A Long Block Paragraph I Would Not Read Myself If I Stumbled Upon It

I apologize for how lame ass and messy this blog has become. If it feels that way it is a reflection of my life on the ground. Sorry if I am also not having enough time to visit my favorite followers’ blogs as well. I will be back in full force soon. Whatever is going on cannot sustain itself. I’ve in general not been reading enough, haven’t experienced enough new prose, poetry, science, politics, photography, travel, history, and nice days at the beach lately. This anti-lyrical, self-immolating post is exactly the type of unaesthetic pop crap I hate to post and see on my blog which I consider in artful terms. I feel like I am being shrink wrapped, where air is time and I’m down to the flesh so I’ve salvaged 2:30am tonight because usually I am too exhausted from work but tonight I am not because work gave me a second wind or because someone whispered something to me from 3,000 miles away earlier today that has made me uneasy and desperate. Most of all I am attempting to devoid my words ergo my thoughts of self-pity as I would avoid driving too close to the edge of a cliff. What goes down goes down fast and hard and now my point may not be made because I am distracted by sexual innuendos which were unintended but sprout anyway like weeds on a lawn. How did I even end up with this prose? I feel like an old high school bubbler or sink where you let the water run for about fifteen seconds before you drink because it’s going to be all rusty and iron filled and you need to get the crap out to get to the good stuff. A letter came in the mail from one of my best friends who, despite that fact, I hadn’t heard from in three months, something which was beginning to worry me. I need to see more movies. Tomorrow is crackdown day. I have a story due Tuesday which I am not far enough along in (plus side, I’ve been writing a lot of longer fiction outside of tumblr) and I have a major project I need to work on so I can kick ass during a class panel discussion next week. But there is a bookfest happening on Grand Park in downtown but I think I can make it there for just a tiny bit of time, but I also need to be back in time for work. Los Angeles is getting warmer. My window is open tonight for the first time since October and I can hear every car go by as if it were mimicking the act of scrolling on a blog roll. Here fast, gone fast. Tonight at work my co-worker asked some people “where are you guys going?” One of them, astonished, replied, “Going? We’re not going anywhere. I mean, this is where we were going. We were coming to you.” How do you now if the place you are looking for is the place in which you’ve already arrived? A man and a woman on the bus the other day told me I had soul. Me and my friend went to a bar last Saturday and iHop directly after that. An art gallery owner told me her gallery focused on the “photographic image” but that her gallery was so meta it featured no photography. A Chinese friend asked me if English was the official language of America. I said, No. She asked me, then why did I bother learning it? I sent my mom a book. My friend from Boston got mugged and assaulted on the LA Metro. I met someone who makes documentaries. I met someone who makes music videos. I passed five homeless tents within a hundred yards from each other. A co-worker was fired. I was not.

I don’t know. Am I coming or am I going? Or is this in between, and that is why it feels like a vortex?



Tags: prose? no

"The very cells of her flesh reject knowledge and kinship in one monotonous word: No. No. No."

Flowering Judas by Katherine Ann Porter