words

this is a summer adventure: a trip through under-explored woodland areas, rafting in toxic waters, a night or two spent in over-heated garages, swimming in alcohol and liquids not yet known to most 4th graders. this is forced, let's make no qualms about it. fact is it's been clear near a month of fractured thought, the most of which, at this present time, gets scribbled down in a forgotten notebook on years old paper next to doodles of fish and coral and an unfinished self-portrait of a cow next to a windowsill. to be perfectly frank, and tim will agree with this to the limit, nothing comes near the apex of what is motivating to a man with little-to-no self worth nor appreciation for the misgivings around him than the feel of a cool hand against his own. to be perfectly honest, as i mentioned before and, again, tim can attest to the true severity and honesty in these words, this is forced, straight away. nothing in a nutshell save for that slight hint of warm spirits and methane mixing in the fluorescent light of this place. we had to put it down to paper - the trips to the moon, our concerns about what may and what could have been, that unsettling aroma between the sofa and the fern, a matchstick's duration in a vacuum, what i had said on january thirteenth, piano keys and what the strokes meant to not only you, but the older gentleman we purchased it from, single-syllable words strung together to make beautifully awful poems about past misfortune. we put it all down. to remember. to preserve.

i recall sitting near the back of the room. it gave off a sort of normalizing feeling, the walls, the ceiling, the armchairs and the table towards the center. this is where it took place. i sat there, coffee in the left hand, a book, the illegitimate fowl meets mother self-depreciating goat, clutched in the right. this was something else, i thought. sitting in the leather chair, it's arms coming up higher than a normal chair would, nearly as high as my shoulders. i feel like a child, i said...i thought. did i say it? the older fellow to the left seemed to hear me say something. his reading glasses removed, he shot me a curious look, as if to say, don't you dare think about even thinking about fucking my daughter. he wasn't even with anyone. crazy old coot. he turned away just as quickly as he began. for the best, i thought, i'd be a shame if i'd have to make another example out of a foolish old man. but that's what i get. i suppose that's what we all get.