Clouds and Trees

"Nothing ever goes away enough or arrives enough,/ and I want to cry when I think of my heart,/ muscle pounding in muscle, greedy always for joy." – 'A Warning', Eric Anderson

Month: October, 2012

State of Mind

     My state of mind strikes me in the head as I wake up from another unintended nap in my seat on the airplane. I had been sure, without realizing it, that in this transitional space, this quarter-orbit of Earth from a place I will never be again to a place I haven’t been for a year, the place where I grew up, where my parents are waiting for me, that my memories, or rather, my outer-layer, somehow reliant upon context, which I thought I must need in order truly to have ‘been there’, would drift away and disappear like flakes of skin into the plane engines. I must have thought that I would arrive and, with my first step onto American land, be an entirely new person, or just that layers of experience, my accumulated self, would be washed away by time and distance. Once at home, in my natural environment, I would be renewed, like a deck which, when power-washed, reveals clean wood beneath or even like a book whose new and temporary owner holds in his hand the same binding, the same words, the same unbuttoning of story, but it is a matter of debate whether something in the pages remembers hands which have held them before, the person who, in releasing their secrets, could not help also being released and becoming something entirely new.

    It seems to me that this is what is crucial to understand: either I always am the same self, or no such thing exists, and either way, it makes no difference. Just as the eye dilates when I look back into the plane cabin after having gazed out the window at the sun-bright absolutely blazing white clouds and at that instant the cabin appears in an entirely different range of the visual spectrum before being adjusted back to a more appropriate level, so that either there is a standard of light and thus change has significance, or everything is just a perceptual mish-mash; it makes no difference. What is lost? I am, it is.


I Wake Up from a Dream at a Table

You are in my head. It is autumn.
The front door opens and I know it
because the light outside is gray
and my book turns a page.

You rush into the house.
The leaves are little fires
which burn very slowly.


A serial killer walks into a bar and kills everybody.

A horse walks into a bar and the bartender doesn’t even like horses because of something to do with the length of their faces but his daughter is giving him those eyes and he groans like, “not those eyes!” and later when the bar closes they take the horse home.

A rabbi, a priest, and an imam walk into a bar and all complain about their diabetes.

Sadaam Hussein and Osama Bin Laden walk into a bar and Donald Rumsfeld points his hands at them like guns and goes, “Pew! Pew!”

In this one dimension, the big bang occurs in such a way that the universe is a bar and everything walks into it.

Osama Bin Laden walks into a bar and the special forces throw everyone’s bodies into the ocean.

A boy, a bear, a piglet, a tiger, a rabbit, and a donkey all walk into a bar, fuck the place up, and pay in honey. Later, the bear, in a confused state, steals back all the honey.

A woman named Harriet and 51 of her imaginary friends walk into a bar wondering where the party’s at.

A woman named Harriet walks into a bar and the bartender falls in love with her and she falls in love back and they get drunk together and have sex and it’s decent.

Harriet is the bartender’s imaginary friend but he always forgets that.

God walks into a bar and Jesus is already there and there’s this Awkward Silence.

A bar walks into a bar.

A bar walks in on a bar and it’s uncomfortable and the first bar doesn’t know what to say and just closes the door.

A man and a woman walk into a bar and then later out of a bar.

Sisyphus pushes a bar all the way up a hill and when he is about to walk into the bar it rolls back down again.

The bartender is the sun and no one is sober.

A psychotic maniac charges into a bar but is very well spoken and makes a lot of friends. Later they’re all into regime change.

God kills himself in the bathroom of a bar and the rest of time is spent piecing him back together.

War is in a bar and never leaves because a genie keeps refilling its glass.

This one guy in a bar keeps talking about his penis.

Everyone is on drugs.

The bartender can’t remember going outside and wonders if his life is some sort of joke…

A bomb destroys everything in a bar and your philosopher friends are like, “Well, what really is ‘a place’?”

1 million kittens walk into something.

The loud hum of everyone talking is in a bar. As you lean back in your chair something blinks.

The wind blows into a bar and Dawn is in the back spinning a Frisbee on her fingers.