so yesterday i went on a hike. i went on a hike because:
the weather is sheer bliss
the outdoors remind me of people i love dearly
i need silence sometimes my chart is just leo and pisces i need quiet sometimes some fucking quiet
i am all thighs and ass and calves use it or lose it bud
so i went on a hike yesterday and i forgot about the time change because i am as a rule not very bright and i spent the last hour wandering in the dark, running until i fell, walking into a tree, tripping and yelling fuck into a clearly empty park, futzing around with my phone light and bruising my knees until i finally made it to the parking strip, feeling like a goddamn fool.
the outdoors reminds me of places that aren’t people
i spent ten years writing and researching about standardized tests like a goddamn fool only to spend the last four realizing we were no longer in a place to consider abolishing tests, and now maybe we finally are, what does that mean, i’m 34 now and i no longer want to write about standardized testing even if i want to abolish them, i have half a book proposal saved on this computer, i have half a mind to send it in, i have half a mind which is why i get lost in the park because concepts like time and hours elude me, half of my chart is pisces.
why be nostalgic about a before that was quite shitty, that was rather abysmal, why not imagine something better
what do i owe to the people i love dearly, the outdoors, my thighs
does a mission care what you want to do or is this the leo in my chart talking
in abolitionist politics, as far as my toddler brain understands it, to offer a “no more” requires that one also offers a “what else,” so that people can actually imagine a different future, we need a what else so that we aren’t just ambling full thighs and ass and calves in the dark yelling “use it or lose it bud”
what is voting except the most pointless of standardized tests.
this isn’t a metaphor unless you want it to be. i likely don’t.
who are you yesterday today tomorrow
what is worth saving about any of this today today tomorrow
what else tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow
you realize there won’t be any brunch group orgies right tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow
people are still getting evicted tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow
what are you going to do yesterday today tomorrow
what else tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow
would you like to go on a hike with me i brought a watch today yesterday tomorrow
come over tomorrow tomorrow i love you dearly yesterday today tomorrow the weather is sheer bliss as are you tomorrow
what is a metaphor except a long hike in the dark.
here are some collages and a pretty great prose poem and a fragment of something that i’m still unsure about. (CW on that one.) i’ll be outside tomorrow so don’t call. —kj
yesterday today tomorrow
oh, like four or five: that i didn’t repay my brother by breaking his nose back; that i couldn’t speak as i saw the old man stare at me through the stall door, playing with his stubby cock as the shit continued to run out of me, not a whistle nor a taunt in my gut, not a single noise those long minutes in the tiled highway men’s room; that i didn’t offer to pay extra hours for the babysitter after the professor agreed we should “go to another bar and get weird,” knowing he couldn’t unpass my dissertation, knowing i never looked quite so good in cutoffs and a v-neck, knowing that the backseat of his new car would have worked after five beers anyway; that whole doctorate, more or less; that i didn’t lift your mask to kiss you goodbye at the airport, my lips meeting medical knitting instead, that free agency means i should tell you you’re worth the germs, that i’d breathe you in again and again, pass and unpass a single noise, to speak those cut off long minutes and extra hours back, more or less.
(CW)
on the beach
I.
The DARE officer explained everything: some kids found her that morning on their way to school, hanging from a tree in the park behind the DCF building; she was “in her mid-to-late thirties, most likely”; her face “had become purple, like a plum,” suggesting “she had been there for a few hours”; she “had history of alcohol and substance abuse,” likely “had a man or two who knocked her around,” probably “sold her body at points to fuel her addiction.” We were ten. Our morning math sat there.
II.
A few months later, our class learned that a boy in the next room had also hung himself. We were all still ten, as was he. He lived like a couple blocks away from that park. I never saw him at church, or at the park, or almost any other time besides changing classes for reading and science. He had dusky blond curls, the kind I deeply wished I had. He had a butch older sister, the kind I deeply wished I had. He had a name that was sturdy and impossible to misspell, an easy smile, and so forth. I’m sorry for bringing this up.
III.
“Nestled between Fort Lauderdale and Miami is Hollywood, a classic Florida beach town that’s enchanted visitors since the 1920s.” “Founded in 1925, the city grew rapidly in the 1950s and 1960s, and is now the twelfth-largest city in Florida.” “Young bought up thousands of acres of land around 1920, and named his new town ‘Hollywood by the Sea’ to distinguish it from his other real estate venture, ‘Hollywood in the Hills,’ in New York.”
Density
5,676.98/sq mi
IV.
I would have never seen her. I didn’t walk to school: I’d have to cross two major streets; my parents knew I’d end up at the grocery store by mistake. I could barely tie my shoes until I was eight.
V.
They won’t get his name; that’s not for them either. I’m sorry for bringing this up.
VI.
my cousin the psychic asked why i hold my neck so much like i’m on display.
VII.
“purple, like a plum”: like sunrise on a really bad sea; like prince’s jacket; like the shirt i let you borrow for a hike; like more blue and red and red than blue and blue and red; like the head of my cock the second before i come inside you; like the seashells worn smooth; like a plum like the sea; like the way i held that shirt to my nose when you gave it back the detergent smell more blue and red and red.
VIII.
“Hollywood is home to [...] seven miles of pristine beaches, and the one-of-a-kind Hollywood Beach Broadwalk, a promenade that stretches nearly 2.5 miles along the Atlantic Ocean.” “Approximately 80 percent of Port Everglades, the world’s second-busiest cruise port, is located in Hollywood and the port is home to Royal Caribbean’s Allure of the Seas and Oasis of the Seas, the largest cruise liners in the world.” “The thrills of Hollywood, Florida begin at Seminole Hard Rock Hotel and Casino.” “But in the end, the dominant enticement is Hollywood’s beach, with a vintage feel and the distinction of being named Fodor's ‘Best Beach for Families.’”
IX
with a belt, of course. How else would i
X
That Wednesday in catechism class, our teacher said that the boy really must have felt sorry for what he did before he died, that he definitely apologized before it was too late, that confession can happen in big moments without a priest, that it was likely a joke or an accident and not on purpose, because that would be––? And that would mean––? Because sin is––? The kids from the other elementary school shrugged. One boy called a girl Baby Beluga; she called him a fat fuck.
XI
Some weeks later, our guidance counselor asked my mom to ask me whether I had heard the boy say or do “anything weird” in the past few weeks. I told my mom to tell our guidance counselor that he read me a story he wrote for English on one of the word processors. I thought it was odd since we finally had a couple computers and I had like never really had a conversation with him, but it was about his life, his butch older sister and his sturdy name and it sounded really happy. When he finished I saw his crooked smile, the dusky blond curls. When he finished and his wave washed over me, I looked up and he already put the word processor back, his name was already an idea.
XII
“In her mid-to-late thirties, most likely”: I turned thirty-four while I drafted this poem. Or, rather, I started thinking about all of this when I was ten, and then some things happened and about a quarter century later, I’m thinking about it again. When I shave maybe I’m twenty-six. In my dreams, when we look at each other, I know we’re about twenty, when we could’ve met hypothetically. When we’re high and looking at each other for an hour on end, you’re very old and very young. When I’m at the ocean, when I am by myself at the ocean, I am picturing the moment I am not. When I’m in you and I feel purple, like the plum like the sea, like a prince red and red and blue, I don’t know how old we’re supposed to be. Guess.
My friend Scratchy Cat says hi. She also says you should subscribe if you haven’t done that. And maybe you should share this if you like any of this stuff. Or tell a friend. Have a drink. Eat a cookie. Give Scratchy Cat a good long pet. —KJ