last night i dreamt the police were after me again. i dreamt i was at a party full of people who wanted to talk to me. i dreamt the dream of secret rooms. i dreamt of a barren mountain and a deep dark hole
last night i dreamt of the job i had some thirty years ago at the check processing center. when i woke up i could remember the names of the different jobs we ran and how the machines felt when they ran, but i couldn't remember the names of the four coworkers that died in the four years i worked there. still though, i could see the face of that red headed kid talking through the last hours of a friday shift about taking his motorcycle out for the first time after a long ohio winter and what he did instead was go home and kill himself with a shotgun. when i finally did fall back to sleep, all my dreams were filled with the lost
i was there for some of the beginning most of the middle and all of the end or purple
last friday we drank four loko slushies and made slappers, but the friday before that, cassidy brought stained glass unicorns for the four of us to color while we drank genuine dollar bucket nonsense. we all took them home and hung them in sunny windows, shared portals into a glowing world
somehow this drawer in my nightstand, which is normally empty, has come to resemble an everyday carry post for chaotic neutral locket cats and also
i am ready for the time of the year when there are too many watermelons
i saw my first stinkhorn of the season this week
i missed seeing the northern lights in georgia because i was zonked on four loko slushies
...
i want to go on a ten day trip to tokyo where i sleep in a different capsule hotel every night and i ramble around as i am wont to do and buy a capsule toy from the first machine i see at eleven past the hour every hour i am awake and at the end i line them up like a bunch of pocket sized diary entries. also beer in alley bars and little bits of food grilled over charcoal
i am reading the blue octavo notebooks, for the first time since i was working on that project during lockdown, and experiencing and unexpected wiggly steroscopic perspective on this mumblelardian epoch
i am leaving now to go buy yeast donuts at the supermarket bakery
finn and fallie came over after work yesterday and we sat at my kitchen table drinking four loko slushies, making slappers, catching up and other assorted nonsense. we talked about truck fires, free coffee, solar flares, and cicadas. we marveled at the true tales of opal christine, the man who lost a day before it ever even happened, the golden child's totaled car. we remembered past adventures and speculated on adventures upcoming. it was a very good day
This happens every time. Even though we agree that Webster’s Third is the default reference dictionary of our era, if Finn or Fall lose a challenge there are inevitably calls for the OED or the revered Webster’s Second. Eventually someone makes a snarky remark about picking up one of those stupid scrabble “dictionaries” and it turns into this. I can’t even remember what the word in question was.
the storms brought a cool breeze along and i opened all the windows and even the lodger enjoyed the change
walking back from the library by the shortcut through the woods, i saw a big old auntie tree had fallen in the night and i full smelt the damp of the wet ground that had failed to hold her roots. through the canopy, i could see just enough of the sky to know i wasn't going to make it home before the next storm hit and suddenly, for a moment, i felt real and alive in the middle of it all. the ache, anxiety and sadness that hold this body were together indistinguishable from the the thrill, the relief, the joy of being there in that place for that time. i carried that feeling the rest of the way home. i didn't notice when it started to rain but i was soaked by the time i got home and my face is wet now from remembering it
the thunder was so loud this morning it scattered all my dreams or gifts from my familiar
boba brought back this tiny, witchy leaf from her morning hunt and delivered it to me at my desk. i'm putting it in her whisker jar while i figure out what it is for
today's river or thinking what you're thinking i am what you thought
early this morning, i dreamt of a pad of giant purple sticky notes, lying on my lap, my hand poised to write the next step forward for this life of mine
yesterday i followed a water snake swimming along the shore and found a seashell buried in the mud on the side of the road
on saturday i saw an andean condor, a fire eater, and a busking tortoise
today,i am at a loss, it's already so muggy hot and it's not even summer yet
finn and i were trying to measure the distance to the horizon that is the future beyond which all possibilities appear equally fantastic. at this moment it shimmers elusively somewhere between two and a half and five and a half weeks
last night i dreamt that i saw the first girl i ever kissed dancing in the picture window of her house at night
i dreamt i traveled to the center of the bog each night to carve monsters out of petrified drift
sitting in my chair just before bed, the sound of the nightbirds through the open door stopped suddenly and i could hear a child and her mother crying quietly from across the courtyard
this morning, in that bit of sleep between waking up too early and waking up too late, i dreamt of finding a wasps nest hanging in the eaves of a childhood home
i saw twenty-two goslings yesterday
without warning or preamble, my dad started texting me daily bible verses at five thirty in the morning. so far, the selections have included two minor old testament prophets and one pseudonymous sibling of you know who
i am currently listening to a lot of cavity, p.s. eliot, waxahatchee, weed, and live the fall albums. also, a found playlist that starts donnie darko then wanders down the wrong kind of alley, and when i truly need a moment of genuine serendipity, a found skins uk series one through seven playlist on shuffle
after being separated for almost four years, i still tear up every time i get to visit with two fry and holler