day 45. music brings me about as close to religion as i'll ever get

"Sometimes I get lonesome for a storm. A full-blown storm where everything changes. The sky goes through four days in an hour, the trees wail, the animals skitter in the mud and everything gets dark and goes completely wild. But it's really God-- playing music in his favorite cathedral in heaven-- shattering stained glass--playing a gigantic organ--thundering on the keys-- perfect harmony--perfect joy."--Joan Baez, quoted in Slouching Towards Bethlehem.




Americana
Maybe they were different as soon as they left. The second
the leaving crossed their mind. Or was it
walking the plank
up into a new world?
They were Americans when they left everything known behind.
Picture them as I do-- in an curving metal sea, in a strange sanctuary
the warm slats of wood keeping anarchy out
Picture a storm, and everyone together in the very
deepest heart of their shelter--
And now, let your ears picture singing, sustained, sliding between harmony and melody.
And the tidal turn of pages was the seafoam leaking in, and
still they sang, faces turned towards the light--
they were not the first Americans, but they were as
lost as the rest.

The Sick of People Song (day 44)

I only feel like this once in a while, but I think everyone has those moments where you look around and get violently sick of the vast amounts of bs everywhere there are teenagers. most of this is just dumb generic shit, but i do like the i'm tired of your turdery line. :P

Sick of everyone
ready to walk away
and keep walking
till i can't hear whatchu say
until i can't hear the petty secrets
we aren't allowed to tell but do anyway.

stop lying in consensus
stop giving me shit
what is this, shitmas

so i'll yell go go go
if you don't like me then
stop using me
stop your inconsistency
stop repeating what i say
stop hiding your pain away
stop your judgements and your attention whoring
stop your condescending patronizing everything's annoying

i'm done with your douchebaggery
i'm sick of your suckery
i'm tired of your turd-ery
and i'm over your obliviousness

(and maybe if i say these things i can convince myself
that i'm not talking to me)

catching up (day 43)

(A beat-up car passes a girl who is walking with headphones on. The car window rolls down and a man drops a cigarette out.)

Headphone Girl: (angrily ) Hey man, you're pretty cool. Yeah, fuck the earth, right? Man who cares about water pollution when you're stoned as Half Dome, right? I see that, I see that.
Beard Boy: Wait, what. Are you being sarcastic, or what?
HG: What the fuck do you think?
BB: I think you're unnecessarily harsh and not actually this mad at someone you don't even know.
HG: I know all I want to. You douche.
BB: Oh, cause that's fair. (he slows the car to match her pace)
HG: I actually wasn't initiating conversation, I wasn't playing hard to get, I... sincerely... just wanted you to know, because I think people should be aware of it when they're being ginormous douches.
BB: Well I wouldn't say sincerely.
HG: Aaaand I'm done here.
BB: Nothing else you want to spew at me? You shouldn't keep it bottled up.
HG: Can you just stop? And by stop, I mean keep driving. Away from me.
BB: Yeah whatever, but that means you won't get the last word. (he grins and accelerates )
HG: (yelling after the car) ALSO YOUR FACE IS DUMB!

i don't know (day 42)

In the cafe, she laughs and runs her hand through her thatched hair and suddenly I'm thinking of sunlight and patios and quiet mornings.
Vienna has been good to us, two tourists holding hands in airplane gates and other terrifying places. Vienna has smiled upon us. In particular, the men have smiled at us. Well, they smile at her, all devious eyebrows thinking devious thoughts.
One walks by and gives her the pick-up nod she'll later emphatically deny knowledge of.
Hey gorgeous, want a better cup of coffee?
She disentangles her left hand from her hair and points to the ring.
I can help you get that off! he shouts cheerily.
A persistent one, I say, and trace circles in the condensation on my glass.
Her foot traverses my leg.
I'd call it cheeky, she says, surveying my face for a reaction.
Let's go, she says quiet and impetuous, and I realize I am inextricably tangled in that hair, those eyes, flitting over my features like brave dragonflies.
I also realize there is nothing to be done about it.

the wild thing (day 41)

people tell me that i
scream in my sleep that i
repeat one word over and over that i
leave my eyes
only half
shut
and i wonder
who are you,
monster in me,
so terrible you can't be let out
when i'm awake?
what do you do in
there?
how do you pass the days
senseless and soundless
One of these
days
will i stop fighting you, will you
come out of that corner claws bared, and
flitting through languages and fragmented moods, will you
let me dream?

Day 40. (bubbling.)

Have you ever noticed
that everyone is good at something?
You, too.
Maybe you don't even know?
Maybe
RIGHT NOW
you are a crazy contortionist, or a salacious singer
--maybe one day these things will save your life.
Me?
I am insanely gifted in the art of......

Multiple choice.
I can bubble like no other.
Me and my number two pencil are number one.
You better believe I can process of eliminate any obstacle.
I was thinking about this the other day because
I have this friend, and she gets to thinking these tests are magic.
She gets to thinking
they can tell you how smart you are, compared statistically to every other kid
who has ever bubbled anything.
She gets down sometimes, because
somehow, she has accumulated the belief that
these tests make it possible to determine your future.
She has this crazy idea
that these tests test knowledge, in the form of
bubbles.
It does sound pretty cool.
Hey kid-- you wanna bubble?
I'd buy that. Sounds like
hot tubs, or Powerpuff girls, or maybe
soap bubbles, the kind your sister teaches you to blow with your hands,
interlaced fingers learning to
seal off summer
in a perfect sphere for a few mesmerizing
seconds.

But here's the thing--
None of choices A though E involve the beautiful messes of soap bubbles or the chaos of life.
They say life is chaos like it's a bad thing but
after seven years of scantrons
I can tell you that chaos
is what makes kaleidoscopes enchanting
and teaches us that reality is ambiguous and dramatic and
controversial.

And somehow, we've gotten to this point where kindergartners get to practice for
first grade exams and you can choose to be
a motivated bubbling robot in classes that teach to a test
or you can duck flying leftovers and watch teachers trying desperately
not to be listened to, but to be
heard.

Why settle for these choices?
It's our curiosity, our enthusiasm, our optimism
Our minds
being bubbled in.

Bubbling is about finding the least bad answer but
I want a good one so
I guess I'll have to write it
myself.