You sunk my battleship

We'd argue twenty moves ahead. I'd bet on the peices and you'd vote for the placement. I'd say, "i have 4 of your men and you have 3 of mine". You'd recount by pointing to my awkward strategy. I gave you the evil eye for castling your heart, while you'd retort "tried tested and true". But yr traditional moves are a bore and we play no more. I have little strategy, not to say I have little sympathy. I know my men and i know yours, and i see you coming from the distance. I don't fear you all around. Because I trust my instincts and I trust my foresight and i trust my vengeance. Yr knights are nothing, yr pawns are nothing, and our queens are dead. During these moments i see you detach and recoil. I silently curse yr soft mind and fallen shield. If you fail yrself, you'll fail me. If you rely on defense, its merely waiting for yr lover's mistake, If you attack like a Queen, you die like a King.
It's never just a game, and i always told you so.

My move:H3G4

Record memory game

I'm not sitting on a plastic lawn chair with my feet in a paddling pool. I'm not wearing a shirt with bleach stains on my back, nor a fanny pack around my waist. No, I'm not running a mid-afternoon yard sale. I have a world, that i like, that i prefer to play inside. I'm a master of faces, and i could have sworn you're a messy one. There's no room for your toys and empirical ploys here.

bullet holes of a ground variety

in a time of no time, everything would happen before it could happen.
And it was in one of those moments, when The Creature emerged from
the edge of a green, salty lake. its skin was not akin to salt, and
its tears were of fresh water. through the cries of creation, long
lines of black ants pushed their bodies beneath the creature. the
insects made a song of their marching which calmed the child toward
sleep. no mother could awake from such silence. not that creatures
have mothers.

not long until dawn, the blackies had made their way to a grassy
plateau and laid the creature at the foot of a small, immeasurably
deep hole. as mentioned, this was a time of no time, and in no time
at all, moments managed to pass indiscriminately


the ants, nowhere to be seen, insisted harmlessness. helpful even.
some even interpret caring, friendly. after a very long period of
this No Time, the creature had awoken. this creature was not cold,
nor hungry, nor frightened, yet it cried and cried, as the born
often do. ....
believe it or not, this characteristic is as common in creatures
as it is of mortals. the creature was not hot, nor uncomfortable,
nor unsheltered. this creature was merely lonely, and as it flailed
aimlessly upon the grassy plain, it made slices of its fleshy
appendages, cut on the sharpened blades of stiff, unwielding grass.
The Creature's tears were not salty, but its blood was.....and
the ants felt their calling. these soldiers of good intentions thus
began to feast upon the juices of the child, as if it were the bleeding
heart of a freshly opened, and of course, salted watermelon. ...................................
cold and sweet and seeded. Cut into squares, in a clean white bowl,
on the porch of shaded house in southern georgia.

absolute perfection of the white light

Occupied

I am satisfied with my job. I have never before said this without stipulations attached. Not long ago, i had an hour train ride ahead of me. I hadn't my Ipod, nor my keitai. All I had was my tiny notebook with "Mother's Milk" printed on the cover. This is the place where I catalog any useful Japanese words and terms that I pick up along my way. But on that train day, I sacrificed a few pages in attempt to satisfy my curiosity. How many jobs have I had throughout my years?

The answer? Thirty-two.

Since it struck me strangely that my jobs outnumbered my years in this wicked world, I thought it appropriate to cross off things like "door-to-door pizza coupon seller" and "middle-school softball game snackbar attendant". I can admit that I found gratification in being a preschool teacher, though not any more than I felt with serving cocktails to bowlers or slices of pizza to drunk college kids. Believe me, I enjoyed cataloguing textbooks, and unjamming the Xerox machines...i swear, i really did. I also enjoyed re-shelving stacks of pornography behind the curtains of Captain Video, as well as regulating the medication for ADHD children and shadowing retarded kids through their lunchtime activities.
I am not being at all facetious, I truly found the monotony enjoyable. That is, until I met the world of insurance. My god, is data entry, answering phones, and making sales boring. Like sunburn on yr palms, want to murder your mother, torturous. I loved the girls I worked with, yes, but if there was any job transition that has bettered my life in the utmost possible way...it was leaving RV Nuccio and teaching in Japan.

However, here in Japan, my co-workers may have their quirks, but they are ultimately good, happy, respectable people. It makes me want to be good, happy and respectable.
But that's just one part of it...coworkers. In any job, there's more to it than just who you work with, there's the bureacracy. The Man. The place where your check comes from, the policymakers who determine your sick pay, vacation time, insurance plan, work-place rules and regulations, etc. In the past, that is usually where I have had problems. I've worked in enough corporations, and in enough sales-types of jobs to know that usually the entry-level suckers get the shaft. It's the rule of the world, right? The American way? Well, I'm not sure if I plan to return to the American Way.
Working as a teacher, or a teacher's aide, or whatever, in the American school system su-uucks. I doubt that I need to delve any deeper in proving my last statement. It's a given. However, in Japan, and as I can imagine, most other first-world countries besides the US , education is not last on the monetary funding list. Teaching is considered a reputable occupation, and funded accordingly. Though I am aware of the influence my country has on Japan and thus, the existence of my employment position here, I am also aware of the differences in the overall management of the system. This organization for which I work is the most organized, and well-balanced entity that I have ever been controlled by....including my parents.
This program has so many support systems that I actually feel like it is too much. Seriously, I can't believe that I can even say this, but I might even go down on the records saying that I think this program is overly funded as well as overly supplied with overly-capable staff. After all my years of being a wage-earning citizen of the world, I must admit that right now, I have it good. And for maybe the first time, I feel the urge to work to my full potential. Perhaps that's just an admission of my lazy, American attitude....that because I'm treated nicely in the workplace, I actually feel like doing work. To tell you the truth, it feels good.

do jogging

I don't remember falling asleep or leaving the house, but I'm pretty sure it was a new moon. And on this night, the overcasted clouds glowed as if city lights were a mirror one-fourth the size of the earth. I doubt that I could run for an hour and five minutes, and that I could escape the bamboo forest without one wretched mosquito making his mark. I'm a smoker, nonetheless, and my blood, zifandel.
Not one car passed me by and my eyes never had to adjust their big black middles to accommodate annoying headlights. I've been curious about that place advertised on a blue road sign, and stayed curious for quite a while due to the unattractiveness of the road's grade. However, on this moonless, silver-lit night, the incline resembled the tall, shiny slide that links together the playground sand to the 3rd tier of the giant rocket. No one who cries at night can resist climbing up that slide. If you want to know if your child is still alive, drive past that park, or run up this trail.

Every now and then, I could have sworn the world had turned upside-down, and that the rivers ran up, and that I was running from a giant wave that's been traveling longer and farther than I. But it was just the freeway. Bamboo has a talent for echo. I was stopped by a tall black gate, that just functioned as kindling for my curiousity. Couldn't help but think that a wooden one would have made this story better, however unfortunately, this story is true. So why start lying now?

I had two choices, run in the muddy tea fields or descend the mountain road. How boring should I have done the latter, so mud it was. I liked the slippy feelings i kept stumbling upon. I wanted to fall in the mud, but i never did. Things never get dirty when you're ready for it. I stopped at a kumquat tree. It did not smell like anything, not even of orange rind. So as a way to make it feel better, I picked one of its fruit. The midget orange was dry and bitter, but I finished it with a smile and even swallowed the seeds. I did not want to offend this kind, aromaless bush. A bush i say, as it was hardly a tree, and to be here, amist waves of perfect tea fields...well, it didn't deserve any more offenses.

Like any good samaritan does, i reveled in my dopaminic rush of completing a good deed, so I grew even more determined to meet my muddy demise and I began to sprint.
My lungs seized before any other of my muscles, and while diverting all my attention to getting my babies some nice gasps of cloudy, night air, I found myself in new surroundings. Bye bye, ta ke, hello sugi. I don't know what they are called in English, as I've always been bad with tree names. I know an interesting fact about Sugis but I'm going to save that for another time. You see, the girl who taught me the interesting fact reeks of a good story, so we can just wait.

By this time, I was scared. The reason should have been more about the state of my lungs and my overall physical health, but alas, the fear was of the dark. Typical. Now don't you start thinking that the sky had gone and changed. Oh no no no, the darkness was the fault of the Sugi. You see, I was now on a path with a river on my left and the Sugi on my right and my top. If the clouds water had broke, I'd have probably remained dry. I began to run faster and somehow bypassed the whole damaged lung thing because I ran the distance of three river bridges. I could have crossed over and left the darkness, but I love when I feel like I have an imagination. And at that time, all I saw were snakes on the ground and webs on my face. And I flew.


I don't remember leaving the house or falling asleep, but i also don't remember my dreams.

Okay, now that was a lie. It's just that my dreams don't remember me.

Hades

Chances are that you know me. Had we drinks together, then you must know me even better. If we get together purely for the sake of drinking, then we must be friends. Good friends. As I think back and conjure the faces and tales of the cohorts in my past, I grow full with nostalgia. By this stage in life, you might find that mannerisms repeat themselves. Obviously, the average lifetime spans far too long to forever continue to experience a constant state of novelty. All I mean to say is that there comes a time when the word "eventually" digs itself into your familiar vernacular. And "eventually", new acquaintances become what may seem like replacements to the old way, or a slow relay, of the dead.

This may seem depressing. But beware, vicissitudinous happens. Happens suddenly, like an uncomfortably, nescient dream. Like i said, it only seems depressing. While in reality, welcomed. Sure, people are people. Have been and will always be. But the advantage in recognizing people patterns becomes a quite delicious gift. I can recognize the shift of an eye, quite like the stain on your favorite shirt, much like the one I was responsible for. It remains quite the same, quite unchanged...again and again and again. "Master the seasons" cries the seasoned master, seized by disaster and everything after.

Baby the babies, lick all the maybes, straight toward the ladies.
There's the spaces between heaven, the earth and the places they call.......

Those three days

Blue and red threads pump life through the seven hundred and fifty two dollar check sleeping in your letter box. Oxygenated by the driver of your 11:15 bus, and the Hindi speaking hand dropping down your Bali Shag. Breathing out what you think are anecdotes and false diagnosis. But we saw you on that balconey. Your Dean white shirt told us everything about you. Liar, ja nai. Liar, no puedes.
Those three days opened every door and window, along with every mouth and eye. But it was I, that time, who finally caught you red eyed and empty handed.
Left-handed and stranded.

Focus Pills

I've known 9 Mikes, 3 Marissas, 4 Justins, 6 Rebeccas, 5 Amandas, 1 Mayuko and 16 Jennifers.

Yes, 16 Jennifers, Jennys, Jens. I counted.

Q. Why should I post this information?
A. As proof to the gods in why it should not rain violently on a day designated for me to get out and do something that involves talking to people. In English. Unconstrained, fast-paced, slang-riddled, sweet delicious English.
I had Japanese class today, but I shivered at both the cold wind and the thought of riding my bike in my plastic pants and shirt. I look so stupid in that hyaku store-bought rain gear. And I sound even stupider. Swish, Swish, swishity-swish-swish. Damn you, Spring. Damn you for your coy reluctancy!

Damn you all to hell.-Charleton Heston

Des kon pa!

"Ichi-ni-no san-mono-shi take dekkon-bokkon chu-chu kameboko des kon pa!"

I have no idea what it means but it's hella fun to sing. I learned it from the video I bought Mikey for his birthday, but have yet to send. Sorry, Janino, but i love it.
I'm so Devo, ain't I?

Top Five in Safety Zoning

5) Team-Teaching room. Also known as the old audio-visual room. Chalk dust, pleasant natural lighting, koi pond view, male computer speakers, female ipod, perfect fit, great acoustics, 42 places to sit, colorful wall decorations, 2 TVs, 1 VCR, English/Japanese vocab lists posted everywhere, my own key, 4th floor, quiet, solitary, confining.

4)Crumbling ,abandoned, brick incinerator in the backyard. Dismantled in 1989. Brick dust, no roof, rusting metal hatch only a child could fit through, deemed "dangerous" by mother, secret movable brick hiding safe, perfect backdrop in imaginary Freddy games, cold to the touch even on a summer day.

3)Downstairs bottom closet space. #6 Mukuya-Motomachi, Shimada, Japan. Wooden roof, futon/electric blanket floor, computer, posters, pillows, stuffed animal, 2 recreational readings, jisho, Clair Elementary Japanese text-book 5, glass of water, blue paper lantern, lit.

2) Porn Treehouse gated within an abandoned shack by a man-made river ravine, Moreno Valley, California. Fleckled paint, missing 2nd stair, smashed and rotting avocado pits burrowed in mud, mosquito breeding pond, 1978 torn Hustler, gutted Michelin with pillows, handmade sandwich of leftover Thanksgiving turkey, a tangerine and 3 Bud lights.

1)Beneath the tri-fold wooden kitchen table. Commerce, California. 1984-88. Hot-box cigarrette smoke, early morning feeted pajamas, 2 generations of gossiping women, pillow, blanket, younger brother, almond cookie snuck, sweetened coffee snuck, cold kitchen linoleum, old twisted toes tucked away inside ankle socks and slippers.

Privy me......

Oh silly, I'm doing just fine. There's no need to take things so personally. You ought to know my moods work like the weather.

I will admit though, that I was embarrassed by my gullibility. After hearing Dad's reaction to Ricky's exchange with Peter Answers, I grew angry that Peter would not answer me. I have a satisfactory imagination and I pictured Ricky's face turn pale as Peter magically responded with the description of dad's outfit. Even through the staticky connection of cellular speaker phone, could I feel it. Boy, did i feel like an idiot!! I spent about 45 minutes asking questions, wondering how long it would take for that motherfucking site to start answering my questions. Afterwards, I thought about how Ricky told me that I should just leave it alone and forget about it, as if he felt bad duping me. I wonder why. He usually likes that.

I hope he tells you his secret.

Ya, so it was nice talking to you guys today. I must admit it has been awhile since I felt far from home. Honestly, I have been busy, but with nothing particularly interesting. I tried counting how many weeks it has been since we last spoke. It had to have been after Rayna came home from that counseling center. I must admit that whole episode made me afraid to hear updates from home. Sure, today, everyone sounded happy and it was cute the way you all fought over the phone, but things just don't sound right. I'm worried, everything sounds so strange and messy. Very little is like how I left it. I really think Rayna ought to be in school. I would have tried to have a more serious conversation with you about it if the bottle of Tequila hadn't been out. How does Dad even get drunk that quickly? My god, within a span of 10 minutes, I could hear both his and Ray's voice turn Tequilafied. Jesus.

Rayna asked me if she could come stay with me for a couple of months. I think that may be too long for me to handle, though I think a month could do her good. Japan is a very peaceful place, healing in a way. Her interest in tea ceremony surprised me. I wondered how she could have known about that. However, she should probably work for it. Seriously, I'm not happy with this homeschool thing you guys are doing, and I'd want her to read a few books of my choosing, keep some kind of daily journal of world events given by a newspaper, as well as a couple other educational activities I'll come up. I'd love to spend some time with her. I miss her.

Anyhow, we can talk about this soon, I'm sure. There were alot of things that I didn't get to tell you. I guess since there are so many shocking stories to listen to from that end, that mine feel pretty boring. Sure, you could read this thing and see the places I've been recently, but I don't usually mention things like how the school year has just changed. Teachers have been transferred, and my desk and even shoe box has been moved. You, especially, know how terrible I am with change that doesn't come from my own creation. You know how upset I become when things are not in my control. I've been upset lately. Not because of the changes at work....how silly would that be, right? I just want to do things right. I hate repeating mistakes.

Well, my new method of distraction is trying to be a better teacher. Oh sorry, assistant teacher. I'm not really a teacher, you know. This year, I am trying to put more of an effort in learning all my students' names, being more helpful, along with trying to become involved in school activities. This last week, I've been playing tennis with the girl's team after school. At first, I wanted to play with the basketball team, but as I walked into the gymnasium on Monday, I saw them doing push-ups and I remembered the way training used to be in high school. There's no way I could do that now. I'm just too out of shape, and I'd just be a laughingstock. So instead, I went to the tennis courts. That didn't look so hard.

Ya, I know, i know. I don't know anything about tennis. Sure, last year Griselda and I used to meet at the NoHo courts and hit the ball around. I didn't suck. It's because I have decent hand-eye coordination. Probably all those years playing softball and chilling at the batting cages. Anyway, I did okay and the team was surprised that I had no clue the way an actual game works. I suppose they figured that if I could keep my own in a game of tether, I must have experience with the sport. They're cute though, those girls. I prefer being at school to being at home. I think i'm finally feeling the emptiness of living alone. The charm of independence may be wearing off.

A few weeks ago, I met a Brazilian girl whose house I've crashed at, and I was so envious of her living situation. She has two roommates and they watch TV together at night, make dinner for each other, and have a little cleaning schedule. It made me miss having roommates, or living at home. She was envious of me, though, too. She works 6 days a week, past dark. Me? My job is pretty awesome. Life, ay?

I have a new recipe that you might like. I am going to send you a small box with the ingredients even though you can get them at any asian market. All you'd have to do is go to 99 Ranch in San Gabriel. It's maybe only 15 minutes from your house, exiting the 60 at Dad's offramp and drive up Paramount. It is kind of like that seaweed salad that I'd always order when we'd go for sushi. First, I boil some dried seaweed for about 3 minutes, then rinse and strain. Next, I cut up a couple of cucumbers and mix the two together. I found a bag of dried octopus that tastes like teriyaki jerky. Listen, it may sound gross, but Mom, it's good...trust me. Anyway, mix that in. Finally, pour in some sweet Sushi vinegar and flavor with pepper and a pinch of crushed red pepper flakes. Mix it up, and refrigerate for a night. By lunchtime the following day, it is a delicious lunch salad. By far my favorite meal I've learned to make here within the last couple of weeks. Can you believe I've developed a fondness for octopus?

I should be going, though, because I have a little spreadsheet that I need to make and memorize. Remember I told you how I want to learn more about my students? It's harder than it sounds, as I have 12 classes of 40 students. Also, I should work on my presentation that I plan to give this week on how to make a blogspot account. Since the kids will be going to California again this year for their school trip, I want to try to make a forum where they can meet some of the kids before they go. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to get this to work, and that makes me a little worried but I'd much rather be worried about things like that than all the other crazy shit going on in my silly, mental salad bowl.
So hope we can talk soon, love you, R.

This flower does not bloom until its 7th year. In the eyes of the Japanese, that is a special thing. I was not impressed, though I really wish I could have been. I wonder if learning to appreciate is a quality that can be learned.

Cinema Star

Saturday midnight movie nights were a fun thing i used to do.
Remember this one?

http://www.tv-links.co.uk/show.do/4/1620

Toki ni........

Many people believe in God. Others, in fate. Some have faith in the power of free will. Alot say they believe in nothing which includes not believing in themselves which probably isn't much fun. I am still not sure what, if anything, determines. I'd like to think that everything converges into one, what we kiddies like to call "timing". Traffic accidents, lottery winnings, love, death, children and earthquakes, all about timing.
Is that just a synonym for fate?

Probably, so shut up.

I want to write about my experiences but it is hard when they are still so new. It might be beneficial to allow time pass in order to better judge whether the experience is finished. That's why I think it's best to compose in later age. Give a span of 20 years or so after a brush with love, death, disappointing tax returns, et cetera. Because when an experience is too new, it excites the psyche and overwhelms the senses, and murkifies judgment. Murky minds are messy people.

Plan A? Just write and write and write about everything as it strikes you, and then when you are left with nothing but bruises and a failing memory, return and sort through the series of mistakes that guided your journey toward the impending. Don't wait too long though, because there are many holes in the earth just waiting to end your stroll above ground.

Plan B? Have another matcha shochu. AKA Fuck it.

This just in!

Apparently alcohol, in all of its delicious forms, affects the memory. Now that the studies have been finalized, I will do that annoying thing that newspaper editors do, and correct misprinted info.
1. Grace's britty friend is not named Den. It's something else that rhymes with it, but unfortunately I was under the influence during the correction convo, so I don't remember. Again. I know it is not Ben, Glen, or Ten. Damn, I thought it was Den! Fuck.
2. Also, Grace and her misnomer ACTUALLY WERE speaking French while arguing with the 2 many DJ agents. For some reason, it sounded fake to me. Whatever.

My intention in beginning with this pointlessness is to blame alcohol. But alas, I would never want to speak ill of an old friend, but rather just use it as a segway (that looks soooo wrong, but i just cannot be bothered to look up that bitch-ass-bitch in the dictionary) into this last weekend. Sorry to disappoint, but for this post I am going to keep things relatively vague.
1)I poured a plate of food into my lap. (No photo)

2)I hanami-ed

3)I stood in the middle of a river.

4)I caught a fish.

5)I saw a choo-choo.
6) Et cetera.

Pretty Petty Paperweights

I've always relied on observation as the tool to understanding the questions that you just can't ask. There are many reasons people don't ask. Mostly, they don't care. You didn't notice that i smirked? Well, you must not care. After mostly, there's social standards. You can't very well approach an acquaintance and say "What's with your desperate attempts for attention? Were you ignored by your father? Did the kids shun you at school? Do these people truly provide you with the gratification and validation that you so apparently seek?" And well, it goes the same with those people who are more than acquaintances. In the past, i've been more than confrontational with such intimate analysis, and it always goes unappreciated. Nobody really wants to think those questions, much less be expected of answering them. Nobody wants to hear them from someone like me. Well, fewer than any.
I personally find myself eternally grateful for the harsh criticisms i impose upon my own immaturity. I bask in the constant critiques of my behavior, motivations, and inner demons. My playthings. You could call me egocentric, and you'd be right, yet i think about you just as often. On this night, i felt especially nervous, i couldn't think, i couldn't do anything but focus through my flipbook-esque thought pattern. I'd think about you, feel paranoid, change the subject to another, feel even worse....and so on. I felt uneasy about my future plans, so unresolved, so up in the air and it drove me straight here, the lazy man's diary. Fine, lazy woman's.
I began by writing about the trouble closest to the surface, the power of observation. I have difficulty separating the actual entity of the observation from my own interpretation of how it relates to me. This is very misguiding, childish. Perhaps criminal.
An example, the bus driver scowls at you after you thank him for actually stopping at the stop you pressed the button for. You become confused. Why is he scowling? Did he scowl at the previous departing passengers? Is it you? Did you press the button too close to the stop? Do you appear unfriendly? Are you weird looking? Is it him? Does he hate his job? Is his health suffering from sitting 40 hours a week? Is his wife a dirty whore? Or is his face in permanent scowling position? All these questions and more could be the one or the entire collection of why i waste time thinking about such trivialities. Why does my brain always gravitate toward the pointless?
Then to think of how this obsession with trivialilites affect my observations of the people closest to me? I'd almost call it torturous if it wasn't so ingrained into my being as if it were a necessity, an integral. Do you ever wonder how your judgments, the words and opinions that spew from your mouth affect the ones you love or love you? God, i almost felt like i was inhabited by Montell, much like Whoopi jumping into Sam. Yuck. I don't want to make out with Montell's wife. Well, maybe.
But anyway, i can't get this thing out of my mind. You said it so matter of factly, so condescendingly as if you meant it for me.
All i'll say is that i am forever in debt to that thing that someone smart told me...."anger is just the cover for disappointment and hurt feelings". I mean that literally, i am truly in debt to that smart ass son of a bitch. Being in someone's debt is not a positive feature, i wish the English language would cut that shit out of our idiomatic usage. It's fucked up, for real.
The truth is, though, that should you cut all the bullshit and confirm what my observations so strongly suggest, i'd never talk to you again. How dare you think that way, how dare you. I'm strong enough to do that, you know. And i know that you know that, which doesn't do anything for giving my doubts any serious validation.
The nerve.

A Hitchhiker's Guide to Faraway Lands

Somewhere within the interim between The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test and that book they just made into a movie, the one that constantly stresses the necessity of bringing a towel---it was in those couple of weeks that I became who I am today. It was during that time that I first fell in love.
It didn't feel any different at the time, which is how I flew through the following two years so careless and slappy. I remember people accusing me at the time. Forms filled with all appropriate signatures and addendums, I heard it from everyone. Well, everyone except for that silly, objective flounder of a creature in whom I was with love. I am embarrassed to think of it now. To admit to such a careless state of unrecognizable self is quite the climb up Fuji-san, in today's terms. No one climbs mountains anymore, too much strain on the umbilical.
Instead, we climb trees, and metal statues in the park.
Somewhere, between 2 books and 2 years, I left a pair of glasses on yr nightstand. Running frightfully blind. Since, I haven't any hints of where to head, now. There ought to be laws 'gainst thinking at night, drinking at night..............

Sliding Glass

Encased the abode of an aging neat freak, with her fish, her bird, and her asian fetish. A magical voice hid in those peripheries. I'd smoke outside, though i was always invited in.

The blue pool with white sun-lines writhing like lonely coy in the height of a MoVal summer stroke.

Or the influenzous week in my fifth year, full of fever dreams possessed by concrete, made soft by summer, while mechanics bellow from behind ropes and ropes of air pressure noise, carried onto the carpet of my mother's room, with both the wind and midday, sprinkler myst.

Indie bumpkins swaying on the banister, such a flawless flirt even when inflicted with a G and J slur. Plastic cups of colors and colors mix in with the dead plants.

Climbing the fence, tearing her jacket, banging at 2:10 in the morning. Somehow the sliding glass door, in thru the backyard, seems most logical.

Cower, Power Flower

Maybe i just have to be difficult. That's probably it, i'd reckon.
Everyone loves Spring.
Hippies, poets, Nihonjin, lovers, rapists, caterpillars, sakura, and even I, yes, I love Spring, too. Despite my hatred of Chaucer, and distrust of Aries and Taurus, and uneasiness over taxes, I love April. April is a very tender month, full of beginnings and new life.
This must be why I always feel like this when it comes. It'd be boring to pry any deeper than the crimped, slightly ripped foil covering the main dish. And besides, had i really wanted it displayed, I'd have bought Saran, right?
Longer days, warmer scents, flower sense, and pollen. But pollen in a good way. Like how sperm can be like..."oh shit, there's jizz all over my black dress" (Bad way). Or "sir, your sperm count is quite in the normal range"(good way).
That is Spring. And it has arrived, with all it's heres and theres.
The reason may just be Spring envy. While my skin can feel the warmth that my black shirt soaks within itself as i ride between gardens among gardens, I still cannot feel the fever or even a flush of what the flowers feel. Why does the sun want to stay and play longer and longer each day alone with fields of flowers? Don't be such a fool! Of course, the sun can feel the flowers bowing in the mornings, and bending backwards in the evening, probably following round the earth could they uproot themselves. Why can't i just skip this frost to fine jealous banter I dip through every year? I hate hating the beginning of Spring. And the reason they say.....

After Spring envy, there's what spring brings. Spring brings out people like that red-headed neighbor from Small Wonder. Coming in through your kitchen door while you sleep, shouting through the house, dragging mud onto your floor. Being obnoxiously optimistic and freckled, (and red headed). Though it was cool when Jaime would kick her out of his house, i still never liked him. He was always putting Vickie in the closet. Fuckin' Jaime.