I fall through and wake up to the smell of carbon.
I give some vague story about an audition to explain my absence.
I only start to miss you at night. I need to be better with white space, with blankness in general. Maybe it’s like Dasein whatever no not
Whatever. Not whatever. I mean I think maybe it has to do with realizing one’s my own death and thus growing up,
blankness will become less terrifying. All alo o o o o one
I want to say “I’ve done well” and have it be true
because I don’t mind what happened to it the thing I done to you.
The day I left there was a rumbling over head, under foot.
Crackling hot earth is inedible
to the animals of both our worlds not including birds.
I came to see your college, your God of the New Land,
and it was a disappointment:
Everyone thought I meant something different than I meant
And meanwhile my true love is of course the one lost.
Story of my uhm
My favorite thing she said was that people might be shocked
at how little she’d really read. Oh,
granted, the context was, cat fight
I don’t ever, your hands sort of never come up
but your face does blended like many nat’l cuisines, feeding memory I mean.
You know, you could just talk to her about it, ask her why she did it. I know it doesn’t usually work in the sense of getting “resolution” but does it work in terms of results that much less than otherwise?
I mean in analysis?
The Men are always asking me to write out explanations of why I feel the way I do, in a beautiful essayistic form so that they can have a piece of what it is that is mine.
They have real guns.
I want to say “trust me,” but let’s all have a drink first.
Fear is very simplifying, makes everything clear, everything suddenly clear. Fear directs and perfects our vision: our heart rate increases in order to pump more blood to our extremities.
Now hang on let’s let’s just make something clear. I, well, in my attempts to explain things via mathematics I don’t actually purport to understand mathematics at all. Indeed my fetishization of the idea of understanding mathematics is purely an extension of my fetishization of one long dead Alan Turing. It is entirely an act of hubris to suppose that my interest in this man’s biography and circumstances of his death could possibly lend itself to my better understanding of something which for many many years and many many school systems I have lacked as a basic cognitive function. However I am a poet and in doing this no one could possibly get hurt because poetry is an action that has zero impact zero possibility for injury to anyone involved zero costs and zero benefit so I can absolutely tell you anything I want is true about mathematics without actually having even the most basic ability or education to understand what would be true.
Before you pull out the pitchfork and rush me, I want to explain that my lack of understanding as such isn’t due to a lack of trying, but that term itself is couched and qualified by our education system our meaning us Americans, for whom natural ability in something is an attribute to be encouraged and “nurtured” at the cost of any discipline in any other field. That’s what my problem is, I lack discipline, no on ever took a strong hand with me and set a hard limit. I was so coddled for my “writing” that no one ever took my fingers and wrapped them around a pen, leaned their elbow down on my shoulder where I was sitting and PRESSED their full adult weight DOWN on me to make me do math.
I have this one friend Andy and he’s in school to be a doctor, and for the longest time of knowing him, sort of meeting him socially over and over, I always thought he was joking when he said that. Now what does that tell you!
Hey, baby. What’s wrong? You look lost.