Showing Up

The scuba shop was about to close and I couldn’t parallel park my
step-dad’s Rolls, so I had to switch up to strategic thinking in
overdrive. My cell was twitching in my pocket;  I tossed it out the window: no regret. That next minute I was in a parking spot and later I found that I locked the keys inside in addition to leaving them in the ignition and thus leaving the engine on, and even better,
I guess I overlooked the parking break. This combination of mistakes
made me slightly certain that this was not going forward.

Breaking down the barriers of what is absolutely absurd
in the last possible shocking sketches of the impacts of the sentence(s)
spoken, written, or delivered,

education is obviously an enormous influence
etiquette
manners
responsibility

so as i sit here, not at my PC but at my life

which must release this laptop from it’s own demons
i remain in a continuous state
aside from some laps of hysteria (euphoric happy behavior [EHB) and unrequited love and delusional regret

i have been squinting at the results of a genetic portrayal that of which has been bothering me enormously as of late.
i do not like to be angry with myself.

i pulse in my own presence; i am  outraged and rigid from the muscles of my ass through the infrastructure of my brain synapses and the risidual effects of their miscalculated commands from some solitary elitest-like osingle-celled assholes who could not find the right neuron to bling on, and therefore, i shall seek solace in the arms of my perception: “Sure, dude. I’m cool.”

– oh, let’s see here… – the most useless meanderings in my misfiring molecular structure:
the little gene 5 card which simply was mutated (velocity and temperature and depth times your mom and divided by the percent of speed of your dad – just as an example) can really fuck a person up.

Go ahead. Look it up. I dare you.

and love for the respect of your own education, perception and experience, etiquette and manners will comfort you while you sketch your sentences, stories and paragraphs; but yes, also may give your present company an idea of who you portray and may determine barriers which see worth breaking, bending, or leaving the hell alone as a roll of the eyes permits.

“unbroken non-influences”

be specific and be careful
who do you think you are, anyway
answers are only consumed by those
who are bewildered
and want to find
nore questions
within every answer

What do YOU THINK it takes to say goodbye?”

Well, all you gotta do is
Open up your eyes
Don’t fall
for that shit again
again.

Notice a mahogany scent, pleasant and pleasing, and I remind myself to
assert my energy forth behind the shades of the autumn semi-sunlight.
The evening falls and twilight breaks even, dealing me that ambiguous
forgetfulness of my inadvertent existence; how often the blur of
fantasy and judgment of my own character ultimately punctures all
possibilities.

I am and I shall be a page torn out of a wordless textbook, unstudied
by the least unfortunate, avoided by the flying electric eels in your
moat, beyond the sweet smelling vineyards you dwell so far away.

I haunt you.

Yes, you finally say to me, you are haunting.
)But this is not one of those times.)

If we are to maintain hope in the wake of our individual personal and
philosophic crises, perhaps we must consider the fortresses of
conscious choice that we build to protect ourselves from hopelessness
may need to be surrendered. Every belief holds a mystery and devotion,
but deliverance from faith is simplicity and creative surrender.

Hope and desire are self-preserving energies which protect us; we long
for something to heal us in the darkness of our self-deprecation and
the burdens of hopelessness. We defend our small territory of sanity
and we trust that our steadfast faith will conquer all. But the
spiritual straight-jacket of this quest for absolute hope dangerously
distances us from the dimension of personal creativity. We cannot
shove hope down other’s throats, we can, however, realize unique
freedom of love and creativity, and we can find a balance and act with
our heart as much as we can move with our mind.

But I didn’t get much work done for as long and hard as my brain
TRIED so hard to take control of matters and break
through to the other side
But I didn’t really feel like working today

But I did anyway.

Now I can’t think if anything
But how happy I am that my brother and I are together
And my stupid gay band is happy and recording and we are happy and gay
and in love again
(or at least I am)
And I can express the fact that I am
ACTUALLY NOT CONCERNED
about my family getting along
in fact, this is the most psychologically inspiring thrill
that I have had a chance to experience and theorize
in months if not years
(it was an inch if was a mile, er sumethin’)

i sure hope I don’t have to say
“boy, that was just a terrible idea”
-at all-
while they are here
and I am conscious of this
and I am laughing all the way
to the front row.

I hope you’ll join me – and vice-versa.

other people
are on their way but they will show up later
or not at all

I was finally a poet. Last October was another time, I flipped through
the pages of your diary and smiled, despite myself.

“What else?”

The question is important to you, but I was a rookie poet, so I was
still torn between rhyming and free verse, and so I was metaphysically
flabbergasted, I asked for the check, I tipped my invisible hat at
you, and I hoped you were wondering to yourself in a shocked manner,
what in the name of god is that “person” thinking? But in a good way
and said with love, respect, and trust.

Love is respect is trust.

I unbuckled my seatbelt on the way home, but not obviously, because
this would just produce nothing, but secretively so that you would not
know something that I knew, thus I would be very sneaky and risky and
not afraid of death, hence I was very above you and yours, and I
lifted my head up when we pulled back into the driveway of Sonoran
Mental Ranchito; I waved at myself in the rearview mirror.

THE
worst thing in the world
didn’t happen to me today.
i keep forgetting to be thankful for the things
that didn’t happen to me;

and keep remembering what i should forget
not to be thankful for
that did happen to me.

the best thing in the world
also didn’t happen to me today.

meantime, i struggle existentially.
or I had something to do with
my need for approval
my seeking approval from others who don’t have it to give….
“We may look for approval from people who have none to give.”
and i don’t know why this little excerpt is making me
which i had known not to do this for so long
DSCN0213
what if i can’t or don’t have the approval to give myself within myself?

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JP doesn’t know it can tell he’s not sleeping

He also doesn’t know that i have been explaining my theories of cognitive behavioral therapy for the past 20 minutes, nor does he know i can tell he is faking it. He finds my theories as captivating as anything else. for certain.

Glass Zebra

But I would like to begin again.

I wonder why I left work during the middle of lunch still.

When I realized he saw me beside the broken pieces of our clumpy jagged edges of the glass zebra, he may have been stung like a match head to the temple, that I was the one he saw there, realizing that the pieces of broken jagged clumpy were pieces of my irreparable goddamn heart.

“Shut the hell up,” Jemeriah reminded me. He wasn’t happy that my boyfriend wouldn’t drive to get my wisdom teeth out.

The dentist hadn’t taken into account that I was thin from my recent long bout with adult chicken pox, and the prescribed medication was unlike any other I had ever.
EVER. He wasn’t there when I got home nor were the pieces of the zebra.

So I nodded to acknowledge where I was now, and felt faint and slightly sick with no ease to my love, then made my way out the door. I shut the massiveleadish steele thing and tried to skip unsuccessfully down the stairway to the lot. I sitting there on the bus bench for three hours before I hailed a cab back home.

I remember the way he saw me, and I saw him suspended there in time and space and he still loved me. I drank him all the time he was around me, which was a lot, and I smelled and let him saturate my own suggestion of being near him – I enjoyed enjoying, being enjoyed, enjoying being enjoyed. he had my heart, he mythically stole it, like a slick Incubus, thief as he stole my love and man; I wonder why he didn’t skip class and just fuckin pick me up from serious wisdom tooth surgery.

Oh so earlier …. The dentist, meanwhile was apparently talking to my friends and I occasionally nodded and was probably really druggy, I told the staff I loved them and would see them soon. Then Jeremiah gave my keys to my freshly ex boyfriend and I dozed while he ordered me scripts at the store.

Chasing him down Tennessee in my old Camaro, crying “GODDDD-SSSPEEEEDDD!!!” to symbolize a moment of great length and filled with cheese, I sure as all hell was not getting the message.

I said yes to him that evening as twilight as his eyes were – I was in love, and hell, he knew it would work. He was so intelligent. I didn’t foresee his lack of thought for those years.

I saw him see me later, while I was fake knitting and fake chewing gum. he asked me which was more fun. I said it’s more fun seeing what makes you crack up more.
“What makes YOU crack up?”
“The fake gum because of the Fake TMJ?”
“Fake you!” We both laughed.
I melted. I felt cocky then said, “Fake knitting is stupid.”
“Stupid is faking- stupid faking fakers!”

I want to be more than what I faked and fucked with.

I am gonna take this opportunity to plead sanity and love for myself and psychological esteem and less panic and happiness and unconditional love and have more time to enjoy and learn from it, cheesy perhaps, believe me, I am not selling a story here.

I am just writing one for us.

Your semi-daily bog

Consider the characteristics or conditions of all the substance in your intrinsic perception, such as the entities which one can identify as a solid state or a liquid state, (or even a gaseous state), and you believe you know by the very nature of the “subject,” to be just what it is, because that truth is fundamental. Now, suppose these primary dimensions of your reality are permuted, a metamorphosis which transforms every element, transcending everything so that it is the not only opposite of what it may have once been perceived as but the same in it’s lack of form and no law of the universe has any law or harmony, (the gaseous factors would really be astounding) and everything is nothing, and all that is or is not, is a contradiction of the same problem.

The concrete is now the abstract.

The trivium is equal to the empty paradox.

The continuum is now part of absolute zero.

The phone buzzed and I saw two new messages. One was a tangible items requiring some thought and input from certain people involved.

The second message was clearly meant to test me although a immediate result was void of reason and consequence and was disguised emptiness. Support of an broken statement that was neither  subjective or objective. 

Alright, you lost me – I am off the trail of interest; you may kindly fuck off. I can shake off the pixelated perception you painted me. A blank canvass of nothing.

This cognitive action led to my next transitory side-effect which was after quickly reviewing the causal theory of epiphenomenalism (physical events have mental effects, but mental events have no effects of any kind) how very useless it was to philosophize at this time, how tired my mind was, then snip-snapping right on back to my strenuously draining brooding of the undetermined unknown and how that unknown was always about to increase in conscious life.

There are the places at which you are not, or perhaps where you would rather be, not be, won’t be, the list within the list within the list is infinite, but my point is that the location of where you are (or where you ain’t) is probably the most important place you could ever be. Where you’re not is: any, some, or everywhere you could be, certainly, of course when you have but a critical amount of “time” remaining to reconsider every place where you ever were which led me to this last circumstance in which I was currently entangled, where I was not was anywhere but where I was, at a condition labeled as the end of one’s lifetime; this is the place where you last were, and your mind works itself backwards, instinctively and recklessly, and flashes these excruciating images, words, colors, lines and limits, gaps and speculation, theories, people, pets, regrets, media, motions, accidents, mistakes, recoveries, tastes, dreams, nightmares, mischief, games, fame, humiliation, embarrassment, acceptance, awards, rewards, faith, apathy, remorse, anxiety, true faith, true love, true sex, true blueness of the purest skies, waters, and eyes; good fortune, good graces, all those artistic creations….

The worst part was always there: The realization of having to contemplate how anything could be even worse than the worst realization you can contemplate. To me it was feeling that I was departing without saying goodbye; abruptly leaving the party early, sneaking out irresponsibly and silently, the one who didn’t even say, “later on,” and never came back.
During these mangled, mingled conjunctions of deliberation, I disappeared.

Writing Exercise #117. Mas o Menos?

I had made an important decision that drizzly December lunch hour, a choice that might have been a major turning point, or one that made me realize I couldn’t trust myself, control molecular mutations that were implanted in my DNA, but were fertilized by the irony of life and made me older, smarter, and a riddle unto my own psyche.
I left the office promptly at 11:45 am and it took the usual 3 minutes to get from my desk to the elevator to the front door and down the dozen stairs to the front green and I swiftly broke right up Maroon Hill two blocks west, slushing hurriedly up to the garden gates, and then made haste past the goat petting zoo.

Temporary images whirled past me as I lost more seconds of my hour and tore down to the Landing, the hillside slanted toward sea level and my spine started to burn as my speed increased, the spring humidity filling my lungs with heavy water and my terror elevated to a state of shocking horror for that which broke so many on the same journey to the ends of the earth, the beginnings of the ends of the furiously confused souls who came before me, live amongst me, and will be as unclean with sense of extreme compound awe, as we run past the calm, self-controlled, the composed egos whose filthy poised smirks made our thoughts race faster than our throbbing hearts as we stole away from the sun and found ourselves caught between the past and the future, between the land and the sky, the true and the false, not by choice, but by the means in which we ran though life with desperation and glory. We were born running, we choked on our conscious intensity, and eventually we realize would all die running.

I just wasn’t sure where I was going, but I had to keep on, or let the world stop and close me in its carriage, the cradles of the casual, the place you stop to take a breath is the last exit on the last highway.

Gravity pulled me down the street and I lunged forward as hard as I could, fearing and seemingly unfearful of the fact that my little heart felt determined to blow up in its madness to pump blood into my pulsating limbs, but also my clear head, falling into the ground, falling before I could get anywhere, falling before I reached the new race, the next step to the next step, the next path that always awoke and stirred my soul.

I stumbled on the gravel and drove forth to the liquid at the end of the Landing, the people and children and dogs and boats were the same day after day with faces of security and familiar sanctuary.

I dove into the shallow water and cried the familiar war cry of the storyteller who finally realized to give up on ever ending a tale. Nothing ever ends anyway.


Posted by Wendy Clark at 7:55 PM

-forsaketh- (an anti-poem)

-forsaketh-

so if i didn’t have to sleep
i would write more
and dream more

-if it were up to me
i’d never sleep
i would stay awake
the whole week through
and if god forsaketh
and forgive my mistakes(eths)

i would just dream
i would just wander in unsleep
i would just dream of you
dream
of you-

i think about you all day
i think about how uneven it is to think about thinking about you all day
and what the hell are parallel bars
if there aren’t any perpendicular bars
and if you can’t smoke in bars
then hey i guess it’s not cool anymore
any less – i have been meaning to tell you
i am not any less uncool than i used to be
i am just farther from myself
or is it further from me
or can’t you not tell
or do you not see
that i am starving for spirals of spare serendipity

© 2010 wendy clark hudson