oh my god
also
how could i forget

in a test situation
write your cheat sheet on your thigh
and pull your skirt up under your desk

you teacher shouldn't be looking anyway

Notes from the Overground

I. And there's this thing about the young and the addled, who ask, "Is there a god and what does he think of me?" - treading sidewalks and ghosting over storefronts, what choice is there? - tramping from hotspot to hotspot, places we are allowed to stop and always looking to turn more places into places we can stop, click the clip lights of our bikes and take off our shoes -  we all just want everywhere to be home, so we can doff our PJs anytime.

So, my angels, and here's that ignoble lining - we'd all take the deal now. Lord love us, but somehow the self got severed from the self sometime after the war (or maybe earlier; we've got our best scientists on it, I promise), which means mustering a lot of imaginative force, which means a lot of tired people, which means a lot of bed-worshipping people, which means people who want to put on their PJs, which means people who would take the deal. In the annals of ignobility, the entire generation takes the deal because if others will happily purchase you in your unadulterated form, maybe you can get some peace, you know?

(Positive side effects of fame include using your imaginative powers for everything except living.)
(Or at least, evidence to the contrary, say the Phoenix fam, gets assiduously ignored.)

II. What the fuck is art for if you want to destroy culture?

III. The question remains, who am I doing this for? The question sometimes becomes, why would anyone do this for free? At worst the question is, WHAT IS THIS? And sometimes, there is a horrible tumbling of, how can we pretend to narrativize that which resists narrative so completely, structure the unstructured, enforce logic on the illogical and the vast, maybe we got a few things right but what if our basic assumptions are wrong spinning us out into some sort of weird collective delusion, there are no names for the nameless, action doesn't even mean the same thing it meant three thousand years ago, but really who am i to say because we move so goddamn slow as a whole, what if stories have to change to catch up with the way we think of the self now which has almost nothing to do with what we do, what of Mac Wellman's recidivist, what of quoting scripture for my purpose, what of evil, i can't even begin to imagine a new form, i'll die if i have reinvent the wheel tomorrow, i'm not ready, i'm not ready, when will i ever be ready, amen.

Ya know?

IV. Notes on tone from N+1: "Women’s websites like the Hairpin created unity among their readers by cultivating the sense of membership in an inner circle, where women displayed their intimacy and cemented their belonging by speaking to one another like high school best friends. The Hairpin’s voice, filled with chatty camaraderie, was sometimes cloying and sometimes engaging when it gave me style tips and book recommendations (“I know I made you all go out and get your Villette tramp stamps like my first day here”); but in articles that took on larger topics, that voice read as distracting, condescending, or even anxious at the prospect of alienating readers."

V.  Off to London tonight, don't really know what to do there. Turns out tickets to the Olympics are real complicated to get. Turns out the Olympics are a moral shitfest.

VI.

you can lick my face anytime

here's my soupy soup
i thought about sending this in an email but for now i'm putting it here until i decide that it's okay to press the send button (these things can mean a lot and for some it might be toooooo much)

wow wow wow
i have warm burbles of love for all of you
i'm on the edge of tears - IN A NICE WAY, i must say
such that my eyes are always a little warm
and the edges of my vision blurred and soft so our world is a little dreamy
and my skin a little prickly
i feel fizzles between us
and though i am ZONKED, i like it and i like you
yes YOU, i'm looking at you
pretty mess-maker, joy-dancer, toe-wiggler, happy glowworm
at YOU life-good-maker, family-friend-lover
to whom i am grafted

i would briefly like to thank the universe
and its chaos
for coalescing to bring us-me-you here
THANKS ENTROPY (or rather let's measure ourselves on the spectrum thereof)!
you are a treat
you smell goodbad
you are nastytasty-tastynasty

aw shucks
i wanna hide in my hair
but i totally want you to get underneath it too
and we can live in a little tent
of my SAMSONITE hair
because i am so proud of you, to be with you and near you
because you are strong and beautiful and enticing and so so smart
so there you go

soupy-sappy-lovelove
you can lick my face anytime

An Instructional Video for a Monday

In other news, it has been said that our abode does not have a suitable name - 5491, apparently, being too pedestrian. Suggestions?