I haven’t been feeling very well lately.  I mean, I have been but I haven’t.  If it isn’t a potential migraine creeping up, then it’s a silent mental meltdown in front of a blank Word document with my hands making the most useless little bridges over the keys.  To focus on focusing means I chase my own tail. I am writing and writhing.It’s a feeling of torture–to be so inspired and ready to create yet nothing comes out but a sputter & dust.  I’m stuck.  Not just there, but in every aspect.  I can barely keep my clothes folded and off the floor–going out seems more trouble than it’s worth and when I go to bars all I want to do is read and not drink and people watch. It’s nothing bad or life threatening–it’s just a level of disorganization that is swallowing me whole. I want to do so much that I end up doing nothing because commencing one thing means abandoning another and I am just stuck. Like hitchhiking gum on a hydrant, or garlic in the sweat glands–like solid and slight and woe oh is this ever a pun to the pendulum. 

Do you call truces at parties? Is that par for the course, when the house isn’t big enough for your “I” statments anymore–you have to go out and drink a little and tell them to someone, quickly, before you start realizing that you really don’t make any sense. One time I was at a party in Brooklyn and everyone was dancing to “Common People” and I swore to the ceiling that I would never feel bad about anything ever again. There were christmas lights strung around the windows and I didn’t live there but I could have in that moment, the way I was promising myself to always be good. The night seems endless until the sun starts rising. Then it’s my new memory.

and i could be tethered but i am the latest kite in the sky; my cats like me and it is june. hope always sneaking under the last syllables of every sentence. i don’t know i just will not give up. certain songs are gone and it’s best to leave them there; we talk in our sleep. you can hinge an entire life upon a glance and if it doesn’t eat you from the inside out then it’s your duty to fight to live to tell about it. come on, do it for the kids. do it for the mechanics and cul de sacs. do it for the dali in me, that great big heart in you. do it for the bars in minneapolis. do it for the microphones. do it for your voice in the monitors–request more of it. do it for all the syrup and slang in the voice of our acoustic heroes. do it for that promise you didn’t keep. do it for the girl who broke your heart. do it for the shoe tread.

i just turned 26 and here i am with more of it handed to me–more life than i can carry but go baby go. it seems unreal. and then comes that song black thumbnail and i really should go dancing or sing along and when it’s done just finish this sentence hit the light and
go
to
bed.
(this slantgrin say amen)