your mom so unpatriotic/
these plants so strangling and exotic
In my naive fantasies, people often ask me, "Dale where do you get your ideas?"
And I tell them:
I see them in the subway.
They are wearing a red reddish t-shirt in a remarkable way, and earrings that glint as the car shakes and the power is removed for a moment. Following her to the surface, between the shadows of the buildings made by an optimistic sun, I begin to receive its disorientation. I know it is her briefly sliding in to a taxi cab among the crowded city. Hailing a car I follow through similar unfamiliar streets in variation. Inevitably, I am left with only her description which I post for you each week.
If I were to ever climb the stairs ascendant to her six story walk up and know what is like to listen to some music on her stereo glow oh ohing, and see the view of her windows of water towers with fire escapes unfolding as the birds lifted between her building's geometry, well then, we wouldn't need to have this little talk, we could walk for hours, hands clasped, along the river.
Much later, boarding a skiff, rocking gently we would push from the shore and rise along the waters, arranging the procession of houses in the order of which they have passed, retracing a familiar route in different light and a quickened pace set to the flow of the changing waters which we follow, unloading the burdens of day waning into evening, confusions mingling with emotions and the reflections of the lights reshaping in the water where they are crowded into the crowds of people stirring there along twin shores beyond any distance where we would take notice of the river's immense growth and ultimate dissemination in to the lowest portions of a darkened landscape.
UGH! Why I can't stand your friends!
1) They don't seem to like me!
2) Why are they always acting like that?
3) What are they whispering among themselves?
4) The products and genres they endorse are too far removed from those I support.
5) I know I just know they are trying to tear us apart, my precious piglet!
And THAT, young lady, is why we have RULES in this house of terrible ghosts where our host bodies are left limp and disoriented until we inhabit them to remember the feel of what it is like to breathe and touch and other similar sensations forever stripped from us, the damned.