July      2 0 1 6
            
      
                            my Electronic pen







JULY 17
  10:02 am
  is a teenager poetic


at nine and a half, laura seems big to play with bath toys;
but i can't seem to recall much about when chloe stopped taking baths;
i can't recall the last time i nagged her to take one, maybe it was a lifetime ago,
while yesterday we weren't allowed to leave the house until she did.i suppose i could forgive my mother for not remembering what to do with an infant after 37 years;


this old body drinks in the sunday morning silence deeply and quickly;
it will soon be broken; an amazing Swiss man snores gently under 3 pillows to my right,  and the world outside begins to churn itself awake.

a birthday haul for a 14 year old in 2016 includes many 'basic' things.
money is one of them. lots. and lots. of money.




JULY 15
8:56 am

 
harping still, over unmet needs, the middle of july rains down upon us.
the children's summer visits become more normal with each passing year,
and sometimes it feels that this is the only normal.






JULY 13
7:46 am

 

this old body bends halfway and sits. there are new creases by the month, it seems, but on this day, merely sitting upright with my folds, seems good enough. yes there are leftover pockets of sore brain and a mild squeezing sensation at the very top of my cranium, but the middle brain and the frontal cortex seem alert enough to deal with what needs to be dealt with today. a yawn escapes as the espresso gurgles and signals its' last gasps for air before it goes silence and i hunt for a mug to dawn the day. as the spoon comes to my mouth for another yawn, i ponder whether or not i should lay back down for just a bit more sleep... maybe if i close my eyes and type.

stumbling through the wide open spaces of the internet, i've found a hollywood song about a man with no legs and pencils.

this old body: still remembers you.

 





















 



JULY 08
7:38 am
on shootings and anger
 
some battles are minor ones, tiptoeing past the guinea pigs with sour coffee, and sitting in this dark place, without causing a stir,
my ears ring louder than all the noises around me combined, including the thoughts in my head,
ring ring ring
shots ring out, what seems like a world away, where Dallatians drive air conditioned cars to air conditioned garages under a hot july sun
and one Canadian i know wonders where her son is i bet
poorly slept with achy teeth (!)  and cold shoulders, doing what i have to do today will be perhaps easier than it was yesterday
i rest my back against this wall while the world moves around outside; and i think about my contingent extroversion;
my changing empathy; the story i will one day tell the INFPs; and a million other things which cannot be said.

is perhaps my inability to speak freely, where my anger lives?














JULY 06
8:04am
the stone in your shoe

  work work work

asdf
asdf
asdf
asdf
asdf

what is the stone in your shoe.









I am driven by my desires







JULY 05
7:40am
a gentler mind today

  cigarette smoke stuck in my nostrils
a man packs up for jogging
a little girl waits to travel to canada
her scribbles get bigger with each passing week
but some peace was won; relative order prevails;
the crises have not changed.

 
hungarian boys at the dinner table

and yet, one hundred things a sensor never thinks

the countdown begins.








JULY 04
8:06am

my mind races as i wake
   a hundreds thoughts a sensor never thinks
from how much i dream to how disinterested i was yesterday
as i watch her take my place and replace me;
if there are wild stories to tell, i thrive. but when conversations swirls around when we last met, i fail, i fear i fail
it zooms to work and back, to running, and smoking,
and how quickly my brain rearranges a situation to maximize the potential joy.
the only option is happiness.


i have dreamed of greater things















"The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference."

"We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented."

"There may be times when we are powerless to prevent injustice, but there must never be a time when we fail to protest."

-Elie Wisel
September 30, 1928 – July 2, 2016




JULY 02
9:25am

protecting the silence between my ears as the mottled gold curtains breathe in the wind;
they billow in counter time with the distant rustling of the now adolescent leaves in the poplars
and i, little poots, sip my sickly sweet espresso as i wake from distant dreams of swimming and choosing a breakfast;
something in my dreams was celebratory, we had discovered or encountered a holy grail of sorts, and i woke satisfied and rested.
thus began saturday, july the second, two-thousand and sixteen.

the swiss man's iphone beckons with a 60% off sale as he reads through his fears;
an unusual amount of cars pass early on a saturday and now a siren. maybe a kitchen fire.
it's a holiday weekend, after all, schedules are askew, tourists clamor, and shops reopen.
sometimes the world brims with perfection; but for hope, there needs to be money,
and this is a lesson unto anyone who wants to listen. you need a job and a good one
and as one can imagine, in the entire u s of A, this hope dwindles and fear sets in.