Thursday, November 15, 2018

dream 11/14/18

last night/morning I dreamt that I decided, for some odd reason, I wanted a beer (which was in a convenience store in a soda-style dispenser) -but I didn't want to get it myself.

so, underaged drinker or drinker that's been cut off-style, I asked somebody else to get it for me.

He did and wanted one for himself, to which he added what looked kombucha.

When he went to pay, I put down the money ($40 for two Big Gulpy fountain beers) and the clerk refused to  sell them. I showed my ID proving I age, and he still didn't accept.

This turned into some kind of ok, "I'll just wait for the police" thing.

I woke up with no beer being had.


- n.,

the spice created to scare seditty, scared-to-sweat, afraid of a little funk people away from your food.

Tuesday, November 13, 2018


And, of course, on a day when I'm fretting over my apparent time-diminished vision,

I see a woman walking with a friend, scanning ahead of herself with a long, thin white cane, laughing and joculant.



Me: ( moves up to counterperson at local bistro to place order, smiling)

Sweater lady wisks up to counterperson to have hot drinks refilled, seeming no notice of Me
Me noting the sensation of another moment of not being seen

(a moment)

Sweater Lady: (to Me, scanning) I love the way you look.

Me: (un-knowing what to say, sheepish) Thank you.

SL: I love to see people just being themselves.

Me: That's what you should be, right?

SL: Well, that's what I think.

Me: (attempt at not being sheepish) There enough ppl not getting paid to act.

SL: oh, is that what you are?

Me: (unspoken "oh" and moment of fought urge to be expository)..Yeah. (still awkward/sheep smile)

SL, as soon as her drinks arrive, greeting or acknowledgement.


Monday, November 12, 2018

You won't likely understand what I'm now going to say. That's concern is that I, at some point, won't.

Speak will these fingers nonetheless:

I finally figured out, I think, why these people around me now don't "hear" me.

It is because they are Latinate*. They are cerebral. The struggle they have is to reabsorb themselves with the earth.

(the uh, the ah, the low, the base, the mud the dark)

When I intend to speak a truth, from the low place,

[hung low /er than bowels]

they only see the words, the letters.

they don't hear the sounds.

i have marvelled at language that is tonal only 'til now realizing that speaking with tones is something I already do.

perhaps I'll try to preface these flashes of music with a request that they feel me with a bone further down than their heads.

perhaps their Sternum.


(*no not "latino/a/x)
For the record:

I am currently sitting in a room with a space heater on wearing full thermal underwear (with an undershirt), socks (I wish they were thermal) Thai-style fishing pants and a large wool-style hooded pull-over...with a 64oz Boathouse Farms juice bottle full of hot water under my top two layers.

The thermometer says 49...and thats up 3 since I first checked this morning.


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