12.
Pick a day, and write it. A day is a story because I put it here and you saw what I put.
Don’t get too deep before coffee (dark like Camila’s). Eyes still sleep-sticky; other openings more participatory. Morning assessments. Numbers within range, on the scale. Thankful. My, how we fool ourselves into feeling what doesn’t exist anymore. Phantom hips. Ghost of a teacherly nosebridge.
Today’s forecast includes aching elbows, rash on inner thigh, arthritic toe-knuckle, stubborn knot in left-side glute, and gum recedings. The tooth is rarely pure and never simple. I’ve grinded mine down so now their pitted surfaces trap specks of breakfast. Count the risks. I won’t have feet by the time you get home.
I made cookies but left them out overnight. This frequently happens when you rely on a generic fill-in-the-blank that includes policies which don’t apply to your organization. Follow with psyllium-bloated juice. Then coffee, latrine; repeat. Coconut on coconut, with fruit. A giraffe-ball and dog, to help with your wounds. A book about a dog should be a book about a dog, but all books are about the writing of a book. All dogs go to heaven. Promotional pin, from minimum-wage at the AMC-6.
This had been done before, and everyone knew it.
Sweeping out the dustbin of my chart while at the table eating. Inside is that lump on the couch, with the twenty pizzas and the bedsores, whining because it hurts too much to move. Another account, just like mine: It hurts and nobody understands and emptiness persists. None of us as clever as we think we are. I finish up my berries, waiting for the flashback to pass.
I have memories to give you. Let me pass them to you now. I think it’s time. Sadie’s off to college. Eleanor’s arrived. Billions of strangers scream from inside you. Dancing heathens, cheering as the towers fell, who no one saw. Just another lie. Online records may not be up to date, but don’t worry, your responses have been recorded.
The illusion of a single day. A week for a day. A day for a year. Writing yesterday today.
To the basement, to breathe. Cold cement floor. This hard-backed wooden library chair. The stupid app resets its counter every time you miss a day. I compete for ideal human, win the badge and get the honors. In, out. Scan the body. Rest on the breath. Scratching the suddenly itchiest arm in the world, I lose the resting-on supposed to soothe the soul. Redirect. The smell-taste-fear of, yes, he’s in. Oh well. Let’s talk about King David. Overstimulated once again, a puppy with a tail on its face you try to train to sit at the command. Gently open your eyes.
To-do lists. Already-done lists. Lists of dudes I’d like to do. Inside jokes. Dad jokes. Dad bods. Tie-ins, run-ons, crossovers. The best and most serious. The worst and most dangerous. Thugs, liars, and white supremacists. This could be what your home is missing.
Be careful with this message. Similar messages were used to steal people’s personal information. Phishing is usually done through email, ads, or by sites that look similar to sites you already use. Someone might send you an email that looks like it’s from your bank so you’ll give them information about your bank account. I want nothing. I want nothing. Big block letters on scratch paper.
We used to do this, scroll the airwaves. Pick up soundbites from the ethers, lace them into form. Now, content’s mined for profit margin market stream, licensing feedbag. Radio? What’s that? Thanks for joining mileage plan.
Call Regence. Call Robin. Create production log, and finish formulary. File papers. Cancel account. The intimate things we do on repeat when we’re not out leading big public lives. “Not actively in my role” means I am not available for having a problem dropped on my lap, being the one who moves the ball forward, or holding anyone else’s stress. Keep bugs at bay with this disposable zapper.
The howling outside as I continue to write. Echoes of the big bite. Yelling. Threats. “Faggot!” TV’s biggest scandal ever. The pieces I’ve managed to stitch together became my clothes, separating me from the world. Yolanda, blending into sofa-pillow patterns, whispers dead inspirings over my shoulder. The longest-living piece of floating yellow paper wafts its way through the annals of wisdom as trash. A velveeta-hearted poet in a crowd that sneers at cheese in poems (yet devours it both in and on the crust). Bending plastic forks, still pressed, still verging.
I still haven’t heard from you, and there are only 841 spots left. Please reply to confirm you have read and understood this.
Recede into head-feelings, swollen examples of the reasons it hurts replaying. Lucy yanks the ball away again. Powders get dumped into liquids, cold and clumping. I freeze up. Twice the cancelled flights, room service twice, a minibar exploited. “Come again soon” I hope not to honor. Sad last holidays with her daughters.
I escape this heavy scene, get back in bed. Click the familiar attachments. 5G radiation amplified with human sweat, seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss and ooos. The disappointment of robots. Timeless in their manufacture of want. Don’t spill the future sexbook; shut up and rub.
Have any new challenges or dissatisfactions arisen which you’d like to share with me? Insert name, address, phone number, and email of person or persons you designate to pull the plug. This may create an IRS taxable event for you, or another beneficiary, depending on your individual or other circumstances. If you have recently paid the indicated total due, please disregard this reminder. Throw your cotton swabs away immediately.
Salad, in the same glass bowl she nabbed for me from her job. Greens with herbs and lemon. Swiping to kill time and possibility. Everything must go. Opine about this soup of terror. Buy it for looks, buy it for life. Hover over links before you click on them.
I have come to see myself as an “interpellated subject” in the ideology of the drama of my life (and welcome to it). Barry observes jungle life while floating on the Amazon. Look! Dreams of being abandoned, broken up with, left behind. Ducks. Even the latent moisture in terracotta makes it in here. There is nobody not difficult. Today slips away faster than you can write it.
Relatable posts for real humans: He thinks he’s being sneaky. The paper-trail of dirty tricks you archive in the cloud. Anti-nick ceramic blades, powerful 6,000rpm motor. Tell him I said hi.
A change of scene. Bring the agitated mind with me. Conveyor belt rolls fast, my feet atop it, jogging to keep up. These gym clothes smell. I’m hoping no one notices. Goodpop holds the rhythm steady, workout-friendly. Test-drive our lineup built to handle winter, with pains in knees and heels and hips. It hurts when you move; it hurts when you don’t move. Pick one. Twenty-four minutes is eighty percent of half an hour.
I dip into the pool, feet first, exhaling as I drop. Rise to the top. Anchor goggles, tighten waistband. Disappear. Beneath the surface, nothing but an otherworldly hum (and counting, counting, in my head). Water-echo process poem. Wet and free; submerged.
Back to our regularly scheduled program, drive across the atmospheric river. The man in the hand-drawn cardboard sign and the derby hat with a plastic lei, strolling the neighborhood of tents, in the dry brush along the entrance ramp to the bridge. We said it would get so much worse. Fire vortex. Funnel blaze. Nothing behind the eyes. I won’t be the last one out, just telling you.
Cloudier darkening afternoon. Northerly latitudes. Arrive to safely re-ensconce. In slippers, cuddled up and reading books. Gratitude for cozy hazy silence.
We’re in the middle of a bowl craze, and I love bowls as much as the next person. Right place, right time, right job. Every dish is customizable thanks to our Customize It features. Pleasure in the way words sound when strung like twinkling Christmas lights. The tawdry extravagance. “Excuse me, but I ordered Diet Coke, and this is real Coke.”
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Sipping on Don Julio and watching unremarkable watch-what’s-happenings on the tv screen, sounds of love from the kitchen’s banging pans in the background. I don’t need underpants. (Who here needs underpants?) The noisebox I inherited: a froggy kudu with lizard lips. Squawk, squawk. Roomba! Roomba! Blending into the noise.
She still thinks of everything, with her secret compartments. A composite of errors, a collection of mistakes. Veteran reverses tinnitus with one trick. We could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot each other and not lose anything. Great for kids, educators, science enthusiasts, coin collectors, and more. I can’t recall what we ate, as I disintegrate.
College ended yesterday, but we’re all still here. Father’s Day. Bloomsday. Everyday.
Remember Clogfest ’95, all that sorority-girl piss, shit, and puke on the walls. (Still talked about in hushed-up shock.) Remember keeping up appearances. Remember being nameless, shivering in boxer shorts and t-shirt. Remember finding out it was abuse. Remember Sadie’s son who passed away at ninetysomething. Remember them saying they wanted to read this and warning them they might not want to read this. Remember the memories you know are there but aren’t. Remember six days ago. Remember the Alamo. Twenty-four years is x percent of half a lifetime ago. Thank you for the heritage report.
Stumble to bed before or after falling asleep. Tuck the sheet, fluff the pillow. Bedside table lamp and stack of books. Evening assessments. Tell me I’m pretty. Earplugs. Mouthguard. Aquaphor. A snore I adore. Closed eyes.
You have now met all the requirements for membership as outlined in the bylaws of the association and are entitled to all the rights and privileges of that membership. To be an active member requires only your current mailing address. A degree of interest and initiative on your part will also help. You have earned yourself a cashcard.
Today, I decided to write. And the next thing you know. The romaine kills us all.
the in-between*
© 2020 Barry Perlman