Me when they play my jam
Author: naylandwblake
In my dream
In my dream I chase him down when he stops to piss against a wall, peacefully. Then puppets and thinking of Spain in the long elevator.
Me when they play my jam
In my dream
In my dream churn and disagreement.
Me when they play my jam
“Burn down the future with the one you love”
Goodbye Tom Verlaine. Plenty of people could write the first part of that line, but it’s nothing without the second part.
In my dream
In my dream I crawl on the floor noting the clear plastic bolts in the door frame. Can they be blocked, allowing for escape later on?
Me when they play my jam
In my dream
In my dream that black mackinaw turns.
Me when they play my jam
In my dream
In my dream my laptop is tolen twice and then it takes so long to check the star into rehab that I miss my flight. My stuff is in his car but he won’t let me call the airport from his mother’s office at the newspaper.
Me when they play my jam
In my dream
In my dream it’s after crawling over the bin of crushed shantung neckties that I feel free to examine the hot tub at Susan Sontag ‘s house so that later when the wrestling happens I think “of course this is what he wants”.
Me when they play my jam
In my dream
In my dream the various types of shells available lined up and folding.
Fifteen and counting
Evidently I’ve been messing with WordPress for fifteen years, or so I was just informed. I feel like my site is just a hodgepodge these days, but perhaps it was ever thus. I’ve gone through Live journal, Friendster, FaceBook, Insta, TikTok, Scruff, Growlr, Twitter, Snapchat… those are the ones I can remember. What I have stuck to at this point are this site and Tumblr.
It struck me that the revolution has been in publishing and not in writing. In fact when I look to write I’m always looking for “distraction-free ” solutions: computer versions of the blank 8.5 by 11 sheet that is so in voting and intimidating in its stubborn physicality. I want it simple when I write, but social media is tangled and convoluted, a conversation and a thousand million teapots to house our tempests.
I don’t crave publishing at this point. I crave writing: the teasing out of ideas. I don’t feel like this site contains the last fifteen years of my life in any meaningful way. Its meanings and uses are too locked away for even myself. I can only press on.
Me when they play my jam
In my dream
In my dream I’m too late for the final fight, but I manage to write I’M SO PROUD OF YOU on a piece of paper.
Me when they play my jam
In my dream
In my dream buying her car while she eats wings.