18/30: TFW: TBT/FBF

Never underestimate your capacity for:

                                           creative cosplay

                                           the duckface you mock in others

                                           hair so bad you swore never again until today,

                                           then, the mirror, the howcomenoonetoldme?

Never overestimate the social market for:

                                          creative duckface

                                          the cosplay you mock in others

                                          eyehangs so bad you swear next time will be sun

                                          glasses, or more water, or sleep, or no allergies.

Okay, fine.

It was the summer of pastel sweaters, went so

far to flirt with polos, didn't like yacht rock but

wanted invites to the parties. didn't have a 401K

but could agree about Murakami and headfake through

a conversation about Rose. far less responses to 

this post from when, but you were less connected then/

whatever

happened to that scarf?

Never underestimate your capacity for:

                                               nostalgia for coping-benders

                                               nostalgia for drunk poetry readings and the afterlaughs

                                               nostalgia for inadequate grocery stores

                                               nostalgia for the people with the droning speech and 

                                               single college anecdote 

soyoungthen.

Never overestimate your tendency to:

                                              overfilter photographs of milk/ cookies.

                                              self-congratulate for reality television

                                              idle judgement on a brew of coffee as your frozen

                                              pizza burns.

but at least I--

It was the winter of mixed drinks. like most winters,

punctuated by January's forced moderation and the 

half-week of snowball fights. the best thing about it,

even then, were the pictures of friends, best ones,

collapsed in banks outside rest areas. action shots

snowballs quick and in-frame. that was a time ago,

now, algorithm calculated for nostalgia,

for when it snowed,

when we were

there, naming our adventures

when that was even a frame

we'd all be in.

 

               .                                

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. 

2/30! The Knives Are So Sharp Because the Stakes Are So Low!

The Knives Are So Sharp Because the Stakes Are So Low

Terra cotta attack dogs/bomb(s in) every library.
the only thing we (have to) say regards legitimacy,
but you're carving down/(c/should
be) punching up.

brutalist watchtower/gatekeeper.
naturalist's flowering rebuttals.

I had a friend once, the novelist said, and we were surprised
enough at that to miss the rest of the anecdote.
I had an enemy once, the poet replied, and we gathered
by the campfire, sharpening up our tongs.

this is integral, the cannon's fire,
the statues raised/toppled/razed.

modernism and feral cats/atomic slushpiles.

This is no laughing matter. This is no simple grudge.
This is (g)war. You hear me?
Literally dozens of mid-level careers have potential
to be nominally effected by what we find in this rubble.

Georgian arches burnt crisp. A flag we wave,
passing (up/in/over) the halls of
crunched paper.

This still

exists. that is all. late night is not conducive.

2013: Internet Stats

in 2013, I posted 58 times on this blogspot. This is down by five from 2012, when I posted 63 times, and down by 18 from 2011, when I posted 86 times on this blog. 2011, so far, is the record for posts-per-year since I started writing here (instead of Livejournal(!)) in late 2007, when blogging still seemed an artistic and expressive form instead of being Crucial to Maximizing and Maintaining a Strong Internet Presence.
The most read post this year was my Next Big Thing Interview in February, right before the release of FJGTPL. The second most read was when I wrote about the end of the Greenwood Lit Crawl, which makes me happy, since it was a piece of communication I put some work and thought into, and is perhaps my favorite of the informational blog posts from this year.
The month with the greatest number of posts (nearly a third of them from 2013) is April, due to NaPoWriMo. I still mine that repository of near-finished poems and half ideas for inspiration or pet rocks worth polishing.
Most of the traffic came from instances where I posted a link to this blog on Facebook, though some reroutes from SPLAB and Wonder And Risk came a close second.
I make no promises about whether this year will continue a downward trend in posting habits, or will reverse it. But this is the information as it stands. Deduce what you will about my life from it.

#20: No Room For Interpretive Dance

Room For: THE END OF THE GOAT
Co ORGANIZERS COCK
COCK
COCK
COCK
A SLINKY LITTLE DRESS
A FAMILIAR COUNCIL, TIRED BUT AMAZING IN THEIR WONDERWOMAN COSTUMES TELLING PEOPLE ABOUT BUDGET SHORTFALLS OVER DONUTS. STRAWBERY ONES.

(a man on a train, filling a crossword)

POETS REGRETTING IT ALREADY
THE BEAST__ RIDE IT___ IT'S ONLY A YAK. DON'T BE SAD. EVERYONE LOVES YAKS.
NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR DEGREE!!!!
DOCTOR NOISE HAS COLLAPSED IN YOUR ROOM AND DOESN'T WANT YOU TO WAKE HIM UP UNTIL THERE ARE HOT NOISE BAND CHICKS IN HIS ROOM WEARING ONLY ELECTRICAL TAPE.

(there are no such things as hot noise band chicks.)

(they prefer to be known as burlesque dancers)

FUCK FUCK FUCK

THE SHOWER HAS BROKEN. THE MEXICAN FOOD PLACES ARE SILL PEN WE MUST GO WHEN DRUNK THIS IS CHICAGO AND WE LOVE BEANS. DEAMONSEED. WHAT?

A MAN COMPLIMENTS THE HORN SECTION WHILE WE PRETEND
THAT THIS IS SEATTLE AND NO OLD PEOPLE ARE SAD OR GET DRUNK.

FEET FEET FEET> FUCKING> TEN PEOPLE IN AN ELEVATOR---

It'll take a couple days to get how I want it to look, but

grahamisaac.com now exists.

Recap in Eleven Sentences.

If I had the technology, the know-how, the patience, there'd be a graph with several arrows and a few would bounce straight along, a couple would shoot towards the top line-markers and the rest would drop right off.

The more I am blessed/burdened with the cars of others, the less I want one for myself, as a solo individual. Kids, family, these potential eventualities could dictate otherwise, but there's a certain yoke-around-the-neck about having a car, despite the obvious opportunities it affords. It is bad enough having a phone.

There were a lot of poems I meant to write.

There were a lot of albums I meant to hear.

The world does not seem to want us on it any more.

Currently, this day, this moment, I have a hard time picturing "fun" tonight; there's so much I have to do and only some of it have I any clue how. I tend to consistently resent the holidays for draining me of all financial, emotional and energy resources right before I'm supposed to really focus on goals that remain a good climb away.

There were a lot of movies I thought might be kind of nice to see, but knew for sure I wouldn't have the time or money.

All that said, I'm taking aim; it always takes longer than one thinks, but that doesn't mean it won't happen.

Field of Memes

or RobotmonkeybadgerninjaBACONLOLZ

When the robots finally come for you,
probe you with lasers and stick needles
in you and look nothing like R2 d2 Or
the giant bugs from the Matrix
you, for one, will not be pleased to
welcome your new robot masters,
you will be crying and blubbering
And it will totally compute.

And I've seen you play baseball--
the Zombie apocalypse will not be
"awesome"
you will get your face ripped off.
not awesome.

Because the vampires were to be expected,
always a compendium of handsome assholes,
just enough gore and guts to grab the guys, too,
and werewolves have always been a bit goofy,
a metaphor for alcoholism or whatever.
but
seriously
really
literally
inserting "monkeys"
is not
random
that isn't what it means.

I get it-- I'm late to the joke, late to the disdainparty
and the subsequent "What does this say about our SOCIETY"
blog posts by people for whom pop culture is not a relevant
reference point, it is
their ONLY reference point-
so wear your
owldolphin sweatshirt
while eating chocolate bacon,
posting funny cat pics,
while reading Gorilla Vs. Bear
and naming your band
Badger Shark
but when the jokes
run out
and you have to go outside
and you wonder
why
nothing feels good
it's because you've finally done it.
you've really, finally, truly done it.


you've even ruined
animals.