messy notebooks


1,
sebbi,

I pulled my collar out,I bent myself all out of shape and dropped two bottles down the stairs. I don’t remember hearing them break,and I’m afraid of tiptoeing down there,cutting my feet all up. I woke up to speaker pops,but the record was over. I don’t think I was awake to hear the end of it,goddamn mccoy tyner piano solos.

shaky pen,samuel


2,
he had talented hands when he was young,still talented enough after massive street fights where he eventually blacked out with his face pressed into the sidewalk. someone kind walked by and rolled him into the grass. still talented enough but shaky
which is okay by him. it’s not like he
made a career out of handwriting(which was in ruins)
but they might get a little sore from carrying boxes.

‘I wasn’t getting paid for this work,you see.
we had about three bookshops within a ten block area. two big ones across the street from each other,competing for business. and then there was
a tiny bookshop run by an old couple,
back on a side street. they weren’t worried about competing with the big guys because they dealt just with religious books. the couple used set aside a small box of books for me to take. that was my work,I’d try to sell
some books in the park for a little pocket money. the big bookstores kept their dumpsters locked up,those
bastards. they knew guys like me could put the books to use but they’re just a selfish bunch if you ask me. luckily,I buddied up with a younger kid who was willing to let me know when he’d be setting out some books. we had a whole little system of whistling..I don’t know why he helped me,he never got anything out of it,but I always thanked him.’


3,
when I have a memory I write it down,and eventually call it ‘a bout of poor memories’ because I pull my hair
trying to remember and digging deeper into whatever bit of a memory is there. a memory right now,
I remember not being able to fall asleep in Philadelphia. our room had these long windows that went from about knee level straight up the ceilings. our bed was on the floor,and with a box spring made the bed reach just below the windowsill. when I couldn’t sleep, I would stand up on the bed and look down into the alley while our brothers and sisters would noisily go through the dumpster. I thought there was something to me standing on the bed in the pitch black room,looking down on them-there was something there,but not something good. I could have at least called out ‘peace to you,friend.’


4,
empty news report,peace out
I’m improvising on a fried rice recipe.


5,
I don’t even know what it would be like to be out on a walk anymore. at work I’m practically walking in circles,but there’s no more of the perfect routes with garbage in the gutters,jaywalking,angry faces,on and off public transport. now I’m lucky,I know-but I miss all the moaning on sore feet with my smile intact. I miss so much,so much nature and so many natural sounds and sights. we’re both suffering a small,but significant damage. why can’t they just build that dreamy commuter rail already?

1,I forget what my first book was but remember the first words I could read were on that store sign:”Annie Sez”
2,three or four years now,I’ve decided what must be in my pockets and I’ve been pretty faithful to it.
3,I can say it here because it feels more private:smash a missionary spirit all the time.
4,never got into a fight and now want to do no violence,but I’ve got a whole long way to go.
5,would be great to switch all television watching to all radio listening. a bit of freedom of senses.
6,nearing the end of my book,where is the ‘spiritual meadow’?
7,what am I going to do once it warms up? find a way.


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