push it

I stopped reading last year, gave up on books and the news and Vanity Fair and the New Yorker. Other than the occasional Real Change or spy novel re-run, I pretty much dumped the written word. At some point though I ran across xTx's blog Nothing to Say. She writes like a person punching you in the mouth, and then kissing you. It hurts like hell and then it's amazing. I inhaled her and then I forgot about her until today, and yeah she's still writing like a Fight Club extra.

Try this on from the one where i unexpectedly cry while writing it and then know i hit a part of my truth and it hurts: "My heart constantly yearns for other things. Things I cannot have. I think that’s what continually drives my writing. With my writing I can put that yearning somewhere. I can put all of my stomache aches and my cryings and my what if’s into the imaginary. I can also, in some cases, make people like me. I can sometimes make them love me. I make them all my father."

The keeping of cool

Keep your cool, I tell myself.
Every day. Every hour. Kila siku.
As though keeping cool is a choice. As though there is cool to keep.
As though cool is tangible, tactile, graspable, keepable.
What I mean is, stay loose.
Touch, don't grab.
Handle--explore--caress--enjoy--and then release.
*
At church last night we had goofy fun with a black light.

Remain calm

Today I ask myself, what have I learned?
The answer is, not much.
I wish I wasn't such a slow learner.
Why do I keep doing stupid shit? Why can't I be chill and generous, always?
What might it feel like if someone carved their declaration of love for me, passionate German cut into a railing at Victoria Falls?
Nina, ich liebe dich, bebi.
There is much to be gained by remaining calm.