Stationary Unicycle

Again, I find myself alone, away from home, away from the distractions of home, surrounded by distractions of another sort, loud people, a woman who can't seem to tolerate being quiet. She's talking loudly on her cell phone to someone who obviously doesn't want to be talking to her. I have spent the better part of two hours trying to write a piece about violence against women and I wound up with a tangled mess that I will have to sort out later. Or not. Somehow or other everything I pick up resists being distilled, refuses to be simplified or extricated from every other thing in the universe. This turns writing projects into something far too complex to grapple with in a coherent way. Sitting here wondering. Shit. The lady and her fucking phone. She's got her lunch but she can't stand the idea of eating alone, chewing with her mouth closed and so she is, if I am not mistaken, flipping through her contact list, fishing for someone she can talk to while she ...

Thin copper wire winding thin as thread winding light and cool against skin it assumes your heat it absorbs your heat it uses your heat it becomes hot to the touch it burns you days pass you spin always winding the grasp of hot wire pinning arms tight immobile unwinding the infinite spool and you the bobbin draw the wire tighter closer you wonder was there a time before spinning recollect reckon smoke memory of  time before immobility before constraint stop turn in a different direction slowly turn begin the unwinding return the binding wire to the spool shake sleeping limbs back to feeling  

The phrase, walking on egg shells, I hear it and I always imagine a vast desert expanse of small fragile empty domed shells, like skulls bleached white by sun, and my feet in big shoes, the brittle cracking, as I make my way. To walk on egg shells is to break them like mirrors. There is no need to step lightly. The path I leave behind is dry white dust. And perhaps eventually I find my way to the sea, where underfoot the rocks are slick like fish and glossy wet with algae and salt water. And maybe I slip and cut my hands as I try to catch myself, and I realize I'm still walking on shells only these shells contain small living things, sharp beaked barnacles, soft bodied periwinkles coiled in their miniature carapacial sworls , and muscles sealed tight within their black cases. To continue to walk across the rocks is to continue to slip and fall and every step leaves behind small dead things, and so I feel compelled to walk into the cold black water.

     I don't believe in God.       If I lived in  Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, Iran, Afghanistan, Sudan, Mauritania, or the Maldives speaking those words, writing those words, is a crime that comes with a death sentence.      I'm pretty sure that nobody is going to try to jail me and execute me for making my statement of non-belief here in the United States. At least not today.          Despite the  “No Religious Test Clause” of the United States Constitution, Article VI, paragraph 3, which states: "... no religious test shall ever be required as a qualification to any office or public trust under the United States "   as a self avowed Atheist, it is illegal for me to run for office in Arkansas, Mississippi, North Carolina, South Carolina, Tennessee, and Texas.      Of course I don't live in any of those places, so, whatever, right? But if certain politi...

Well, I knew this was a mistake. I thought, hey, I've got a chance for some alone time, some time maybe to write a blog post. I know, I'll head to Bagel Central and suck down a cup of coffee and an Orangina and maybe think some thoughts, maybe write some stuff. I've had a lot on my mind. I thought I might have a moment to put some things in perspective, pound out some of the things that have been preying on my mind. First thing I notice, an old boyfriend. It's been such a long time it's no big deal, but whenever I see him I always think, oh, right. Hello, old boyfriend. The second thing that smacks me upside the head once I find a nice open little table to settle is that one of the ladies sitting directly in front of me is LOUD. One of the things I really hate, and by hate I mean FUCKING HATEHATEHATEHATE GODDAMN IT!!!!!  sorry, one of the things that sort of peeves me ever so slightly, people who talk so fucking loud you can't hear yourself think, beca...

I am feeling really shitty. I'm listening to Lonely Boy by the Black Keys compulsively. That's a good sign. Thinking that Jack White would do well to toss aside his very awesome band and pare back his sound. Do it for me Jackie White, do it for me. Now I laugh hysterically. Because I'm a little speck that's why. And also apparently sort of crazy. One of the big signs of depression is not enjoying stuff that used to be fun. I am there. Feeling adrift, unmoored, uprooted, spilled, spent, done in and done for. Not really. Really feeling like nothing at all. This is a slight improvement. Compared to the feeling I'd been having recently, the feeling of a 9 volt battery on the tongue feeling, nothing is better. Maybe there is some surcease ahead.   Been thinking about bullying in schools, and reading to kids, and Roald Dahl, and public school teachers, and family, and childhood depression, and all sorts of things, but haven't had the energy to ...

There is music What else is there to say I'm pretty close to cracking up. My ability to function well enough is compromised and I am in danger of falling below a certain standard of acceptability. There have been times when I've been so depressed that if breathing wasn't autonomic I wouldn't have bothered to keep up with the inhalations and exhalations. Too much effort. Too much trouble. I'm not depressed, not really. But I am emotionally wrought, physically exhausted, and I feel as though I'm being swept away in a wash of what the fuck. I feel like I've been pushing walls, or am I holding them up, I don't remember anymore what I'm doing. After a while I get all numb and tired. That's where I am tonight. Something about Chet Baker. Makes me feel better. His voice even more than his playing moves me. It's very something...to try to describe it makes me sound like a bigger moron than I am. So I won't even go there. If you ...