frowned upon

my little second cousin is adorable. at least i think that's what she is in relation to me. genealogy is a complex, intricate science of which i understand little. emma, that's her, is this compact little bundle of new discoveries about the world which i in my jaded age have long since misplaced. we spent hours together in the dirt and grass today (although i was sick and not feeling my best) and she showed me how to see life again. if that sounds cheesy, well, i know it is, but nevertheless it is valid. she is such a wonder, a joy. every little word that she utters forth shocks me with its keen, clean revelation. she is observation personified. i wonder if i was that way myself at her age (2 years exactly). did i have that surprising intelligent simplicity? that way of almost prophesying events or emotions? emma doesn't know sorrow yet, and i'm sure her parents wish to shield her from it as long as they possibly can. for the introduction of sorrow means the realization of mortality, and accompanying it, a sickening sense of futility. i wish i could recall my first moment of sorrow -- was it over something significant like a death, or was it more superficial, like being denied a toy i desperately wanted. or was it purely internal -- a heart of darkness esque moment where my soul cried out "oh the horror!" at the gleaming abyss inside.
if there is such thing as a soul (and i am still not certain in my 25 sage years alive), i would wager a bet that it truly is born at the time one first experiences true joy and true sorrow, for those two emotions are what mainly dictate our lives in the sense that they are what matter. everything else is extraneous, decorative, fleeting.

i know my sense of the world and human emotion is pretty limited. thus i am re-journeying the path to enlightenment via foucault, wittgenstein, kant, schopenhauer, nietzsche, and others who may or may not cast light on my perceptions. when i turned 15 i went on a similar quest for knowledge or the semblance of such and tried my adolescent best to read and understand socrates, plato, sartre, buddhist, hindu, and taoist teachings. the problem is i have definite escapist tendencies, and often wish to retreat from the world rather than engage directly with it. so my progress has been marked by hiccups, starts and stops, detours, and dead ends. i am now setting my feet back on the road and hope to follow something to the end, even if it is not what i originally thought it would be. for isn't the most exciting sojourn the one which you never expected to take at all?

cats spook her
their long twiny tails
suggest ominous things
spelling out danger and disaster
with flicking appendages
the tail speaks where the cat cannot
anger whiplashes the air
or a leg hovering nearby

to be finished later...
"her", by the way, is not me, but a friend who really is terrified of cats...

everyone complains about the weather
hot, muggy, the air plump
as an overfed pigeon
with wings unused to flying
these quotidian events
amount to nothing or everything
life is lived in small details
short, sharp intakes of breath
filled in a cup in the lungs
it empties, the heart soldiers on
it fills, the mind reels
i used to believe in milestones
the first word dropping
popping out of a child's mouth
as a marble hits solid floor
the first kiss
mine, an unmitigated disaster
two lips tongues and teeth
trying to find the other
our tongues twisting like
two salty, eager eels
teeth gnashing against teeth
clashing sounds of armor, or enamel
and saliva oozing everywhere
i used to believe in the importance
of firsts
every word, every kiss, every glance,
every kick, every this or that or
fuck or hate
is a first
the revolution of the earth
cannot be felt by our
unpracticed feet.

an ode to my workplace

the jaundiced light spreads everything
you, me, the endless papers, the telephone,
books, carpet, pictures people have tacked onto their cubicle
with a thin veil of sickness
photons trail miserably
across the screen i stare at
flash after flash of numbers, letters, colors, shapes
but still my head is empty
the buzzing flourescent monster above
vaguely reminds me of cicadas
beating their tired wings together
that is their music;
and this is mine.
i cannot sing,
cannot sing,
or think a goddamn thing --
here.

the unnatural chill of electrically cooled air
swishes through the room
dense heat particles give way like
passengers stepping aside for rushing, mad bodies
late for the midday train
or perhaps i am inventing this

the back trapdoor of my mind swings shut
wrapped around the root of the old
sycamore tree planted in my great great
grandmother's yard one hundred and fifteen years ago

old memories i thought were swallowed up
break the surface cleanly
with foaming heads; loud roars;
their indistinct presence leaves
shadows, or penumbras if you want to be
pedantic about it
remembering is not a sign of weakness
i want to say
but love dredged up
spit between shiny wet teeth
and a taste of something like
crunchy tart apples at the back of my mouth.

wow, 2 whole years have passed by since i last even thought about this blog. i am so scattered; i can't ever stick to one thing. i have had multiple journals and diaries all over the place for so many years. i guess it is the mark of an inconsistent, yet, well intentioned person.

hmm. so much to say, but what of it is really worth repeating, or salvageable? not much, i'm afraid. i will perhaps return at a later date to record my innermost, tortured thoughts. or not. who knows where the wind blows.

it feels GOOD though, to rediscover this sleeping part of me that had been locked up. i'm now unleashed to the world, so be afraid, be very, very afraid...