Laughing at a joke is a start but it is not JOY.
I woke up at 5 a.m. on New Year’s Eve and listened to the trash truck for awhile though all it did was back up over and over. It had a plow attached to it and was supposed to be clearing blocked side streets but did so ineffectually. That made me remember to commence a survey of all that I’d squandered, e.g., an opportunity to learn about butchering from a butcher. I feared that my days of getting jobs were over and that there would be no babies to compensate. Honesty is the best policy. Trash pick up has been suspended due to snow. A few apple trees have retired from fruit giving. The yard is no place for this sort of behavior.
“Have you ever been inTurkey, in Erzurum? We were three boys, in front of the historical place, and you. Are you that Jennifer? We were students at turizm and hotel high school. We gave you a type caset of Turkish music. Do you remember us? You and me and my friends Umit and Korhan? I think your father vas a baker. You were a student at university as Cristian divinity. Is it true?”
If only success in business were a matter of coordinating colors. Is color light on fire? What would spray feel like in prose?
I read that at 150 miles long Broadway is one of the longest streets in the world. I have been on the verge of advertising this fact to my friend group as well as the idea of walking or bicycling the length of – wait a minute. A hundred and fifty miles? I don’t think so.
I have known too few accomplishments in my life. Though I balked when Mr. Clark asked me at our first meeting what I’d ever done for my country he wasn’t wrong to wonder and it wasn’t too late for me, not then, not now. Though two of his children had killed themselves at least he had the Red Sox. It was a fever. His father a long jumper and high jumper had won two gold medals at the 1896 Olympics inAthens. The poor kids. It is a standard formulation.
I realize my internal life has no buoyancy. I can hold it up, but without external supports it sinks. I’ve become a spotted person, i.e. there are brown spots on my legs.
It’s like the feeling you get when someone you used to love but don’t anymore shows you the beautiful view right outside your window which could be yours if only you’d open the curtains and your sister’s there beating you to it so you want to slap the life out of both of them (ex-boyfriend and sister) but can’t. It depends on how little you came to love them.
The gleam in his eye is Mylar metallic yarn.
Amy and Bill weren’t home when we got there and a neighbor explained he’d been watching a guinea hen lay eggs all morning. Whatever, I thought. We hadn’t been swimming in ages so we jumped in before Amy and Bill got back. I saw a walking stick on the telephone wire and watched it flex its little joints. I also saw what I took to be a grouse flying in formation with birds of a totally different species.
We hadn’t even been in Los Angelesfor more than five minutes when Jason climbed down a rocky embankment. I tried to follow him but it was too steep. Then I got a job at a bookstore and was asked to start immediately. I was supposed to mind a sidewalk table but I walked away and never went back. We had a vanload of stuff but no apartment. Mary Jo and Paul had hired movers. They had an apartment. I noticed Paul’s bundles of cash were exposed. I pocketed one and hid the rest from view. I planned to blame it on the movers.
In a room overlooking the ocean. All the windows are open. A strong wind is blowing in. Little or no distance between me and the waves. They are right in my face! People on the beach let the wind lift their skirts and expose their legs. That’s what it means to say yes.
Sometimes I find it impossible to believe what people say. Like for example I’ve never believed it when people say they are worried about me and that is what motivates them. But what can I do? Give them more and leave myself with less? I barely know them!
The many things that fight over one thing particularly if the many are smaller or larger than the one must be a category of joke.
Friends of mine who either thought that in having sex with them I was trying to stab them to death or who suspected me of being in cahoots with The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence who also wanted to kill them are no longer my friends. Generally speaking it seems that a pre-requisite of friendship is that one share a similar level of mental health with the prospective friend and that if a friend goes crazy the friendship is diminished. A perfect blendship.
Sometimes I feel like I’m dancing or feel how I’d want to feel if I were a dancer though the words dance, dancer and dancing make me uncomfortable. Or maybe the feeling is about a slalom skier. It’s definitely athletic in nature and sounds like sports.