Sunday, July 18, 2021

Everything is Downstream

I mean obviously what's going to save us are hydrangeas and octopuses working in concert, right?

Bugs with luminous assholes flying around the meadow. I'm like a rose bush who knows that my intentions are no longer relevant to my destiny. Remember that nice cop in Boston who let us ride the T for free because we couldn't figure out how to work a touch screen ticket dispenser? 

Everything is downstream of this moment, is one way to think about it. Nobody asked how I wanted to dress, I just sort of stayed with what worked in fourth grade. Eggs fried in olive oil aside baked spring potatoes mashed with cottage cheese and thyme. 

Everything we know about one another based solely on our names. A cemetery in Fall River I visit once every five or six years. A pace we cannot keep and other definitions of paragraph. There were trolleys once, and rotary phones.

One grandfather was a boxer, the other a field overseer in Guatemala for the United Fruit Company. All beer tastes fucking awful, can we agree on this? Sinking into the swale again to make a point.

Categories which include "things I won't say now or ever but which I did say once." The first time I saw The Hateful Eight was in a theater with my Dad who had about seven months left to live and the second time I saw The Hateful Eight - roughly six years later, alone in the living room - I was like, oh, I see what he's trying to do. Look at my cousin barely keeping his head above the waves, refusing to see the buoys we throw and the life jackets.

Joe Pye Weed, Tiger Lilies, Forget-Me-Nots (e.g., excuses to practice hitting the shift key consistently).

"Complicated skies" are compositions we didn't author or co-authored or what? I can't tell anymore what's past or present, what's mine or anybody else's, everything given in such a beautiful helpful way.

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