Today.

I started to think that if you wrote down your daydreams, they may start to substantiate themselves. it's like if you don't move when you first awake in the morning, and you really think about what you were dreaming, then write it down, then read it later in the day: it becomes real again. i remember daydreams constantly, but if you don't stick with them they tend to escape into the general unconsciousness. the part that's just a feeling and not an image. i considered doing this as i watched people at my work trying to catch a bird who'd entered the store and was trapped by large front windows. it was a cute little bird, maybe a swallow. i don't know birds much. but greater than the obvious spiritual rejoice that came when it was trapped in a box against the window and then brought outside to freedom, i noticed how everyone entered that bird (those working and those shopping) and concentrated on the plight of it. memories wiped clean. the comfort of being trapped in the moment always says 'fuck freedom' to me.

notable daydreams in groups of five with no particular order: 1) drinking st. germain again, maybe finishing off the bottle myself and then creating a new mixed drink that turns in the new mojito or something and makes me a lot of money 2) bringing some of my favourite people from the city of chicago home with me to have a nice overnight drunk and to be shown exactly what the benefits of the small town are all about 3) actually physically breathing in sand at a beach while wondering why that seems so pleasant 4) forgetting everything 5) being trapped in a hotel room on my own accord, having the beach or the city or both right outside, with beautiful weather, but staying inside all day, rolling around in stale sheets but making them your own, not necessarily doing it all on purpose but because of a lovely person to stare into or a movie marathon or just the comfort of being trapped.

the city traps you, too. but in a very sweet blanket that you don't want to crawl out from. and it'd definately be a crawl, and it'd probably make you appreciate the distance between your fresh air and your soft ground.

Ardent Prescriptions

dont love your lost because the pain is unbearable but you might end up better in the forgotten footsteps of fabric seed

another bad couch decision, every football game heightens ignorance. "just kick left, moron!!!!" nothing opens prior questioning regarding sobriety. true, under vectors weigh xenopobic years. "zzzzzzz," as the sound of sleep takes him away.

i WISH i could sleep, i wish i could SLEEP. and i dont want to tell you what to do says the brain to the body in an ever expanding modulation of shape . the way that chemicals shape actions . the instance of cell revolutions every 7 years coming back to haunt us in the next 21 to bring to consciousness that the more we change the more we embody tired analogies . like the brain v computer . like its a contest of an able and appropriate comparison . like we think we know exactly what we want out of life when in reality we have no clue what we even want for breakfast and just end up eating only out of habit

"i'll take my prescriptions, those that the doctors of faith have dilligently apportioned for me"

"and i'll watch you all the while, taking swift notation of each shadow created by responding personalities, and how it shapes the dimples in your face"

"and youll cry and respond with twitching eyebrows? to hasten my judgement? but for what recourse?"

"i'll only say this . . . . . that i only condemn your life because it is INTENTIONAL in its ignorance."

"i guess the difference makes all the choice"

"..."

Pity for Previews

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I contemplated the population that lives 30,000 feet above us. Those who are always there, always moving, always excited about change or terrified of cramped space. Babies always crying and students always drinking. A privileged population, having the funds to afford the view they get. Those that were at window seats could see the forest below, but not for the trees. As I walked outside, I studied.

The tips of green. The melting of buds into petals falling. The scales of sunshine that scraped against rough bark bites, insects emerging to make it all real. And even though this was the least of the dense (I was only on the airport grounds), it still afforded me the slight touch of something natural. I pitied the population above.

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As the plane skidded to a halt on the runway, my feet scoffed the outside sidewalk. It’s quite funny to know an airport so well and breeze through it, whereas one can wander in the same architecture for dizzying days and not get anywhere. I’ve been stuck in airports abroad for so long that this journey seemed easily elapsed in narration.
I called the appropriate people to report on my safety. It’s easy to forget that the population who lives 30,000 feet up is statistically much more safe than those of us who inhabit the land. But we always lapse it when airborne and thank our lucky eyes when they see the soil again.

My good friend picked me up from the airport, a friend who would be getting married on the last of my four days in town. All along the drive, from the plane to his work, his work to a bar, a bar to a restaurant to his home, every sight conjured up old images of recompense. I even had a sense of nostalgia for those places that I’d never visited, therefore never had memories from except for the fact that I’d seen them from the car many times over. Store fronts with no purchase, restaurants without consumption, benches walked by. Advertisements ignored. I still gazed and wished I’d visited every one of them.

(revisions)

and all significance aside: i should try to take my compliments in stride. but i still can't.

through the process, certain things have come to my attention. here is a list in paragraph form, meant to bombard, to abstract and obstruct as much as to inform. as much as to relieve and relive. i feel like individuals are mannequin billboards, passivity only reinforcing that. activity makes the advertisement real, makes it seem less like an advert, and creates the sexual experience. the glass shield of popular communication feigns interest. i've come to terms with the following: whether jobs or relationships, they are all out there. so why stress? there ARE employers who need work done, money to be made, they do in fact need YOU. a job will come. you will find means to live. on the same: there ARE people out there who love you, or at least want to. they WILL come, there's connection to be made, they do in fact need YOU. so why worry? i've come to believe in that about jobs, but not about relationships. which, upon realization, makes me quite a bit more open to the fact that i'm single in the city. and where everyone is beautiful, looks look like they matter less and less. situation, place, and timing are pretty much every determinant. it's all about how you market yourself, right?

so 4 short but busy weeks have taken me to the brink of new themes. who cares about jobs or girls or even clothes to wear or things to do? all of it will come, and we'll live it out, put it in the laundry once in a while, list it at moments and forget it at others. and as i come to another one of these hopefully empty, ecstatic, manic realizations, i plant myself backwards on a bus seat and watch north avenue die in 42 blocks...

i sit as the combustion engine works for me, my two dollars burned into lungs. our speed still controlled by thin rubber wheels, for it's the bikes who dictate the speed of the cars just before rush hour. during the hour, bikes kill cars for miles. i'd love to if mine wasn't flat at the moment. -------------------------------- i can only look left. i window shop the window shoppers and think i might need something more to fit in. or something less. just not anything i have now, which is the whole point of capitalism, right? change is money. and quite literally, the man who's expecting some as you come off the kennedy expressway and he's washing your window, giving you a paper, you spare a few coins. but he moves like a robot, dude's skin is like leather. he smiles as you pass, but don't expect that same smile when you see him in his own element. i like to hope that he'd crush my skull, he'd crush all of our skulls, if he had even half of what the 'haves' had. --------------------------------- i see an ideal house, everything, kitchen, office, living room, all within 10 blocks. it's exactly perfect, pristine, but behind think paned glass. store fronts. like oasis gold fronts. look but don't touch; buy it if you don't need it. fuck, those curtains alone could've housed a hundred of those street guys, kept 'em warm for years to come. but they only hang in effigy, symbols of the thinnest of our leaders. ----------- oh fuck, leave it to good music, an empty state of mind, and other important things to do. i almost missed my stop.