lost files

i have been pacing, so i force myself to drink water & try to shirk the desire to slip into the kitchen and binge on bread slathered with nutella so thick my tongue will remember peanut butter as it encounters the roof of my mouth and wrestles to get freed again –

put my headphones on [within my walls, i.r.p.] – this is one of the albums i listened to over and over again in the blue and peach room on sokolov in hertzelia as i daydreamed and feasted my eyes, and feasted all of my senses, and rode buses to and from tel aviv, and walked the long kilometers to the beach, and looked around, and crossed the street, and let myself be tossed in to the juggle of sidewalks – baby carriages, seniors crowding benches, pigeons, rubbish, flowers, bakershop doors open, dollar stores, bric-a-brac collage graffiti click clack color – and in the evenings: water and squeegie and water again, pushing gray water from the back of the shop all the way to the threshold, then down onto the cement and into the road.

i wrote a whole novel to the same three albums on repeat – but, tonight, looking through these files stacked and piled together over the last few months (it’s like there was wax between them and i left them on the back dash & they are allmeltedtogetherandpullingthemapartalmosthurts), i can’t find the feeling that there is some purpose in what i have said, or in the words i have chosen.

i tongue the gap that has grown in the years since my teeth were loosed from their braces – it aggravates me

just like all those melted-together-documents aggravate me –

and the gap left by the files i lost when my last hard drive died –

(what’s the point of writing

if there is no trace

of what came before, i ask myself, aggravated.)

and as i tongue the gap, i am certain it grows –

certain it grows.

(sipping water)

meanwhile, the point of looking through these files, looking into the past, is to look towards the future, the next thing — even if doing so seems at the moment more than a little like knocking on the bathroom door when it is clear there is someone already in there…

nevertheless, i find myself in this dang time machine that always sputters and spits me out in the moment of having-to-make-a-new-plan, as if all of this so far hadn’t been part of the plan… as if i never had a plan to begin with… as if these goals of the last several years were only half-way things that, in future discussion of the past, will always have to be shirked. (the truth is, this is the stuff of mythology, people. this is freakin’ odysseus & those damn sirens. this is voyage & boon, baby.)

the time machine thinks it’s funny. ::cough sputter cough chuckle::

thing is… every decision that takes place outside of that feeling of wanting-to-punch-out-and-go-running-down-the-stairs-leaving-the-building-without-even-stopping-to-pee – is akin to satisfying the wrong need at the wrong time – exchanging hunger for thirst, the desire for a steak with the acquisition of a tall glass of delicious juice.

[cut to scribblelip, the scrapper, punching that snarky time machine in the nose.]

i’ll have more to say about this eventually. meanwhile, let me just say: my students today were 100% amazing. i love these little tikes more and more.

goodnight.

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About scribblelip

walking down the road with a book of conjugations in my hand.
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