7:33- 7:53 am
Terrible anxiety rising up like a dead zone in the sea, the words feel ridiculously forced and misshapen to perform any semblance of good deeds for my soul, I am a guilt ridden victim of these tangential thoughts but it seems so hollow and cruel now.
I am too comfortable to write anything genuine and beautiful. All I can do now is literary criticism and overwritten essays on medieval writers I've never wanted to encounter before now. I need to get out of my apartment to resolve this. The walls close in like trash compactors, paired with the incessant, unintelligent clicking of the heater, the absolute rhythmless teeth grinding of some invisible mechanism that eats up my dreams of creativity while spitting nothing out, no bones even remain, it is a jaw clenching morning since the measles prevented my spring term registration and the coffee I made is spicy and stomach ruining, I set this morning up last night, destined for greatness but something terrible has happened in the interim. I've lost the desire to fix my sensations, to tighten them up for a genuine and gorgeous experience, free of negative thinking and all of that.
Walking like a ghost, consumed in thoughts up the avenue pass this or that thai restaurant, cigar shops, hookahs, credit unions, hand-me-down clothing stores, university of washington themed this or that, university avenue with the brick layered buildings shining in the golden falling sun when the temperature drops back to harsh, biting, piercing cold, like tiny little spears of ice jabbing through our clothes with the wind gusts and forgotten platitudes. Suddenly caught her eye, some luncheon class mate with a yoga stretch countenance, black framed glasses, mysterious wisp of smoke she is embedded into the dorm life like a brick in the wall covered in graffiti, the skin pulled tight and drawn on with infinite ink. Those lustrous minds turned inward when she smiles, revealing her full naked form with a far sighted glance, that friendship grown from having had sex with the same person and probably complaining about how bad it was, though there are two ravaged bodies and a single guy with a truck, honking in traffic or when people cross in front of him at cross walks.
So I see this girl, ethereal and mystical, never existed outside of the pretense of an academic setting, stacks of books at our table that we could form into a great castle if we cared enough. I wander openly up the street in search of sustenance before skipping the free indie concert beneath the art building, the parnassus cafe and string lights and passive aggression that becomes mostly aggressive, those radio station kids of all temperatures, the sweating with nervousness general manager and a grumpy, tired seeming live audio manager, loses interest quickly in conversation if it isn't using the technical language of his job description. Why so uptight?
I skipped the show in order to go home, edit a paper lazily, drink tea, organize some thoughts... my intent for the weekend is a good one for the body, an avoidance of alcohol completely.
How invisible have I become to walk like such, say nothing, nod my head at strangers who could be friends, avert the eyes to their minds, turning away at the first possible chance and conflicted visibly, walking up the street like a great monster made up of the pieces of old versions of myself until deformed and demented, stitches in my sides for this recreation... Bestial and monstrous, hunched over, walking and holding my guts in from falling out. Let the guts spill.
I need to accept all the people I've been and let them meet agreeably on street corners passing the thai restaurant hysteria of university avenue.
Fit the most of my body possible in those windows of opportunity. Dangle out over the void.
