August 2016
                the MBTI days.

September fell in

august 31

Excerpt from "The Things They Carried" by Tim O'brien (1990)

"A true war story is never moral. It does not instruct, nor encourage virtue, nor suggest models of proper
 human behavior, nor restrain men from doing the things men had always done. If a story seems moral,
do not believe it. If at the end of the war story you feel uplifted, or if you feel that some small bit of rectitude
has been salvaged from the larger waste, then you have been made the victim or a very old and terrible lie. "

August 25

a poot is chewing, waking, sipping.
time between 7 and 8 am shrinks quickly as i age.
my first restaurant review is rudimentary, only mildly funny, and perhaps a tad to long.
a Swiss man placed the morning paper carefully in the bathroom;
this is what he does when he thinks he may leave the house before me;
or when he does.
it is an act of love.

today, being the bigger of the two paydays, is normally the time to pay the bills.
today, being payday, is the time to gobble gobble either a funeral bill, or a ticket to Brazil.

a glance at the time above right, means hurry poots; no time to contemplate mbti, infp funerals, discussions about anger,
or living in your new found world of sensors: i want to say a weird similarity between seeing sensors and dead people.


aug. 24

i've never had a Chinese friend.
being called on my birthday is quite enough.
the crazy fucking squirrels are back.


aug. 23

loudly saws grind outside my window, on this day of my birth, and stories about birthdays come to the fore of my mind;

my father bought my mother gold she didn't want long past the time required for buying lavish birthday gifts.

that is the correct way to have a wife.

aug 19

i'm writing novels in my mind;

perhaps i have a muse

aug 16

a late summer tuesday evening...

the INFPs discuss the right to die:
it's the time of year i wonder if i've forgotten an important birthday:
and the rain pounds down on the pavement even after i'm no longer on it.

funnily, i follow the conversations of the youth as though i never was one,
when the truth is, i never knew anyone who wanted to talk about anything.
i wonder what they think of this old ENTJ lady even though they don't know i'm ENTJ.

aug 14

the morning pages lady wants me to be angry in the morning;
 yet i want nothing of the sort.

aug 13

the world was so bad at being kind that i became an ENTJ.
everyone is so afraid of connection that they push me away.
i return time and time again.
they push.
if only they knew what i knew.
if only they could see the things that i see.

aug 12
8:08 am - realigning.

will this be another lame one liner or can i jog my brain into saying something useful.
heat ensues; planes take off; friday.

it's another "summer" come and gone - my seeing the world with her worldview ENTJ daughter only recently stopped referring to summer as the period of time that the 'kids' are here. you know me i avoid touching my Fi purposefully.
crying means i made a bad choice.

let's formulate a cohesive thought as my brain darts from one thing to another
breasts laid bare in this golden summer heat, in my first empy-housed dream
i was peeing and was asked to wipe the seat. not that i've ever peed on the seat.

the silence i knew before my coffee persists once i set the mug back down.

the Swiss man had a strange birthday at an airport,
the folded towels will remain folded,
the skateboards will stay in the front porch,
the car will get an alignment,
but who will realign us.

and we water the grass she never let us step on.
empathy always helps me to realign.

aug 9
b.c. (before coffee)

moving slowly and deciding between working form home or making the trek.


one sip of this syrupy java and away we go.

aug 4

i know what keeps me sane and it's not you