Fiat Flux

Just got a flash flood warning on my phone. Pardon my French, but this place is dumb as fuck. Hate it for pathetic fallacy, like, just make up your mind. Inability to commit to weather patterns and general inability to commit.

Imagine::after world made soggy by preposterous rain (not quite Noah but ashes to ashes and same to same), every fairweather accoutrement destroyed for those who hoped for summer so earnestly, signs of downpour were never entertained. Imagine said world covered in a heavy pepper dusting, god’s huge hands tapping the end of some 1.99 “fresh ground” canister, the one with holes too wide, body cast in pepper instead of pinches. AND THEN. We all slow bake in the partly cloudy flayed fish rotting waiting for the sun because game was never salted because game never begun. Get my pun?

Been cryptic lately and I’m not even sure I know the secret (no friends). Mining for emotions. Apathy is ruling. New job whatever let’s just talk about this awful weather.

Bas

Something nasty orange crusted on my seat. Realized it upon return from Burger King stop, halfway between South Station and Chinatown. I did two laps around the squat hut, it the foreground to Lee Capazzo’s Auto Service quietly tucked behind hut hedged in by parking lot abandoned save for a few sunken holes filled with gravel. Had half or maybe whole or maybe hole hoped we would return again to the strip mall Japanese buffet we stopped at on the way up. Not for buffet but for the thrill, surprise. Shuffling outside and Yotam told me about his little sister some 10 or more years younger, as if she a footnote to he & his—three brothers, the first batch, the others.

Laura packed me toast and red bean mochi as I sped out the door. Always fit in anxiety. Like I’m late or I’d literally never get anything done. Late. Am often but never for long journeys. Except almost when we just barely caught the train from Delhi to Udaipur. I was with Camden and Jennings. Names like luxury but they were eating Delhi Metro concessions pizza while I fumed about potentially missing my escape. Eat later like I supped on stress, later like hopping on train (no exaggeration) as it pulled away. We saw Lochan and Andrew and they fed us little bola balls that looked like my favorite Hecho en Mexico, chewyberryPicaFresas, except these bola babies filled with base(d) herbs. We got high. It was a weird train ride. Smoked the hash spliff we had rolled at home while we stood by the door watching black. On return to a place in name but never feel, we were on our way home seeing sun, set crossing paths as it headed east the sky soft punk over Rajasthani wetlands and a flock of white cranes flew up in unison shadowing red sun and Jennings said that’s the shit movies are made from.

But now we’re rumbling over this bridge. Connecticut, I think. Blah blah blah, grey—it’s not the skies, just the landscape. Towers transmission too (that double entendre), rusted energy stilts like guardsmen on each side of these 4lanes over water faithful conduits that light up mattress warehouses, guiding light for those traveling to beds broken in. 

Worm Moon

Only 6 years older but 6’3” over he towers me looking through paper lashes with symphony, that’s pity mixed with sympathy, like you don’t know the jade I’ve seen. That’s presumptuous because all relative is tragedy but I’m callous enough to believe you haven’t seen much jewelry  (hypocracy, live en it).

I used to wear a jade bracelet, you know. Hairline fracture between here and India so it weighs seldom on my (always left) wrist for fear it will crack or maybe shatter.  That’s metaphor for you. 

But lately I’ve had more time than jade on my hands & fingers spread wide as arms outstretch to unrelenting winter sun the slip is obvious. It was a decent worm moon. 

sprung out to get me

Been waking up every morning with sour stomach, stomach sour wakes lovely sweet dream like so many parietal cells producing much acid gastric my breath acidic and you are tripping. Insides contracted in sharp like sea anemone poked by stick held in hand, some curious/pathological (as if difference) kid. Stuck up on this rock until high tide at least. Hope it gets bored of sticking me.

——

Would be lying if I told you I didn’t still dream of wet black sand stuck on cuticles for days on end. Perpetual salt water curl shook sand from tendrils  happy dandruff sunkissed sailing on Pacific wind.

Past and future romance.

 & all these trees obscene. They’re prepubescent promising to bud come spring. Seasons change, it’s the clock’s work & warmth soon hands sing and we all stick around stuck on that promise, cherry blossoms but nothing’s ever cumming.

“She’s lefty cool has like three jobs and does yoga”

Week as catalyst, retro(murk-u-re:)grade. The pitfalls of rolling soul (oh!). Birthday troll.

Anxiety

Time piece on her chest—not heartbeat, but watch with no faces. Beauty anything but ephemeral and it freaked her out. Stared right in between her tits when she felt anxious, life, about. Released stress. Chakra shit, right? The comfort ([in]in)finite. She liked that too, the math—irrational numbers like decisions, best. Spread sheets compute actions and their side effects. 3 grams for 50 yes I’m feeling that. 50 years and later we’ll revisit anecdote like spaghetti western:: a nod of recognition, sand blown cactus in the wind.

Champagne Snake

The Cosmos keeps texting me and I don’t get it. Thought I had drawn myself far enough inside edited universe to escape the anecdote and once stabilizer. Comes in waves—shorebreaks, because he and Holidaze always get at me at the same time like micro-cataclysmic vignettes that I’ll tell you about in hushed tones once we’re close; or, I’ll say, “when you’re older.”

Not thirsty, but conflicted. Like, am I turning my back on New York serendipity, all pre-woven and gold-plated for me? Homegirls remind me—agency, r-e-s-p-e-c-t. And in reality, that platter fella fulla fool’s gold? Not interested. Diversifying stock. Only investing in real thing.

Last Last Week

Deftless hands been running game on touchscreens, pulse on windows, pain I’m rubbing glass like it’ll make the weather change. It’s cold but I’m not even tryna play game (grab ass bud, no-use name). 

Instead I just lie in bed self torturing. Still. because no almond ersatz could cleanse white-light memory and these witches blunts revive history mad vivid. Cosmos clouding. He’s an asshole. It’s obscene. All I did was paint systems solar on fingernails and now he’s woven into my tapestry. All encompassing but not the world, see. Need to be on that micro if you’re feelin(g me). You. All. Remember when I spoke of fertility? Like relapsed memory.
….

Another thread & Comfort in this one :: He’s like, I walk slow don’t I and I’m like nah just languid and we lie in bed slowrubbing scalp, former almost lovers each other’s rebounds. Breaks with others. Some cosmic (I stress, not Cosmos) fate our bodies twined together againagainagain. More simple. Less forced than when I tried to make his body love mine with ferocity, like prove I’m not broken. Prove it to me. That fiction faded fantasy. Had forgotten. & then (too obviously), Serendipity. He held me despite absurd shivering like cold blooded and sun the only thing that could really warm me. 

Cerrulean

You know (or do you?) who texted me again. Straight out of cerrulean and the weather turned suddenly surreal for his arrival (but came he never did). Blustering winds they’re here but origin just as apocryphal as asking me to “link up” when we aint even on Linkedin. Wanted to want it but I didinin’t.

Timing.

Lazy. Still I chased anecdote like, “You’re so Frank Ocean.” Like,”I’m good & Papi Cosmos, how you been?”  

On a scale of 1 - then, how do I pull desire out of air so thin?