i dont wear those jeans anymore, but they're on the clothes line and a bird took a shit on them - they're left out there now and none of us know what to do with them - run hail and shine all in the last week, and now they're getting shat on - i can see them from my kitchen window, hanging in dusk's spring air as i do the dishes before dinner - later i go outside and fill up the bird feeder with seed - pretending to ignore my old jeans with bird-shit on them
monday night - lets call it champange night - forget bowling and mrs jenkins knitting class - every monday night for the rest of my life i want to pop the cork on a bottle of chilly chilled champagne and drink with loved ones and succumb to the bubbles, pop and fizz of meaningless celebration - everyday is a funeral - everyday is sleep's tool - what can i do to make sure i'll be tired tonight? - and so now champagne is in my life i'll sip it slowly and think and speak without any thought of my artistic destinations - beer is the tool of art, and that's something i stand by, and something that i want and allow to interact with and influence my art - i don't want my loves and loathes and problems and probes to have anything to do with my course - i want to be universal, and understand the existance of myself on a universal level - this, i swear, is something i ponder for the majority of my waking life - some say taking photos of yourself, or making vidoes of yourself, or writing about yourself within yourself, is conceited - arrogant and up oneself - i look at those young men styled out like idiots singing songs - on a stage - in front of a crowd - expecting the world to give a shit about how they feel about some girl, or how heartbroken they are - or how that they've somehow found something worth telling me/singing to me for $15 and two hours of my time - i may write about myself and my unique situation here but you're reading this at your own free will - i don't promote - this is written and thought about behind backs and in alley ways and in the corners of the bars and pubs that they're now too cool to go into - nothing, unless it's secret
im on the wrong side of the week right now, and i always learn from the neverland - i've learnt what people want and what they want to hear - all type of people walking this earth, and im pretty sure i know what they want - and so i give it to them - a small price to pay for my quiet and mystical times alone - like just last saturday, i knew lady-elle had things she needed to do, and so i let her be and walked outside - we were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and untouched australian bush-land - i walked through the trees and shrubs and spooked the kangaroos and discovered creeks and perfeft little spots to rest and lie down, and logs to rest my head on and drift into easy thought - sometimes it would rain and so i wore my big jacket tight and found a tree or bush to shelter underneath - soon again id be on my way to find a spot by the creek to lie down and think about how amazing my life is, and how amazing and - crazy - trees are - i pick up and small stick and study the particulars of it, and think about how things within nature were the cause of all the little imperfections and unique divits and grooves and bends and twigs - if every twig and stick if as different as the one i found, then surely something as complex as human beings should be to - sadly, we're not - thanks to each other, and the safety and security we find and depend upon in each other - thus, my teasured time alone
where was i? what was i saying? the word of god? of course, as always...
i spent maybe an 45 minutes to an hour of my time looking for a copy of m.gira's the consumer but could only rarely find it anything below one hundred dollars - eighty five if you can read german - i even looked and tried to find someone who had it up for some kind of illegal legal download - not much luck - i had a tattered photocopy of three of m.gira's short stories in my leather jacket pocket that j had sent me some time earlier - stories i loved, and envied at first read - i'd often pull out those tattered and tarted short stories from my leather jacket and read them to remind myself who i truly am and where i should be pushing myself and my mind in times of doubt - like on the train - in line at the supermarket - weddings - and so i couldn't find a copy that would be mine - i found a couple of other books i wanted- w.vlautin's new one, and stasiland - and last week i wrote of conicidences and sent it to j and someone else on i don't really know on the train - and so really, i should've known that at that very moment, while i was looking for a copy of m.gira's the consumer, my friend and brother and partner in grit - j - was mailing a copy of m.gira's the consumer to my home address - i should've known - i feel the word and hand of god now as i hold the book in my hands - i plan on must sending it back tp j knowing all well it must be rare, even in our relationship - though before i do, i'm going to obsorb, read, study and open myself to the consumer - on the train, in line at the supermarket - weddings
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