my    E l e c t r o n i c     pen                                               d|e|c|e|m|b|er|r    2 0 1 3                                                   i    n  d  e  x  

Archiving

CHRISTMAS

ER 18

December nineteenth

5:47AM
predictions of a snowstorm with alot of uncertainty, does not a snowstorm make.
need a new file


Christmas mEo

DECEMBER 18

5:25AM
what's in a  vow
and i cannot write that, even
wide awake too early, poots is itchy, as she curses the keyboard, her nails, and the way seamonkey manages paragraphs.

this old building aches and groans as the temperature outside hovers in the deep freeze.
the whiteness outside, before Christmas, reminds us of home; but a home we only used to know.
little Gabriel enters a world of winter in his home and native land,
for now, bless his little heart, bless the breasts he might one day hold,
and may he always hang up his coat so carefully.

the fierce weather unites us; perhaps it's the last of naturally created conditions to do so;
no matter how many mEp years pass, when we are collectively cold, a vulnerability sets in which we grapple with together.
for a few moments, anyway.

we may not have bargained for this premature blanket, this clean, cold, shroud.
it's only temporary, and in spring flowers will bloom again.
and i say this not because i have disdain for it;
on the contrary, what allows me to say this is the appreciation for a binding substance; a commonality, a starting point.
with winter, our homes grow dearer, our boots imperative, and our roofs a luxury.

yeah, the nails are tacky. i know. 'to everything turn turn turn'

(insert some vows here)
no, i never vowed for that.





 .





DECEMBER 16th
once you've sorted through a life,
there's not much left to say.
you thinks about Alife, about shards of papers,
and then starting all over again.




deciding what should be archived is easy, everything.
deciding how to label the boxes... difficult.

as i open boxes containing objects i don't recall, the importance of archiving fades.
the pigs are meaningless, as are the objects above, and then if one is meaningless,
so are they all. this photo is particularly meaningless so i have chosen to include it here.
maybe photos are all anyone really needs. it could be an electronic archive....
no moths, that way.

go to work poots. go earn your zeros, spend them, eat them, wrap them.

not sure what for.

---

DECEMBER 5th 7:-05 AM red isn't working for me. on many levels.

no amount of poetry is working this morning;
my mepworld clashes with realworld today,
even though all time is mine now, early, as mostly buses go by.
i live on a street where a bus passes. i made it. i just noticed.

poots has never read the book AND seen the movie.
either it's is a book; or it's a movie. you can't be both.

and any preample here, introduces only december 5th ,
bad colours and all, outstanding bills and all ,
conversations with lawyers and all ,
as today is the day that the laughing lady goes under the knife (her words).
and as hard as i try, when i think of today, buses, netfilx, coffee, moth and all,
the only thing that comes to mind is that
i have the great luxury,
to be not the lady from up the street,
 laughing nervously before her breasts are surgically removed,
in an attempt to save the rest of her.




...

i'm working on the official archives.
acid-free boxes are involved.



















 DECEMBER 1 710am  ONLY IN THE MEP DO MEPTHOUGHTS COME.
IS THIS MY YOGA, MY MARATHON?
HEATERS HUM AS  I PUT PEN TO PAPER, RED EVEN, WHILE MY SCREEN BARELY WEEPS,
AND A SCANT NIGHT OF GOOD SLEEP, ONE INTO THE OTHER, CLARIFIES ONCE AGAIN,
WHO I AM.

edging up slowly the dimmer,
poots moves to words sunday,
my own words come to me now
as i repeat, 'winter now has rocked us to sleep'
dreams of a housewife's house,
cozy endless backyards, tennis, and guests.