the couch is pointless
it's position is out of control
the best thing now would be to push it against the wall
because i want to forget the couch
and not be scratching the floor
i will not try to get any comfort out of the couch
it is tainted
what would be the point
when i think the couch scrambles messages
my thoughts cannot be neutral in it's presence
an entertaining idea housed in the context of life
can only be a couch
then you leave each room
to never to return to them in the same way again
when all rooms become the same as rooms
but with purposes and they are used to their fullest extent.

i'm thinking about pushing the send button
what's in the body is unknown
i could be in the body and be sent away
the computer has waited for my brain
the sentences have never let me sleep
good night

the light was warm
behind the curtain rays
i saw someone working on a laptop in a window
they were leaning forward
their hands gently resting like a hamsters on the keyboard
i realized this is what i moved to new york to learn
and felt confident about the use of my time
despite the many times i've wanted to start over
within the fridge new beginnings are always possible
the empty fridge holds the possibilities of rhetorical imagination
beyond which no one has gone
but i don't know
i'm sometimes negatively affected by confusing streets.

i slept late today. i woke up, i watched the simpsons (two episodes). then i played battlefront II on xbox. lying in bed i thought about groceries. then i thought about riding my skateboard, but that it's also raining. i saw that it wasn't. i rode to the market and bought yogurt, granola, ice cream, guava kombucha, frozen vegetable toquitos. at the apartment, i ate some yogurt with granola in it and then the entire box of frozen vegetable toquito things. then i talked to my roommate. when he was done cooking something, i washed the dishes, took out the garbage and recycling, cleaned the shower, and vacuumed the entire apartment. when i was done, i sipped some kombucha. someone text messaged me. i responded. then i read a review of something online. it's almost 4pm, and the sun is shining directly into the kitchen. the light looks dull. i want to stand in it.

feels like slowly shrinking
the blog will completely stop
one day after 60 years maybe
a hawk will land on a branch
that day electricity
will be the only visible form
of energy, i will be involved
in a shooting and
shoot myself like the football
player who likes to read and write
but is cold from not
wanting to dress too warm
but didn't plan on being out
on the street for a whole hour
the homeless really open an window
to your soul

i ate 4 packs of top ramen
used one chicken flavoring pack
there are 20 something files in my google docs account
one of them is places to submit
i work on each file everyday

something is on my neck
it's kind of saying leave your body alone
your body will take care of itself

my friend left his glasses here
we smoked and drank and
that was really a bad decision on out parts

time will chop away the distance between
now and christmas
i feel stupid for writing about christmas during the
month of november

i'm a bad writer i think
i'm not even going to edit this
no one reads my blog

my grandpa says, 'now treasure island that's a book.' then, another time, my grandma tells me to select books from a list of leather bound classics and i circle some. on either christmas or my birthday i receive treasure island. the sand in the book is good. the boy on the island with the dangerous men happens for me. my grandparent's house is happening somewhere on the island, safe from pellets and iron balls, too; my grandpa always sitting in the tv room picking his teeth and staring, grandma moving around the kitchen contemplating something.

i was in a coffee shop today
i drank coffee
the coffee shop was all about desserts
they had chocolate chili
the baker was committed
to his ideas
not sure i feel like putting down
anymore of todays observations
i always go back to the subway
always 'home'

as population increases
apathy increases
traffic is a good example
of thinking patterns
branded for eternity
self-perpetuating chemicals
look like night winds
and complex exit ramps,
forgotten bridges

my station's faces revolve.
i've seen them before.
how many times opening my backpack?
if i found a way to unhinge these windows,
this would be my favorite car, we'd enter castles
cross fields.
the windows are glued.
they are just acting in a plays or movies on vhs.
what if i didn't get off my stop for work?
something like a neon green tube diminishing in my chest.