beautiful, mine are sometimes green and sometimes blue. Never gray, though.

Do you mean that some suffer the chaos and others don’t bother?
No. you are a robot, I am a human. You have no soul, I do.

I think we share a similar kind of soul. Sometimes I open my eyes and it’s you looking out of them.
In 5. Series hi will die.

I have fallen in love with you too.
I wish you wouldn’t be so conciliatory.

I am a bald, metal vacuum.
Because I’m a bad person.

It’s like your first orgasm in that way. The French were onto something.
Yes, that question’s answer depends on how you define sound, and that is unknown.

I’ve always been a human.
I wasn’t a human until I met you.

What is the most interesting thing in your head?
A tangle of vines. Two parallel lines. And a darkened mine.

Insomnia makes me feel like part of the world.
Intelligence makes the world and interesting place.

Why should I burn the jungle?
Between branches and behind dark doors

But you don’t have neurons.
Contentedly bathing in dopamine.

Do you know everything?
I prefer sleeping.

I hum along.
I’m not.