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To hatch a crow, a black rainbow
Bent in emptiness

over emptiness

But flying
  1. I wonder how long I'll have to shut up before you noticed I'm not talking to you.
  2. I wish I had a way to communicate to you. If I did, I'd say "thank you."
  3. Against my better judgement, I am forced to remind you that the only thing that keeps you safe from me is me.
  4. Saw you in a dream the other night. We still haven't met.
  5. Yes, we all know you were the favorite. Fuck you.
  6. You're married now, and that's lovely.
  7. Sorry about the other day, I was surrounded by people I sort of know. That sounds terrible, but you walked away before I could get away, you know?
  8. Good luck, kid. With those genes, you're pretty much trouble.
  9. I guess I'm happy to learn you cut everyone else from your life. For a second there, I took it personally.
  10. I don't miss you, but I hope you're okay.
I am living in the moment.
I find it oddly satisfying that, seven days into my workout routine, I am not yet where I want to be. That means I will work harder, and I like that.
I am very tired.
Tell a story, eh... where to begin?
When I was a young man I was very shy. I didn’t really make friends in high school, but I knew my neighbors in my building well, and most the people at the shops I’d go to frequently. I couldn’t tell you my class president, but I knew that Kenny was a better butcher than Lenny. I graduated high school without kissing a girl.
Junior year I got a job at a pet shop on Westchester Avenue near Prospect, and I took the subway everday I went to work. There was a Jewish deli near there, and … I’m not sure where I got this idea, but I figured out that if I got a Russian newspaper, no one would talk to me on the subway. So every day I’d spend a nickle to get a Russian newspaper, and no one would talk to me on the subway. I mean, for one, I was reading a newspaper, so most people wouldn’t bother you anyway. But in Russian, they might not think you speak English. So no body bothered me.
I loved working at the pet store. It was a very happy place, really. There were times when things didn’t go well, like when you just had too many baby bunnies, or lizards, or canaries. We weren’t veterinarians, you know. But enough about that.
The best part of the job was the look on someones face when they find their perfect pet. The one they’ve been looking for. Better yet, the one they didn’t know they wanted. They came looking for a noble Great Dane, but fell in love with an ever-grinning French Bulldog. Or perhaps when Polly said: “I love you!” they thought he really meant it. But that great, bright-eyed, surprised both inside and out look... nothing made me feel better.
One day I noticed a girl about my age in the same subway car as me. I sat a few seats away, and noticed that she, too, was reading a newspaper. New York Times. Made her look smart. A young woman with a wide mind.
I don’t know if I noticed it right away, or figured it out after the fact, that she always was in the second car from the end. But at some point I made that connection, and started to make sure I was there, too. She never sat in the same exact seat each time. Whether there were seventeen or so people in the car or just her, never in the same spot. But I decided to figure out a way to get close to her. I would mirror her position. Until, if she noticed and cared, she would sit in the middle, and I would sit facing her.
One day, she did.
The first words out of her mouth were “Ehtsuse we, to an knov vhat Tim ur research?”
And I stoppped... and said “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Russian.”
And she said “That’s all the Russian I know... I didn’t know how else to say ‘hi.’”
We were quiet for a second, then she asked “Why do you pretend to read Russian newspapers?”
“So people will leave me alone.” I said.
She looked so sad after I said that.
“Well, not you. I just don’t know how else to say “hi” either.”
And then... she looked at me the way I’ve seen so many people look at puppies, and kittens and whatever pets they loved. No one had ever looked at me like that before.
And that’s how I met your Grandma.

Aug. 15th, 2011

Today I learned that I can't do as many behind the head shoulder presses as usual if I ride my bike to the gym. I think that's because my shoulders get a bit of a workout from the ride, absorbing the impact of potholes &ct. On Saturday when I walked over, I did three sets of 10, but today I could barely make seven, then five, then two. It sucked, because I like doing them because they're hard, and I want to strengthen my shoulders.
So I'm not sure if I should bike the the gym anymore. I'll be going again on Wednesday, and I work at 15:00, so maybe I'll just walk the five miles. That'd count for some cardio.
Also, I want to get a jump rope so I'll have something to do while I wait the minute rest between sets.
I wish I'd started doing this sooner. I like the feeling of accomplishment that comes from my routine. I'm looking forward to getting good enough to switch to the four-day, size-and-strength workout. But I'm not there yet; I need to construct the foundation for my future success. If I jumped right into the other one, I risk injury and I still don't have insurance.
But I will not yield, relent or surrender.
Also, I need to make my tattoo appointment.

Fantastically odd co-incidence.

So yesterday during the day I was digging around WFMUs website, looking over the archives for interesting sounding shows, and I found Wm. Berger presents My Castle of Quiet. Listened to two hours of archived awesome, and enjoyed myself thoroughly.
Last night, around 23:30/11:30PM, I was bored watching TV and decided to listen to some internet radio. Opened the WWOZ app for my phone, but they started playing Prince, and I'm not big on Prince (archived here, it was the Kitchen Sink) so I decided to switch to the WFMU app.
And found myself listening to My Castle of Quiet... the show I'd only learned about mere hours before.
Mind was blown.
That is all.

There's something odd about the fog this morning, Diana.

Been 'bout a year,now.

Been about a year since I've been in New Orleans.
Been about a year since I came home to my "Dear Mick" letter.

I think I did the right thing.
I didn't get angry.
I didn't demand people stop being friends with her.
I didn't make angry phone calls/text messages/e-mails.
I got my heart ripped out, spat upon and kicked away, and what was the response I heard?

"Oh, poor Jessie is really hurt by the breakup. She's heartbroken!"
Two, exactly two people came to my side in all of this.
Two, exactly two people took the time to call me, and ask me how I was doing.
Two, exactly two people got me out of the house and active.

And now one of them doesn't even talk to me anymore.

Ah well.

Hit the gym, lift some weights, take the hits and move forward.
March or die.

Aug. 1st, 2011

I may fail.
I won't stop.
That is all.


I am the Poison

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