Mush

Allure is an odd quality to maintain when you don’t do anything to maintain it.  Sweatpants, hair askew, smears aplenty, and oh, you are beautiful.

Belief.  He believes in something he has entirely made up and I will never meet this woman no matter how I try.

Clever.  Somewhere in this girl is an ounce of concentrated cleverness that if I could crack the can open of, would make a hell of a cake.
Doubt.  What the hell am I going to be able to do about any of this?
Exhaustion.  It’s the creepy kind that comes just from not doing enough.
Frightening to imagine that there’s no improvement possible, only defending against further decline.
Games.  I am in the middle of real games, fake games, games I can’t win, games nobody else is playing but me.
Hiraeth.  Everyone feels it, everyone knows the word, but it’s only because we are all desperate for it.
I, on top of I, on top of I.
J.  What am I to do with you?  You keep asserting closeness, but refuse to discuss the absence of distance.
K.  Kin.  I need to call my mother.
Larceny.  It’s so late in the day and what I wouldn’t give to just steal a few more hours to feed my obsessions, good and bad.
Mush.  When you don’t work the body, don’t work the mind, you end up with mush.
Now.  There is no other time to begin so why aren’t we starting?
Obsession.  I am nursing a few and it’s a helpless feeling.  Waiting to hear something is going to change when you’re the only one who can do it.

Popcorn.  Or Pizza.  Or Pain or Pea Soup or Particulate Matter.

Quixotic, obvious, but necessary, because there really is no other choice I would choose.

Rarefy.  A concerning word, but I pull the concertina and hear the ra-ra-raaaaaah as it collapses and expands and suddenly, we know the letters and where they need to go and world rights itself.

Sweetness.  In all of this twitterpation, I realize how I am beginning to lose sight of what the word means.  I know this day is not the day to put in the query, all my answers would come back haughty and cruel.
Trickery.  I’ve resorted to extreme alphabetical trickery to just get myself in the position to put words on paper.
Unhorse.  The longer we run, the faster a pace we can meet, the closer we get to reach the misericorde over and unhorse the rider that chases after us.
Vivify, you vivisectionist! Verify my verisimilitude, verily, with verity!
Willfulness.  Sometimes obedience is not an option, sometimes, it does not even come to mind.
Xavier.  There’s a name.  I wouldn’t name my kid that, but it is pulling up old memories that don’t precisely make sense.
Y, why not? Are not? Why? Are we going to dither?
Z, zero fight

The Curio Cabinet

I have a draft to post from yesterday when the internet conked out.  I will get it posted soon.

I cooked madly today.  I think the moon has me in her thrall and I feel ravenous, endlessly unfillable, exhausted by the desire to just eat things out of boredom and not any particular need.

Made French toast with banana and rum and challah bread.

Made some macaroni and cheese.

Are we ever going to do this?  Are we ever…I think about Thanksgiving and how it is to have someone who is out there in the world, planning, on some level to be miserable and how I am supposed to be the same as I ever was – to all the world, alone, single and it is here I feel the frustration. I mean, I have no answer as to what I would do about having him here.  How to go from zero to sixty in one one session – but we’re not really at zero now.  We’re at least at fifteen or twenty and it is this sense of a real thing occurring that nobody is talking about and the not talking about it wracks with my emotions.

The talk is consistent, I don’t worry if I am meaningless to him anymore, if there are others, if all of this could be thrown over for some other bit of cleverness.  But…

Tomorrow a proper post.

27 to Hit

I am holding down the fort and fortress.  It is Friday.  I have very, very, very few tasks to do here at work today, so one must expect a longer post again. Maybe I can make up for some of these patches of the year when I just faffed off and didn’t engage with the program, didn’t post. I’ve regretted those, even if it hasn’t always appeared that way.  You just miss so much when you give up your  Maybe I can cram in some words and push a broom handle to prop the melting cake of my self-regard.  It is something of an endurance test as I need to remain here until four.  I can’t go leaving any old time I like, even though I suppose they would all prefer that, rather than have me sit and try and solve the world’s problems from my computer desk.  Ah.  Guilt.
It is such that I am thinking about writing this Christmas letter so that I can prepare Christmas cards for everyone.  That is crazy that I am in this position – howsoever short-lived it is.  This is what I have wanted.  Time to think.  Even if the danger of thinking is the realization how much you want to change of what your life is as you rush around, exhausted and unable to contemplate an exterior world, an alternative path.  And now, yeah,
Today we are experiencing…
Hah, this is what you get when you think things are going to stay calm.  A nice slap in the face with enough force to wake you up, put you to sleep, and then wake you up again.
…………………
No time to bloviate about the holidays.