• when the temperature climbes above oneohfive (which happens often here right before the crack of autumn), I crawl into the walk in refrigerator in the warehouse district. I quarantine myself. pull the door shut, turn off the lights press my cheek to the cold concrete. 

  I think about Dr. Seuss a lot. my man, T. Guyzel. he said you have to be odd to be #1. which changed my life in my wee youth because I was a pretty weird kid. not in the special snowflakey way. I suppose everyone is weird in childhood. I mean children are fundamentally weird. 

  it's the things I remember that are weird. the dead grass. the neighbor girl who left me notes in the communal dog kibble. the piano lesson in which I finally learned to read treble clef. the cat powers album my mom listened to when she was drunk. the recurring dream of that scene in jurassic park where the velociraptor overcomes the mechanics of a door handle. could he figure out a revolving door which has more of a learning curve? I didn't know. I worried. 

  now all I worry about is how much I relate to that "high all the time" song on the radio. I lay face down in cold storages and think of the face I'm supposed to be looking for in a week at school. I hope I find her. 

• "...the recurring dream of that scene in jurassic park where the velociraptor overcomes the mechanics of a door handle. could he figure out a revolving door which has more of a learning curve? "

  
  

  This is beautiful and lyrical. Your writing reminds me of Breton's surrealist poetry as well as Lautreamont's disturbing hyper-romantic prose.

  
  

  Bravo and keep writing !

  NomadMonadon September 28, 2014   Link

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