My Daily Day

Thursday, February 23, 2006

On Thursday, February 23, 2006
he thought about the house where he grew up. Time was something colossal and fragile, and although he could remember any one of thousands of things if provoked, at this moment he thought about late summer evenings, with the sky going orange yellow, and the green yards deepening with the faltering light, and the insects hovering in the air, and many other sources of happiness. People carry a lot inside.

On Wednesday, February 22, 2006
the old trees torn to soil
and the new trees blindly grew
the forest feeds itself without
a single eye on you

the unrepentent highway
standing at the broken shoulder
in speeding traffic you became
a war with just one soldier

On Tuesday, February 21, 2006
it's easy to forget we're biological. That we're a species, an animal, that clothes and magazines and punk rock and supreme courts and street lights are all aberations in a sense. These days, 98% of my environment is man-made.

On Monday, February 20, 2006
on yelling and making motions: of course I made a joke out of it. The point is fun and fun can't be pre-meditated or it's not fun. It's something else, something enjoyable perhaps but scripted. Of course I thought of this all much later. I tend to waver in conflict. I don't fare so well in a fight, because I don't believe it's worth fighting over, which is almost always.

On Sunday, February 19, 2006
he became the atmosphere. He turned in his sleep. By circulation and currents, the temperatures shifted and water traveled. The border with open space was vague and gradual. Distance was certain.

On Saturday, February 18, 2006
under two miles of glacial ice, the river valley took shape. Bedrock scoured, primed for deep millenia, the slow recession and gradual warmth, the dropped boulders, outwash, morraines. The people came much, much later, and their houses pretended to last.

On Friday, February 17, 2006
moss grew on the finish line. The bleachers were in ruins. Somewhere, an answering machine repeated its greeting, carried on a wet wind. We slept in stones.

On Thursday, February 16, 2006
he received a letter in the mail. It began, "I have made no new enemies for a week."

On Wednesday, February 15, 2006
a little learning proved a dangerous thing.

On Tuesday, February 14, 2006
construction cranes came out of the water. The cell phone held at arm's length, where it looked like an unfamiliar object. Our reflection in the darkened television. I guess there's no difference between a famous life and a normal life, except that a famous life is better documented. You see the country? I have cabin fever within the geographical confines of the continental United States.

On Monday, February 13, 2006
movement was motionless. Stillness was breakneck. Stasis was frantic.

On Sunday, February 12, 2006
he realized he was really out of touch with updating the blog. Rather than attempt to make up five months of negligence, he figured he'd rather just fill in the blanks with pseudo-intellectual babble. You know, meaningless gobbly-gook? Cryptic mumbo-jumbo? Cause that's what he's good at.

On Saturday, February 11, 2006
the television and the internet shook hands. The night was theirs once again.