2012-04-11 46,373 notes

2012-03-04 10,427 notes

Christophe Jacrot

and i suddenly realize that her big rambling house
has a basement. it’s a new world, some Belgian
Congo that i’ve been waiting to discover. or maybe it’s
been waiting for me, patient space, all this time.
objects sit, obedient, not at all disturbed, while
the upstairs rooms continue with their crazy tilt.
“it’s so funny,” i think, how humans run into each other
when they’ve had too much to drink - how they don’t
say, “oh excuse me,” but just give you a crinkled smile as
if to suggest that bodies are made to collide.
wild splishing laughter from the living room, Jill
dances throwing off bolts of amusement while Darryan’s
legs lapse into the couch. “he has long legs,” i think, although
i don’t fixate on it because i’m too busy fumbling
with the camera. only one bottle of wine down and
already the sentiment comes -
groping out, a confused passenger, or rose light soaking
through red red curtains, making me lean and smile.
Cecily reminds me gently that i’ve been pressing buttons
on the camera for what must be an eternity because i’m
still a bit high, not quite in the same time zone as
everyone else. but the pictures get taken and my
need to ruthlessly mimeograph every human moment
is satisfied. me, the collector of holograms,
obsessed with how love circles every image
like the rim of a sugared glass. how you can look down
through water impossibly blue and see it all,
everything, without it getting lost,
without you getting lost. and always a hand on your
back to keep you from slipping, because people,
when given the chance, will usually gleam and don’t
stand back when it happens but
move closer and laugh at it, fearfully laugh at it
because otherwise it will only confuse you.
ha ha how gnomic i should write these down.
i dance stupidly happily with wooden block feet
then tilt laughing into
Hannah’s arms thinking, how interesting women’s bodies
are, how different from men’s, how we force you to rearrange
your arms a bit, and i want
to say something great about how she’s turned 30
but my head is a box full of prepositions spilled
across the floor like colored toys and
nothing fits so i just keep dancing,
which has always worked in the past.
light from the kitchen throws antique halos
over the cut out Valentine’s Day decorations
(Jill put hearts on the toilet and they seem somehow
brave against the white porcelain) everything keeps
getting warmer.
Jef and Cecily leave and the peculiar embrace that our arms make
together will need to be translated because i can’t say
what i mean, my body doesn’t have the vocabulary for it.
can’t say, “you are two of my favorite people,”
just like i can’t say to everyone in the house,
“take a look at yourselves because you’re all brilliant
and recklessly beautiful and for once just notice it,”
but these thoughts only arrive after the lights come on
and empty bottles get packed away into garbage bags
plates get thrown into the sink as people
tiredly retrace the halls, picking up, clearing away.
glowing order flows through the rooms. i’m already
in the back of Yvonne’s car going home (leaving is always
blurry as if someone else’s body has decided to leave not
mine and this is probably the truth).
i stare at my keys in front of the building.
they’ve become alien artifacts,
but eventually i remember how to open the door
and the cat says,
“where were you i was alone you went away well never mind just pick me up.”
and i do,
thinking, “home,” as the cool sheets unravel for me.
i wonder about all of the friends making
their separate ways back, following trails of light
back home to their own beds, alone or together.
maybe i’m sure for just a moment
that nothing gets lost, that ultimately everyone
keeps each other safe.
signal in the dark, soft code tapping on the wrist like water
as if to say, lean a little further,
just lean,
don’t worry,
i’ve got you.

2012-02-11 15 notes

Then you must make really good love again.

2012-02-01 1 note

“To do list” by Alvin Pang

#234 - blindfolded, on a bed of moss, within reach of a robin’s nest

#12 - in a disused lighthouse, by candlelight

#555 - while singing

#6 - while counting in French

#199 - following diagrams in the precise order specified by the 1873 edition.

#14 - on the 43rd step

#2662 - in a boat blanketed by mist and the cry of wild geese overhead.

#82 - in lieu of breakfast

#64 - fully attired

#728 - to the consternation and envy of fellow passengers

#984 - without resorting to handholds, surrounded by mirrors, and the water kept at body temperature

#476 - after realizing the mushrooms should probably have been smoked instead

#235 - while on the phone but not driving

#2 - sweeping away letters of commendation on an otherwise underused desk