Only If You March First

BEFORE ANYTHING, I gotta say that I LOVE COMMENTS; how else would I know that you came here naturally instead of through the ridiculous tags? Thank you.

(Before this post commences, I should tell you about the night's vagaries: just as I was getting ready to publish this, the computer crashed and would not restart. Then I discovered that my bank account had gone into overdraft during the night. I sat here with the computer for an hour, tweezing dust from the fans. There was't much there, but at least the thing starts now. Hello hooray March.)

Hi! This is a Zygarnic poem (the "Zygarnic Effect" is that nagging discomfort that accompanies neglect of one's duties). Motivated by "why complete assignments when the everything is just so much?" 

I had been called for jury duty on the day (in june, 2002) before this poem was written;  appearing punctually at the courthouse and everything, I accepted the $20 that they gave me (for "lost pay") and got drunk with it during lunch. 

I walked around, smelling Gardenias and looking for misspelled traffic signs (the two notable ones read 





And I didn't spare a thought for my woefully overdue Master's thesis, which felt as good as it could have felt. If I were a string, I wondered, what tone would I produce when plucked?

deadlines are guidelines

before it writes
it speaks and
before it speaks
it thinks and
before it thinks
it moves and
when it has moved
enough to think then
it stops moving for
long enough to think
the thinking and after it
thinks the thinking then it
does with it what it will or
what is generally expected
so excited to be up on its damn
self that it forgets the motion
and is discovered locking
certain doors without any
palpable effort but what if it just kept
moving and moving and moving and
moving (like an advancing desert) and moving and
moving and moving (like love or somesuch) and moving
and moving (like a collision minus impact) and
moving (sallying forth)
and (don’t hang on)
moving (ha
a-ha-a-hahahahaha) getting
all like there’s no shame ‘cause
there’s not and also something’s there
like a proton you know
everything always
happening for real
at the same time
what kind of crazy
shit is that



    Do you remember when we drove around Frederick and you directed me to that sign? You took a picture of me pointing at it, and we smoked cigarettes and it was summer. Later we were driving down Rosemont avenue, and by that woeful development of clover springs II (because punishing us with one was insufficient) and one of the biggest fuck of all thunder storms blew in. We pulled over and got out of the car...we ran around and got soaked from head to toe in little under a few seconds time.

    That picture has to be around somewhere...

  2. "deadlines and guidelines" - the still gap between all that isn't...
    i once wrote a song that...


  3. they are indeed always moving, moving, moving and as they move, I get better at pretending (more for myself than others) I am doing just enough to validate the moving.

    I miss those thunderstorms in Frederick and getting soaked within seconds. I have to stand outside in a Seattle rainy day for at least a few hours before I actually notice I am getting wet.