i've been battling space-cadet blank mind, fear-based inventions and reflexive denials.  And introductory sighs.

i deny without even realizing it.

i float  in an ether  ungrounded and disconnected.    gifts fly past that i don't see, or mistake as weapons against which i must shield myself.

and i can't seem to play a straight man.  too revealing, perhaps? 

i want a scene in which my own voice is heard.

push push push.  play. play. play!

there once was a boy named Johnny
whose nose was particularly runny

snot ran down his mouth, to his chest, further south

to the place reserved just for his honey.
__________

there once was a girl named Honey
whose jokes weren't particularly funny
but she made people laugh with her tics and her gaffes
and yet still she made lots of money

__________

there once was a girl named Hanna
poorer than ants in Montana
and she wondered forever
how she could be so clever
to make the heavens give up its manna

__________

hmmmm



meat



clap


sortie

i noticed my father's eyelashes about a month ago.  long, full, brown, winged with gray.  and I thought - have I never noticed this before?  that his eyes look oddly girlish?  that his eyelashes are dark brown?? or is he taking up with mascara???  he's so not the type.  what the hell is going on????

and the answer to the mystery:  his newly-prescribed eye drops for glaucoma are making his eyelashes grow (to the point of pushing away his glasses), darkening their natural color - and turning his blue eyes brown (this last point is subtle and not immediately noticable).

it's an odd effect - his 60 year-old face, puffy and full from too much barbeque and ice cream, with doll's eyes.

a dream of a few days ago:
Brad and Angelina make a surprise visit to my house.  I am trying to sweep up the dog hair from the carpet as they enter.  i am jittery and embarrassed that my house is a mess.  I point out to them that, except that their cheeks are hollow and mine are full, we share similar jawlines.  They agreed.  Except that we look completely different, we look the same. 

I know no-one clumsier than me, and in the past two weeks, I've out-clumsied even myself.  Exhaustion has played Clumsy's wing-man, setting him up for fun and games with me.   In these two weeks, I have:  stepped on my own toes while dancing (sober); banged my  shins against the side of my desk; painfully pinched my fingers;  slipped with a knife while chopping veggies and cut my index finger;  hit my head on the inside of the refrigerator; hit my head as I got into my car; walked my forehead straight into a low-hanging branch, snapping my head back and causing a mid-back crunch sound (and jolting a memory of having done this at that same location precisely one year before, when I was last there - the first time I was knocked to the ground; god, I need to remember to take off my fucking hat and look up when I'm there next); and countless other minor events that leave bruises of forgotten origin on my body.  My body map is frayed, torn, inaccurate, a mercator projection constructed before satellite truthing.  I'm almost shocked I haven't hit anything with my car.

i'm so tired.  the clumsiness extends itself to other realms of my life.  i have been noticably dropping balls (and uppercase pronouns).  i have been taking medicine, brain-food to nourish the proper synaptic functions - oils to make it all run smoother and with less friction.  But Exhaustion and Over-Commitment (HIS right-hand), they are fucking THUGS and I have forgotten my karate chops. 

i am ill and sleeping poorly.  i sniffle.  salty water pours from my eyes, goop from my nose.  my throat is scratchy from drainage.  i am gross.

my brain hasn't switched from processing to dream mode.  improv ideas flit through my head.  and thoughts about the dynamics my improv community,  and the strangeness of improv intimacy - intimacy without biography.  a new way of knowing each other, through farts, monsters and voices.

ok, back to bed

my body has capitulated to an invasion of wind; my blood is thin, my pulse erratic.

needles give me needles, wait, did I really mean that?
tiny, dangling, too many
i forget some, i imagine others

those tiny needles were not enough, the wind blew through my defenses 

such great jokes last night
issued from my own mad mouth
where's my recorder
_________________

On my awesome acro-yoga scene:

Pretty fucking tired
but still i managed to lift
a man on my back

On my dominatrix scene:

Kneel Neil! I said Kneel!
Kneel, On your Fucking Knees Neil!
You see my whip? Fear.

So fucking dead tired
prose not possible today
so i simplify

_____________

fuck you google docs
pithy masterpeices gone
tomorrow new day

_____________