college retrospect

It is weird to be almost out of place where I never really felt in place in the first place. the sheer mass of the people here and the sheer plainness and consistency of thought have always made me feel like an outsider and have made me prefer the outside.

I often wonder about my choice to come to school here. I always knew how it would be, because I went to efy and I pretended and suffocated and I went to high school and my seminary class was all friends with each other but not me. And I knew college would be somewhere in the middle of that, between pretending and out. I guess the decision revolved around what kind of exclusion was I more interested in? The kind that dominated my high school years with my friends partying and living lifestyles that were completely unparallel to mine, but friends that I could carry on meaningful conversations with about religion and law and music and relationships? Or the kind of exclusion where people carried a cookie cutter, semi-intolerant state of mind, and who were unprepared and unrequired to think on their own. The kind that may eventually lead me to hate myself and my background, the kind where I am living in fear waking up on any given day with a mind wiped free of judgment and personality and I have become the people who write obnoxious reviews in the artists’ book at a non-conservative art show displayed on campus. But on some level the biggest decisions we make, we don’t even make, they just happen. And the biggest decision ends up being how we respond to what “just happens.”

But I am almost through now, and here I am on my way out of a place I was always out of. I’m juggling between feelings of relief and guilt and excitement, but I can’t help and look back at my experience and progression. I’m still very much the same skeptic who came here in the first place, but maybe now I’m starting to know why.

But on the line of being out of place, it seems like the key is just finding your place, no matter how small or how frequent, is to find that place and those people that have reciprocal meaning. And that’s all it takes in any city in any school in any whatever—just finding where you fit into the puzzle. And even if it’s on the outside, it feels good to just fit.

shrubby

It’s almost as if the people I am passing
Have been training their whole lives to look directly forward
And beyond me as if I am nothing more noteworthy than a shrub
I guess that could make sense
Since there are probably more people on campus/on planet earth than shrubs
But still, I have eyes
And I am looking at you.
I have tested the theory that it is unnatural to avoid eye contact
It feels unnatural.
Even cats make eye contact with me when I look at them.
They can’t help it!
Little kids look at me every time.
And the younger they are, the longer they will maintain eye contact
I rarely win staring contests with babies
Maybe people have just had bad experiences with making eye contact
Like “Oops, I promise I don’t have a crush on you (but oops I really do!)”
Or “You are wearing the weird clothes, I can’t look away”
Or maybe feelings pass too much
Or maybe then you have to talk to people and you are in a hurry
Even though it is a friend you haven’t seen in five months because you’re just too busy
Too busy to make eye contact
Too busy to be natural
Too busy to recognize that someone is not a shrub

hw for intro to art

puddle angel

i like raindrops and their seeming non-impact on anything. they're made of the same stuff as snowflakes except they always travel alone. there are big snowflakes but there are no big drops. they clean it up though, one at a time. they taste as good as snowflakes. but people don't tilt their head up for the rain because raindrops don't rest on your eyelashes, they just go straight into your eyeballs and make you furiously blink them away, as if water was something that had never been in your eyes before. and no one is sticking their tongues out to taste the rain, even though it is the same flavor as the snowflakes. because people are hungry, not thirsty i guess. and people do this: lower their heads and raise the collar on their specifically purchased rain resistant jacket. then they walk quickly to get out of the rain, as if the longer they were subjected to it, the more the poison would infiltrate their weakening barriers. and they skip over the puddles left. no attempt for puddle angels here.

but i'm thirsty. and i'm 70% made of water. and snow is pretty but it's also 32 degrees at the most and i am 98.6 degrees at the most. so come on rain get into my eyes.

a man, a plan, a canal - a palindrome!

bismarck

As far as I can tell, there are two different types of birthmarks. There is the kind that our parents see when they are first inspecting us after we come out of the birth canal. They count our fingers and then our toes—one, two, three, four, five—and there between the third and fourth toe of the left foot is a little strawberry discoloration that suddenly becomes the most beautiful non-flaw that has ever existed. When our parents show us off as new babies, strangers ask, “Did she get any birthmarks anywhere?” And our parents beam and say, “Oh yes, look right here just between her third and fourth toe, have you ever seen anything more beautiful?” And the strangers Oo and Aw about the beautiful little difference that is the first sign of a baby that has never existed before.

And we grow up a little bit and during recess in elementary school we show each other our birthmarks. Most of the kid’s are brown and in funny shapes. They are over the knees or behind the ears but all the kids show their birthmarks like a badge of honor, like a badge that has never been given to anyone else.

The sad thing about this birthmark is how it usually fades away by the time we get to junior high, and it only shows up from time to time at events like jumping into a freezing cold pool. And now I am leaning over and pulling my toes apart but there is nothing there, not the slightest remnant of my little strawberry birthmark badge.

And then there is the second kind of birthmark. The funny thing about this kind, is that it’s not really a birthmark. It’s just a mark that shows up and it still gets called a birthmark, because it usually looks the same. No one really knows why it shows up: maybe sun damage, or just general aging, or maybe for the same reason we get real birthmarks. That reason being, of course, that no one knows why and there is no reason. But it definitely has something to do with what we do to ourselves as our lives go on, whether that be intense sun exposure or simply just allowing the years to pass. So all the sudden I have a birthmark that I wasn’t marked at birth with and it is on the right side of my right leg.

And so here I am with life, fighting to hang on to the badges I was born with, and dealing with those that have been placed on me. Trying to combine the past with the present, and label it all “me.”

But in actuality, I don’t have anything to do with my own birthmarks, they’re just something I was given. They’re just there! Something I claim as my own and my own distinguishing features, but I am not distinguished by their existence, they are distinguished in and of themselves. I work with them and I make them mine, I make them part of me. With both the birthmarks that I started with but have since faded and the birthmarks that have since appeared.

birthday food

The weekend trip to California for my 21st birthday was a much needed break after four months of continual snow and below-tolerable temperatures. We drove directly to Huntington Beach, changed into our swimsuits, walked out to the beach and realized, some level of winter does actually exist even at Huntington Beach. Sure, the weather was significantly warmer and the sun was more than some distant fixture in the sky, but we were perhaps a bit optimistic to start with. We huddled up in our beach towels on the eve of my birthday and couldn’t add much more than our feet to the water. So we retired to the city. There were some cute shops and restaurants, and my roommate from California insisted we eat fish tacos at Wahoo’s. Now fish tacos did not sound like an appetizing combination, but I went along with it anyway.

The restaurant’s beachy atmosphere of surf videos and surfboards was the first thing to welcome us. The line went quickly and after fighting for a table and receiving our food I understood the popularity. The fish taco was one of the most delicious things I’d ever eaten. It was simple: good fish, tortilla, cabbage, salsa, rice and beans. It was perfect. The next day was my birthday and all I wanted was fish tacos. I was afraid to leave Huntington Beach because I knew I was also distancing myself from the likelihood of that great fish taco.

Upon our return to Provo, I knew what I needed to do. I was to find the best fish taco in Utah. We began by making a professional spreadsheet: complete with complex formulas and a color-coded labeling system. Categories were placed in columns with which we used to judge each individual taco. We used twelve categories including condiments, mess factor, price, and atmosphere. They were all placed on a weighted scale, the category of “overall taste” getting the highest weight. After we entering the criteria, the tacos would be ranked against each other, for an overall scale. When we ate out, we would find a place with fish tacos. Then when we would hurry home with fresh memories and rate the tacos. After we ate one in every known Mexican restaurant in Utah Valley, we extended our boundaries to Salt Lake.

After about a year of research, we had formulated an impressive list. We knew the best of Provo, of Salt Lake, the best deals, the best kept secrets, the best of everything. So you probably have two questions at this point. Did you ever find anything as good as Wahoo’s? No. I don’t think it’s actually possible 800 miles from the ocean. Also it’s been so long that the memory of the fish taco has become elevated and untouchable in my mind. Second: So where is the best fish taco in Utah? And that, my friend, is something you must find out for yourself.

foolish

I built three sandcastles
One for me and two for you
One next to the ocean so you could hear every wave
--Smell the breeze
--Have visitors
--Have that ocean-front view
And one on a hill so you could see for miles
--Get fresh air
--Watch people from a distance
--Watch the sun rise and set
And mine in the middle
--Close enough to the ocean
--And close enough to you
--Wherever you are

From the castle on the hill we looked around
--A perfect view
--Of the waves washing away
--The castle by the sea
From the empty plot where the sea castle stood we looked
--To the beautiful mountains
--And saw the wind eroding
--The castle on the hill
And mine in the middle
--It’s not big enough for the both of us
--But you can have it
--It will be safe from the elements
--Be careful to not knock down the walls
There’s enough sand to build you another castle
But now I’m too tired.

this is hallow

Costumes
It’s Halloween
I cannot see your face
Nor can the police: smashing their
pumpkins

Princess
Small silver crown
Holding a big mushroom
And here’s your partner, Mario
One up!

Let’s see
You are…a robot?
No wait, you are changing
To a car! Oh, Optimus Prime.
Transform.

Red, pink,
Yellow, purple
Fanta—do you drink it?
Or you just like wearing less clothes.
Doncha?

Bats, ghosts,
Witches, goblins
All a little scary.
Other things are more frightening
Clowns, you.

the end of japan

I like going through train tunnels and feeling like my head is about to implode
I have dined in palaces and kingdoms
All of life is just passing time
It is raining in Hakone. I cannot see Fuji-san today.
I liked our Yukatas best in the Kyoto Ryokan.
I think we are going to Tokyo tomorrow!
It is so foggy. First and last time to Japan.
This is my 25^th and final place to sleep.
I finally was having a good dream but I woke up for no reason.
I hate wallpaper.
Room service, unicorns, I don’t want to squat shower, I don’t want gross breakfast.
Bless you, 9:28 am, eleven hours of sleep, three days until God knows what.
I just read about Buddha’s enlightenment, it sounded kind of cheesy.
Why can’t they just have some internet for me somewhere.
Someone has taken our robes and replaced them with new ones
This is unsettling.
Today we took many many modes of transportation
And even made it home before dark. And saw Fuji-san again.
I am going to Tokyo. Where I’d rather be.
I had a funny dream and you were wearing funny shoes.
I don’t want you to be any different than before. I’m just so worried.
We are going to watch Firewall and not Syria.
I am hungry for gorgonzola cheese spaghetti.
I bought a beautiful little dolls
You’re still the only one who feels like home.
Hopefully only two more days with this huge pit in my stomach
I can’t sleep anymore
Time to pack one more time.

and not all who are lost wander

dumpster

to my sister and to bjork

their bottoms are made out of springs

sometimes i like to consider groups of people in terms of:

if each individual person is a molecule, what would the substance of the group be? a solid, a liquid, or a gas? a solid being a tight mass of molecules that barely moves except to quickly be put back in place by a neighboring molecule. a liquid being with a little more space where individual molecules bounce off walls and each other and the substance doesn't hold its shape unless in a container. and a gas being very difficult to contain and molecules bounce extremely quickly from great distances at great speed and has a lot of space to itself.

my ideal substance for human molecule behavior oscillates somewhere between a liquid and a gas. going to school during summer term is a gas. going to school during the normal school year is a liquid or solid depending on the time of day. driving in utah is too often a solid. riding my bike is usually a gas. being at the beach is a gas. a great gas. but tonight was definitely a night of solids. solids make me uncomfortable and stuck. but it's ok bc i am a hyperactive molecule and quickly can free myself from those types of situations. but sometimes i think how great it would be to be a part of a solid! nope, wrong. i am just much happier to be bouncing at high energy in large amounts of space. bam

six word novel

flowers: bloom! beautiful! die in vase.

favorite food? mexican. ever sick? si.

stay out of the well. sharks.

6 words: equals my attention span

hemingway's

stay

i wasn't ready
until i collected all the perfected moments
like a hand
then i laid them all out
and still lost

dark completeness

puzzle piece clouds
this is a hard one again
all bright white, slowly fitting
one by one covering up all the blue
last piece where is it
there right there in front of the sun
darkness now
and the puzzle is complete

t-50

i have been having problems with leaving every book unfinished
i hate the unrequited required need to wrap everything up
dot every eye, square every circle, tie a bow on top
but i have every end untied
i read your fiction or otherwise
but the biggest fiction of all is that it ends
and every stone has been turned over and cleaned and painted pink
and at that point i can no longer relate, can not maintain focus or appreciation
so i will continue to leave the last 50 pages alone
maybe when i am a squared circle i will get it

but maybe that's why people read
part of the whole fantasy world appeal
it's not even a happy ending that's appealing--just an ending!

The new and constant degeneration

When I am thinking about something new that I haven’t given much thought to before, I like to think of it in terms to the history of the world. Like, when was the first time ____ happened? And who made ___ happen and why? How did ___ travel around the world and become so globally accepted? How has ____ evolved? The weird thing is, mostly when I think of ____ in terms of these questions, this is the graph that pops into my head:


Now, I recognize that this graph is not to scale, but I really feel like the world was pretty stable about pretty much everything until half a century ago-ish, and then things are really changing. But what I think has changed the MOST is communication. And although it’s something I’ve thought about before and a lot, here are my questions.

Like, when was the first time communication happened? Easy: Seventh day of the world existing. Who made communication happen and why? Adam, so God could tell him the rules and they could hang out together, and also with Eve. How did communication travel around the world and become so globally accepted? Well, it’s kind of important, even ants need to do it. How has communication evolved? And here’s the kicker.

In the history of time from the beginning of the world on, there were two main types of communication: Talking and Writing. People go door to door, visit their neighbors, bring some bread, write some letters. But the telegram, to the telephone, to email, instant messaging, text messaging, and so on, have all popularized as of relatively late, and the majority of evolutions have created an entirely new system of communication.

So no one is writing love letters and spraying perfume on it, instead people are sending poorly punctuated emails and not even bothering to sign their names. And no one is stopping by for a visit to check up, but instead a text message “how r u?” And now the worst of all is social network websites, where you don’t even need to talk to someone to catch up with them, just look at the pictures they have posted and what someone else is writing on their wall. I would like to see someone from the past come to the future of right now. They would probably say, “This is weird, is no one friends with each other?” Because this is what they would see: people walking around by themselves with either headphones in or talking into their cell phones or typing messages in their phones, sitting at black boxes and typing furiously, but man would it look ridiculous to the time traveler.

Something I also think about when thinking about the above graph, is how most things that have changed are relatively so new, that we can’t be totally sure about the eventual effects of this speedy evolution. The varying types of communication today are pretty spectacular, but how much are there going to hurt us in the long run? Are the relationships we have with every other person going to become more weak and superficial? Are we going to rely on emails and text messages to maintain friendships? And as the generations go on, will technology allow communication to become even more impersonal? What will communication eventually degenerate to? And as all languages evolve, the English words will become shorter and shorter because no one wants to type in all the letters to spell w-h-a-t-e-v-e-r word is t-o-o l-o-n-g into their phones. And people need to keep the cell phone conversations to a minimum because they’re out of minutes again! so they will just briefly say what they need to in short grunts and hang up.

But maybe our expectations for communication just have to be lower. We should just accept that now we can say so much more in so many less words using much more resourceful means. People would probably roll their eyes at the inefficiency of a love letter these days anyway. But maybe we should just be careful. Maybe we could start bringing our neighbors bread again. Even though it is probably also not as good as pre-mid-1900’s bread.

[cinquains]

Coat: on
I hate mornings
I see my breath; I’m ice
When class is over, the sun’s up
Coat: off

Pebbles
What would you do?
Drop them? Throw them? Skip them?
Maybe don’t pick them up at all
Dirt hands

Pictures
People posing
Big smiles and bright flash
Everyone looks so happy here!
Cheesy

You wear
That nice blue shirt
I’ll just wear something else
OK fine, we’ll just match again
Mirror

Crosswords
Daily scrabble
And of course sudoku
No wonder homework takes so long
Sidetracked

taj memoir

The scene is too much to take in with only our five senses. We stand at the entrance in a daze, the white marble glistening in the morning sun, the red mosques on either side framing it, the gardens and streams gently leading up to steps, up to the most beautiful mausoleum built. We inch towards it, take our shoes off, press our hands against the ever-cold marble. Intricate flower designs cover the thinner marble slabs, allowing new color to sparkle through, and Islamic writing frames the doorways. The interior is dark and cold but filled with carvings and bird droppings, and side-by-side tombs sit in the eerie white dimness.

And we walked outside it, around it, away from it. We looked at it for a long time and then gave its marble a kiss because we didn’t know how else to treat it, because it taught about love and sadness and pride and eternity. And we put our shoes back on. And when we talked about the Taj Mahal we lowered our voices a little. And we marveled at how something so beautiful and perfect could be created by a selfish ruler with imperfect love. And we couldn’t help but feel the magic then, and still now, because we saw a piece of eternity and a piece of real beauty and maybe even a piece of love.

global poisoning

In the year 20-something-something, it is more polluted than all the years before it. Combined? No, but exponentially the pollution has gotten worse and worse. And in the following year, if people are still here to create it, there will be even more pollution.

The lives that people are living are more important than being alive. The gas guzzling cars and the endless intake of meat and the need to stifle every resource and replace it with some kind of cement economy has become the collective and solely acceptable way of life. Even Al Gore has stopped running for president, and even the EU citizens have stopped driving Smartcars because what’s the use, everyone knows they are so ugly and there’s no point in efficiency because of how the entire else world is contributing.

The governments realized the dangers last. Also they realized that they had caused the problems in the first place with lack of policy and lack of paying attention, but by then it was too late to rewind, but not too soon change! The governments started warning people about the dangers of pollution, over-harvesting, outlasting our resources. No one listened because they had white buds in their ears. So they started putting public announcements on the pre-digested television shows but people would fast-forward through the carefully worded messages.

So the governments started putting up fliers on the front doors of every house in every city in every country in every language. “Please recycle cardboard, glass, and plastics!” one would say and another, “Turn off your light bulbs when you leave the house, Please!” But no one moved and the clouds got blacker so the governments started saying made the signs louder until “Stop spraying chemicals on your small farm patch, people eat the fish and they all have cancer!” And finally a flier on fire engine red paper, “Carbon monoxide is a silent, undetectable, instant killer. Carbon monoxide is coming out of your exhaust pipe! There’s nothing you can do pretty much!” And people tore it off the door and looked down at it, and looked up at the four SUV’s idling in the driveway, and then looked up the road to the continually flowing exhaust from all the cars in the neighborhood and all the cars they had ever seen. They collectively held their breath as long as they could and exhaled and exhaled every good intention to be a model citizen. And the entire planet lived like they were dying and subconsciously waited for the world to end and they waited by speeding it up by driving bigger cars more and simultaneously running the furnace and the air conditioning and letting the lawn mower and the beached boat in the driveway run. And the world impatiently waited for the collective poisoning of the entire population by carbon monoxide.

scratch

Pregnant with dreams and empty with thoughts
Happy with nonsense but filled up with loss
Scratching out days on my prison cell wall
One step forward, two back, and fall

haiku

The rain is falling
Tears rinsing out the summer
The clouds and I cry

Robots are dancing
Technology has rhythm
I am DDR

Papers on the floor
School starts and the cleanness ends
Dishes in the sink

prelude to a championship

Joining the bowling league was practically my idea, I’m still not sure why. I have only gotten a triple digit score once in my life, and typically claim that I hate bowling in general so I don’t have to go to FHE or on bad dates or to default BYU group activities.

But I am the co-founder of my bowling team. And since the idea came at work, it is going to be a work bowling league. We are very picky about who can be on our team and limit it mostly to people who get as excited about it as Emily and I do. We also prefer if they have some level of experience, like a class or have been in a junior league as a child, just so we know they were raised right. We usually ask for a bowling swing demonstration and stand aside, nod in interest, and count the steps they take before they reach the imaginary foul line. And we take a mental or actual note. We ask for the highest score they’ve ever gotten, and then tell them we’ll get back to them by Friday at the latest. We like high scores for the purpose of the league, but not too high so as to make the co-founder’s 60 average score look bad or possibly inspire a mutiny.

Unfortunately we do discriminate. We checked the record scores in the league books and our greatest victory potential lies in the women’s league. I hate to diss my own sex like this, but it’s just the way the pins fall.

We have shirts picked out for our team and almost have put the order in. but we decided we needed to pick out numbers for the backs. And also we need bowling names still. Last week I was dubbed KLEPTOKRISTY but the zubs in the next lane kept calling me klepto and I think it contributed to my lack of strikes that round.

There is an older lady that works in a different department who I would like to recruit to the team. I think she would really delivery a level of legitimacy that we younger girls can’t achieve on our own. I can just picture her with a wristguard and think she could really pull off the retro bowling shirt. After we win the league trophy, I want to be the one who presents her with a gold plated wristguard trophy with “Mad Dog Marjorie” emblazoned underneath because that is the type of name she would claim, even though her name is Barbara I think. Or Deborah.

We have a specific day and place and time we bowl. I’m really busy and only have time for work and school and want to buy a plot of land on campus so I can save some by not walking to school. But I’ve made time for bowling. I’ve only bowled over 100 once, but bowling is now a priority. I have faith not only that we will compete with the Marge’s of the SuperBowl women’s league, but that we will give them a run for their money. I am confident that after all is said and done, the glorious six foot trophy will take its rotation and light up my room every five weeks, and remind us all about what life is really about. The wild-card. the underdog. the greatest upset ever to be recorded in a State Street bowling alley.

score so far

conspicuous -- you

inconspicuous --

fream

i want everyone to wear a framed picture around their neck of the best moment of their lives. that way you can know so much about someone the first time you meet, and you can talk about the best moments and remind each other of that great moment. and if you get sad, you can look down and remember. and then on the subways people would just look around and think great things about every other person, instead of noticing that their boots are not very nice or fashionable.

it would be cool to see someone's picture change to a new moment when you were there.

an uncaring caring

i dreamt all night last night that i was throwing up and throwing up
the internet dream dictionary told me

SICK As in vomiting: The feeling of having thought, felt, or expressed things that do not agree with your real feelings.

probably more to come

people i already know

that i re-met today

April eighth two thousand seven

Person I already know #1

In church Sister E. introduces herself to me. She has done so twice before maybe three times and it has made me uncomfortable all but the first time. Why does she think she is so unrememberable. She is the only person in the ward who talks to me, so she is the only one that I don’t act like I don’t know. I’m not sure what I am supposed to say to her, but I just mirror her enthusiasm so she doesn’t have to depress to my level. She is talking to me about how we have been to the same continent, but I am just nervous that it’s ten minutes into the lesson on Blank before my hands stop shaking. Would rather be small-talking with my sister-in-law. I introduced my sister-in-law in relief society that is the first time I have called her that. But either are still better than the Indonesia lady that thought I had already come home from my trip last January. I wish I had already come home too in January. Five minutes of church enthusiasm makes me hate myself and never want to go back to church, but mostly makes me never want to do anything noteworthy so no one will have reason to talk to me or seek me out. I try to look as plain as possible and not wash my hair. Old people talk to me and suck out my youth to cure their oldness. It doesn’t make them any younger but it makes me feel old and robbed. I tell her I am flattered. I am flattered. I have never been flattered or used that word before. I have never been flatter. When I hear myself to people in church, I am not inside my body, I am being consumed by something else and I hear words being yelled out from my empty head into the great cultural hall abyss and my realness is waiting outside and already sitting in the van. Just rolling my eyes. Just waiting for my hands to stop shaking.

Person I Already Know #2

Stephanie Forgettable Last Name is the H.R. manager. I pretend like she just started working there after I left so she feels justified for not remembering me. I have talked to her before about things and she didn’t know anything about things. I made it brief the first two times I talked to her because I walked in and she was crying and I wanted to cry because of it but I just said don’t worry about it and left and then the rest of my day I felt sad. I don’t think she has ever stopped crying. I suppose she just has watery red eyes and a red complexion. I feel bad about that and don’t want to ask too much or I would feel ok even if she made me work in kids because at least I do not cry too much and at least I do not have a red watery complexion or make people feel sad for days at a time just for looking me in the eyes. I wonder what would be so sad to make you cry for two years or more. Sometimes I feel like I could cry for two years, or not eat or sleep for two years. Maybe then I’d wake up a little and feel like a real person and be alive. I ate a lot today and I feel like crying for two years because of it. Especially the ham. Stephanie doesn’t return phone calls. When I write down her name I draw a heart as the dot on the i. I don’t know how you could not with a name like that. I don't know how you could not with a name like that, Stephanie.

Person I Already Know #3

Laura or Lara I’m not sure, probably Laura. Tim’s girlfriend, who is Ryan’s roommate. She is always with Tim under that blanket on the long couch. Me and Ryan used to be the couple under the blanket, but now we are just on the couch or standing or awkward or exposed. Ryan thinks she is really dumb probably because she is a girl and does hair and hasn’t proved herself in the smart girl category and mixes up her words because she is just a baby after all, I think she is really precious and a nice heart. She said she doesn’t shower very often, I hope she meant just wash her hair. Although she probably has not gone through puberty so probably does not get too greasy.

Person I Already Know #4

Dave I recognize you from somewhere, oh we went to EFY together. You’re from New Mexico, you had a mouthful of braces, you were the cutest thing me and Maria wanted to put you in our pockets and have tea parties with you as our guest of honor. I always remember everyone even/especially people that I never really knew. I am never sure whether to keep it a secret or yell it on a mountain that I know you from Random Event unknown number of years ago. I usually keep it a secret unless I am bored and I think you might say something interesting in response, or turn into a real person, like I am the clock striking midnight and you are finally going to stop pretending you are the same princess I've met a thousand times before. So I told you. I can’t tell if you started pretending less, I was too focused on myself and self-conscious, I am still nervous about being around people. I wish it was just us, but there are other people that want to talk about stupid things like EFY and want my attention and make me feel more like a slut than I already do and make comments that make me want to ostrich my head in the ground if I thought it would help me to never hear how people think either BYU or U of U is somehow better in someway from the other. Dave maybe you should still carry around a video camera like before, maybe your grin could still look as innocent as it used to. You still are the same person maybe, I wish you still had all your braces so people would have to look harder to see how beautiful you are, or they would not notice, or you would talk to me for a longer time and sit in the chair next to me instead of across from me.

up

carnal

the five dreams

I had my first dream when I was seven years old. I saw dinosaurs dancing around on the insides of my eyelids, three of them, trying to kill me. That day I felt small and vulnerable. I went to school with wide eyes and looked out at the playground for any unwelcome visitors whenever I heard something that could have been mistaken for a t-rex footstep.

My second dream was on a stage drenched in lights brighter than my eyes could fully open for. Every person was clapping for me and standing straight and tall and I was the best ballerina and had danced my heart the most. That day I felt like a hundred dollars and I floated so high above all the other kids in the cafeteria that I couldn’t even see my hashbrowns. I went to school and couldn’t help practicing my pirouettes in the barkdust.

My third dream was me looking at myself in the mirror and I was pulling horribly fantastic faces. I could hear my grandmother in the background telling me that if I kept pulling faces they would stick there. I pulled my face into the deepest frown I could muster, and it stayed! I was horrified and could no longer smile, no matter how happy I was. That day I did not frown for a single second, in case my face stuck. I went to school and smiled all day long and everyone smiled back at me and sometimes even laughed back at me.

My next to last dream was sailing on the ocean. I got to be in the crows nest, high above the other sailors. My only job was to yell “Land ho!” but I got so caught up watching the others interact that I stopped watching the horizon and our ship crashed into the rocks. That day I was very observant. I went to school and didn’t run into anyone in the halls. I stood on top of the playground structure and did not watch any of my friends run around, but watched for any dangers in the horizon.

The last dream I ever had was nothing but a noise and I was nine years old. It was the playing of the most beautiful song that could ever exist. It played just once. That day I walked blankly through and knew I could never hear anything so beautiful again. I went to school and didn’t listen to anything ever again. I ignored my friends and focused all my energy on blocking out every sound except the memory of the song that was on its last echo in my head.

And then I had no more dreams, but lived my life in a dream. I floated high above all the other kids, and if I had to be on the ground I usually just danced around. I saved the other kids from dangers they couldn’t begin to understand. I smiled all day long and couldn’t hear anyone laughing at me because I was listening too hard to the memory of the most beautiful song. I think if the five dreams were theirs, they would have done the same thing. But no one can help their dreams.

paris falls

everynight i sit on the steps and watch the cars go by
count red lights count bikes
no one sees me
i'm not part of their web
so i can see the insignificance of it
consistently in the biggest hurry of their adult lives

life is a blur to everyone the sides are blurred
everyone is a showhorse a racehorse blinded
i am no less blind just blind in the front in the center
macular degeneration

one out of two hundred cars looks toward me
two cats almost got run over
everybody's free
everybody's free to enslave themselves
my feet are black from taking out the trash in bare feet
a song is burning holes in my chest
i'd yell it if i thought someone would know it

common

the heat was the barrier but i crossed it i couldn't stay at the library i couldn't breath. it was all right on, alright, same as the other every other days, thermostat check flashing white teeth check bobbing heads check designer backpockets check. they breathe the manufactured perfection in out in out in and if they choke start a central line no one has choked before.

i left i crossed i rode my bike at speed of light and sunglasses and ears plugged and the air was so hot it breathed me

now the graveyard, i might be sitting on a bee's nest they keep landing on me but not stinging, why aren't they stinging me they could i don't even know what it feels like, am i feeling. i hope i am not sitting directly over anyone. i'm sitting directly under a tree the roots and uprooting overthrowing gravestones. someone is dead but someone has been alone twelve years because. close to me says only mother, it's so old that she is no longer a mother to anyone on the planet, has anyone looked for her. i'm breathing in someone else's sighs and pain that they left along with carnations when they visited last or buried last week. it feels real the air feels real. no one is here to fake. i would like to sleep here, to rest like the others in real life.

they should have a special graveyard tree where the roots grow straight down. mozart was buried in a common grave.

before/after

i had been in your house before you lived there. i thought about living there, i liked the narrow staircase, liked the upstairs, but it wasn't available. the old lady who owned it was goingt o live there and not rent it.

now i walk through the house in my mind and each square centimeter is a heartache each piece of air has been breathed out by you and choked on by me. and the staircase has become a waterfall of expectations and i am drowning at the bottom and you have climbed out your bedroom window. i wonder if the old lady died. i wonder if she drowned under the waterfall like me.

and the middle is just a blur, just the difference between black and white, just the space between peace and pain, just two points and the shortest distance was never crossed.

senses

i'm trying to be right here right now right
mind focus eyes straight ahead feet planted firmly and yet
i am everywhere but right here
everything but right now
skip jump hop leap past future past future pain fear hope
over
i'm trying to remember how to be right here right now right
i can't control what happens
i can't control anything i've ever really wanted
i only can control mind eyes feet
but i still fail
over
repeat

wanderlust

kids have their imagination -- escape route
parents have been washed out brain washed washed up
their escape is
their escape has drowned
my escape has drowned: i notice : i can't stop choking
gasp for imagination. image, stop. forgetting. escape route
fear alzheimers, i have it
i forgot what used to fill me
not a staring problem
just out cold just out will return shortly out of bounds
i forgot to remember
now i understand
peter alice pan
they could see the real world falling down
london bridge
as a result neglect, forget, forgot, image
i'm not staring
just not here
just en route

church

the dews from heaven
clouds as puzzle pieces
we are frogs in a boiling pot of water
i will croak first or i am the only one who will jump out
air
doubt not, fear not, not not
as a man thinketh. so is he. this is she
or life is vain, vein, life is vein, a bloodless war
even strangers know where to stab
nothing can come from nettles but nettles

grabbing shadows

faded to black and white
then lighter
lighter
lighter
to dull pain

but pieces of you still echo
shadows of you still inhabit my dreams
i'm letting it all go i'm pushing it all out
but i'm hanging onto echos
shadows
of not only you
but of me

letting pieces of you go, i go too

almost gone

on heaven's door

(tonight i knocked a code into the wall, it was a secret code that nobody knows, maybe not even myself. and then... my neighbor knocked back! i have never seen him except once in the elevator. i don't know the exact words of what he knocked back, but i got the message. i think i mostly just know what kind of person he was by the fact that he knocked back. i like to think i know everything about a person just because i know almost nothing or just maybe one little detail. like how he goes onto his balcony to smoke every night and during the day he plays his guitar and no one else is ever at his home. i wonder if he knows my code. i think he knows my code.)

sensible

i like to think about how it would be to be color blind and only see in shades of grey. and then all the sudden one day, you can see color. and how much more alive and intense and surreal that moment on would be, like seeing everything for the first time again. i wonder what it would be like to gain another sense now, and what it would be. it seems like if you were color blind, color would be incomprehensible. so is there a feeling or factor that we can achieve to make our lives more alive, intense, surreal, and we just can't comprehend it?

don't

i wish people would stop using that word i hear the same word everyday being said by strangers to strangers and being said to and about inanimate objects. i hear the word being said between a couple that is 15 years old and a couple that is 55 years old and neither mean it more or less than any other couple that has ever said the word. when the boy said it he wasn't sure he felt that word and the girl wasn't sure she knew what the word meant. and one person said it about the unusually warm weather and one person said it about a movie star they had never met and one person said it about the breakfast they had had the day before and one million people had it on their t shirt about a city they had never been to.


and so many people want it so many people want to hear it whispered in their ear and want to hear it shouted on a mountaintop for them. everyone wants that word but no one is getting the word and no one is getting that the word is just that and can't change a thing by being said or heard. how can that girl expect the word means something coming from the mouth of a boy that just used the word to talk about a sports game on television he only saw the last five minutes of. it is just one word. one word that has been said too much about nothing.