teknine.com :: superstupidfeed

We wrote the piece; a bricklaid down to sleep—
thru the window. wrapped in thick brown paper.
she slips; listed, listing left finally coll
apsing.
       on.
the stairs withoutlessthanaheavysigh of
 desperation.
hands me the violin on which i remember
i know no notes.
(INVENT!but w/o circumvention!or retention!)

—The whole damn thing spirals out of control. Slippery slope, whirlpool, the works; like a giant sucking machine slurping the worst of it all—whooosh—right down it's gullet. So what now? we ask ourselves. Heh, nothing to do but write notes about the experience to ourselves on post-its; black ink scattered across the surface, invariably congregating in the lower right corner like a... a... like a—OH what's the use? Really?

She told me once, You've got to stop the daydreaming. You've got to take a deep breath, open your eyes and get a grip on reality. Because it's screaming past you so fast you're spinning in circles, facing a completely different direction than the one you started in. And so you're not making any progress. No progress whatsoever.

But it doesn't really matter because I've got no GOAL, thus no PATH to it. I'm kind of just letting these things happen. Trusting in SOMETHING to happen—

You are at home, standing in front of your kitchen stove, trying to remember where you put your keys (they're on the console table by the front door, where you've always intended to keep them but never remember to). You're really in a terrific hurry, but a totally unmotivated one. Like having to go to work on a weekend. Or maybe shopping for something stupid but necessary, like a new razor or something. And you've only got a few minutes to spare. And then you finally remember where your keys are and so you go do whatever it is you needed to do and it's just like that. Absolutely, totally, insanely uneventful.

Anyways, that's pretty much how things are with me. How 'bout you?