I think this is my shoe.
I am a vile creature with no future.
says the human I spend most of my time with.
Anonymous said: Having floated out from my stronghold with astrolabe in tow. I've followed your writings by pure accident. I am bound by the rip city. One day I wish to wisp your thoughts poured out minus white and php format. Curious for ideas stamped to moleskin paper with diagrams and esoteric musings onto memory.
Iowan Surface (Des Moines Lobe) 2014 Hand-embroidery on canvas 11” x 8.5”
Anonymous said: you're everything i wish i could be
Step one: Don’t wish to be anybody but yourself. Sounds trite, but it’s true.
Little fits of misery are the primary interruptions in the emotional indifference of the last few days. Last night, during one of them, I cried for the first time in months. I guided myself to it because I thought it might help; but it was fleeting, a choke and a few tears, and then, nothing. I tried to name the misery aloud. I called it loneliness, though I’m almost never alone. But we know these conditions have almost nothing to do with one another.
What are your options? Endless.
Most of my conversational anecdotes originate from the bus, lately. Things I see on the bus. People I hear on the bus. The man who asked a boy for his pizza slice, which was promptly given to him and consumed in less than one minute, while the wolfing man pushed on the top of his head as though it might float away. Then the man who couldn’t open the foil of a limonata, and eventually abandoned the task by tossing it on the bus floor. And the man who rifled through the garbage and drank the last dregs of every beverage in it. Then the man who called another man asking if he still had the knife he had loaned him, you know, the one he gave him because that one guy was fucking with him—and then realized he had called the wrong man. And the woman who said “Africa”, and the man who yelled, “My friend is from Africa! DO NOT TALK ABOUT AFRICA.”
After he said that, I had an uncontrollable fit of hysterical laughter, and had to get off a few stops early to calm myself down. While walking home, it occurred to me that a) I hadn’t laughed for a few days (rare) b) the laughter came from a different place than my common place laughter. It was illogical, wild, corporeal; like the orgasms that involuntarily flare, displaced in my dreams, when it’s been too long since the last one. My body acting on its own behalf. I tell myself, “laughter, it’s no joke”, but I don’t laugh at that, and I didn’t laugh again until yesterday, when I did it on purpose. Like taking a vitamin, I thought. Like crying, I think.
They say that biting the soft wood of a pencil releases the same chemical as smiling. So I do that too.