Coffin Match

There are so many different people on the streeets. Some sort of a way to feel newness all over again. When I was walking around on the streets today I felt like falling over from laughing so hard, laying down in a sunny spot and just laughing and laughing until someone felt obligated to do something with me. I don't have the stamina to carry out such an imagined version of myself. It would be too hard, I'd try to think myself out of falling over and laughing in publick like that. The reason was what I said before, the people, the people, the differences in the people. Some people look so funny to me, it reminds me of the parts of myself that feel weird and different that I often skim over, some people are squat, like little packages, their features are all rounded and rosy, some people where intimidating sunglasses and have hair that stretched out of them, flows all over their back and torso like the most complex string instrument ever played. I want to convince someone to sit down real still like so I can pretend to play them, pluck their hairs like a guitar. What people choose to wear, or the way they look when they put little effort into their appearance before stepping out the door. All of these facets, they're allll such marvels. It makes me giddy, and I would be no good at telling all the people rushing past me these sorts of things, so instead I feel this laugh surge through me (It just struck me that Saul Bellow's novels are all about this laugh, pretty explicitly actually) and I just want to express it, feel it bubble out of me and pop on the people passing by me, but before it pops they can see through the glossy bubbles, and they'll see what I see, all the funny quirks and adornments, the physical features that make them a single person, a one body, but also humanity hence the mutual recognition. Oh man is it silly or what.

Longing. That's the word racing through me today and last night. What to do with longings. Last night I realized most of my longings are for people I used to have in my live and direct life. My family is number one on that. The way I felt last night was basically what I said to my galfriend, that I go home (there are lots of homes mind you, but home numero uno, my family's home) and I do the things the family want me to do, get shuffled from one familial obligation to the other, I mean I don't mind it, I want to see these people, but it's a shuffle. It's news when I'm in town, I am news. I am novelty. That was how I said it to my galfriend. I feel so dusty when I am standing in front of someone who I now stand in front of rarely. We used to stand in front of each other alot alot and now what? Indirect, overlooked longing. Last night inside my head I told myself that these old memories or models get buried in shallow graves. I am just full of all these shallow graves. On a lighter note, that's how I feel about trivia, it's also how I feel about the books I read. Anything can happen to those shallow graves: zombies can come out of them, I can go into my own graveyard in the secrecy of dark and exhume those memories, look for jewels or clues or just something resembling familiar, but also that graveyard can get flooded, water just rush over it, and then a jumble of memory limbs and chunks of memorializations are just sticking everywhere. The shallow graves are in ruins and I lose some things for sure. I am my own undertaker and I have to rebuild those memories. I am also constantly, NONSTOP, getting new bodies to deal with; I don't think I am the sort of gravedigger who currently has the luxury to burn anything, to scatter it and call it done with. The losing of memory doesn't feel up to me. For now this is the closest I want to get to sketching out the longings within me. They are insatiable, but describing them helps. Talking to my galfriend about how I surprise myself by how much I miss my family sometimes, how shocked I am by where I am and what exactly I am doing, that helps. It catches me off guard, but I am going to understand my longing through these shallow graves for now. I have lots and lots of work to do.

On a quick last note I am listening to my Pittsburgh musical ally GIRL TALK's new album. Not only do I feel like a kindred spirit to him because we are from the same city and had the same radio stations, but right now his patchwork of musical chunks, pop music chunks really, that make up his flow feels like such a triumph of channeling memory to make a new present tense. I am very proud of his new album, it is so clearly moving through so many timelines. His new album ALL DAY is just the epitome of what he's been trying to do all along with his style. Much word props Greg Talk.