That’s the scariest part
not knowing where you’re going
not knowing where you’ve been
only knowing you are into something bigger than you’ve ever seen
babies come into this world crying
but who knows how you’ll go out
I hope giggling
and isn’t that the advantage of death over life-
we can always choose death
but, does a newborn choose life?
Aren’t we just due to be born one day?
And when you die-
at least you can draw from some memories-
you had to know it was coming eventually
even if death caught you by surprise
imagine the surprise a baby feels opening her eyes to this world for the first time
dying is easy
comedy is hard.
I lost 45 pounds this year
beating myself up
running till the verge of heart attack
I throw myself at dangerous situations like a two year old
throws himself at death
leaping from the banister trusting someone will be there to catch me
I get death is out there
not for me
death is someone else’s problem when you’re two
I haven’t lost that optimism
I’ve just lost that innocence
I should know better
after gaining 45 years
and 45 pounds
now I know where gravity goes
so momentum is ultimately against me
but still in this still science
I resign myself
knowing enough not to fight it
but go with it-
we don’t intentionally hitch hike in the wrong direction
And then again when the membrane between us and them
is as thin as skin when you and me become we
that split second before we choose to be
or choose not to be waking to reality
where we are free to dream
till we see the gleam
and we open our eyes
is simply training for when we are free not to be
and eventually the light at the end of this tunnel will be a train
taking us to this afterlife’s refrain
when we cash in that capital gain
we’ll stop referring to this domain as our “afterlife”
Music lets us travel
I’m listening to a song that was on the radio when I was eight
and I’m eight again
with all the innocence and ignorance
reading the Bible before bed
and reading if your left hand betrays you you should cut it off
and I sat up all night shivering knowing
my left hand had dropped an easy fly ball to right
and lying there deep in the night
knowing I was disappointing God
I got up and walked down to the kitchen to get a knife
big enough to hack off my left hand
and I pressed it to my wrist
but the bone got in the way
and I thought how painful it would be
to cut my hand off
and tears came to my eyes realizing
I was not a child of God
till thirty-six years later I see
I just didn’t get metaphor
I hate my heart, but
being feelings’ slave I can’t
free love from my hate
When I’m stuck staring at a screen with an impatient cursor waiting to be moved
the first word to flash through my mood is always:
Is this because I see so many metaphors, conspiracies, victories and tragedies
in the chemistries within its creed?
How many elegies could be written in what killed Marie Curie?
Is my mind so finite
that ‘science’ has become my brain’s homepage?
Is this because
I suck at science?
Is this how nuclear meltdowns occur?
We build a zoo to view the monster
and we sell tickets till the walls don’t fool the monster any more
No one gets to nothing without something
we don’t come from nothing we come from something
don’t you get that?
How can nothing create something?
Sure, nothing can create more fear in the minds of parents who haven’t heard from their two year old in two minutes, two hours, two days
but the kid came from the parents just like the fear came from the disappearance of the kid
you can’t create a phobia without at least naming it
which can be the fear of nothing
but even nothing when named is something
so why fear
Nothing is never nothing.
We forget more than we ever remember
born in February only to die in December
memories I mean.
Is it for our benefit so many memories trip and tumble down the tunnel to the pit
of the black hole
to hit a land of quicksand so dark not even the blind can find their way.
Why can’t I remember my birth, my first birthday, my first tooth, my first piece of cake? My first tooth decay?
Are all these things too traumatic for me to take?
I can imagine them, why can’t I enshrine them to memory?
Is it like how twenty years ago today didn’t come to be
at least not for me
February 23,1999 never happened to me
I flew from Toronto to Bangkok, Thailand February 22,1999
landing twenty-seven hours later to discover
it was February 24,1999
so this is the twentieth anniversary of a day that was never mine
I’m sure if I could crawl into the fold of that wrinkle of time I would find everything I have ever seen
I am sure if I could have photos of that day they would all
be of everything I have ever forgotten I have ever been
Thursday’s girl will only unfurl in future tense
she will only see and say tomorrow never today
she will only think and speak
her words especially her verbs after
‘I will’ and ‘I’m going to’
she will never talk about today’s weather
or yesterday’s rain
turning today’s torrential downpours into tomorrow’s gain
and even if thousands have died
and only God should be tried
she believes tomorrow
will be free of sorrow
some see her as a prophet
and others call her an idiot
we will only know who she is in the time we’ve yet to borrow
My favorite part of the writing process is the first draft.
Like traveling for me- hitchhiking is more exciting than the destination.
Even dead end signs are new beginnings when you hop the sign.
But I just googled: Big Bang Theory
and the first thing up was the sitcom.
We are more interested in what to watch than why we are here.
We are all limited by infinity when we calculate there are as many prime numbers as there are stars in a human body.
The stars are all abstract till you see the constellations
then they become pointillist.
Do you look up at the stars or do they look up at you?