Gertrude ain't a ho, she just likes to please.

I feel like I could invent the musical genre of Old Bard rock.
Currently it seems like a welcomed alternative to real life.

This book lies propped open to page 51

of The Origins and Evolution of Our Own Particular Universe. It is now 4:41 and I have spent the last five hours sifting through book after book after heavy book, reading about the big bang model and the alternative inflationary theory and the cyclic model of the universe. I know more about magnetic monopoles than I ever anticipated I would, although frankly just knowing such things exist is more than I anticipated. I sit here and read from the text, on this fifty-first page, that "all galaxies are spreading apart" and that "the farthest ones are flying away the fastest." My eyes keep moving, across the print and down to the next line like an instinctive typewriter line feed. But my thoughts stay behind.

All galaxies are spreading apart.

In our very own particular universe, I watch as you step away from me. I watch you distance yourself, although I cannot physically see you do so. But I know you keep walking. In my mind I watch as you step away from me. Is it all in my head? But I can see you leaving me.

The farthest ones are flying away the fastest.

I can see you leaving me, and the more the space between us grows, so too does my inability to urge you back—one step, two, maybe three if you feel generous. This space between us widens and it seems to me that the farther you are from me, the faster my helplessness mounds. Even before now I knew of your desire to step in the opposite direction, but then at the time I suppose I felt comforted in the power of a simple extension of my arm and clasp of my hand around your wrist. Now this distance spans far beyond the length of my body. This distance, too, drowns out all sounds of salvation emanating from my closing throat, and it seems that the louder I shout, the quicker your footsteps successively hit the ground.


In my mind I can see you leaving me.
Is it all in my head?
But I know you keep walking.

Second Aisle, Third Seat

You bounce a little when you talk to us.
I'm racking my mind
trying to surface
some minute flaw
that assuages my fears
of your superiority,
and the slight motion
of your heels
seems to be the only
justification I can muster.

Your words burst forth
like a flood or
pan of boiled water
that sat two minutes too long
and now casts its rupturous contents
onto the cold tiled floor
with a crackle that
startles and frankly
pisses me off.

The sounds that depart your lips
coo—condescendingly
or maybe I just want them
to insult me.

Your ideas,
I must acknowledge,
are unfortunately
valid
and with every statement
the tension between us grows:
you are challenging me,
my thoughts—
ones you know I have
and
ones that might be better than yours
but until you meet my gaze
neither of us can
admit or
accept this.

It has crossed my mind
more than once
that
perhaps we are
equal
but
with your eyes closed
your words fly in one ear
out the other
and leave a void
I rush to fill.

10:04 AM -- 4/6/10

The Minute I Heard My First Love Story

The minute I heard my first love story
I started looking for you, not knowing
how blind that was.

Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.
They're in each other all along.

-Rumi

College application season is finally over.

What a horrible ride it has been.