A dystopia, perhaps

Turning to Your Phone for a Better Night’s Sleep: The Truth behind Sleep Tracking Apps.  I wake up to sound bits blurring to form the gentle hum of white noise that lulls me from my slumber at approximately the optimal time according to my own personal sleep cycle. I reach for my phone. I don’t hit snooze. Not even once. Snoozing disrupts the sleep cycle in a way that does not help the body feel more rested, or so I think I’ve heard. My mind is active before my body so I allow myself five minutes to tap through Twitter, calendar, email, Instagram, Snapchat, texts, and Tinder to find a Local Muslim Teen Killed in Virginia, three reasons I don’t want to go to work today, The Secret to Selling Your Art Online, kittens and coffee art, 16 Mistakes It’s OK to Make in Your 20s, an unsaved number saying asking do u still have adderall, and an unknown guy asking are we still on tonight. Old news, sigh, delete, cute and please, done, yes, if nothing else comes up before then. I try to grasp the last shreds of the last night’s dreams, but they’re nowhere to be found. I don’t think I dream as much as I used to as a kid. This is probably good for productivity in waking life, or so I think I might have heard.

the fluid dynamics of language

Last text message stamps that turn from time to day to date watching fiction fabricate where love profession became kiss-sealed fate. Determining if terminal velocity has been accelerated passed at a change in change in distance greater than gravity while existing unknowing with respect to and with no respect for

space. A little bit too tipsy to the point of topsy turning. A little bit too little: a tiny chunk: a minuscule nibble. A finger in to test the waters, the temperature of misplaced tea. The temperature of a tepid day with higher than bearable levels of humidity for individual hairs to stay put in organized chaos. Chaos so chaotic it can only be described by a law, the second one, it’s fundamental thermodynamic the heating the cooling trying to contain to construct to solidify the abstract into the concrete so concrete so rigid so indifferent unemotional.

proof of concept

It still feels like 2016. It still feels like the most important year of my life. It still feels like the end of my childhood. I still want to talk to him. It’s driving me mad it is it is it is. I still want to talk to him and I’m wondering why I am sitting here not talking to him and talking to this person and to that person and enjoying my life but still but still still weeks and months and security lost later still wanting to talk to him. Still thinking about him constantly. Consistently? Repeatedly. Reminded. Still wishing him well in my head in my head always in my head and waiting waiting waiting for him to tell me for him to reach out to me and tell me he’s doing well and tell me he felt my well wishes and tell me he held that feeling in a place in his heart until it warmed him until it cleared away cobwebs until it helped him realize he could be doing well because someone wants too much so much so badly so desperately for him to be alright – more than alright: wonderfully – because he is wonderful and I am terrific and I am doing terrifically as I sit here sit here sit here and think always thinking always thinking about him and wondering what he’s doing and hoping it’s well – more than well: wonderfully. Because he is wonderful and I am terrific and I am happy now but still so sad. So sad but happy with myself. So satisfied but wanting more. So conflicted but existing peacefully in so many states. I don’t know what I want right now because I want nothing I want something I want someone but I’m not as caught up in my emotions as I used to be. I let them flutter let them fall watching them as they crash to the floor like a teardrop like the loudest scream like the silence that rings out as time stops having meaning. I do miss the feeling of being passionately in love with a person who exists like a concept – like more than just an individual with individual problems and insecurities and interests and dislikes – both external and internal and expanding – expanding and filling the chest I leaned my head on and felt so very much in love with so very much in love with a person like a concept like a too-good-to-be-true like a Form. The chest with the message printed on it – the reminder to live the best life possible – the reminder that this will all end and you will see it in slow motion as it ends before your eyes and just out of the reaches of your grip – a reminder of a dream a twenty-two year old had and was fighting every day to turn into a reality to turn a concept to a proof.  The constant struggle of self-definition that is classified by experts as anxiety. The constant struggle of being too in a head too in a head too in a head where else does one go where else is there where else could I be? Explained external complaints becoming. I’ll hold them deeply and let them devour me. I’ll change the subject: I’ll make it all about me. He’ll hold them deeply and let them devour him. It’s all about me as I sit here and I think about what it’s like for it to be all about someone else for someone else who is making their own decisions based on all the information they are able to contain all that they can bear to bear witness to to carry to be burdened with. It is difficult to live with your eyes open. I’ve turned a blind one a few times a few times maybe too many but it’s all relative based on other outcomes of other choices that I will never be able to choose because time is linear and this is my path. I’ve turned blind eyes I’ve ignored what is obvious. It’s fear it’s all fear and I’m terrified and terrible and taking turns to shaded places where it’s too dark too dark far too dark to see. A blind eye in a dark room in the isolation of a mind a mind inside of a head that is too active too panicked too scared to believe that there is more outside. More than a concept in a head leaning on a dream written on a chest.

planning

The plan is to live in Chicago, then Denver, then San Francisco, and then Seattle, as a way to be both young professional and nomad through the remainder of my 20s. The plan is to move back to Philadelphia to reduce the stress of starting over in another new city. The plan is to stay at my current job and save as much money as possible so I have the freedom to start over someplace new sometime soon without having to find another job in my current field. The plan is to apply to jobs in my current field to give me a reason to move to a new place. The plan is to decorate my apartment so it feels like a home and not a temporary storage space. The plan is to get a part-time job that pays just enough to cover bills and gives me experiences to write about. The plan is to pay off my student loans as quickly as possible so that I can reasonably be unemployed and focus on writing or photography or starting a business or some other thing I feel too weighed down to take seriously as this point in my life. The plan is to quit drinking because drinking costs too much money and is not entertaining enough. The plan is to stay single and make friends and have fun with those friends. The plan is to go out and meet someone I can eventually marry and do the whole parenthood thing with. The plan is to take life day by day and see which changes come because changes will come, but they will not come all at once. The plan is made up of contradictions. The plan is a source of anxiety. The plan depends on only me.  

hive mind

A many sided centipede who exists in all directions crawled on a wall bound by no sides and settled down for breakfast. When did you know you lost your mind? He questioned sipping stylistic tea. When my many legs became tongue tied, and my heart forgot to breathe. I walked and walked and still I found no thoughts anxiously remaining, so I talked on public pedestals and couldn’t stop complaining. We need a cause, we need a fix, we need a reason and a way. Illogic drawn on poster board depicts unthought that demands to have a say.

our cats, ourselves

Walter is gloomy and mysterious; Quincy is a mix of bird and dog. Walter calls for your attention while you’re asleep; Quincy waits for the alarm to meow. Walter is graceful in movement and stillness;  Quincy stutters with caution before jumping. Walter looks into your eyes to see what else is there; Quincy cannot hold eye contact. Walter lifts into the air: effortless power; Quincy witnesses without watching: interpreting. Walter is a creature of habit; Quincy goes with the flow. Walter is a love poem; Quincy is a scientist.  Walter jumps as high as he can; Quincy is most comfortable on the ground. Walter’s tail wraps around him when he’s seated: protecting, shielding; Quincy’s tail is up in the air when he’s walking: carefree, forgotten. Walter tells you he loves you; Quincy drinks your bathwater. Walter needs Quincy more; Quincy loves Walter more. Together, both found different ways to occupy the same space.

focus

an attempt to be in a moment in a moment that is passing at present in the present in an instant not wasting time not wasting now. an attempt to be in a moment in a moment becoming past remaining concentrating on present actions present rest. at attempt to be in a moment but thought fluttering to the future to later just some hours just some point later today. an attempt to be in a moment but i am waiting to answer a text i am waiting to have a meeting i am waiting to get more work i am waiting to have something to do in the present other than write about an attempt to be in a moment because in this moment i am not focused on anything other than my attempt at being in this moment and in a way that is being in a metamoment which is kind of sort of maybe worse than not being active in a moment because it is actively talking about trying to be active in a moment without actually being in that moment or doing the things i should be doing at this present point in time. the present is the only time that exists outside of memory and assumption yet past and future are more often discussed. to talk about the present is to talk about current actions which is not done not really which is kind of strange yet makes perfect sense if present time is only truly present when shrunk down to infinitesimal beats approaching nothings.