Back From Jersey

Safe.

Went to Jersey to the house on the waves.
Fake mom purchased real dinner from real ladies who work in real shops.
They'll cater your thanksgiving real nice.
It's off season of course.
No problem honey.
Sure is breezy on the dock.
The good doctor is now one hundred and one
he has a chair and a piece of pie all day each day behind just the biggest windows you ever did see.
Rejoice rejoice fresh towels red skies.




It's advent in Chicago.




There was a baby in church today eight
days old.
They brought her up and blessed her head.




Life raft turned 32 years
last night.
Mulled wine and brilliant conversations.




I registered for a two week summer class in London with professor haven't worked with yet.





It's advent in Chicago.




Means good luck,
Skin & Blue Grass

Under Energy Saving Lights Next to Ceramic Bowls of Kale

Wake wired and early to watch a foreign film under a pink blanket from Mexico.
Clean the kitchen.
Shower.
Stare at the wall for a while.
Watch the sun take spaghetti stripes over fuzzy legs and stiff curtains.

Looks like nothing
yes
but
is actually how to successfully false start
every essay.

Meet smiley at Perfect Cup.
Sit on hands and talk circles.
Looks like nothing
sure
but
actually is step two of how to draft
every essay.

The big ones are coming up quick.

We're handling it extremely well.

Can naturally deduce that no one will die. Nobody dies from this.

Walk to the market for a slab of fresh fish and a bag of kale.

Tis the season of dark colored produce and plastic handles round freezing fingers.






Happy thirty pages double spaced everyone,
Skin and Butter

Freezing Light.

1) Apparently I'm incapable of even remembering I ever started a blog during the span of dead time that connects week five to week fifteen of a semester.

2) Evidently there's only one more semester left of course work.

3) Clearly I've started on a thesis.

4) Strangely I'll be a master of fine arts in one year and three weeks.

5) Not that strange. Swing a dead cat and everybody has an MFA.

6) But, kind of cool.

7.1) I wont have to wonder.

7.2) Anymore.

8) Terminal degree.






















~And then you get in a jeep with your friend Bird and drive through the night to a service. Angel Food lost her mother suddenly and we just had to go. We just had to. Just had to give her a big buck eye hug. It was ten thirty in the morning and the light was pouring. And the grace was amazing. And the eyes were red but the arms were out. Up and out. Every day she teaches me how to be strong and good.










Lucky Every Day,
Skin & Skin

Just Pretend You Have an Agressive Brain Tumor.

1) Seriously. Say to yourself, it's inoperable. There's nothing anyone can do. Say it. It will help you to stay in the moment. It will keep you from crying all the time. It will feel like a release. It will feel like a fuck it, I'm dying. Might as well just do this. Just do this. Just stay right here and be here. For me anyway. That's how I feel about pretend brain tumors. I'm not the sell all your possessions and live on the sand for the next six months type. I'm a sandwich on a couch in a church with a warm cat type.

2) Poetry is dead.

3) You're not going to get anywhere turning in these long prose poems to your fiction workshops. There's nothing really to critique. Class will end a half hour early and you'll cry.

4) You're just going to have to write a novel. Or something. A collection of short stories?

5) It shouldn't be so excruciating to write in a different genre. If you're studying writing you're studying all writing.

6) I got Tylenol 3 and muscle relaxers for my headaches.

7) Professor fantastic writes in lots of different kinds of forms. She does it. She's nurturing. She mentors. She's not mean. She believes in second chances. Right? Write.

8) Do not mix with alcohol.

~Skin & Toast

Am I Still Awake?

Because I'm not mad.
It all really runs together doesn't it?
Didn't mean to imply that there was ever a reason to be angry.
It gets so late.
It's so late.
Sometimes you find yourself in the middle of a thing that is changing rapidly.
If only you were on one side or the other, am I right?
No.
That's what I mean.
You are never right.
There's nothing to get.
Sheesch.
It's like talking to a wall.
Am I still awake?
I've had a headache for three days.

~Skin & Toast

I Have To Say

Professor man is the man.







Thank. God.

















I told myself I would not be angry at anything Roosevelt related.










Opposite of Angry,
Skin & Toast

Friday Notes.

The waitress went to work.
The writer went to her restaurant job.
The artist has a day job.
On Wednesdays the artist works from six thirty in the morning to three thirty in the afternoon.
At a restaurant east of Wriglyville, just west of hell in a place called Lake View of the privileged.
Usually takes the artist about forty eight hours to recover from a Wednesday.
The waitress went to work Wednesday morning.
The waitress has Clariton for breakfast and Bennedryl for supper.
On Wednesdays.
The waitress is keeping up with the reading.
The writer is tired.
Her chest is covered in cheese cloth
and
a
thin layer
of
cooling gel.
The writer is stacking her pages next to her chest.
Neat piles.
Sharp corners.
The waitress likes meeting people.
The waitress likes to describe sauce.
The writer recommends the quiona porridge always because she likes the loops of the vowels and the soft hooks of the plosives.

Day Off,
Skin & Toast