Last week I saw a man with hands shaking so uncontrollably that he couldn’t cut his bagel, couldn’t pick it up, couldn’t carry his plate over to the counter; and despite this, he still did it, did it all, and I wondered how much time I have before this tragedy, when I can no longer type, hold a pen, or carry myself through this life?
Prose
I enjoy the fluidity of writing, when words spill over into visual appeal, when they seem most like art.
Bonds
Prose, posted on February 16, 2009 at 03h20
I have been a great deal fortunate. My closest friends are people that I’ve known for the majority of my life. I never quite realized how unusual this was – and how blessed I am – until the last few years. Strangers are always amazed that I have not just one but five of these incredible bonds. People that would drop everything to help me, people that I would put my life completely on hold for without a second thought. And truly, it’s still not that remarkable for me; it’s something that I’ve been working on my whole life. These enduring relationships are no work of accident.
Creamy Red
Prose, posted on February 14, 2009 at 06h06
Through coincidence alone, dressed in a symbolic red hoodie, took a lonely bottle of birch beer soda from the fridge and gave it away. It had been there since I left another bottle in her fridge. The first time either of us had tried it was together, and we’d spent so much time in two different cities, always together, trying to find more. And now that it is out of my fridge, so is my last and final hope of talking to her, sharing our Creamy Red memories, enjoying the flavour of a romance that – I suppose, I fear, I understand – meant more to me.
Unmentionable
Prose, posted on February 14, 2009 at 02h54
I went to the Quay today. Key, queen, quail, quiche. However. The entire place smells fishy. I saw a lot of people; some together, some apart. The rest really isn’t worth mentioning.
Of Dreams and Dimensions
Prose, posted on February 8, 2009 at 08h30
tags used: dreaming
Last night, I helped Batman apprehend two criminals that were escaping on a scooter with two great big bags of money. Finally, a dream that makes sense.
All things considered, I slept very well last night, even despite shivering into a sweater an hour before my alarm. I’d fallen asleep while watching a two-dimensional movie with someone that was on the other side of the water and halfway up a mountain. Earlier that day, we saw a movie that was in three dimensions. It was thrilling, and after seeing that, even real life has a tendency to seem a little less real. That is, without the glasses.
The Longest Line
Prose, posted on February 7, 2009 at 06h56
tags used: dreaming
At the point when this took place, I could feel daylight softening across my face, but I was still very much asleep.
There was no line at all, anywhere, when I began to wait. I was just tired of moving, so I stopped. I heard a noise behind me and turned. There was a man, and behind him, another man. As I leaned further over, I could see a line of men endlessly behind me, all appearing from nothing, queued up; and and whereas before I was simply tired of moving, now I was at the head of something enormous. Now I had purpose that I hadn’t been aware of. And still, I did not know what it was.
A Rush of Life
Prose, posted on February 3, 2009 at 07h00
tags used: success
Weeks ago, I put determination above disappointment and overcame a difficult mechanical situation. There was a tone in my father’s wireless voice that believed in my ability more than I did, so when I sat down in front of the broke-down engine, I chose to try again rather than undo what I’d done. Then I heard the rush of life in the fuel pump, and it sent a rush of life through me. And somewhere across the frozen prairie, I knew he was proud.
Control
Prose, posted on January 31, 2009 at 09h22
tags used: performing
There are things I wish to control.
An hour before, my stomach is knotted and unforgiving. I feel ill. Practicing makes me feel better, at least for the moment. Everything sounds perfect. Ten minutes before, my pulse is a madhouse. It fires in rapid succession, beating to the frenzy of a stampede. I breathe as slowly as I can, go over my lyrics in my mind, visualize the chords. When the time comes, I take a deep breath. I know everything I’ve written, I know that it’s not the end of the world, and I know that this is what I want. My heart beats faster than my body can measure. My fingers fail to express my ability. Words escape me in their proper order. Stomach, unforgiving; calm, lost.
There are things I wish to control; like myself.
%
Prose, posted on January 28, 2009 at 08h24
I calculated my percentage of happiness tonight. To determine this, I included my successes, failures, relationships, ambition, talent, and likelihood of achieving personal goals. The result of this was that I wish I were better in life or worse in math. I’ve been pretending. Lying. This isn’t better, this just is; and I can’t spin it off somewhere whimsical and wonderful. Not tonight.
Anatomy of my Shower
Prose, posted on January 22, 2009 at 07h19
First, I throw a towel over the curtain rod, because I like to have something to wipe the water and accumulated soap from my eyes. After I get the water to a suitable temperature, I pull the curtain closed and turn the shower on and step into the stream from the furthest end. (I think that normal people turn it on while they themselves are in the shower, but it’s possible that I am simply not normal.) Next, I stand with my back to the waterfall as long as I can because I don’t like drops splashing up into my eyes. I adjust the water temperature hotter and hotter, never quite reaching a point that’s comfortable and just shy of scorching. I shampoo, I lather with bar soap, and then I rinse for three times as long as either of those took. Then I stand in the warm water, steam building around me, for a long, long time. Once I feel like I’ve used up enough water and energy, I turn the shower off and grab my towel, never leaving the tub until I’m completely dry. Only at that point do I step out, drying one foot at a time, and dressing as soon as is possible. Oh, and always, I sing.
