today i did nothing
after felix went home i talked to no one

my body makes strange sounds
and my heart feels twisted

chronicling

in november i revised It Was Like Losing a Favorite Necklace:

Slipping off like the times midwinter
jostled mercury like pearls down
my jacket into the lapel slithering
unnoticed to vanish, for

Fate: it was the
Fates condensed and meddling;
she knows your weak spots,
screams them
aware that I tread the fault lines regardless,
searching for quiet possibility lurking there, fuel
for reparation. And it is known I know better -- I am
not blinded by love nor soldered
tight in obligation to you, to
love -- you're
like a piece of jewelery, like
my very favorite one
but I can still take you off
or lose you
or even change my mind about you sometimes;

you will not always match me
you will get in the way
you will be itchy
and you will make me remember things
that have nothing to do with you
things that are long dead.



I haven't written a real, good poem in months. realistically, probably not since november or december, unless i'm forgetting something. It fucking sucks. Everything I say is trite and oversimplified and I feel anxiety like static interrupting the signal between my brain and that golden spacious feeling that my chest cavity gets when I know I am writing the right words, the right things. it's not like i've been strapped for material lately, either. fuck.

i have no time to sit down and experience myself. i know what i'm doing on a day-to-day basis but i have entirely lost my motivation to keep feeling, or maybe thinking. i miss being passionate about patterns so much, i miss believing in magic i miss childhood i miss thinking i could understand the world and i miss feeling like i could ever be important, ever have the stamina to become an important person. i feel like an infant i feel useless i feel crippled. i feel naked and talentless and pathetic i feel all too normal, too human, too dull. none of the books i read are making it all work out nothing is showing me the way i'm starting to think there is no way i know there's no way out of here out of me out of this family this life these predilections and insecurities, this body. i watch television, i love sex and sleeping and emotions i love believing that everyone is the same but o really i love thinking that i am purer i try harder i could empathize with an asteroid i am connectivity incarnate i am in touch with the universe i am singing the song of the black hole at the center of the galaxy. i still believe in magic i still believe in god i still believe in animus and ritual and a linkage a force a connectivity a network of mind of love as the basis of life in shamanism and totemic cultures in women and the holiness of babies and prayer. i believe in the beauty of truth i love the oneness of all i love orbitals and the specific conditions for life the wonderful lattices and patterns created by our atmosphere, our core, our trees our vast vast oceans deserts i believe in the golden ratio i believe in the sublime. i want a family. i am astounded that anyone loves me. i often forget that i love anyone else. i am shocked that there is a human condition shocked that i am tapping into what every book is about what every 'great man' thinks about what every religion tries to answer and solve what everyone knows is true and hates and loves and can never escape from. i wonder how many people are so acutely aware of the cartesian dualities that we have all been trained to subscribe to i wonder if it's ever going to be truly possible to disseminate the distinctions of the world to live in a sludge in a grey and sparkling mosaic. i love destiny. i believe in the fifth dimension, i believe in all dimensions as somehow real, somewhere outside our brains i beleive that all of the forces and picture that make up halluciantions are concrete i believe that magic exists i cannot accept that i am just an animal just a sack of biological machinery i love my animalness but i need there to be more, i need an external force i need a green-tinged soft-focus shimmering entity to envelop my entire consciousness to become my being to become everyone and to do what then? i wish i could say that i wouldn't go crazy in the woods i wish i wish i was able to be at peace within myself i wish o i wish that i didn't need variation that i didn't have a destructive urge that i didn't have a computer that i wasn't slowly succumbing to this world, this world of pleasures and distractions and technologies and convenience. i trust none of it. i trust no man but i must believe that somewhere, out there, is a perfect person and i don't care who they are i just need to know that it is possible that somebody has successfully blended all the lines crossed all divisions so i can do what they do and enjoy enjoy enjoy my life for one fucking second to live free of anxiety of will of the need to be known. tolstoy says that will is an illusion because we are all of us directed by the hand of god the and of god that is really just the algorhythmic pattern of the universe of time of history just like the mayans said just like all religions say all wisdom because that makes it feel better that makes all the pain go away then life is safe. but what if it's bullshit. everything i know i hear from an unreliable source everything is opinion based everything is subjective and we humans are so damn inventive that there is no way of knowing the truth there is no truth. all there is is me and everything else and a gigantic fucking web of causality and a nebulous jelly (that doesn't even make any sense forget it) an ether that carries our impressions of one another to and fro our impulses our moods so i can almost read his mind, any mind, so i know all situations yes can typify everything and yet