Those Lights, Those Pipes.

Top floor of Vita, as the day transitions from natural to artificial light, and the destinations of commuter buses shine. Mukilteo. Lakewood. Ash Way Park and Ride. Detroit minimalism in the headphones, where you see the inorganic turning grass again. Flowers. Never been to Detroit, so it remains unsafe from romantic narratives. After a full press of e-mails, clicks and drags, work that doesn't feel like work, but feels so much heavier than

work.

If I have to see another friend in the hospital I swear I'm going to

just go see them, what else can you do? Again again again. Everett. Federal Way. Mountlake Terrace. Atlanta bounces and bangs through the coffeeshop speakers. They've transitioned from day to night music, from coffee for business to coffee for necessity. Americanos are an all hour drink, eyes sleepy or engorged. Mouths dry from telling stories. In telling stories, in

sharing

concern I'm trying not to be a gossip. Trading others' troubles across platforms like handshake bribes at a party. Ways to make it to the invitation. Staying here with the mottled wood and metal pipes and architecture's dance between warmth and starkness. Outsidde keeps dimming. Fully artificial. The sky is so dark and these lights are so bright and the sky is so dark and these lights are so bright and the sky is so bright with: Tacoma Dome. Bothell. North Lynnwood.

The necessity of new satchels.

A day of meetings/meet-ups. This is more of a consistency post than anything, blog maintenance being not the strongest of my suits.

Got dressed when it was foggy out, and now I'm overlayered for late-September sun. The fall that never fully settles, just hits harder when it does. It's been sunny out long enough that a nice misting of rain is a comfort, like not being covered in a thin film of sweat once you step behind the bar. Thanks, five blocks from bus to workplace.

Upsides: writing this on new/old laptop. Suddenly, so many projects feel so much more possible, though I may grow to miss the time-crunch that library-internet provided.

Broadcast Coffee, Summer Day Date (Overheard) (rough)

Tables separation. Tindr date near the door. Hum of espresso. Pretending not to eavesdrop. Pretending to pretend not to eavesdrop. She is more attractive, objectively, than he is. This always encourages. I ate fishballs for dinner last night, and possibly will have grilled cheese this evening. These are the sorts of details people tend to omit. Or lead with. Who knows. This thing that everyone does, no one seems to know how to do. Dinner, movie, checking apps.

Now.
Now.
Now they are talking about housing prices. Each face drops, but they are new and do not have anecdotes that don't make them sound like they'd rather be home. A house in place for a price is
how much? My head starts to hurt. Neither likes this conversation. But they can't stop. The boredom oozes across and around the coffee shop. The decor seems somehow even more tasteful. The barista caresses his own beard in an effort to soothe himself. They keep talking. Really? That much for a room? Something about investments.

Other conversations wither and die. The boredom seeps out of the coffeeshop. Kills the trees in the park. Another building topples. Time, space, stop. I am slumped to my seat. No one will every make love again as long as the dry tongues of endless boredom and the fidget of anxious fingers.

A terror so mundane that nothing can stop it.


________________________________________________
the original draft accelerated the level of absurdity of the situation, and in this version I tried to reign it in a bit, cutting lines like "Jesus goes back and un-dies for all our sins," just because that sort of goofing tends to be a well I go to a lot. But I'm not sure-- kinda miss that ramp up. 

Candles (rough)

A circle of cops

Point guns at

A baby.

                                    This room, shadows.
                                    So many
                                    Unlit
                                    Lamps.


Daylight not worth saving.

Always Be Closing (rough)

it was a movie I'd only seen GIFs of, but it's taught me a lot about the world, success, and how
success gets defined in captioned headbursts. I have coffee. I have steakknives.
I have a David Mamet T-shirt and a woody allen haircut and a
Shyamalan twist ending. We welcome these words when
accompanied by celebrity spit takes, because, as
the man constantly points out this is the world
 we live in now, and furthermore, why not? 

We are transcending transcendence.
It's cool, man.
In a TV show I've only heard the drop-lines from, very serious lessons about
being a bad ass. Its important to live life to the fullest, which means lots
of squinting, punching.

Think, think, think, shout. Repeat. 

In the twist ending I am revealed to be nothing more than a
scarecrow that was brought to life by a bolt of lightning
created by aliens who believe in Jesus. 

This will not happen for a while yet, so pay no attention to the straw that I trail behind me, 

the way that it's constantly catching fire. 

Redesigned a million times before.

So between poeming, storying, laptop-not-having, and delaying inevitable "here's what's going on in my life I know I've neglected the blog but trust me you don't really want inside this head right now oh no that sounded way more ominous than I meant it to" post(s?) not much has gone on here in the last few months.

I've got plenty of things I want to write about for the Trains and Tall Buildings series, some of the aforementioned life updates, and a few more drafts of poems to throw at the wall and see if they stick. But the perfect is perpetually the enemy of the good, so here's a couple quickies--

I'm writing music reviews again.

I sent out the proofs to Alice Blue, and will have a new chapbook as part of the Shotgun Wedding Imprint of Alice Blue. It's called The Third Best of Possible Outcomes. I'm also re-drafting one I wrote last year (mainly in post-work whiskey-fueled sessions when my laptop worked) and trying to polish it up.

I'm ZAPPing again.

This all will be easier once I re-laptop, but as is, the gentle scent of metal, stale beer(!) and humanness surrounds me in the Seattle Public Library.

Some productivity jams:



later, but not much.

Treatise/Treaties (rough)

A treatise on spiced
pork shoulder, the correct
way for a sandwich to
fall apart:

in your hands, before biting.
dripping down Denny, spreading
lettuce with my gait, I am in
no hurry to get anywhere:

I am in a hurry to get 
everywhere. 

Half recollected bounce back
of a Ludacris song. Wind chimes
in the city like phone
dings. A future child
mocks the tortured novelty
of ringtones:

Why would you- how could you-
possibly think that was
cool?

Down the hill and up again,
ten dollar street food, plastic
fork. Ten miles between trash
cans.

Clouds and heat disagree,
there is no truce in the weather,
there is no energy in this protein
there is no welcoming handshake
at my destination:

dirge, dirge, dirge.