mEpping in May

May 26
8:41 am
rolling days

hoping no one comes here
i pen a word or two.
summer unfolds out of doors
i am impervious to its sweet breath
deep inhales of a sleeping man
signal life at least
the bottles pile up
with pink and orange pills
and forth

guinea pigs rustle through unread news;
water rustles through overhead pipes;
i often wonder if she is alive or fallen;

May 25
louise 6.0

i should be chronicling things which drain me;
but i side-step; temporary versions of myself
are lost in him...and he is lost inside himself
as i watch.

sleeping turned to staring turned to thinking turned to extra dosages;

it's late.

May 20
on my window.

by seven-oh-five i have my own thoughts. it's rare indeed.
fish water trickles through a filter as music trickles through my mouth
as a Swiss man sleeps. and sleeps. and sleeps. and sleeps.
i wonder how long he will sleep.

May 17
the morning after. the radiators heat.

i dreamed cause you dreamed, and i sat with my favorite teachers in the park.
i lay back my back in an Ikean chair, fishy ticklings to my right;
a bag of walnuts half gone and a very large credit card bill sits unopened, to my left.

how many times have i overturned that divorce
how many drinks shouldn't you have had
i still count
i still remember
what you hid from me
you were also hiding from yourself

you are still, hiding from yourself. i'm quite certain.

the real question is,

am i?


May 16
monday monday

that was a waste of a week
and here, on a platter,
is another.

woke shocked, pumping caffeine through tense veins
as the fish tank leaks.

the INFPs never sleep: they also hate memes : they are an anomaly :

a million coffees won't wake me now
from this stupor of stupid;
how dare you, do this to me, you disorganized company,
how dare you.

May 08
Mother's Day

woke to softly falling rain
was it a dream for a moment i wasn't sure

and after remembering how much time i used to spend shopping for clothes
and realizing i was uncomfortable because nothing ever fits me,
i dreamed about a shop with cotton things no one else had
and a beautiful blouse with the right length sleeves
and brigitte worked there.

then i remembered i had opened the window to hear the screaming kids in the park
wondering if they were mine
causing a rucus
or fighting with the french boy
as an ENTJ would want to do at thirteeen and a half nearly fourteen;
but i had slept so completely, so densely, that this moment, and that of opening the window,
were as though separated by a lifetime;
of which consisted dreams only real in the former life:
of crisp white cotton spun into beautiful designs,
and those friends who are only so wrapped up in their own lives

then i thought about what to write down here in my moment of peace
i guess i said everything i had to say here
in the nineties

and instead of everyone answering me during the SaturDay
they replied, 6 fold, before 7 on a Sunday.

May 06
morning again rising.
7:43 am. rise again.

gonna face today with steel:
gonna have to:
people are confused.

listening to Cat Stevens helps life.
so the Swiss man slept til seven and then woke.
had a pleasant quiet moment before music got piped from the kitchen;
what physics are happening now, which administrative tasks, which papers are being edited;
it's the fifth day of this week and the fifth day i must run for myself;

it's going to be a fighting day on email
stretch a thought to porchfest and sunshine
or tuesday
yes tuesday

nothing poetic here. move along.
gotta say something.
day five

May 05
in the evening. unless 9pm is not evening.

where did
all my formalities go; one by one they have gone wayside;
whether in writing; in parables at the bottom of these pages;
or in the notepads i used to carry around;

May 04

difficult movies bring out different things in different people;
at 6AM the morning after the movie i wrote mEp thoughts in a place in between and penned long hand;
i dictated them to myself at 8:56 pm.
following the movie i had flashes. flashes of brief and unbridled hope and even of glory;
but briefly and fleetingly and maybe they always were.

maybe 7:30 will be jogging time
and maybe i will jog 5 times this week
and i really don't hate my job;
what i hate is that i don't really have a proper job to hate.

as i age, i get worse haircuts
worse clothing
and worse

May 03

my own words comfort me, as i slip back in time, lurking in on my previous self
it's always good to look back at who you were
even if who you were was happier

May 02

beautiful movies leading to recurring dreams
although this time, i was sorting through clothing
i woke to a different face than expected,
so deep was the realm of my dream
constantly readjusting my happiness
my space
my borders
my limitations

i used to think it was all me
rooted in me
propelled by me.
and now, i know it is not.


May 01 2016

who gets to be a real influence in the world
typing here or there is paperless either way
and soulless too.
if i place things in context with a ticking clock and shortly a snoring man
who reminds me to write here
we've both a heavy head and over and over again this
darting guinea pigs, live in our hall,
it's not mothers day sunday and this is a good thing
there's a hammer in my head that tells me what i cannot say
it strikes and strikes and strikes out my words
again it struck that thought out;
what is the point and what is the point