Friday, April 29, 2011


i'm once again situated with my family in the house i grew up in and it is a miserable, miserable place. unfortunate that it's come to that point, a place that's become stagnant and void of all progress, most happiness, and any level of generated energy or life. it's something of a shock to me that things can grow this stale almost right under my nose. watching this reveal blossom directly in front of me, i'm sort of curious how long it takes before you get to the point where you are not content with where you are, what you're doing, the people you're around, but you insist on allowing it to go unchanged. i see these people, my family, as only people. i don't see the unit looking after one another, loving each other, coexisting in a synchronized harmony. i see something of what i see in the everyday lives of the people i assist at work, at a black and white retail job. seems to be a lot of standing in line, arriving home until you leave, settling into nighttime television until you're no longer conscious.

i'm not out crusading, but i'm hungry.
i have people i want to see.
little stories i'm trying to keep up with,
fictional or not.

i've been fully moved out of brooklyn for about 31 hours. i've slept a night here, completely moved in. and i'm already itching. gotta go, gotta get out. it's making my eyes itchy, making my skin tweak. i already feel gravity bottoming out. it's a little terrifying. i feel like i'm being grown over by little bits of bark. like there are whispers in the little nooks down intriguing hallways and i'm getting a little deeper every trip, with fewer and fewer breadcrumbs.

it's all an illusion, obviously. there's no giving up. it's a sham.
aiming for june first. kind of want to go back to brooklyn. i watched beetle and dave debating about it mildly right before we left his apartment last week. and i started thinking about the reasons i'd want to be back out there, and i guess the number one reason i'd have to cite is that i loved it out there, because of how many rules of chaos applied out there, and how open the damn place was to possibility. i think about coming back out here, too. and being close to friends and work. and that's alright too, i guess. i didn't even give brooklyn all that much of a chance, either. and i want more of it, genuinely do. i want to work out there, somewhere out of retail. but regardless, i do want to live out there, or be out there as often as possible. i realized, too, that i'd been out there for more time than i was even in miami. and, that's a little odd. miami felt like an eternity. but it was just about 11.6 months. something like may through april. -- i've got about a month to get it figured out. i'll be alright.

hit a massive wall, creatively. i think it's just one of those weird moments of having no concept of where to direct the spotlight, what emotions to convey or capture. there's really no She who is gathering all of my butterfly thoughts in massive nets and making me breathe in gaping arcs of palpitation. i still remain focused on ensuring that all of my people are continuing to create at their sharpest, and never quitting for anything. dave was featured on the tattooed poets blog, brian has been churning out short stories here and there, beetle got the spiegel deal going, anthony always has something kinetic happening, musically. if nothing else, i want to keep them moving. keep that going. if i'm not personally churning something out that i believe in, i want to at least be midwifing.

i want to at least be midwifing.
i want. to at least. be midwifing.

good news, though, i have always written my best correspondence from this house or at the starbucks down the block.

i've got some faith it'll play out.


Brian Martinez said...

Bad to hear and good to hear, I suppose, all of this. Sums up how I feel about my family, too, and how it would be if I moved back in with them.

I know you've always been most inspired by matters of relationship and heart, the poetic side, but I've always believed that if you found the right project to direct your energies into, something with a format that suited you, you'd be unstoppable.

I also feel in retrospect that I should elaborate on what I said last night about "people who go to Starbucks to write their novels". The person I was referring to is the hipster-who-sits-and-drinks-coffee-but-doesn't-actually-write kind, who's there to appear to be writing instead of actually accomplishing something. I hope you know that you're not the kind of person I meant, and that simply being IN a starbucks WHILE writing is not a crime itself in my eyes. BUT PAYING THOSE RIDICULOUS PRICES IS! HAR HAR!

.steve said...

i know what you mean about it being good/bad. it's not really that bad. they're not these insane, avoidable, embarrassing damaging people. it's just a little stifling. walking out the door at 29 years old to get a txt from your MOTHER that says "did you go out? where are you going?" or even just having to say anything. "be right back." "see ya." any of it. there's a lot. but i look at how many of my friends are out on their own, and i feel like i'm one of a handful. so it's not so much a shame thing when it comes down to it. makes me look at how fucked the market is. human beings, $-wise, just /can't move out because the demand for rent is so high. it's not even for the cause of people not wanting to, or not being ready to step out.

i agree about some writing projects. i think my poetry voice is right where i want it to be. it's reached that stride where if i were to write it, then hand it to myself, i'd want more from that guy. i feel something from it, like i'm sitting on something. but a bigger project, one that could amass some kind of larger importance, that's what i have to pull together for myself. i'm working on it. i'm trying to get as much feedback as possible, as always, with everything, and hone it down, and blow it up, and arrange it in ways that there is nothing weak about it anymore.

no need to explain your starbucks comment. i took zero offense to it. i feel like you were talking about people who buy a notebook and pen ON THEIR way and sit down and expect it to come to them, because, duh, they're at a starbucks with their writing instruments. no muse, just tools. the Still-Life artists we spoke of. it's funny, though, where is the right place to write? it is completely wherever it strikes you. which is why the moleskines have been such ridiculous godsends. even just for single lines or ideas. they work to send out mindbuoys to revisit when i set back out to sea again.

thanks for everything, sir.
as always, major inspiration.
glad to have you as a coconspirator.