this morning the pavement, all stuck slick with ice and the history of yesterday's sunshines and the friction of feet, didn't reveal itself to me -- didn't hush out secrets during my short blinding walk from the car across the quads to the building. only grey skies. balance. back-ground-noise. i wondered what i thought about a year ago on this day. then felt the tremor of gratefulness -- not able to recall. most instances bring something to remember forever. low cold skies. a new scarf. the weight of this old misshapen loop on my right hand. the smell of you -- just from the shower.

today is mine. and i wish everyone love that feels soft and unforgettable like vanilla scented kisses.

at -21 degrees F this morning, i thought
this sucks

no matter how much snow falls
you couldn't get to me anyway.

i miss the way you know how to fill the ice cube trays.
the way you always make sure it's done.

okay, so maybe this is too much information

(so, then stop reading)

but i swear to god -- mornings feel so empty and useless without good sex and strong coffee

the way life goes when you can't capture it in photos

the morning after the funeral
under brilliant blues
and the heavy bright sun
the frost lingered still
those few flowers seemingly sugar coated
and suddenly everything was right with the world
love made all the colors remember what they were before

tributes: with the love of life and days soaked with rain

h. died today. my father. my friend.
and i miss the force of love and wonderful laughter that he brought into the world.
i'm already writing his eulogy in my head--
it has something to do with the magic contained in the corner of every smile he made
and the way he looked at me with pride and satisfaction--no matter what.
his stories always filled me with love.
and tonight, i know that any words that i could express are contained completely within the whole of my heart.
he is and will always be the truest sense of love and adoration that makes a life worth living.
and i salute the legacy that he brought into the lives of so many people and the love he gave so selflessly to anyone who ever knew him.

i love you h.
for everything that you are.
and for everything that you hoped for me to be.

i love you.

the logical flow of conversation conversions [or] 40 yards = 3.86616883 × 10^(-15) light years

me:
i'm trying to yards to something
him:
to what?
me:
i just tried miles and that worked
me:
but it's too big, yeah?
me:
cause that's 0.0227 miles
me:
which doesn't make much sense
me:
120 feet
him:
40 yards is 120 feet, right
me:
yes
him:
1 yard = 3 feet
me:
thanks
me:
i didn't know that
him:
got more of an idea of what it looks like now?
me:
i can't picture how far 120 feet would be
me:
one city block?
me:
two?
him:
imagine you had 240 copies of me
him:
kiss them all

from The Collected Poems of Octavio Paz: 1957-1987

excerpt from “Blanco” (if only because I can’t present the whole thing)

[. . .]
No and Yes
together
two syllables in love

If the world is real
the world is unreal
If the world is real
the world
is the cleft the splendor the whirl
No
Disappearances and appearances
Yes
the tree of names
Real unreal
are words
they are air nothing

Unreal
speech
brings reality to silence
Keeping still
is a strand of language
silence
seal
scintilla
on the forehead
on the lips
before it evaporates
Appearances and disappearances
Reality and its resurrections
Silence rests in speech

The spirit
is an invention of the body
The body
is an invention of the world
The world
Is an invention of the spirit
No Yes
The unreality of the seen
transparency is all that remains
Your footsteps in the next room
The green thunder
Ripening
In the foliage of the sky
You are naked
like a syllable
like a flame
an island of flames
the passion of compassionate coals
The world
a bundle of your images
drowned in music
Your body
spilled on my body
seen
dissolved
brings reality to seeing

according to the phone LCD it's my birthday

so, happy birthday i say
into the phone
into the answering machine
borrowed long-distance minutes
with my back against the cold steely door
the last stall -- far left side
third floor
sitting on the mud grey tiles
echoing my way across the country
all i want is to stop crying
press the flesh of my right middle finger into the grout line
and wonder in these short instances between pulse and silence how to stop the spin that takes hold with my eyes closed
remember the time you fell asleep with the light on?
i say it because i want him to answer the phone
because i want someone to tell me that i'm a stupidfuck
mostly, i want to talk out loud
make things real
he picks up and knows
i cry into the phone
long slow sobs that make me cold all the way through
i forget where i am
he says stuff i should have known already
tells me to stop crying
and to stop talking so fucking much
just fucking shut up for a second
he whispers
i hang up the line
and wonder when i became such a ridiculous person
so emotionally unchecked
suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to walk without direction
i'm giving up
i'm tired of crying

i just broke my keychain
guess that's what happens when you throw your keys across the room

slept from 9:30 to 11:00

otherwise, since 5:30 a.m. i've been dumbly carrying the phone around
clutching it -- as if i were actually waiting for someone to call
walking without reason from room to room
and staring for long stretches of time out the windows
into nothing

fingering the key ring and waiting for cabs in the dark

today is just one of those days that is going to be incredibly difficult to get through. i can't yet even contemplate moving the mouse to the other side of the keyboard. i can't stop hearing you move from other rooms of this house. i can't figure out where all that time went. you're barely just gone.

jinxed juice: attack of the fruit punch

there's a mouse pad in my dish drainer
and it seems that cooking frozen pizza* has been the most difficult dinner yet this week**

* third time's a charm [?]
** comparisons were real meals -- made from scratch. honest.

water on the brain -- maybe it's just me, but

i wonder why the possibility of truth seems so much easier to say outloud
when i'm standing alone in the shower

odd momentary lapses of reason and clarity

sometimes i think about you -- walking down the aisles of the grocery store --
unaware
that what i'm seeing -- is the person i want to be sitting across from at meals
for as long as humanly possible.

[days spent with you are never moments fading into nothing.]

it's quite

all unimportant--
isn't it?
now --
the abiltiy to tell
vodka from red wine.
it has something to do with the difference between the
a in allusion and the i in illusion
and the riduculous nature around which we've based it all
at all.

there's something you know
that i know
and that makes it all make sense
in the end.

if i said i love you
i would say it now
...
~

* i said i wasn't writing anything significant. and this is it -- surely.

snow-bows

the sun's out against the snow--
that just doesn't seem to want to stop falling from the sky.
i want to go out and play in it until my toes are numb
then drink hot cocoa -- eat freshly baked cookies
and take a nap in the sunny spot near the window.

house guest haiku

taxi scheduled
house as clean as it's getting
anticipation

mostly i don't know much of anything

these days.
sometimes i wish that a smile could stop time
stop it right there so that i could jump into the frame
draw round the new space created
like a circle to close us both up
but i always seem to draw the line just on the other side
left me out.

here's to

a low key night with excellent friends to ring in the new year.
waking up late and going for a fabulous breakfast--after noon.

happy new year all.

more soonish.
(k)