FEBRUARY    2013

27 jan.

"There's nothing you can do that can't be done.
Nothing you can sing that can't be sung."

sometimes it takes a while for the story to come out. if we talk physicallities today, the conversations will be long.
we must jump right into TED talks and frilly bras.



Nothing you can see that isn't shown.
Nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be.
It's easy.







  26 january 2013

 
sing poots, sing.






  25 january 2013

 
anger is not an emotion.

  23 january 2013

 
today's story is about habits.




















  22 january 2013

 
oh in the night, what is said that can't be said, smoky nights of a million sips, the depth of winter, ungracefully, rocks us.

and morning, bringing ringing ears and gentle wakeups, sickly sweet coffee in the darkness,

mEpwords M.I.A. story of my life. pun intended.

knock the things from your head poots, here is now, it won't come back, it's all in your head.

middle of winter, hah, minus sixty-eight, hah, a week gone by, hah.

mEpping, feels impossible, with Heisenberg around.

hah.












  20 january 2013

  not sure about a spark,
think it's something else
like remembering what started the fire the first time round.

long term memory.



















19 january 2013

  i watch you sleep, you're everyman


to me.








17 january 2013

  sincerity. italian music. hipster glasses.

pillows. guinea pigs. olive oil.

romance. buzzers. does sex make people happier.












16 january 2013

through a thick fog of brainmush, chestmush, and ringing ears, poots drinks coffee.
letting things wash over you, poots, sometimes you have to do this.
'trac' which takes hold, is only in your mind, as Scott Kiloby explains, it truly all is in your mind
and no matter how real, maybe it doesn't exist at all.
here, take that, take indifference, take what you project.

that was the mush story - there are others - which shall remain nameless - and even others still,
about what washes over us, which deep sentiments we choose to drape over our body and souls,
and what we choose to do with those drapes, hanging, at times heavier.

there are calendars to track;
bathrooms to be bought;
and only so much energy in this little poot body for a given thing.
it's not created nor destroyed.
it just is.














9 january  2013
6:55 am - i need a theme here. the basics?



legs a fixed in the dark; bathroom booked; eyeglasses next to a sleeping girl i wish to remain asleep.
the coffee is warm; the spoon annoying; and the heater now hums.
numbers on the clock move forward; scott kiloby comes to mind often, i cite his example, our inability to see us as a self in the current moment,
are in fact exactly what the mEp has always been about. watching our thoughts pass through us from the here and now, it's a priveledge few have,
it's a difficult excercise and getting more difficult.

a cat-arch stretch, dark skies at seven am, winter, yes, rocked us to sleep, boots in tow, sappy sugary coffee tepid at the bottom of the mug says
Poots, it's time to get up. pci dss needs you. and so do they.










  7 january  2013
afraid.









6 january  2013
8: 33 am - human camouflage

my mornings with the pigs; it's always a bit like hiding;
and their squeaking, reveals my cover, disrupts the silence, or wastes vegetables?

arguing with fonts; shoulders square and down; it's actually been a while, don't be fooled.
when i woke up it was sunday; and he wanted to know why i wanted to go to church;
i freaked him out by chatting with the jehovah's. why wouldn't i chat with a friendly peace-loving, gun-hating young couple
who knocks on my door in minus twenty two? is there someone nicer waiting behind them?

<<and then there was the paragraph she snipped out because it simply wasn't hers to tell>>
it's a paragraph about orbitals; guilt; and other stuff.

what is mine to tell? where does the line stop. it's a daily calculation.
get up poots and bring the coffee.


it's the second january in the orange room;
  the coffee's strong
and hot.

the squirrels hover over the birds, the pigs skitter, my body churns, the heater whirrs. lots of words describing movement.
now if only you could picture yourself running ...


thicker flakes falling, the bright red cardinals are no match for the white snow, they've got to be more careful.








4 january  2013


there's not much point being dramatic, life is dramatic enough.

bright red cardinals peck out the last of the feeder's seeds, and why don't i hear a phone dialing.

temperature rising, dark skies, squall forecast.


squall came.
i can't do truth.
i can do books. i can do cranberry sauce. i can do issues logs, same sex marriage, all kinds of things, but telling the perfect truth?
no can do.








"love was made by small and greater forces; not weddings and divorces; all the pretty horses, say it isn't so."
-jillian horton






january 2 2013


i was going to tell a story about a two vacations. in one, there was a dropped bottle of red wine, the other, cut short by a hurricane.
was going to tell the story in grave detail, and juxtapose it to a short trip to new york during which we saw no museums, but lots of toy stores.
this was a story of two ruined vacations, the first one ruined a marriage,but the second, created one.

but then i realized that she probably has her own stories about dropped wine,and then some.
so maybe,just maybe, it's not about dropped wine at all.
maybe it's merely about what you do with second chances.




... So, i ask her, how do you know when you're in a story you shouldn't be in? ... she says 'when you give up yourself' i say 'how do you know when you're giving up
and when you're just compromising?







january 1 2013
truths. can she do it.


something else that i was going to write out loud on either fb or themep.

"mom, you don't know Ingrid very well, do you? you two should get to know each other, bond!"