"journal entry"
A small glimpse; I’ve been happy these days in a calm and measured way that I don’t think I’ve quite had before. Been working part-time in a pet-foods warehouse, staking bags and boxes of dog and cat food on pallets. Mentally, it is kind of like tetris which I find relaxing, and physically…it was a little hard at first but I am getting in better shape, and it feels good to be tired in that way. The annoying radio station in the warehouse plays a lot of "90’s rock" and on the anniversary of Kurt’s death they played a lot of Nirvana. I am now past his age when he died (27) and for some reason I have made that significant, in my mind. It would take a bit too long to explain. It is cold in the warehouse so I wear a couple layers of sweatshirts and I remember reading something about how kurt, when he was younger, would wear extra layers of clothing to hide his slight frame. I like the meaning of the word frame in that context.
Before I got this job, and on my days off these days, I paint. I’ve been doing a series of oil paintings of concrete/wall corners with leaves, debris and other minutia collecting in them. I will show you when I have a few more done. I don’t have an easel so I lean the canvas against a television I don’t watch, and layer the floor with newspapers I hardly read. I don’t really know much about what’s going on in the world.
Heart matters: there is a girl I see who I call my kinda-girlfriend because she is in a long term relationship with another girl. they have a moderately open-relationship. So at first it was weird and a bit complicated but now I see it as the loveliest arrangement. m. is a dream, most gentle eyes, softest voice. We’re like best friends in a way too, she knows me well, in a way where I find myself feeling honest and beautiful when I’m around her. Also, as i was telling Elizabeth, she makes fun of me being a poet and loving darkness and such, so I emphasize that part sometimes to make her laugh.
What else - I write, you know about that. I post less than 10 per cent of what I write. The rest is much too incomplete, in fragments, or just needs some more breathing time. sometimes I feel all of this is breathing time before I finally say something, maybe ten, twenty years from now.
The city/suburb I live in is kind of ugly and unfriendly but as you know, sometimes its all about the angle of the light.
28 years old today. April 15th. Birth of Da Vinci in 1452, The sinking of the titanic in 1912, and Edward Gorey spun off his mortal coil 6 years ago.
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