You tell me
You tell me who I
am
I am too tired for
questions
Take your riddle
and shove it
where the sun don’t
shine
I am sick to death
of it
go ahead, blame me
I’m used to it
There is a dragon
in
the elevator.
Boo.
Friday, 22 May 2015
Thursday, 21 May 2015
Class journal, 1993
Some people who know of my past in a general way treat me as if I'm other-worldly or a walking mine field. I admit, it's awkward, but it doesn't have to be. I don't expect people to take care of me or something. Anyway, you can read the book of my life someday and it'll all make more sense, but don't hold your breath waiting for it. My sister always jokes that our family will become the basis of an ABC Sunday night movie, a hideous thought. I can see it now...it'll be like the Amy Fisher saga, with the perpetrators' version, our version, and the next-door neighbor's version. (They never did like us.) If I have anything to say on the subject, it is very sad knowing that your parents are alive but can never be a part of your life. They're pretty crazy, but sometimes I really miss them. Or, I guess the idea of parents. Maybe sometime, if you want to read about attitude and body language, I'll describe my parents for you, as they are a genuine case study.
Blah blah blah blah blah. How I do ramble, and I'm not even discussing movement. Something about that word makes me want to italicize it. One thing I've learned from my nasty past is how not to move. I can not move better than most, although it isn't much to boast of. I have to be in the right mood, however, because most of the time I have a plethora of nervous energy. It could be worse--I could smoke.
Blah blah blah blah blah. How I do ramble, and I'm not even discussing movement. Something about that word makes me want to italicize it. One thing I've learned from my nasty past is how not to move. I can not move better than most, although it isn't much to boast of. I have to be in the right mood, however, because most of the time I have a plethora of nervous energy. It could be worse--I could smoke.
Wednesday, 20 May 2015
The Night Train
Where
will the night train take me?
So many
trains
all
leading to distant December destinations
crammed
full of strangers breathing
clouds
against the windows’ glass
as they
exhale their expectations
Convinced we knew the future from
what was
afraid to confront the past in
what we had
become
But for
the desperate promise to find a summer unknown
we
dismantled the track that would lead us back
home
No one remembered the snowstorm in
the mountains
how
we yearned to crash
to ride this shivering disappointment
right down to its final
gasp
When
all aboard ride the night train alone
mark
the passing of the time with the
falling
of the
snow
No use
in unpacking for tomorrow
tomorrow
is a thousand midnight
dreams
of color
away
This engine powered by
frost-covered anticipation
the eternal steel of millions of
tracks
rusting into the most elusive of
destinations
only to
find ourselves here once again
Where
will the night train take me?
this I
learned never to ask
not with so many trains all
vacating their station
with so many tracks, less one, left
for me—
the one you have taken
Diary entry, 1994
A psychic told me
once I was from another planet. Perhaps
she was right after all. I feel strange enough.
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