Focusing Energy or Inter Net Less and Goodbye Ingmar

August 14, 2007

 Casein and Collage

Elly Simmons

casein-and-collage-elly-simmons.jpg

I owe I owe so off the edge I go…….

 …..money, not Monday,  in money amounts incredible inedible…….to my land lady, who is an amazing woman.  Hiding has lost its effectiveness. I owe more people than just her but well, let’s face it, shelter is a fine dandy most days.

Hide me now please!

Right, pointless unless I choose a refrigerator box which I consciously decided not to do in my 20’s unless mandatory, that, and not be a prostitute. Decided it would damage my soul.

I cancelled my internet, it is a luxury. I am shutting off my phone, I can do without. I am not getting propane until my ankles get cold.

I am not a victim. I am money dysfunctional and hit a bit bump dee dumpty. Umm, really big. I can no longer get busted for an unregistereed car.  This is what I get for buying a car whose birthdate falls within the last 5 years. I was trying to secure passage to work.

What the fuck was I thinking? Oh right, I am an fucking English major who is spatially devoid of intelligence and cannot actually fix a car on my own most days. I was thinking my Dean said I have to get to fucking work.

Right.

I think she meant I had to get to the job.

Work is sometimes found at my job other times gazing at my navel, when I see it. Bodaciousness has infinites and limitations.

I have titled one poem: Red Riding of the Hood. Do I get extra credit for that?

You know, like my neighbors who firmly believe that if they live life a certain way they will meet God in heaven who has something just for them and no one else. My 12 year old evangalizing neighbor educated me on this. She is deeply worried about my soul and I cannot help her not worry.

Sigh.

So slinging hash and working for a living, you too can teach War by Luigi Pirandello, tonight’s lesson, by the way. Masks, baby, masks, the alienation of modern man, and the raging river life. Oh, and no, you cannot take College Algebra yet.

I just watched, engorged on, two Ingmar Bergman films: Wild Strawberries and Cries and Whispers. Each film had two different interviews, Ingmar spoke of his pedantry, his struggle, constant, for discipline. I had a revelatory moment: I am under the illusion that some are better at discipline than others, maybe not, maybe that is the illusion.

I am avoiding my own struggle.

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Number 10 of Gallery 11

Darek Banesik

So, to real beauty, Bergman, my own little universe that would most certainly drown in narcissim without relativity: thank Einstien, my mother, Emily Dickinson, world news sources with photos of lives I work sweatfully to imagine and to fucking white russians with a clove cigarette.

Yea.

So there.

 By the way, I will take just a rose and a long dinner now, a friend gave me an air conditioner.

Good news for today:

It only feels like 106 degrees.

It is really only 98.

Really Reality.

 

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Rolls of Hay

South Dakota, USA

QT Luong

 

To my hot summer days in the midwest………

 

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 Cries and Whispers

Ingmar Bergman

 In an interview he said he saw three women in white in a red room. Then, he wondered what they were doing in this room?

 

 

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