hot july

today is listed as 103 degrees hot hot hot; the humidity of course as always is adding to it, but it doesn't seem so bad. It's like living in an oven, a warm blanket of air wrapped always around us, the glow on our skins merely a constant presence we've learned to accept.

yesterday was 101, the heat index 110, so hot that everyone let their air conditioners roar full blast in hopes of coming home to icy relief, so hot that power usage soared and a line burst and from 8 to 11 last night carrboro went dark and quiet and still. The darkness was luxurious - after the daytime of so much sun, the suffocating evening air and the hot breeze on our skins felt pleasant and easy; sitting in the house with candles lit it was simpler to ignore the dampness in the smalls of our backs, in our elbows and knees.

yesterday and today have been the hottest days so far, but the easiest to bear somehow. i've melted enough away that i'm accustomed to the melting; you can try and shove through the air like thick draperies or you can glide slooowwwwly through it like water, smoothly sedately softly. i'm gliding lately, i'm complaining still but i'm thriving.

poison

it's strange how we feed ourselves
poison then
sit back and enjoy the ride while
our bodies and minds fight it out to
save us, to
restore reality

puddle jumper

              looking up from my book as the raindrops stop falling, a brief intense shower gone as quickly as it appeared, my eyes adjusting to the sudden reappearance of the sun.

              a red-haired boy maybe five years old, blissful smile on his face as he stomps his feet in the miniscule puddle formed in the corner of the sidewalk panel, marching in place watching the droplets fly up onto his shoes his socks his legs. mother and sister reversing their steps, materializing to encourage him along and for a moment he steps away from the water, then runs back towards it with a jump and a sprinkling of water. still not satisfied, runs almost out of this window pane, turns and gathers momentum for one final splash, a satisfied grin, then a gallop to catch up with his family and he's gone.

              i uncurl myself with a yawn, unwrap my mind from the fiction i've been drawn into, upend the paper cup to catch the last few cooling drops of coffee and step outside. waiting to cross the street i feel a dampness seeping through a hole in my shoe, look down, and smile. i'm standing in the little boy's puddle.

scissor sisters

                  the other day, a hot day, a sweltering day, one of those days when we should lie under the trees and catch drips from popsicles instead of venturing into the asphalt oven of civilization
                  pushing my way out the doors of the mall twisting shoulders to slip between clusters of preteens, ducking to avoid flailing arms gesturing with too much excitement, chipped painted nails soaring above my head and faces chattering frantically, glistening with layers of makeup
                  glancing side to side surveying the crowd the sun beating down the noise engulfing me i fumble for a moment then slip on my headphones choose a song am transported
                  i stride through the crowd feeling at once part of it and surrounded by a bubble of myself maneuvering through families and couples and friends and people people people, shutting out their noises and filling myself with more pleasing ones, ones that transform the situation
                  later, sitting on the hot metal counter at work, throwing out songs and stories with a coworker, i describe it and he says, "no i get it, it's like the camera zoomed out and there you were in the crowd, you still in focus and centered but surrounded by a sea of people. the song gave the zooming out."
                  it gives a taste of humanity, a detachment, a significance and poignancy unmatched by their reality...distracted and deterred by appearances and sounds and personas, i'm pushed away, i take myself back. plug in a song to my head and i'll give them a chance, i'll see their beauty, i zoom out and give them another look.

the way life tastes

here chicago feels like one of those abstract dreams i have on sleepy weekday afternoons, napping in the sun from my window trying to escape the heat outside

i'm not a different person i'm just continuously expanding and shifting to fit my spaces and i like the one i'm filling right now, i like the way my life tastes now as i adjust and observe and create my surroundings it seems more real than anything lately

i like to dig my way into a place i like to immerse myself and then only then does it complete me then only then does it come alive

and then letter or phone calls arrive voices words scribbled thoughts from beyond the realm of my understanding my reality my world they remind me & confuse me; they throw some doubt into the progression of my days

it's strange feeling yr living two lives; it's odd when every situation is temporary and i love moving on i hate being static but this, this is too much i have no choice, every time i settle every time i think i've maybe started to find myself i'm uprooted and slammed back into an alternate fiction and which one is me which one is me i have to start over again

new ink:

revelations

waking early with the sour taste of
last night's revelries in my mouth having
crawled into bed too far past sunrise the intoxication of our
porch conversations becoming sillier and looser
slurring stories and interruptions we lit cigarettes
off the burning ends of our recognitions and fascinations
pointing out the stars squinting up to the sky to the clouds
to the sounds of our voices
four AM car ride letting the music creep
up the back of our minds
the dawn air cooling our damp skins
keeping us confessional we
drove for hours with no destination except
ourselves

barriers

it's odd when you delve a little deeper, when you suddenly cross a barrier that you didn't realize you had erected between you and someone else. the spaces of our separations are of our own making and they crumble so suddenly effortlessly easily you don't notice till later when you blink in surprise at the new rearrangements of souls.

it's so simple, so sudden, so obvious. peer between the trees on that street so close, talk to the girl with the eerily familiar smile, spill out yr guts, take people up on offers, stop fearing to intrude & to overstep. the boundaries we skirt are of our own creation.

heart racing

some days things make less sense. or perhaps more sense.

everyone i've never met.

the excitement of new people without the time to get bored. first conversations and unexpected connections and the beauty of shared humanities. these are the kinds of people i can open up to, pour out the deepest randomly secret thoughtsdoubtsworrieshopesloves in front of them without regret.

i'm lazy and i want a fling, something fleeting and intense, brief and definite and understood.

              my heart racing. curls of smoke drifting in dim light, skinny boys and girls with tousled hair leaning too close to drop secrets too loudly into the spaces between us outside in the grass in the trees with our laughter too sudden and our eyes too unsure when our arms brush unexpectedly and our skins thrill at the touch our smiles widen our hearts race.

              i saw the most beautiful girl today; her simple dark haircut framed her clear bright face and big eyes and as she turned to walk away her tattooed back her easy stride caught my breath. bony shoulders and a trusting smile and my mind froze up i offered only the necessary words and niceties but if i didnt show it i promise really truly i was in awe dont put my hesitancy down to indifference; i hide desires with indifference, my insecurities with a smile.



spring carnival at UChicago, back in May:

wet cigarettes

riding home tonight the air
               still thick from the storm
smelled like wet cigarettes

music poured out of open doorways
couples stumbling home
               leaned unsteadily into each other

               the breeze whizzing by cool on my
skin still grimy with
coffee &
sweat &
               the damp hovering stickiness

riding home tonight the sky
               grumbled thunder and the air
                              smelled like wet cigarettes