Current mood:

cranky

A poem I just found, for now, that is all
I am sure I have a lot to say and a lot I feel like I am under. Like a lot is piling on top of me and I haven't felt it yet but there it is.
Like not only this gangland and wet weather and impossible [almost] parking, and strange [as usual anymore] living arrangements, and the desire to desire and follow my previous passions again, and double shifts [given another show to take over] instead of moving those double out into November - which would be better. so much better. and this project of mine, of ours, and not the time, nor collaboration I'd like to give it(you and I in coffee shops late into the night - couldn't we be coming up with something awesome? or some apt. with lights low and talking until things spring into being - bud and bloom and cute ideas and amazingly researched entirely?)

But I am in Chicago - yes I am in Chicago.
Some semi-north (but not far in Texas standards) Chicago. But You are not here, nor is actual freedom, nor is my clear vision of what comes next except life and another day and hoping not to fail or destroy myself. and strange things around me in other peoples lives. Deaths on the ragged burnt edges of my shirt sleeves. Other peoples' deaths.

And I feel I haven't been eating healthy, nor sleeping enough, nor being good to my body with appropriate exercise. Though what did I eat when I was in college? Probably crazy things, and slept strangely, and my mind was always almost probably at it's end. So really, what's the difference? Except age and more alcohol and a jadedness that makes things ironic. - The irony in people saying I am so very three dimensional and complete and whatnot.
These things.

Oh I'm trying - but there are classes I would like to take (had I not decided to accept these double shifts - because I want to endear myself - I dont know? Because I can't turn down challenges like this - and the classes - would really be more challenging, because it would mean going somewhere and interacting with people... but the last time I Took a class (that Czech class back in that other empty awful paper life of mine) well that was a waste of time and completely passionless.

Now we need to watch cameramen's reels and put this somewhere between a youtube video and a artfully done TV-friendly PILOT.
That and working two jobs and living in two different cities and not feeling at home ever in so many years.
'Sister I see you'

But pills in a bottle and not down my throat.
And I have to go to the grocery store. and try to find some solace somewhere.
I know ppl do double shifts all the time.
And ppl do their own projects.
Are they the soulless ones?
Do I still have a soul?
Is there magic in the world?
Sometimes I find it, curled up on my bed here - that there may still be magic, and may be art.
But there aren't building blocks to fall into place like you'd hope.
And not every day is a sunny day where you are rollerblading and feeling like it makes any kind of sense.

I wish I could steal away all the little shadowbox moments in my mind that never happened and have them. Like a flip book. Have them and have those lives.

I am so scared. Of the 21st. Of what though? and why?
I'm so sick and scared of things not being more.
More or less.

Ness - did I tell you the Newberry is a genealogy library? You've been into that recently, so I found it interesting, when I went. Also, the Chicago boat tours have a "Devil in the White City" tour... But will you get to come here? will we get to do that?

Is it ALWAYS feast or famine?

Ah but I was just going to put a poem I found.

Charles Bukowski.

the words have come and gone,
I sit ill.
the phone rings, the cats sleep.
Linda vacuums.
I am waiting to live,
waiting to die.
I wish I could ring in some bravery.
it's a lousy fix
but the tree outside doesn't know:
I watch it moving with the wind
in the late afternoon sun.
there's nothing to declare here,
just a waiting.
each faces it alone.
Oh, I was once young,
Oh, I was once unbelievably
young!

(“Now What?”)

Source: http://www.thesmartset.com/article/article10060801.aspx


And I really want a book by this other poet but you cant find it anywhere, apparently DO have to order it, and I know things havent been getting here, so I hesitate to order it....

http://www.ivypressprinceton.com/book1.html

Ah Princeton.

-Val
how many strange years
but the 21st and not stopping, not stopping!