it’s been fun
reading books that
aren’t my normal reading vibe
i’ve been getting sucked in
[as much as i can when surrounded by
the chaos of the mta]
and i just want to have
more commute
in order to read more of these
spooky books
throughout this spooky month
but first i gotta finish this one
which is only my second book
of fifteen
thirteen more await me
and i am
so
damn
stoked
reading spooky books
for spooky season
that i got in the spookiest way of all
[at least from a capitalist’s perspective]
completely
free
[MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!]
learning new things
talking to new people
just because i
stepped out of my house yesterday
[and yes, i could have/should have
been doing many chores on my
forever growing to do list, but
hey, i fell a little more in love with
this city and its people and
nerds in general, and i love being
able to just go to a thing i know
almost nothing about and make
friends and learn so so so much]
[that’s what living in
nyc is all about, right?]
so many books to read
one might say
too many books to read
but i’d rather be surrounded by books i’ve read
and not yet read
and books i might someday read
but maybe not
than [almost] anything else
i just love
books
thinking about
sacred
thinking about
holy
thinking about what these words mean to me
and even more
what songs/books/people/practices
are such
to
me
lion boy
little lion boy
come tell me your tale
and all your friends’ tails’ tales
translate
and translate your translator too
and talk to computers
and everything you
ever imagined possible
it’ll all work out in the end
[and who knew
chameleons could give predators
such a surprise and a
talking-to]
books
upon books
upon books upon books upon books
that’s what our house is made of
[and i wouldn’t have it
any other way]
perhaps i could make a book
based entirely on my
nonsense poetry
and perhaps it would get published
and perhaps scholars would study it
and wonder of the words i’m putting out there
and what they all mean
together
and i would have to tell them,
with a sorry expression
but still a devilish glint to my eye,
“my apologies, my guy,
it just means
nothing”
[and perhaps that in and of itself
would send the next generation of academics
into a whole new
tizzy]
maybe
books
and resistance
will save us
i am a softie
made of choked up feelings
and barely hidden tears
and stories will almost always mist my eyes
but a thank you to a supportive partner
from a trans-masc autistic person
will straight up give me
the weeps
