Archive for May 7th, 2007

august in may

Monday, May 7th, 2007 at about 9:40 pm

Today it’s hot. The temperature pushed above 90 degrees, but thankfully without the added burden of humidity. I woke in a bed that was not my own (for the last time for a while, it seems, for better or worse) in time to bike back home, grab my bag, and head to class. I cannot say that I am sorry for the lost sleep, but I’m tired enough and made sufficiently lethargic by the heat to fall asleep in one of Green’s big leather chairs reading after dinner. I’ve been trying all day to get out a poem (about last night, about this morning, about the last two weeks), but my scratchings in IHUM lecture, or between classes, or even in my head aren’t in any way sufficient. I’m distracted, completely and perennially, by the sheer volume of practicality that is driving my life. A CS mid-term (a fucking test, of all things, keeping me numb to the feeling: I’m appaled) on Wednesday, and I’ve yet to figure that out. I must, now. Otherwise I would spend the evening watching TV and writing and recovering in every sense of the word from sickness (or regrouping, really, since on all fronts [romantic, physical, intellectual] there are further attacks coming). We didn’t have poetry class today, which is probably good because I needed the time to just rest, but maybe bad because I couldn’t get my poetic fix. I checked out two books of poetry from the library, one for class and one on a recommendation (John Ashbery’s Selected Poems, just to re-find his beautiful “Illustration” which I discovered some years back in an 11th-grade English class, and Louise Gluck’s The Wild Iris, which my poetry professor recommended). I called Katie, who called me last night when I was in no state to answer the phone. I called Anita, whose voice I am missing, and who I still need to relate my crazy dream of last week to (I was fleeing zombies and Ryan North was there, among other people, and even in the dream I thought “Crazy! I need to tell Anita!” but when I got out my phone to text her it didn’t process right [probably because of the different side of the brain needed for writing, or something -- it's my best guess anyway]). Those parentheticals are getting ridiculous; I think it’s the effect of all the programming.

It’s springtime and we’re all getting predictably restless. For some that’s manifesting as fighting with roommates, for me it’s been a marked upswing in my love life / extra-dorm social life. All good things, except the infighting, but what can one do? Jordan and I have been avoiding it quite successfully; if anything I think we’re actually getting along better. This weekend we need another dorm party, I think, although they’re never quite what I think they will be. Maybe Austin’s birthday will do it.

Last Saturday Natasha and I went to Sunsplash. It was crowded and loud, but we made the best of it: looking sharp, dancing when we felt like it, getting Miguel to let us into the VIP area. We left fairly early, took the long way home via Toyon’s open kitchen that we’re so invested in these days, and even discovered a place in Lag that we’d never seen before. It was all in all a pleasant evening. If I could live this weekend over and over again for a while, I wouldn’t mind. It wasn’t bliss, but it was good things. It was nights I wished wouldn’t end.

This is especially true of last night, which I spend living old songs: Eve 6’s “Inside Out”, Eagle Eye Cherry’s “Save Tonight”, even the forgotten Everclear song “Wonderful” and some Laura Love songs I was only just introduced to in context. We pushed the conversation until it lasted for hours, broken here and there by our other favorite things. The whole night was closure that didn’t feel like closure, it was a conversation about endings that felt like a conversation about beginnings because nothing was tired: we were still beginning, but had to bring it all to an end. And that was in the nature of the thing; I cannot claim any bitterness or surprise. I am happy for it, whatever it was. But I can’t say in truth that I don’t wish slightly things were different. I woke up and it was hot. The air felt like summer on the bike ride home.

I have little time to waste, unfortunately or perhaps fortunately, on things like wishing: I have the rare commodity of reality and action sufficient to keep me fully occupied. So now I will stop writing this, go do my CS problem set, and pray it all works out.

background noise: lots of early mountain goats, what else? The last three songs on the zopilote machine are killing me as always.

And, as the necessary postscript, a stupid poem (stupid because it’s trying to be more than it is) that I wrote on our whiteboard in 10 minutes about the heat, which has no title as of yet:

We woke to August in May,
the warmth in the bike seat
and cowering in armpits,
or the spaces between toes.
The air the consistency
of that which contains
freshly baked bread
(an oven, an opened mouth,
breathing, as we are,
that air the same)
we eat, work, and
daydream of sleep.

Posted in General
by j. android