she is grace

hello tents and gnome caves-

[ache]
[ache]


My back feels as though someone is pressing a corner of an encyclopedia against it.

[ache]
[ache]


My mom fell this morning as i slept; tripping on dog piss on the way down. The winds are intense today. Raining pollen around and on me. I'm allergic to everything green. A day like today would not be placed in my favorite days list.

There is madness and nothingness creeping underneath the kids of downtown sacramento.
bars.
bars.
beer.
beer.
nothing.
nothing.
blank.

i look at those surronding me and ask myself why? why have most minds lost in rebutle of past comings?

no conditioner

my day has come and gone with swift force. i am now downtown in the mix of carried on speech.

i quit my job.
its almost over.
thank Jesus.

What is this, Wonka, some kind of funhouse? Why? Having fun?

There's no earthly way of knowing / Which direction we are going / There's no knowing where we're rowing / Or which way the river's flowing / Is it raining? / Is it snowing? / Is a hurricane a-blowing?

I sit above the masses. The woman nearest to me is pushing a cart that reads 'ready to catalog'. The man across this cubby desk is balding. I fear he lacks the lacking. What inspiration, what desired piece of a human being could, would, want, to exude from within him?

Lately I've been attempting to understand the consciousness of others surrounding me. What is important to them? For example, I have a late forties to early fifties gentleman in my poetry class. Grade A douche bag. He speaks of things that he forcefully tries to connect with through events or assumptions that have no congruency with the lecture at hand. He's the peer that everyone thinks should shut the fuck up. The peer you roll your eyes at, with certainty and aggravation in your chest awaiting his response to something in your text. What is important to him? What does he care about? The orange nature of his skin reminds me of a withered man that has been trying to hard his entire life. The knowledge he pertains is far from what I could say I have read or encountered. Yet still, i find him ignorant. Unintelligent. How can you know so much and still think nothing? Sadness bleeds from his eyes a color of transparency. How does he speak? I understand this man is not me. He doesn't know what i know or think as i do[not that i have important thought]. I understand that. He lacks beauty. So what is the point? What is important to him?

My assumptions:

1. sex

2.woman

3. tennis in his tennis shoes with his tennis shirt for his tennis team at his college with tennis team mates that are tennis players half his age

4.his appearance- his mannerisms exude insecurity all while speaking with purpose

5.floating thoughts that never seem to lay from the lack of weight upon them

6.woman

7.TV

...................................................................................................................................

i woke next to saint a of mind.