it’s fucking tuesday.

“you wanted more
and you got less
and it hurts but it could be worse
yeah, things could be so much worse” — deer tick

come to be accepting of the spastic prose. this is your brain. it’s where you are. never been anywhere else.

the cd is scratching a bit these last few days. that’s not happened in a while as much and i suppose that should be welcomed as a generally positive change but the jury is still out. maybe ignorance really is just bliss.

yesterday seemed so…not that shit again jesus christ man. get it together.

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24 hours in a day and 30 things that seem worthwhile to spend an hour a day on. what gives. i suppose we ought to just say it’s all triage. every decision to do is a decision to mainly not do soooooo much more. what gives. start asking yourself what you’d fuckin die without havin. grip that shit. keep it.

scratch. whiskey. flamenco. on a sunday night in south minneapolis. some passionate shit with a lot of words ending in vowels that you can’t pick up even though you’ve spent half a year in spanish speaking countries. what gives.

your arrogance. mainly.

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talk about shit you can’t fuckin live without. every one of us alive is kept upright by some delicate illusion of capability and control. “i am the reason i’m where i am and will be here tomorrow.” people die getting hit by buses. god gives.

getting up for the comedown and just for that. leaving the couch to walk the como conservatory in search of dopamine maybe those plants can summon.

guy walkin — clompin — past wearing the shame of deterioration but god damnit you’re still alive!

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it’s fucking tuesday and you thought for the last hour it might be monday and you’re 33 and you’re here. you ain’t nowhere else. life is lived where your feet are and all that wandering and wondering and wishing and yearning gonna stay on the horizon and the horizon stays where it is (you never reach it). cactus blossoms at the turf club and half your body weight in rail whiskey and thank god. at only a buck sixty this shit can perforate the brain mechanisms quickly.

god fucking damn it. died inside twice and are still here. sniff the fucking roses. smile this busted shoulder is the worst of it. lean in. she smiled at you and meant it and millions have died would have been thankful just for that. could have kept them up.

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do plants yearn. i reckon so. i come to see more of myself in the natural world and i think it more a function of realization than projection. watts said you did not come into this world. you came out of it. think about that. you get busted up about your self and your hurry and you’re standin in line but you are the line. that mom checking out her groceries is more you. pedantic sorrow and isolation and the fact you been trying to be elsewhere every time but you live where your feet are. say it again.

cried at the bonsai collection because they’re all listed as “in training.” don’t the poor buggers ever make it? reach trained? something about that gutted your day’s narrative then again an objective observer would not describe any of this situation as psychologically well.

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i’ve been listening to oliver burkeman talk about time. talk about how we should maybe reconsider what we consider “interruptions.” there’s a weighty illusion that if we could just get our ducks in a row and if people quit getting in our goddamn way we could CATCH UP!

this has never been the case. your to-do list is not intractable. it is not a difficult problem that can be handled. it is an impossible problem. it is a myth that it is or ever has been manageable. you change the list changes the horizon remains the horizon (you never reach it) life is lived where your feet are (last time) and all these idiots getting “in your way” are the juice of life baby.