i'd say there are:

many passtimes i should not be doing right now. sleeping, not one of the ones i should not be doing, but the one i am failing to do the most. ha ha. i use modifiers in excess, and starting tomorrow i just might try to remove such words as so very much from me mouths. tomorrow, what else will i do? moan, maybe, at my aching legs, but with pride in my complaints. drink coffee and watch a baby breathe, walk through the brush and bask in the over-alls.

every day i: caffeinate myself with varying degrees of fervor, prop open my eyes, proverbially, with toothpicks, and bat them until it's dark enough to drown into bed.

the train sings the same kind of blues

how comes i can't even really remember what year it is, and also why do i want to calculate extremeful trivialities in the passage of time? something about driving through the mountains made me an optimist, both ways, and as i listened to these few songs, i wondered who i was singing them to, and how, cause it felt like i really meant. it. i'm through waitin' for you, or, i must have been must have been crazy, crazy to wait on you baby. you know that one?

and also, i have become great at preparing myself for the worst, of news, of attitudes. and a pessimist, then, resulting from this new talent. also a great new talent: boring torture, passing time in most of un-fun ways, and ones that make me despise many things at that.

it is still the morning-time. time to turn this around. and, how?

oh hold it

i know how to waste time on surprisingly boring passings. do i delight in the boringness of them, or does it disappoint me? what would i rather be doing: moving between two or three rooms with near certainty that no one will come near me, or breathing fresh air into me lungs, encountering bugs and strangers and friends? tonight i really want to flake, on everyone, or almost everyone. i've spent enough time in the out of doors, cooing along with a baby that sucked on my skin by accident while we sweated through low brush, watched bunnies hop nearly as high as corn stalks, sweltering, breathing together through swarms of honeybees.

i have to say without bragging that i, personally, don't mind touching someone when i sleep. obviously it's a nice way to pass the time, at times, and at others i can't say that it would stressme out. this weekend i'm going to drink appel juice and coffee, in plentitude, and rest, in large quantities, within a good view of mountains and water. whoahisme. my selfimage will waver, for certainty.

without any intention in subtlety the bed creaked awake, our old skins in a novel clime. in front of the television (anothernovelty, oh) time passed quickly, sand in mouth. salt water in hairs, sticky and clean. a new combination of sandy beach smells couldn't permeate a perfumed air condition, but it seeped into my clothes and spilled onto my bed. in the mountains, novelty behind, i look, still, at the out of doors with the new eyes. the lightning bugs, still swarming, if broken apart could smear fluorescent on forearms. could brighten a mason jar for a matter of minutes, just til i start twitching, talking to someone who isn't there.

many best parts of the days: stinging saltwater, purifiant. unexpected fulfillment of a childhood romanticism coming back so suddenly that i could only barely enjoy the fantasmic effect, but the bare amt was big, yes. and sweetly, patsy cline sang on the sand.

so:

walking home in the ends of the sunlight, the sidewalk was dark but the sky bright white, somehow. lightning bugz swarming, more discerning with their paths, not so red-eyed, and quieter. i could maybe brag that i had a great attitude today but i can't take any of the credit. the solstice light dragged out, i claimed that today is my favorite holiday. now that the light has gone for good, the holiday feels over, and i feel ready to resign myself to wired and steady listmaking.

on my fingers i could count: anxieties, or alterations in chemical veins

i don't know about you,

with such asymmetries in my face, such trivialities feel like such triumphs. last week, what a difference, comforted by the mirror, in a certain light. while i slept i dreamed the endings of all of the possibilities of my day. the more soberly and subtly i ssleep, the more mundane the outcomes.

i walked with a scowl, but really, i tried to switch my expression around, felt inept and decided that one scowl from one sleepy-eyed stranger couldn't ruin anyone's day. i feel better now. i am better now, with pills that match my eyes, grab and drag them to sleep.

moose in ffwd

low blood and foggy eyes, yellowed in the sunglasses. and exhaling: a twitch in each part of the body, finger, legs next, and mouth and chest in one move. dreams of: ? gene hackman? and i'm imagining this, just this second: a sped-up vee-day-oh, nose twitching like a bunnny and fingers moving; a dance including thumbs and jugular.

a story from the past few days? a memory, this morning, driving darkened heavymetal, watching moonsetting and sun almost rising just across from each other. i remembered, as i listened to the cee-dee skipping, how when we used to sing along with fiona apple, our voices almost sounded like they sounded good. and i did it, again, sleepy and wired, overtired, like the babies moving their heads uncontrollably, unexplainably. sleeping, i dreamed of resolving conflicts that may not have even begun, bad news unfolding in the static telephone silence beforehand. i woke up, again in the morning, delirious and afraid i didn't have the strength to get to the coffee.

at the beach we're supposed to swelter

wondering if there's something in the water: the young-guns are afflicted. i remembered, last night in the pouring rain (out of the rain, though) a time when it poured from doorstep to doorstep, soaking puddles in through my shoes.

what does a celibate monkstress say to the drought, the sunshine oilrainbows on the steaming asphalt? with one gray dread on the top of her head, she scribbles pages of documents to whoknows where. she says, this: she's not on the global warming bandvagon, she ain't havin no kids, but my kids are, she says, and i need to worry.

why talk about the weather? well, everyone wants to: tell me how the puddle splashed and fell right down into the place where you separate at the bottom.

and i want to go home

or, this: overcaffeination: and i can't feel how heavy my eyelids really are, get accused of a night of drinking while i really just spent it sweating and pulling spider webs off my legs, bugs out of my hairs. several days of iced jars melting on sweltering sidewalks, that fan, ever the summer comfort, feeling instead like bugs and extra itching at that. okay, the bugs: enough with spiders, roaches, beetles, silverfishes. i'm needing a serious early summer attitude adjustment, cause i've only seen two weeks of them.

i liked my old, predictable schedule of madness; a new one, with possible origins: heavy eyelids, pink shades of home decor. and i wondered, what? is that really a beautiful face i'm making? the upsides to the dogged days: short shorts, chlorine water bleach smells, watermelon for a meal.

more indignant than ever!

in the morning, miraculously, pathetically, i was pretty again: a compliment on my sleep-styled bed-hair, and reassurances of just how unlikely occurrences can be. and caffeine. i laughed, i walked outside, my old self, maybe.

i sometimes can't quite stop appreciating how much i enjoy waking up in the morning-times. like today, looking forward, even, to this: being reminded of my first computer, waiting all night long, while i slept, for maybe twenty pages to be printed. slow-ly. and now the keyboard feels kind of slicky, and i'm becoming obsessed with washing my hands.

what else? oh! this: i rode in the sun yesterday, heard the cicadas and thought that sound to be too loud, put it into my ears as a sound coming out of the headphones. and when we stood in the sun beating down, they swarmed the trees; i could count a hundred in two minutes. smacked into us, confused and nearly blind, likely, red eyes somehow lethargic and harmless. childhands full of crawling creatures, and they didn't seem to mind, didn't notice, maybe, even. as i started to ride away, clouds were gathering, and i watched one fly out of a tree. the sound had died down, almost not there anymore. a car zoomed by (i could have yelled obscenities) and smacked it, big bug creature. the cardriver didn't notice (no, really?) and i did: i watched, it hit the road, skidded, rolled, buzzed to a stop.