okay so I've been talking to the universe, and
I think
I think
it's trying to tell me that Idaho is my beautiful home
what, something about the countryside
because I spend time there, in the sagebrush
and I love it when my hands are so dirty
I look tan,
cinnamon
and then my car stops working
because I'm blogging in it while it's raining
listening to the radio, it's all really good
smoking 1,000 smokes
and how will we ever get out of here, now?
that sort of thing.
But of course, I just needed to get jumped
Nickey & I found a secret clubhouse
in the foothills, it overlooks all of Boise
in a way that makes it seem
like it really is a city for trees
one can't see the buildings
it looks like it did when those frenchcanadian people showed up in their beaverskin caps.
why am I so angry
why am I surprised
when people don't like me,
don't want to be my friend.
I want to say a lot of very cruel, inconsequential things
I want to hurt someone's feelings
more than mine could ever be
because that's what big men do
they break one another down
I guess, so I hear
I'm not a pick-on-you
I'm not a hurter
I'm not even a hurtee
like I was, once.
I am thick, I know
but I still have these knives in me
and I know they can be good for the stabbing
but I am out of the habit-of-cruel
and it doesn't come naturally
so I should probably just go to the clubhouse, now
and be sweet & good
and forget that love-sadness-regret-anger-hatred cycle
that I've been riding.
This is a Diary entry
for no one at all
I just don't know how to write a diary, anymore
like I don't know how to walk or run
I just know how to memorize
and to look hard
and to feel hard
and I'm forgetting how
to wish
which is the only good thing I've learned to forget
