Plathological

this is ground control

I remember being in Vancouver this fall to see m.i.a. One night while there I was coming off mushrooms that matt had bought off the street after the show. It was bedtime and I was on a couch, a blanket over me, an ashtray on the table to my right. There was a record player behind my head, under the window that faced the street. I don't know how many times I moved the needle back, and back, and back again to the same place, listening to that one side of changes one bowie. I didn't do much about volume. The whole house space oddity for hours. I didn't fall asleep until it was seven in the morning and overcast. I don't sleep when I'm left to myself. I was thinking of this today. Me and Xavier high on shrooms and playing with masks in an empty house. we found them hanging from the rafters, though most were in plastic bags at our feet. doubling over from our compositions, laughter a half noise through masks. distance, distance, thank you for calling home, home: you see--loose phrase when you're re-phrasing, but i'm not thinking of words right now. caroland: who could argue with your definition of me, the land between. still i dreamt last night that everyone was writing about me, deepsea dive, streams of breath through currents. i am as vulnerable as you make me out to be: my mother phones and phones this morning to ask what the weather has or has not done to me--was there a branch that fell on my head? was i knocked out? two of my cousins in poland are getting married this spring. am i trying to write about space or system here? these past few days i've been trying to figure out what comes from what. all i can come up with are loops, feeding. they want me to write poems. they want me to rearrange the elements. it's like i'm spending my life configuring the micro, but my perspective is so spanning--they're implying you can't have one without the other, they're implying that i want what everyone else wants, and this is true: i think all those equations are at the heart of my frustration, zeroed in and sung to sleep.

i'm the kind of person that when you catch me alone, i'm a dustbowl--i'll tell you anything, my face will melt quoting, no matter who you are. that's why i write. that's why writing comes naturally to me--it's because i always want to be truthful and i know i'm as deeply flawed as anyone i interact with. you come at me from any angle and i'm confessional, candid as all that love when setting is important enough to say you will keep this memory like a burning house surrounded by statistics, like an aftermath.