tumult

last night a blissful and frightening stone was thrown down my throat, on a knoll looking down on the tumult of waves and lights of ships, piled up like corpses on a final sailing somewhere. a confession so stark it shook a tiny creature deep in my heart or liver or lungs to unlatch baby claws from my side and come out quietly, skittishly from hibernation. stretching out its fingers it clutched at some grass before the riverbeds washed out and carried it screeching away from its soft, bloody and dank home. i am again alone in purpose for a while but happy and still full of love and so much faith you may as well call me mad. i need this for any given reason but for the biggest reason of all, the thing i can never let die or it will come back and take me with it in one final bang and i would watch the red and fire-orange tail feathers of the phoenix disappear under the moon, gone forever.

dreams

i keep thinking of his dream woke up sweating and cold midnight the only time i have ever seen him afraid of anything. disembodied, floating through hospital floors. ominous. terrifying. a man with three feet, a mouth emerges from a back, visions melt into other forms. trapped in an elevator, travels up and down and up and down and finally zooms around a tube like a wheel caught in cycle. falling back asleep i tried to tap into his energy but came up with nothing. it comes down to me wanting his disacarded dreams.

click buzz whirrr click whirr

fuck im cranky cranky cranky cranky this hangover all over me sitting through four hours of dribble drabble with strong up and down creative outbursts, well contained and fallen out the bottom by the days end. once ths sun dissipated all moods unravelled and fuck fuck cranky cranky not wanting to have anything to do with myself or anyone. fitz is depressing me, and now a pile of food i do not want and i forever the orchestrator I already feel like running away from all responsibility want to feel like a child again for a while. i suppose im lucky i havent felt this way in a while. going to write every day for the next ten days and feel good.

wear all black and close my eyes and its summer

bought three hyacincth flowers this morning. i saw a purple one bloomed on the corner of my street and thought immediately of my mother. most flowers remind of her. a crocus doesn't look right without a bumble bee in it, and black eyed susans remind of bike rides on pictou island. flowers on pictou island never seem to exist anywhere else, like cat tails. i was blissful lay outside in the sun for three hours this afternoon drinking beer, watching him work on the van, and listening to the red-alert birds chirpideeing over my cat who makes primal "ca-ac-ca-ak" noises when she sees one. Sun is heading into the haze and i'm going to make spanikopita, humms "bummus," and greek salad to accompany scrabble and a lot of spicy ceasars tonight.

my new view of u2, floor tickets! sadly they will be 14 years older... 

in 2.5 months i will be sitting here and u2 will be on stage. they will be tiny dots, but none the less... 

double me

i see an image of myself in a faraway mirror through the double doors, slid open now. that must be what i look like, and i think "I look lonely" seeing myself so far away and in context. but then, i lean back and there are two of me reflected in the corner mirror. thats more like it, thats more like what i feel now. "how appropriate" i think, because i am writing about doubles, and about Margaret Atwood, and she always puts her rhetorical thoughts in quotation marks.