I won’t push you, baby
You don’t have to worry that it’s wrong
[But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I’m gripped by a cherishing so deep
for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I’m speechless:
I am living.] I remember you.
I submitted my Yale application. I waited until just before the clock turned 11:12 to hit Submit.
Dear Yale: May you see my meaning and all my good intentions in my application. I hope you acknowledge them for just a minute of your time regardless of your decision.
All the best to the selection committee from Holmdel, NJ.
Grey scale organized neatly. ed: I learned something.
this is what i get for sleeping… feeling absolutely wonderful and it’s a beautiful day outside. i do believe our landscaping is finished now our house is beautiful. i could write so much crappy, sappy poetry about the weather right now. i am in no mood whatsoever to do any homework because i have my astor piazolla station playing on pandora in the background and it’s a beautiful day outside.
i promise i’ll learn how to argentine tango in college, mister piazolla. promise promise promise.
take it slow take it slow take it wonderfully slow slow down on the uptake.
Oh goodness I just ran into this song on youtube and memories of high school came flooding back while listening to it. Remember all those late nights when I didn’t think I’d be able to get up the next morning? All the times I felt like I was stretched to the limit, or couldn’t bear another mishap, I played this song.
“All right, all ready, we’ll all float on oh don’t you worry, we’ll all float on.”
I remember when Angela first showed this song to me. I played it two years ago at TSA Baltimore Nats with Angela and Grace in the room and we chilled out (and it’s probably been played multiple times during late night TSA chat seshes…yeahhh parteee), then again last year during winter break when I was breaking my back trying to get my MJSS paper done, and again when I didn’t want to open up my chem book and release all its horrors… And here I am now, still listening to it, but with newer ears.
This song carries all of these past years in its notes. It’s almost impossible to go back to the way I was hearing it before, because now when I listen to it, I’ll hear all of those moments in the melody. At least, though, I’ll keep listening to this in college (holy fuck. college.) and carry a small vestige of time with me that way….
how difficult it is to remain just one person,
for our house is open, there are no keys in the doors,
and invisible guests come in and out at will.]
What I’m saying here is not, I agree, poetry,
as poems should be written rarely and reluctantly,
under unbearable duress and only with the hope
that good spirits, not evil ones, choose us for their instrument.