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hedonistic calculation
Aug. 8th, 2025 05:06 pmlowering into the subway, the cupped fist of the tunnel recovered my breath: Away the screaming sun of hotter than hell above-trend Great Again DC, and away the missed step of nostalgia from being back before her bisexual mirror dilating time--myself, seventeen, six pm light, near enough that the last year felt recalled with less vivacity than a nice long dream
Awaiting thrust of wind. New sticky sliding stiles I decided to scrape out some change. In the cupped fist In the tunnel
In 2019 I was a stranger downtown and came to the station with more roller wheels than feet
In red-yellow-green line stop its rectangular panels patched the arc of the walls and left no gutters. Not like this place I last visited when I was regularly tricking out my claims (two summers ago, that sluggish belligerent pain). Had anyone else been since? Literally. No tourists came to see the country's tallest escalator--though they all would have been equally endless and lethal if you were stupid enough to get on with wobbling knees. Once in an airport I watched a man fall and each suitcase toppling, down the rising stairs like dominoes... I can't remember who got hurt, so feel free not to laugh before I return to the staying game:
same vertigo, same disuse, same crumbling crack in the concrete like a crevasse kissing canvas: streaks of soot from what: snuffed out smoke? I watched it again but it had changed. It was beautiful to me, a pleased startle blooming from the center of my brain, beauty like the first bout of inebriated laughter, beauty before I knew what it meant and (cont'd) in 2019 I told my painter sister I didn't understand abstract art, what beauty was to be found and made. Then and now I couldn't get anyone to agree. In retrospect...
...suffice it to say the more I learn about the world the more difficult it is to please me or allow myself to be pleased by beseeching feeble and forgotten sentiments, logical sleight of hand. What surprises me is what brings me pleasure and "where the action is" (Goffman can cough about character in circles, another woman is my god)
this is an optimistic self, a strange state of the state address, that fear notwithstanding and uniform paralysis, about a reorienting internal order of affairs : cats cradle passed around to another string figure. it is a tapestry titled WOW! and in it I am smiling.. somewhere out of sight are lines collapsing I worry about too early to create or after they've frayed
I don't feel love in my heart how autonomous sensory tingles lodge between my vertebrae. I hope no doctors are reading this and I hope none of my friends. If you are, my friend, believe something else or suspend it as they say. An ambiguous belief is just a hunch, a real belief is just to fall in love, giving oneself away with a declaration of faith.
I want the real thing, not the archetype of the thing, not the thing you tell me when you don't want to tell me what you mean
I don't want the real thing, I want the meaning, I want what is above me what you won't have me take
I've no lack of hubris but I never said I was smart. There are only those who can speak and more often than not I can't find any words at all (not even: Meanwhile). The world is shortchanged knowledge so inflated with language and certainty; that's what I mean by, I learn. I'm seduced by the idea of it--I love the possibility more than its realization, that is regular and then gone--its functionality and not its use.
Will an addendum undercut my meaning or digest whatever meaning has stumbled by, poor thing? Maybe we were both fools and composites of original sin Breathing inall that fine dust.. but what we are is what we do. "for" one other is a clause I can't claim.
Awaiting thrust of wind. New sticky sliding stiles I decided to scrape out some change. In the cupped fist In the tunnel
In 2019 I was a stranger downtown and came to the station with more roller wheels than feet
In red-yellow-green line stop its rectangular panels patched the arc of the walls and left no gutters. Not like this place I last visited when I was regularly tricking out my claims (two summers ago, that sluggish belligerent pain). Had anyone else been since? Literally. No tourists came to see the country's tallest escalator--though they all would have been equally endless and lethal if you were stupid enough to get on with wobbling knees. Once in an airport I watched a man fall and each suitcase toppling, down the rising stairs like dominoes... I can't remember who got hurt, so feel free not to laugh before I return to the staying game:
same vertigo, same disuse, same crumbling crack in the concrete like a crevasse kissing canvas: streaks of soot from what: snuffed out smoke? I watched it again but it had changed. It was beautiful to me, a pleased startle blooming from the center of my brain, beauty like the first bout of inebriated laughter, beauty before I knew what it meant and (cont'd) in 2019 I told my painter sister I didn't understand abstract art, what beauty was to be found and made. Then and now I couldn't get anyone to agree. In retrospect...
...suffice it to say the more I learn about the world the more difficult it is to please me or allow myself to be pleased by beseeching feeble and forgotten sentiments, logical sleight of hand. What surprises me is what brings me pleasure and "where the action is" (Goffman can cough about character in circles, another woman is my god)
this is an optimistic self, a strange state of the state address, that fear notwithstanding and uniform paralysis, about a reorienting internal order of affairs : cats cradle passed around to another string figure. it is a tapestry titled WOW! and in it I am smiling.. somewhere out of sight are lines collapsing I worry about too early to create or after they've frayed
I don't feel love in my heart how autonomous sensory tingles lodge between my vertebrae. I hope no doctors are reading this and I hope none of my friends. If you are, my friend, believe something else or suspend it as they say. An ambiguous belief is just a hunch, a real belief is just to fall in love, giving oneself away with a declaration of faith.
I want the real thing, not the archetype of the thing, not the thing you tell me when you don't want to tell me what you mean
I don't want the real thing, I want the meaning, I want what is above me what you won't have me take
I've no lack of hubris but I never said I was smart. There are only those who can speak and more often than not I can't find any words at all (not even: Meanwhile). The world is shortchanged knowledge so inflated with language and certainty; that's what I mean by, I learn. I'm seduced by the idea of it--I love the possibility more than its realization, that is regular and then gone--its functionality and not its use.
Will an addendum undercut my meaning or digest whatever meaning has stumbled by, poor thing? Maybe we were both fools and composites of original sin Breathing inall that fine dust.. but what we are is what we do. "for" one other is a clause I can't claim.
