Aug 2018
I.
russia? russia was great, a month spent in St. Petersburg, the white polar nights of summer, like Al Paccino in Alaska... the train journey into Moscow... god... their metro system is like a ******* museum, where you can't film or take photographs... and back in St. Petersburg? what's uber? i don't even know who uses taxis in russia, you can get an urban hitch-hike on the spot, no app is necessary, people offer you a ride and you pay them... but there's no app... just human decency of courtesy... and i sometimes think about traveling to H'america... but not to your usual tourist hot spots for Europeans... the obscure parts, the local... the small town / middle sized town america... oh **** now... new york city? too much chaos... London looks just fine Noak hill, from a distance of about 15 miles...
II.
guess it's back to the good old days of rummaging
through last.fm...
the youtube algorithm "suggesting"
what i've already listened to...
don't ask me why the glitch allowed
puscifer's song
undertaker (renholder remix)
through...
but it did... so? i'm grooving...
drank all the whiskey, drank all the *****...
now it's onto Havana ***...
III.
are people still writing about a love that
only exists in their heads?
nothing plain and
rudimentary out from the murk of life?
here's one...
whispering woman cashiers
stalling in the self-checkout part
of the market...
i'm there every day,
washed, perfumed in deodorant,
clean clothes...
but drinking a liter of Mike Tyson's
worth of a punching bag that's my liver...
but on the occasion?
the feeling of a gurgling stomach,
the peckish side of drinking...
it used to be hoisin duck wrap
as the ultimate disgruntled stomach
filler...
but lately?
my palette changed... dramatically...
**** me...
falafel & houmous (no mayo wrap):
- tomato tortilla
- carrot & coriander falafel
- mango chutney
- houmous
- carrots
- spinach...
(IV.)
( how do i feel? does that even matter?
the music behind the writing
is my shawl -
i know well enough
the limitations of writing -
personally, writing is not about the writing
itself -
but more about coordinating my hands
on a keyboard,
allowing me to avoid looking down
on it, and staring blank faced at the emerging
writing.)
russia? russia was great, a month spent in St. Petersburg, the white polar nights of summer, like Al Paccino in Alaska... the train journey into Moscow... god... their metro system is like a ******* museum, where you can't film or take photographs... and back in St. Petersburg? what's uber? i don't even know who uses taxis in russia, you can get an urban hitch-hike on the spot, no app is necessary, people offer you a ride and you pay them... but there's no app... just human decency of courtesy... and i sometimes think about traveling to H'america... but not to your usual tourist hot spots for Europeans... the obscure parts, the local... the small town / middle sized town america... oh **** now... new york city? too much chaos... London looks just fine Noak hill, from a distance of about 15 miles...
II.
guess it's back to the good old days of rummaging
through last.fm...
the youtube algorithm "suggesting"
what i've already listened to...
don't ask me why the glitch allowed
puscifer's song
undertaker (renholder remix)
through...
but it did... so? i'm grooving...
drank all the whiskey, drank all the *****...
now it's onto Havana ***...
III.
are people still writing about a love that
only exists in their heads?
nothing plain and
rudimentary out from the murk of life?
here's one...
whispering woman cashiers
stalling in the self-checkout part
of the market...
i'm there every day,
washed, perfumed in deodorant,
clean clothes...
but drinking a liter of Mike Tyson's
worth of a punching bag that's my liver...
but on the occasion?
the feeling of a gurgling stomach,
the peckish side of drinking...
it used to be hoisin duck wrap
as the ultimate disgruntled stomach
filler...
but lately?
my palette changed... dramatically...
**** me...
falafel & houmous (no mayo wrap):
- tomato tortilla
- carrot & coriander falafel
- mango chutney
- houmous
- carrots
- spinach...
(IV.)
( how do i feel? does that even matter?
the music behind the writing
is my shawl -
i know well enough
the limitations of writing -
personally, writing is not about the writing
itself -
but more about coordinating my hands
on a keyboard,
allowing me to avoid looking down
on it, and staring blank faced at the emerging
writing.)
