video game music
and pondering strange dreams
and trying to hold the countdown
to the hour after next
still
so i can have some more chill morning time
with my kip before they need to leave
again [this time into the city]
and i need to go upstairs
and talk about my
~feelings~
[ugh]
apparently
i first opened this version
of scrivener
in january of 2021.
or,
more specifically,
january 17
in the morning.
and i only noticed the “first opened” notification
on this january 17
today
in the morning
[though in the 7:00 hour, not the 8,
as was the case
in 2021]
and i still can’t get over
the passage of time,
nor the happenstance
and connection
in my life.
but
i think it’s interesting
when things just kind of
align
and line up
and i can take that however
i like
it still feels like the future
whenever i see the year
starting with a two
rather than a one
and it simply feels
unreal
to not have double zeros
between the first and last digit
i wonder if my brain will ever let go
of this harsh divide
between old millennium=safe
and new millennium=completely unknown
my whole concept of
the day of the week
is gone
is it wednesday?
is it a weekend?
have days ceased to be
and now we’re living off of
vibes alone?
someone help me
be a person
again
how was yesterday
twelve lifetimes ago
and age nine, for me, feels like last week
it’s still so damn wild to me
to see the numbers 2-0-2-3 —
it feels futuristic
it feels like fantasy
i never thought i’d see much farther
than those zeroes three
at the turn of the century
the full new millennium
i was convinced i’d die before i hit eighteen
but then nineteen/twenty/twenty-one, -two, -three
and now i’m solidly into my thirties
and we are solidly into the two thousand twenties
and it still seems so fake to me,
me, a person who still remembers all dated items
with the first nineteen already filled in;
the 90’s were never supposed to end,
but they’re so long ago now
and i just can’t seem to fit my brain in
that the world keeps turning
time keeps ticking
as much as it all is a mortal construction
we live in a society
and the society says
this is the year twenty twenty three
[nah, still seems fake to me]
September flew by
in a matter of seconds
days filled with
stress and driving
and planning and writing
and arriving
in time to say goodbye
and the weeks between now and back then
feel like blips
made of minutes that took forever
and this whole month
took no time at all
silly covers
of popular music
set to epic orchestration
and interesting rhythmic interpretation —
a perfect way to start
this first august morning
i sit here
at my keyboard
wishing to hold the solstice
in higher regard
wanting a celebration
a consistent practice
an honoring of some kind
and i know,
i know,
that i have the ability to do so–
i have the calendar
and adult wherewithal
and resources
to make this happen–
but i feel trapped
by the depression
that anticipates
the worst
of time flowing by
instead of celebrating
our earth still turning
my lungs still breathing
our days still day-ing
until they
no longer
do
how long
can i hate myself
and come out the other side
to love
it has to be a flat circle
like time
no?
~~~
weird ass songs
fill my
weird ass heart
with
weird ass vibes
of
weird ass love
(hahaha, ass-love)
~~~
i feel as though my poetry
is getting less and less
hinged
i.e.
more and more
and more and more and more
unhinged
as the words/years/time flies by
but maybe i was always this unhinged
it just took a little while
to write
