August 8th, 2011

let it be written. i. am an ass.

we waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.


admit it: you used to walk around thinking there had
to be a reason for things, for everything. that way

paranoia lies. not a science of syllables, the solitude
total, but the prophet’s lit lantern was what you wanted—

and what you got was “neon in daylight,” a pleasure
recommended by frank o’hara. those pleasures meant a lot to you,

you even thought you lived for them, until the first death
(a nervous uncle broke the news when you landed at kennedy)

and the first marriage (you stayed up all night and read
beyond the pleasure principle, a fair description

of your lovemaking). it seems that new myths are needed
and consumed all the time by folks like you. each erases the last,

producing tomorrow’s tabula rasa, after a night of dreams
in which the tigers of wrath become the tigers of repose.


peace, peace, mercutio, peace!
thou talk'st of nothing.


true, i talk of dreams,
which are the children of an idle brain,
begot of nothing but vain fantasy,
which is as thin of substance as the air
and more inconstant than the wind, who wooes
even now the frozen bosom of the north,
and, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
turning his face to the dew-dropping south.
  • Current Music
    somebody leave the light on
like a very hairy jake gyllenhaal

i'll be your mirror (ha, bythos, you're so clever)

i slipped off the treadmill, orange shirt stitched with sweat, and gathered my belongings. i stopped at the water cooler to refill the stainless steel container which proudly declared itself a green bottle even though it could only hope to fool protanopiacs and deuteranopiacs. i entered the weight room and scattered my belongings, spreading the blue-striped white towel on the weight bench so as not to slip and slide. i retrieved a pair of weights from the rack, laid them aside the bench, and as i straightened became aware that the guy who'd been two treadmills over and who had headed for the weight room maybe a mile before i did was trying to get my attention. i pulled my headphones off so i could hear him.

"hey, i just wanted to tell you i've never seen anyone happier to be running."

"oh, that's easy to explain," i said with a laugh. "i watch conan o'brien's show while i run."

"okay, okay, makes sense."

"i gotta have something to get me through, music or a show, i don't love running that much."

"ah, yeah, i feel you. stick with it. it's definitely working."


always nice to have a candid glimpse of the self you can't yourself observe. and funny to think of me ("you should smile more") being perceived as the happiest anything, let alone the happiest runner. to the extent a stranger was compelled to remark on it. coco's mojo is incontrovertible.
  • Current Music
    i'm raving / i'm raving / but do i really feel the way i feel?
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