Wednesday 11/20/24
These are parts from some of the new eleven stories, which were done as a simultaneous undertaking while on the road of other things.
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He sang, “Me me me so horny, so horny me me me.”
That’s what I remember about him. And once when he said it looked like I scratched at my pimples, which was actually true, because that was how I tried to make them smaller.
***
It's never the first thing you think. That’s not right. Or the second or fiftieth. For simple things. Stuff that's simple as shit.
I saw this video of a guy who crouched down to give a drink of water out of the tiniest cup to a praying mantis during a drought. The mantis drank like it was a little dog.
The people commenting on the video thought the mantis understood what the man had done and why, that he cared about the mantis living.
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I let go of my own heart. Your heart is this thing you hold on to, though you don’t realize that’s what you were doing with it until you’ve released the grip. It kind of floats off, and you could kick through the air and get close enough to reach out and get it back, reestablish your hold, but you can’t wait too long, or it’s gone for good. You wouldn’t be able to see it with a telescope if one floated up to you.
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He brought his face up close to the wall, pursed his lips, and repeatedly kissed the white paint as gently as possible. He kept the kisses moving. One here, one there, one above, one below, one to the left, one to the right, like he was filling a circle with kisses light, loving, and sad.
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Want to know something horrible that I’ll think? When a team is going to lose in a championship series because they’re overmatched, I’ll say to myself that if that other team’s plane went down, then the team that would otherwise lose could win because they’re the team that’s left.
Or if a team is eliminated late in the season before the playoffs start, I’ll have the same idea if the planes of the teams in front of them went down. So the team is mathematically eliminated, but there’s this other thing that could happen, which no one has thought of, that would un-eliminate them—bring them back—and even crown them.
***
He was right in what amounted to an invalidation of the man’s argument. And with that, at his mortal end. And also finished as a narcotic. No one wants to smoke a crumbling grasshopper.
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No. It's definitely not shrapnel.
Everything is shrapnel.
***
To not care about what I have, what I may lose, where I live, how cold I might be. It's not something I used to do. It scares me, because I think I’m giving up and this is my way of making death seem less frightening. I question how honest I am in this venture of ostensible spirituality. And to what degree I can trick myself. There's arrogance involved. As if I'm on a higher plane than other human beings.
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