Monday, January 26, 2009


today, the sky speaks of a disposition to which you cannot relate. fog in the morning, clearing at noon to welcome the funeral precessions honoring the dawn and dusk of next year's ambition. torrential downpours are not to be marked on your calendar. you already forgot your umbrella.

ways and means. means to an end. this is only the beginning of an extensive social history that will inevitably be forgotten, once someone better comes along and writes it down. this is what is best for us both. we were never right for each other, anyway. we got all caught up. 

this is a game called 'self deception.'  this is a humanity you were born with, and must get rid of. this is what started the wars. this is the same projectile that no matter how much your favorite 19th century philosopher tells you to dodge, keeps hitting you in the face and knocking you back down. down to what is essential. you were born to be this way, and it is your obligation to not go down again without a fight. saying 'this is just the way i am' is not acceptable. to learn anything new, you must first unlearn everything else. 

duty called today, and didn't leave a message. not even a call-back number. typical. 

sonnets, and monologues are what you will be remembered for. the dialogues were good, but they didn't have the same articulation, rampant fervor, emotional distance, nausea, or mysterious ability to make the listener weep uncontrollably as your previous work. go back into your studio, writer's closet, or forty-five story office building and try again.. 

the industrial revolution jumped the gun, woke the baby, called us stupid, forgot our names, left and never came back, and then didn't even bother to write. 4:00 is coming up fast behind us, and all we can do is let it pass and hope we don't make eye contact or show weakness. the weakness implied by our differences. you can try and take off the mask, but you can't rewrite the history. you can't retell the stories your grandmother told you when you were still young enough to not know any better. it's time to grow up, reconcile cultural difference, and forget all of that money we were gonna make off of free labor and abundant sugarcane. if we accept that 'no man is an island', we'll just have to get back up and start harvesting on our own. 

language imposed through the barrel of a gun. history taken away by imperial armies of the old world, who were looking for love in all the wrong places. oh, nevermind! there has been a change of plans. you can go now! sorry for bothering you. continue on about your business. what is your name again? take care. it was good seeing you.

can we start over?

you mean to tell me a man can't sit in his own hotel, casually eating his breakfast in his underwear when there's not a soul around for miles to see? why the hell not?

respect is contingent, but not necessary. we can both reap and sow the benefits of frugality together, once we get over how we look, and the fact that no matter how close we stand to one another we will still occupy two different bodies. the space between us compliments our wardrobes, put the moves on each others girlfriends, wakes us up when one of us is late for work, and drops the dependancy we've developed on one another whenever the cellular phone of opportunity happens to ring. 

this is neither here nor there. 



1 comment:

  1. and here, ladies and gentlemen, we see taylor martin TEARING IT UP.

    you're going to make canfield want to whisper sweet nothings into your ear.