I sprained my eyes looking for reason
Alas, it’s nowhere in sight, but heigh-fucking-ho anyway an shit like that
Creative director’s been asking for us to come back, you know, in the name of team-work and collaboration even though we are all islands entire of ourselves so back I went. He came in and didn’t say hi and walked into his office and shut the fucking door which is precisely when I sprained my eyes.
Nice walk to the train today though even if it is full-on winter storming there’s something peaceful and lovely and I am trying to see other good things about going back, you know, but these things whatever the fuck they are seem to be obstructed due to resentment mostly I think.
Wearing my bathing suit under my clothes helps me through these last days of winter/first days of back to work
When my kids were little we used to wear our bathing suits to bed sometimes in order to promote swimming dreams which we either had or pretended to have and we’d talk about them the next morning, each of our stories more fantastic than the last and also fantastic was that nobody ever doubted the authenticity of anybody else’s stories.
And when they had tests, my kids slept with their notebooks under their pillows and I have slept with books beneath mine written by Katherine Mansfield, Michael Ondaatje, Gabriel García Márquez, Irving Layton which are the first four I thought of although there were nights of F. Scott and Hemingway et al and some poets I know.
I still think poetry seeps in at night don’t you?
I am reading Forrest Gump (Winston Groom) right now and man is it ever full of motion, I mean it’s catapulting me through the pages, non-stop, interesting differences from the movie and interesting sames, fuck off spell check, and it’s all written in Forrest’s voice so they be lots of intrestin parts such as:
Well, I jus look over at him an cut the biggest fart of my life. It soun somethin like a buzz saw. Mister Wilkins’ eyes bugged out an he say, “Argggg!” an start fannin the air an tryin to unloosen his seatbelt. A pretty stewardess come runnin up to see what all the commotion is about an Mister Wilkins is coughing and choking and all of a sudden I done started fannin the air myself and holdin my nose and pointin at Mister Wilkins, an shoutin, “Somebody open a winder,” an shit like that.
So you see what I mean and spellcheck just take the day off or work from home which some people seem to think is the same thing
The book is full of bombs like the movie, you know, heartbreaking and then something great that makes you need to blink hard to see what’s next and then it dips back into tragedy then the ping-pong which is my true love sport and then Bubba so you have to put the book down a minute and out the window you see you’re at your stop in three two one.
If this book isn’t cardio I don’t know what is
Also, and this was news to me, there’s a sequel called Gump & Co. which I will tell you about when I get to it if my brain’s not all farted out by then because the book just sails along in a deliciously immature, superbly innocent way and then I stumble off the train and the first few sentences I utter mostly to myself when I get to work end with “an shit like that” and I have a greater appreciation for the absurdities that are all around us everywhere all the time if you just slow down an gawk.
