Stranger Dazier

I am sitting at a window. A girl who looks like Chelsea is outside playing with her daughter and husband. The small orange trees outside the window move slightly because of the wind, and the flowers move even more. I'm hot. Espresso hits me like a flaming brick, and I just had two shots in a very quick drink. I catch a draft every so often from someone opening a door behind me, and I think that I'm feeling what the trees feel. I've decided that I like the sound of wind through pine trees. It is a nonviolent brushing noise that is like a very large man walking heavily. Intimidating for no reason at all. The steam wand makes a good attempt at impression, and I have to wonder about the serendipity of things. I look at friends often and think, "How can they still not know who I am?" It occurs to me that Leslie does, which is odd. We don't see each other, and I always feel like I'm sort of bothering her at least a little bit, or like she has so many fun friends and I'm always too serious. At the same time though, I really do tell her things. Not that all of my friends have betrayed me (most have not), but I really believe her when she says that she won't tell anyone. Maybe it's because we don't have any overlapping circles; rays pointed in different directions. She is moving to Tucson. I am sad about this for no reason. I don't see her now, even though we live within ten or fifteen miles of each other. I hope that she does well where she's going. Maybe I like that she does what I feel like I cannot do. She moves through her world with blinders on. She is just running straight forward towards nothing at all, not letting heavy people slow her down. She is living largely for her own purposes, which she isn't even sure of. She goes to California. I feel like I'm tied down. Like if I leave, people will die. I am in the crowd on which she is being carried, maybe. If I am rooted in the ground, blowing straight up with all of my breath, she is the person that I'm keeping aloft. The roots are what worry me. They aren't my body. They are the invasive tendrils of beautiful dying things. Little orange trees stand up against gentle winds, but they are in the pots that I put them in. I'm constantly nailing metal hoops around wooden pots. I need to make metal pots for more trees.

Strange Daze

I always wonder if no one is as perceptive as me. When I am acting obviously not myself, no one ever seems to realize that and ask me what's up. They float on by like so many idiot butterflies. I generally recognize the distress in other people, and if they haven't already told me (most people can't wait to tell you about the stress or problems in their life), I will ask what is wrong. I try not to pry. If they say something about not wanting to talk about it, or that they are fine and just drop it, I let it go. The point though is that I ask. Now, when I am not myself, and I am responding to things in ways that I would never normally respond, I wonder why no one asks me what is wrong. They claim after the fact that if I had only told them that I was having a bad day, they would have understood. But that's not the point. I struggle with isolation and invisibility. I want to know that someone sees me, despite my best attempts at hiding. I feel like I see a lot of people like me , and they usually become my friends, which must mean that they also wanted secretly to be found. But still no one asks. They let me snap at them. They let me respond without sympathy to sympathetic situations. They let me say nothing at all, which is against my nature. I don't care if I've insulted you in this way. If you were a friend, you'd know that it wasn't my normal response, and you should be worried. If a person suddenly falls to the floor and convulses, the thought process is "Oh what the hell? This isn't normal. Is this a joke? I think it's serious. What's the problem? How can I help?" unless you're an asshole, in which case the thought process is "Oh what the hell? This isn't normal. I'm getting weirded out. I'm out of here." So why when I'm verbally and emotionally convulsing, everyone seems to just get the fuck out of here? What a strange week.

Liquid Days by Philip Glass

This is one of those songs that blows me away EVERY time I hear it, but somehow I always forget about it. It's one of the greatest compositions I've ever heard. Definitely one of the most important songs of my life. Should have made the previous list, but didn't. Another song addendum coming up.


IN LIQUID DAYS

Oh Round Desire
Oh Red Delight
The River is Blood
The Time is Spent

Love likes me
Love takes it shoes off and sits on the couch
Love has an answer for everything
Love smiles gently...and crosses its legs
well here we are well here we are

Sleep
Sleep

Sleep...Being in Air
Sleep...Turning to speak
Sleep...Losing our Way
Sleep...Pour it all Out

We are old Friends
I offer Love a Beer
Love watches Television
Love needs a bath
Love could use a shave
Love rolls out of the chair and wiggles
on the floor
Jumps Up
I'm Laughing at Love

Drink Me
Drink Me
Drink Me
Drink Me

Drive...Why do You Ask?
Breaths...Still is the Night
Drive...It is much Further
Sleep...Than We Thought

In Liquid Days
Land Travel(s) Hard
Fly Home Daughter
Cover Your Ears

To Ashbaby

You can mostly move in on Thursday, which is when I plan on like offish signing the lease and doing a walk through (you may come to this if you like)/getting the keys. So if you be wantin' to, you can bring a small load with you on Thursday to drop off when we do a walk-through. Or a large load. Whatevzies. I'm going to start moving non-essentials this weekend. Stuff like clothes that I don't need or whevr. Call me.

No textie

Just so you know, I'm like super over on my text (hundreds of dollars over), so stop texting me for the time being.

Met with Allan (alan? allen? alin? al inn? aladdin?) and picked up the lease, which looks fine, but we ARE going to be liable for the whole security deposit + rent for this first month, which is going to be insano expensive/I will be living completely on credit card for the little while.

Think that I'm going to work at the bikeshop. It'll give me about $9 an hour and hopefully 32.5+ hours a week. It will also be a good reason to become more bike-dependent again aka commute by bike. I previewed my planned route from the house to the shop, and it is beautiful, so I'm totes stokes.

Much love.