He is some creature in a cloud. What is real attachment? How does it all end, so easily? Little bits of spider web stretching, breaking. They are only the repeating song in your head – does that exist?
He marks his skin with dates. He will die, become flattened, back-packaged meat on a metal bed. Little green clovers wrinkled and lacking sweat.
Sweet boy, we will all grow up. It is some terrifying thing, marking time with someone else, on a field of our lives. Is this why people watch sports? Easy rules and bad calls really are no matter. Pay the big boys big bucks to keep us looking away and thinking about yellow flags.
She thinks she is as smart as me. I laughed at her. Perhaps it is only clarity; I don’t watch football.
What is there to say? Not much, the same questions tumbling over one another. There is even less to do. You are standing at the edge. Here we are the end. Here we are in the middle. Here we are at the beginning.
We understood each other, perhaps that is a simple enough thing to be happy about. But people fade and become only time stamps in your past, sections of years labeled and crossed out.
The words that were meant to be meaningful were the last straw. The last complaint. The last sentence. People die and words die. Understanding dies.
It has never been good. It has always been wonderful. It may have been true or it may not have. Maybe that is not the thing to focus on. What do you focus on now?
That lake is still there, full of water. I have a picture of it from the past. The trees I saw are still living. And you and your smile, all of these things without me.
Here we are at the beginning. There is a new understanding, or a lack of one. There is another new language I don’t speak, one that is unlearnable.
Here we are at the end. Some things you can’t fix. Some things you shouldn’t. Sometimes you just need new trees and new lakes. And we go on, and we stop, and we begin.
I am walking down the hall and it is bright and there are students. They are clean and carry many, many bottles of water. I have been here before, but not for a long time. I look out across the city, it is the same but some things have changed while I was not there.
He is wilting slightly. He was different before, when I used to look at him. He was sunny. But he hides away from the sun, and now I see it. I cannot see him; I know nothing. All I know is that this room was not in this building before, they built up the walls and made a new space for all of the shiny, growing students.
There are pictures of me here. Proof that I existed in this space. My footsteps fell on these same stairs I climb with the same lack of breath. They are still celebrating their existence here, still living, still crossing the streets.
I do not know him. The picture of him is slightly wilting. I should not be so quick to judge anyone. Especially someone I love. The girl holds the door open for me and I smile at her for something she always does. I am a foreigner with people now. I am relearning how to be with them.
I am waiting here. How many hours have I spent in this building, in this city? Too many. Too many still. I am waiting, and still waiting even when I leave.
He was good because he was what I was. I must be changing, growing, crossing these streets. He is different to me, but the same to himself. Maybe, I don’t know. I don’t know him anymore than the girl who held the door for me.
It is cold here, early Spring. Yesterday’s snow is clumped on the ground. They say the buds on the trees might die because of it, who knows. It usually happens. They might or they might not. He might or he might not. I might or I might not.
He is sitting at the table raking his bonsai tree. I am standing in front of him, watching. This is what he does now. It is all that he does. He grooms this little tree. He sits at this table, small, white, boring. It’s fun, he says. He does not look up at me.
Sometimes music blares in the room. It’s good music. It makes him happy, as he sits very still and stares at the bonsai tree. I listen to his music. I search for some kind of meaning in it, because he is silent. Slowly the music is becoming more interesting than he is. I watch him; he does not look up at me.
The tree is alive but he is dying. I want to dump the thing on the floor, pull him away, throw a clock at him, kiss his face, make him stare into a sunset. Wake up. Stop this. It is such a little thing, it is not as big as you think it is. He stops listening to me.
It is getting worse and worse. The music is still playing, it still sounds nice, but it’s starting to make my head hurt. Too much of a good thing. Too much of this one thing. Not enough of the man behind the tree. He is lost in it. Somehow he is gone.
Finally, finally, finally, I am tired. I sing softly along with his song as I leave the room. He does not look at me, he does not look for me. Somehow he has died. The door shuts. Maybe I will see him again in the sunshine.
1. There are approximately 12 times more sweethearts out there than shitty people, and it’s a really great thing. Keep going until you find them.
2. Please take me seriously. I take you seriously – probably way too seriously. I am not a joke even though I know a lot of great ones.
3. Imagine my surprise when you were more shallow than my overactive imagination could’ve imagined.
4. The great people who have been doing great things are still out there, doing them. How about you? You have not done enough until you are dead. Keep moving.
5. Can we all please be more excited about Finding Dory? This movie is gonna be great. Right?! Let’s go see it when it comes out in…4 months.
6. Any positivity you can find. It is all some sort of sunshine.
7. My computer is almost 8 years old. That’s ancient! Should I send it to a museum? I mean, I would, but then how would I check Tumblr??
falling out. the stars are falling out of orbit. we’ve just found a new planet, a thing that has been there longer than any of us. it is not new. this is not new. it is new to me, it is silence and sadness and heart pain. it is shaking limbs; body crying because all the tears have gone, because i am too sad to cry. it doesn’t matter. think of the young boy who died. think of the planets. i loved you. did i? i hated you. you are far away and i don’t know you anymore. you are not a planet; you are out of my galaxy.
there is a quote that gives you hope. a sentence. there is happiness still, sunshine. a memory, a picture that doesn’t exist of a beach you sat on for hours one summer. here i am, sitting on my bed, strumming terrible chords, happy. we’ll all keep looking for new places that have always existed, and people. there is hope and kindness, and once someone invented a telescope, and once we looked up together at a beautiful old building, and it is all magic and sadness and loss.
he tells me i am strong. i believe him. it is true. we are. we are weak and strong and we will keep finding new wonderful and terrible things. this is the bigger picture you can’t see. this is why we are kind. this is why i loved you. did i? this is why people hate. we are scared but together. the sun is coming up and it is so far away. what does it matter? i will tell you tomorrow, if you are still here.
Can you hear yourself talking? Sometimes all I hear is the loud noise that comes from your lips. The whining empty words that don’t mean anything, the drift-less thoughts, the sentences just filling up time and space.
I wish I could sing like him. I wish I would take the time to learn how to make music, how to make more beautiful things. I can’t hear myself; I only listen closely to other people. I can hear when you’re not hearing me.
His hair is shorter now and his face is long. I remember the sounds in the room, the stillness of standing alone. My stomach grumbles and she asks me how to make soup. I will dream of it all tonight, music and carving potatoes and sharpening knives in the tiny, dirty kitchen.
When I wake up she is still here. A lot of people have disappeared, somehow. I am grinning and my jaw hurts. He tells me stories about the bay and people who ride bicycles. I imagine all of the roads I will have to drive on between here and there. Where will all of my books go, all of my stories?
I have so much to say, but he is not the one to say it to; I know, I’ve read the list of approved questions and answers. I have met him before over the years, I can see him and hear him well. My guitar is leaning against the wall; it’s ready to go, it’s waiting, too. Beautiful and terrible things and people just want more of everything even if you don’t have any to share.
The conversation goes on without me. He is singing in the background of my head and I’m not paying attention. Are you always this quiet? They ask, they are the same people, I have met them all before, I will meet them all again, I will love them until they don’t say enough.
She is eating a cheese sandwich somewhere on the other side of the world. She finally found a girl who will laugh at her jokes. She speaks softly and wants more for you than what you have. I want to be strong like her someday, I want my strumming hand to be strong, I want him to smile in photographs.
He is a straight boy with dyed black hair and thin lips. He looks like a mass murderer, really, but he’s wonderful. She swears to me she won’t talk to him today, but she does, she does, she does. I send her pictures of flowers and we talk about things that are important and I don’t feel guilty afterward like I’ve done something bad.
It seems like everyone good will end up there with me. You know how to tell the difference by now, don’t you? What good is growing older if we can’t shake their hand and see the outcome? But that is why you and I are not the same, that is why I love the people that I do, that is why you’re staying there and we’re leaving here.
1. Do the makers of “Jurassic World” expect us all to forget what happened at “Jurassic Park”? I’m just seeing a remake. How could we ever forget?! Never forget, y’all. So, do you want to go to the movies with me?
2. Keep talking, keep telling me all of your problems and your messed up perspective of the world, you’re giving me so much information for me to use in my future poems about you!
3. I love this song. It’s terrible! It’s amazing! It sounds like this guy has allergies/is crying/is super happy/doesn’t know how to speak English. ALSO, how do hip hop dudes decide on their hip hop names? Because it seems like they draw random words out of a hat. “Chedda Da Connect? It’s perfect!”
5. Remember pencil chewers? Me too. Remember borrowing a pencil and holding it in your hand and realizing not only was there no eraser (so therefore the pencil was useless!), but the metal part was all chewed so therefore had been in someone’s mouth!? Yeah.
6. I was sitting at a table full of strangers recently. A few years ago that would’ve terrified me, but these days I love meeting new people. Not, like, talking to them or anything, just meeting them. Which sometimes involves a bit of talking, but, whatever. So there I was, meeting these people, listening to them tell me about their really exciting lives (or their really not exciting lives). This one guy was really outgoing and funny and a great story teller, and this other guy sitting next to him was pretty quiet and mousy and shy. And I remember thinking about this quiet dude, and I compared him to the talkative funny dude, and, even though I am a quiet dudemyself, I thought badly of him for not being interesting enough! Even though I was doing the exact same thing! Maybe he has a personality, just not at a table full of strangers? Anyway, what’s the point of all of this? I don’t know. Maybe that I’m a terrible person. Maybe I judged that guy harshly for being a quiet person because I am one. And/or because all of my friends have always been more boisterous than me/I’m usually the quiet person/I don’t know how to talk to quiet people.
7. You can sit still as much as you want, but the world keeps on spinning, with or without you.
8. Small screaming children and drunken old people are pretty much the same.
9. I can’t fix all of your problems/everything that’s wrong with you! You’ve got to do something!
10. You should really focus on yourself. I know it’s easy/feels better to focus on other stuff/less important things/other people/drama/netflix, whatever it is you’re distracting yourself with. (Bob’s Burgers?? No way! I would never.) But it’s really not better. ALSO, you should read this article on Vice; it’s really good and talks about some of the same sort of things. Because no one yells at you enough these days!
“She doesn’t like to spend time with me. Or anyone else. I annoy her. She wants to be alone. She wants to be with me, but she wants to be alone. She likes to be by herself. Other people make her anxious. She feels like she’s pretending all the time, she feels like she’s turning into someone she’s not. But she said she loves me. I think she still loves me. I have hope. Maybe she needs some space. She said she can’t see me, it would be too hard for her. That she would want to kiss me. I told her that she should, then. She said we should just be friends. I’m going to tell her I can’t do that. I can’t be her friend. I’m going to talk to her. I think it will be okay. I’m going to see her tomorrow.”
The dark, sad boy talks to me on the phone. It’s been a long time since anyone has ever called me to talk. People don’t do that anymore. People don’t have anything to say.
It all sounds like everything I’ve ever heard before. He wants to talk to me, he wants me to listen, and I want to help him. It’s not good. It’s not a good situation for him. But he’s young. He doesn’t really listen to me. He wants it to be okay. He wants people to be better than they are. He wants his solution to be simple.
I’m not very good at this. I stutter and mumble and he laughs at me. But he understands. He catches on. It’s all simple, really.
He says “fucking” a lot. He uses it as an adjective, all the time but still unexpectedly, and I wince. “Yeah, the fucking phone.” “My brother is a fucking asshole.” “This guy is fucking funny, fucking funny.” The cursing increases when he’s happy, and decreases when he’s sad, along with all of his other words.
I decide, during the phone call, that I like this about him. I like people who are different, people who have things to say, people who say things in their own way.
“I fucking love Mega Man.”
“What is Mega Man?”
“It’s a game. It’s fucking hard.”
We talk for a few hours. I look at the clock and the time is passing and he says, “Wow, it’s midnight already.” A button is pressed and we leave each other. I become alone. It is quiet and dark.
I think about him, and people. How easy it is to enter someone else’s life. How easy it is to affect them. To care about them. To worry about them. To help them. It’s simple, really.
2. How much longer is “the news” on TV going to be a thing? The internet is way better/more efficient/effective/faster/way better. Yeah?
3. If your Facebook doesn’t say you’re single, and it doesn’t say you’re in a relationship, WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?
4. There’s no way anyone can mess up painting with watercolors. Instant artist. Just add water!
5. My grandpa taught me when I was little how to quickly tell how many days were in each month by using my knuckles. I guess I do have a party trick! But life is sort of like my knuckles, too. Up and down and flat. Moving and falling and staying. Over and over. Searching, growing, laying silently in failure on the ground. Yeah!! Thanks, grandpa.
6. That might have been the best thing ever written. You’re welcome, world.
7. OK here’s an important life question that I’ve been thinking about: Why don’t boys/other people in general just somehow magically know that you want to hang out with them without you having to say something to them?! Isn’t this the modern age? Why don’t we have this technology? SPARRRTAAAA. (Also, I’ve never seen 300.)
8. Have you noticed this, because I have: Everyone’s current favorite movies of all time are all from Netflix! Yeah, I saw Ida, too. I get it. But what else? There must be movies you’ve enjoyed before you got your Netflix account, right? I mean listing those is just sort of telling me what everyone else is watching right now. It doesn’t make you or your movies interesting! We need a new source of information. There must be thousands of movies/great short films we’re just completely missing out on because we’re spending all of our time scrolling through huge lists of movie titles on Netflix, all of which we’ve already read the descriptions of and turned down multiple times weeks ago!
9. Here’s a really great video for you if you haven’t seen it yet. Hank Green, guys! He totally gave me a high five once. (AKA he’s a credible source.)
10. Listen to yourself talk with other people. Are you a kind person? Try to be.
Hey Infinity 