You
 

(credit- ze)

this is where you write a short missive/ poem based on (an) actual event(s) in your life.

amanda...do the accounts link up or are they each isolated personal things

The first thirty seconds.

Walking off a plane, stepping off the boat, pulling the idea out of your head of "I am going" to the physical motion of your feet- where the idea of going meets the reality of being.

You have accomplished your goal- you have arrived. Only.
And yet, you haven't done a single thing. Nothing has happened- the place hasn't articulated itself just yet... No disappoinments, no surprises, no weariness- the world becomes shiny and new once again.

Nothing has happened and yet the ground beneath your feet tells you that everything can, and anything will.

The first thirty seconds- that's where the rush is.

probably be easier to be isolated. sorry- should have cleared that.

(pooped. :))

the key attached to my wrist, it turned out, fit quite easily into a small notch near the base of the steering column.

but the engine had flooded with gas long since.

being towed by a sailboat atop an engine fit for a motorcycle. new friends, now armed with gossip waited on shore

waverunner, ha.

One car for sale- forty-two bucks. 's mine now.

Driving the coast. Lost, stop for some lunch and directions.

"Sir, how do I get here?" pointing to the map.
Me smiling, He growling.

"Why would ANYONE want to go there?" grizzled, sneering.
"Nothin' but beauty up there."

You never told me what you meant
with those long silences, and I
was never sure if you were
speaking without words or if
I was just seeing what I
wanted to see.

Now that we've drifted
apart and you've found
other, more interesting, more
deserving company, I am
lost. Your silence no longer
speaks to me and I am not
comfortable without words.
So I speak of inconsequential
things and nonsense, talking
quickly to keep that vacuum from
sucking me in.

You always had to know the
exact limits of everything.
I guess I was no exception.

"all i'm asking is if it comes to it, would you think less of me?"

"no. but i don't think it will. i think you can hold on. its a matter of willpower"

the garbage cans on the brooklyn bridge resemble the opening of a toilet more and more as bran and caffeine make sinister pacts.

Buisily shuffling around the guidance office, all seven of the ladies (one of them actually a blue nosed man, but he never ventured from his office) were occupied and annoyed.

"What is it that you need." Barked the short one.

"My...transcript...please."

Shuffle, grumle, print. "That's a dollar. Next. What do you need?"

"Could you recommend me for summer school?"

Pull. Stamp. Turn. "What do you need."

Sigh. "Fourty six thousand dollars, a good friend, and a year off."

Blink. What? "Me too!" Said the woman at the copier, laughing. Everyone laughing. Tension broken.

Embarrased. "Sorry, I didn't mean..."

"No, not at all. Would you like some candy?"

Pachinko is Japan's answer to gambling- it's safe, it's cute and there is really no money involved.

In reality, there's huge amounts of money involved and it pulls the same kind of people- nothing-to-lose and everything-to-win mix of hope and desperation.

Parlors open at 9am- my coffee shop opens at 8am.

Every Sunday, I watch them line up. They have special areas for them to wait and smoke while the staff prepare for the day.

I watch them. They watch me- the resident foreigner drink her coffee.

It's a good cultural exchange.

It's summertime. All bright sticky days and hot sticky nights. With all the children in this neighborhood, the icecream truck gets mobbed.

Fourth of July Fireworks--due to the current drought--will be held at the Fire House (to avoid setting the woods on fire).

They caught the fire house on fire.

hot.
my parents away
i sleep naked in the air conditioned room.
hearing the drapes rattle in the other room
i leap up to chase the cats away.
but it ain't no cat.
its the cleaning woman.

forgot.

first time alone at home
coffee cup caught fire in mircrowave
must clean microwave.

Microwave suspiciously white.
Looks like trouble.
Must clean range

Four hours and an entire kitchen later
I'd covered my tracks.

Every class, I drop something.

Every single class.