S. Howe says that poetry is redemption from pessimism. 

i felt perma stoned all day yesterday and i suspect it's the allergies given that i slept 9 hours the night before.

Last night I had a dream that myene and I were sharing a huge room, there was a sliding wooden door in between us. a buffer if you will. we were both in our respective beds when I swung it open (the wooden door). my cat, basket ventured on her side of the room. 

Every 8 months or so I have a dream where myene makes a guest appearance. I wonder what my analyst will make of this dream. 

Maybe I dreamt of her last night because Katie annoyed me yesterday. She demands a lot of attention and gets prideful when she doesn't get it. I hope she didn't take me sending her that agnes martin essay on pride and failure the wrong way...

When we wake up in the morning we are inspired to do some certain thing and we do do it. The difficulty lies in the fact that it may turn out well or it may not turn out well. If it turns out well we have a tendency to think that we have successfully followed our inspiration and if it does not turn out well we have a tendency to think that we have lost our inspiration. But that is not true. There is successful work and work that fails but all of it is inspired

"The function of art work is the stimulation of sensibilities, the renewal of memories of moments of perfection."

During my walk home I called Brian and for the 4th time I told him I can't see him. I've been consistently flaking on our plans and he doesn't deserve it but I don't deserve this pressure either. He let slip: "I fell in love with you so fast." 

f...the comment felt manipulative and I ignored him via text.

I'm going to manifest a different dream instead. 

polymathic foray into the elemental connectedness of all things

 “Books are weird. You just sit on the couch in your apartment and feel things - these unreasonably deep, cavernous things - and then you look up and it’s the same stupid world. Nothing’s changed, not even you.”

http://www.artandpopularculture.com/Celestial_Emporium_of_Benevolent_Knowledge

borges the analytical language of john wilkins pdf

there’s an angel at my table

systemic system synergy 

i have not stopped searching for paradise 

on the cartons of Oatly ads 

a more intrepid talker would have shouted ideas

dimwitted, the ones who insists on cures through notes

all the own’s body mind is time 

the documentary dormitory

how complicated the simple life can be

conceived of each other, conceived each other in a darkness

which I remember was drenched in light

actions of others didn’t define you

people will ultimately do what they are going to do 

it is the body’s self-lessness which is its ardor 

delusion needs a home too–

it matters what we call things

A big error comes when you believe that a form, name or position in which the subject is viewed is the only way that the subject can be viewed

https://www.asu.edu/pipercwcenter/how2journal/archive/online_archive/v1_1_1999/fhbewild.html

conceived of each other, conceived each other in a darkness

which I remember was drenched in light

 words not only find themselves attached to commodities, they become commodities

and if the written word made me a dollar, would I still love it the same. Once it bears the fruit of transaction and precarious livelihood will I still will it to fruition with the same immediacy. 

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I think it's intrinsic for humans to want to avoid misunderstandment of any kind. That of being misunderstood and the act of misunderstanding another. We have a drive towards understanding everything around us. I'm trying to loosen the reins on understanding in an effort to try to become comfortable with a limbo stasis. Floating on cross sections for my own humility's sake. Welcoming thus the vitality of my naivete as not a downfall but a farce of contentment. 

Often in this pursuit of knowledge, especially in interpersonal relationships, we tend to jump the gun. We end up talking over each other because in order to have our needs met we need to be heard, so much that we fail to really listen to the other person. Even while we are still as the other speaks we formulate and plot our next response. The active listener, a poorly rendered facade.

Once we get the thing we pine over we don't want it anymore, we see it as less precious. Instead of feeling accomplished we day dream over longing's ghostly fodder.

I think giving into these modes of being is to give in to cyclical habit formation. Instead of acting on care we act on impulse because this impulse more often than not yields results just fine. Which is why we don't see our way of being as uncaring. 

I'd like to believe that there is more intentional ways of moving around the world. More tailor made ways to love. I think it starts with finding the silence in one's mind and tuning in. 

Unearthing this

As always, not that I want to dwell– things were repeated and repeated over and over. Things were said said and rarely heard heard. Interconnectedness can feel like foreign objects thrashing. 

I want to see a word swell under a heat lamp.

Today my analyst said she thinks I'm distant from my feelings. She said that I keep analyzing others as a way to avoid analyzing myself. "Well, that's why I pay you", I joked. 

She cannot analyze me if I don't analyze me is what she said after. 

I admit to her that my productivity and rituals have been inconsistent. They're inconsistent because I'm having to relearn them again. Relearn the definition of words like "decidedly."

I get my second vaccine next week feb 8. It's not going to change anything. 

I want to go to the Russian spa on Valentine's day. I want to give a man who I don't like too much flowers.

The month of January has felt like 6 months. I cannot believe I got Basket a little over a month ago. 

It's so much colder now than it has ever been before. 

I met a man from the 50's and it's like he's teleported into being 28 years old today. Does that make sense 

did I ever roam the streets in the morning

just to watch a speckled brown pigeon on a promenade?
are you in love or are you in trauma
with the everlasting eye sight of the horizon
everything can involve death if you allow it

even love, it involves rebirth and eventual death. When you sink into this idea you can begin to free yourself. 

I think I’ll write until my computer dies. Every rule I give myself recently feels secretly arbitrary because it never amounts to anything I can show for. It’s October 23rd. It’s my 28th birthday. I thought I wouldn’t feel melancholy on my birthday this year because I’ve been feeling rather alright. I got a job. My relationship with J is better than ever. I’m working towards my mfa thesis. I think of anthroposophy when I let myself, I miss my peers. I miss watching people’s faces, the way they can become ugly so quickly, the most. Tabitha sent me a video she rendered of a silver mushroom dancing outside of a Wendy’s. She sent it right at midnight my time which I realized must have been 6 am for her. A knot formed in my throat. I am so lucky in a world with no time for luck. Pinnacle of history in which I am forced to see myself as shitty episodes. They say that people with anxiety tend to watch shows and movies they’ve already watched because they know exactly what to expect. They know how the story ends.

This year has been especially blessed and crazed. One of the best years of my life if I can be so crass. I’m becoming a woman that maybe I’m not so fond of but a woman who I like just fine enough for now. My body is changing recently and I’m not sure I know how to feel. I want to feel real guilty for it but I can’t bring myself to that level of vanity anymore. Affinity is a curved line. J half heartedly started to sing me happy birthday. I coiled, I did that thing where I’m half coy about it. He only got to “Happy birt–.”

I want to hear my animal senses more clearly. I want to be static against sentiments that are eager to please. I want to lie down on a stone that resembles consumption. See oil slicks as sea. Have oral sex on mossy patches. Adorn your neck with my goodnight voice. I want to have a good night voice. To balance on logs while it rains outside and your friends tell you that they’re okay and so they are.


This can’t be the life.

toast sized teflon pan gets too hot (it smokes but I catch it). I add a drizzle of olive oil on it while I take the pan out of the heat for a second. I vaguely remember hearing about how you're supposed to wait for the pan to get hot–not too hot, before adding fat. I crack an egg on the pan. I take note that the eggs since moving to this new place in Clinton Hill have been harder to crack maybe because of either the texture of the surfaces in the kitchen or its rounded quality which is just the visual aspect of the texture I just mentioned. Sometimes when I crack an egg a piece of eggshell might get on the egg and I have to quickly get it out, usually with my hands, so that the eggshell doesn't get cooked into my eggs. I take a piece of multigrain toast from the freezer. I press the buttons labeled "defrost" and "toast" just in case defrost doesn't actually mean toasting the bread just unfreezing it then causing the bread slice to pop out of the toaster slightly soggy. If that happened I would then have to toast it again and it would take more time. I mind the egg that's on the pan. I crack some pepper while it's on the pan. I remove the egg from heat but the bread isn't done yet. I take out raw almond butter from my fridge and get a knife ready. I forget I should get water I have being kept cold in the fridge so I return to the fridge to get it. I spread almond butter on the piece of toast but before I do that I sniff the bread a little. I don't know why but I always do this. The plate my food is on is large enough where the egg and toast don't touch. I add Maldon salt to the egg. I pour myself a glass of water.

Poem I wrote for Sean for his birthday, click to enlarge

 On any given day what I love is a symbol.

Last week I brought Katie and Natalia pluots at Fort Greene park, I gifted Sean a peach in Forest Hills, I ate either peaches or nectarines with Christine at Fort Greene park and I ate yellow plums with Nick at Fort Greene park.

All is lemon & light & loss

Rachel shows me a picture of a vintage Betsey Johnson smock and says, "this is so you", it's a baby doll lolita dress. So me, I said.

Some may call a constant ache chronic others might say, well that's just history baby.

the cool thing about everything happening recently is being able to stop.The fact that I can choose how to feel, I can decide how long a feeling washes over me, how long to dwell, how fast to move. Realizing this power over one's emotions can feel freeing.

Hawaiian psych folk & truisms

accepting grief and acknowledging its course will liberate you to love

things that feel more intensely aren't always more true or more real, that's the ego peering his head

you cannot change the event you can only change your relationship to the event