vacant

i was all ready to write, in the sense i thought or felt i was then capable of some sort of expression and then, like the water roaring under the ice, smoothing the boulders, it (whatever "it" is) was no more.
why do we think we have anything to say anyway?
does it matter who we are in relation to others?
are we anything other than what we are in relation to others?

out on the tundra

the frozen voices of bodies
limbs frozen
waiting for the thaw
wondering what it is to write
what to write
writing of the spirits
orchestrating words
some fluid as a drippy faucet
wrapping round others taut as
my frozen vocal chords
i wish i could write like
someone else
like anyone else
like some particular people
i will not name
but are several
i wish
i could write the things
other people write
but then
it wouldn't be so good
since i woulda writ it
not them
and then
what would i wanna write
if what i read was as bad as
what i write
a scrap of a life
bankrupt of spirit
nameless
lunacy decaying in the night
strong.
a still life
shuffling through the bad places
dancing out the windows
with a pint to go.
what to write
of what spirits
these are the questions to which i've no answers
it seems
but perhaps the point
is
there are none
a vision or poetry
seen from afar
means nothing more than not

floating away

no matter what things eventually roll around, so here it is again that time of year. Seems more insidious this year - perhaps that Thanksgiving was so late, that Meg was away and only came home last week - but all of a sudden it is the week that comes with that most magical day, Christmas Day. Suddenly, for reasons I don't understand, there are job postings and even some interviews scattered around. Do I think I will be hired? Not in the least. For the most part resumes and applications aren't even acknowledged. The weather has matched for the most part my usual melancholic ambivalence - 9 days of rains and fog, with the sun out for 2 glorious days and now another 2 sullen soggy days, the skies lowering into the smelly dirty old town. I have a list for Meg and have done nothing at all. Tomorrow. I was going to go today but had an interview that included tests. Either I am really stupid or there are folks making up tests for incomprehensible reasons. There were actually 8 questions requiring me to complete the sentence with either capitol or capital, and another 8 or so dealing with proper use of there, their and they're. I'd hope to have passed the grammar portion but I don't think the whole thing went very well. Whatever. I guess when they are asked "what do you know about "x" and I answered that I didn't really know much in the way of specifics but had a good grasp of the field in general it was probably about time for me to leave then. But I did have a perfectly good job, good enough, and I chose to leave, and other than being flat broke I don't really regret it.
It is hard to get used to not having a set job, just trying to pick up whatever I can find that anyone will hire me for. I have pretty much had a paycheck since I was in 6th grade and this lack of independence, lack of control (i know it wasn't really control but it wasn't whatever this is) is hard getting used to. I buy $10 of gas rather than a tank bc now i understand that having that extra $20 for the next 7-10 days is better than having a full tank of gas that I won't need or use in that time frame.
Most unnerving, and really I don't think it procrastination, is I have no idea what I want to do. Not true really -- I know and have all sorts of ideas about what I'd like to do but none are realistic. Drummer in a rock-n-roll band, maybe a wailer too; cook in a restaurant; paint, write, create; garden. No one pays for any of that, not at my very low to non-existent skill levels in these areas. Heck, I can't even decide if or what colors to paint the house and god knows it could use some paint and a lot of other little stuff requiring more by way of labor than money in order to finish covering up the flood damage. Isn't that ridiculous -- I do know some of the colors I'd like but I have no motivation to go pick it out much less put a brush to it. Ironically, I think the fact that I have no job actually makes it harder to get off my butt and do things like that. I run around all the time doing nothing, accomplishing nothing but in the end having no time it seems to actually do anything. I guess I need to set a project and just do it. I was going to make myself write more but look where I got with that - now twice in a month I have put a bunch of crap here. I have a $50 i-tunes card I haven't used in over a month -- even music isn't motivating or energizing. All that music and nothing to move me. More proactive, more structure is probably in order. A book to read, a journal to write so as to get my head out of this giant mess of congealed oatmeal that sucks out all the thought and feeling, leaving an empty cast for wandering. No, I don't feel depressed, not usually although sometimes frustration is close at hand. How weird to be this old and married and a parent and supposedly educated and half smart and have not a clue about anything, to feel totally unmoored and floating far and away, no idea even what direction the wind is blowing.
Get to it, she said.
And then?
Well I guess there's some merit to this writing bc now I'm ready i think to write but the animals think it's more properly time for them to be fed. So I will go and be caring for a few moments and then ...

holiday when

who shows at the door i cannot help
but lay on the table as necessary
once introduced
the snow shook to the boards below

the feast of epiphany
is better the day for giving of gifts
with wise men and at least one good woman
passable at least

they have to grant her that

but first we must take to the ledge
as three mortal eyes undertake to dress themselves
in the parish proper
now we are in for a night of it

though it seems only yesterday
rag dolls on the front steps
but now the girls all gone
have come undone

the day that they say
it is of no moment
we leave our things on the kitchen table
and go running the halls
listening to music tormented

for just this one night imagine
any are anxious about the children
as the other s lumbers on
unconcerned, happy for one
that is
that makes
no trouble at all

we all have galoshes now
one for each foot
trotting home in the snowy mud
certain in our drunkenness no harm will come
worse than had we stayed
only more than too welcome

sometimes better a stranger to be
than so lov-ed as you thought of we.

another day and three cents more

the weather outside is awful ... cold and raining for the third day/night in a row. Listened to Obama tonight.
Listening to the mayoral debate now.
Not sure which is worse.
Perhaps it will snow on Friday which might be nice though I suppose it would finally put an end to okra and eggplant, and the tomatoes and peppers. Worse, or better, if it snows no one can go to work or anywhere else, this being houston and we shutting down the city whenever there is anything resembling frozen precip. Which could be nice except my contract that's supposed to last through Dec 23 got stopped today, and no telling if or when the work might start again. Guess I need to work my other files and go rustle up a few more.
I am actually so tired I have nothing to say. After getting home early this evening I sat in the car in the driveway scribbling away, couldn't wait even long enough to come in the door I so had the urge to write. So all my scribbles languish for the night in a little notebook. Perhaps like wine they will ferment and get better, ripe with time.
Saw some great photos driving home in the dark rain but not a camera. Probably best under the circumstances but maybe it will rain all day tomorrow and I can go out before the old folks' lunch and bead class, or after.