like the song says. no more running and then the lift of noise.
hush hush, you carnivores. my needless shaky plate is waiting. the holiday has passed and so all the rinds of melon rest in the trash. our mouths. our filled things and empty again.
ron silliman is setting up his camps still. i like everyone i don’t like the most and me and you are the best of friends. the man shaking hands in the back of the room says in his highest pitched voice. it sounds like mice are climbing his walls.
is there a catalogue to order your return postage from? where we go. we go. quiet or full of sound. lift the noise and curve your back so it don’t hurt. eventual, this running cease. this. see the hole in the cloud there, now we go through it.
and more we walk forward with our faces into another week of travel. hands at the steady. car on the gravel. i can’t help but rhyme sometimes even when i don’t. it’s east to the wall of shadows from here.
i’m going to run now and hope my heel gets better. stupid thing.
i grew darkness, i knew
how to grow it. i had a little
lamp and shit if it didn’t
break. wait. here’s another
handful of the stuff. wait.
i knew dark was the color
of the hare, it romping
through a field carrying
fire on its back. a mountain
erased there after its tracks.
the picture takes its time
coming to us. i knew that
light and the waves it traveled
on. turbulent, not sea-like
at all, or deep. the tea leaves
said we’d end up dead or with
each other here. a wimpy
rain come dragging the ash
to still. a burn in the palm
where the dark calls back.
i knew that, too. it grew.
so a lot. sewn.
sew a lotto, and your winning numbers are…
a lot’s been happening. interviewing and reading and grading and other -ings that will have to remain unnamed here. but here’s an observation: bon iver in concert (given the proper sound system) is something to behold. the harmonies and hushed quality that drives the album turned live comes out a much different beast–full of bore. full of chilling. the dark was the night show was a good thing to see and then shannon and i were 2 blocks from where that stunt driver ran over an extra for the nick cage movie, deciding whether or not to wait to see the filming happen. we had to walk a few blocks extra to get to the train and were standing at the 49th street station about 10 minutes before the accident happened.
david byrne and feist duetting was interesting and his drum troop made good noise. my brightest diamond only played one song but it was worthy of her name.
the next day i took photos of silverware in a diner while waiting for a letter to be written. here’s one of them:
now it’s waiting to see if the people that asked the questions liked the way i talked after the questions stopped.
not just for fires.
keep your deep devotion penned in, tomato. keep your wanton looks
at the curb. all the smoke rising round like a halo, your head
full of barbie doll, full of gender neutral, full of granules.
i’m trying not to freak it. dance like a hurricane, so still in the middle.
seriously though, thunk once about the house and catnapped.
tuesday is coming fast and i’ve only got so much sweat in me.
And the rules have changed. No more 5-7 minute limits and probably many fewer posts as the preparation for life in a different city takes hold. Time limits on life are becoming more apparent. How much stuff we accumulate.
The rules were, attention to sound and limit the entry to a five minute typing spree. Limit editing to spelling and to be done as moving along. Line length and breaks to be determined by weather and mood and lighting. No reconsideration as time would not really allow for it. Added minutes for photo attachments as blogspot takes its time when doing this.
This weekend there is too much to do and not enough time to do it all. One of the benefits/detractors of location. That and feeling guilty about not doing all of the things that wind up on a possibility list. I’m going to be full of nerves in preparation for an upcoming interview–probably pestering people too much about this and thanking them in advance for all their help. And headed to an interesting (or what I hope will be this) show on Sunday night with one Ms. Davies. And then post Tuesday we begin the search for housing in earnest and start the packing–or late into the following month this happens and visitors and family and Ubaldo. And reading of manuscripts–today, tomorrow is today.
This is already too long and too boring. Have to think of another way to make this turn into a catalogue. A book of days that flaps. A bird of calendar pages.