entelein | (no subject)

footholds and reminders

two days of rash falling: television set, stereo tuner, A-B switch, console power
click and punch and twitch and press

the frustration that is inherent in repetition, Meisner would say, is the frustration that you, girl, take into your arms every single day you lie down and approach the next day blinded to the next moment. sometimes you take someone else with you, in gasps and grasping. fingers, feet, earlobes.

don't look for it. for that next moment. The magic "If," the bills piling up, a thankful recluse takes her frying pan and cooks a lonely egg for breakfast

so much potential in these stories that are currency. She hides them away and lets them store up and age like cheese, veined marble mold cutting through, pungent in a cave and worth more in their redolent flavor cast with nostalgia and the bite of bacterial growth. she will sell them like chattel, leased out, tethered to her by the very things that caused her to feel a bit underdeveloped and sub-par. these stories are hers and yours and theirs, and they contain rotated letters and pieces of skeletons and wonderland.

raging in small moments, between weather and fitful naps stolen. the early thirties are full of swing kids and motorbugs, iced drinks heavy with vodka and jazz trios. adventures in the middle of the night, dreamed and otherwise.

one step behind, missing the cue. timing off. catching the foothold again. lather, rinse, repeat.

perpetually awaiting that rebirth of wonder, and hoping that this time, this time, this time, this time, this time, this time