Confusion @ W 4th Street Subway Station Tonight

a man was playing saxophone in a cacophonous style.

a voice came on at the station and said because of an ongoing investigation the F train would be stopping at the express track between 23rd street and W 4th street. 

a girl across tracks said the train was coming on the other side, like the northbound side. she said "hurry" loudly. 

saw a person with an eraser-shaped hair cut that had a blond streak in it. the girl was mostly talking to this person. the girl pointed to the other side. she pointed in the garbage train that was going by slowly, between them. i was on the side with the eraser-shaped-hair person. the girl pretended to jump in the garbage train.

the guy playing the saxophone played a lot of notes very fast with no harmonious rhythm, just fast repetitions and loud, up and down, quick scales. i turned my ipod volume all the way down.

 

the voice came on the p-a again and said what the F train was doing.

things were confusing, a little, especially with saxophone playing like that. people gave him money.

a girl with long multi-colored dreads stood next to me. she turned her head and i noticed she was white. i thought she was someone i dated from the internet. she was obese. she asked a woman about the F train. a man with shiny, brown shoes, 'good' clothes and 'good' hair had furrowed brows. my ipod earphones were still in and i concentrated on the saxopohone noises. a woman kind of smiled at me. i thought i would never talk to a stranger though.

i looked at some hipsters. i liked them. i liked the person with the streak in their hair and the girl who wanted to jump into the garbage train.

i don't hate anyone. 

life can be hard because people leave from it, they have their own locations. life can be hard because people get violent and angry. life can be hard because people don't solve problems by looking at them objectively. 

life can be confusing because people don't understand what objects are, maybe. i was thinking the train was something more than just a train. i wanted it to get there.

i feel like i want to tell people what they are doing wrong sometimes, when i feel like i am unsure of everything.

i am not sure if i should do that because it might make them feel bad. the people who are mean but sort of don't realize they are. or people who are negative. maybe they aren't negative and i just perceive them that way because of the type of person i am, like do people just not mix.

do jews and christians just not mix. i don't know how to end this post.

i am remembering the people who were around me as the F train did it's regular things and brought me home.

i smoked a cigar tonight. i ate angel hair pasta. the first bite was hot. the pasta burned all the way past my rib cage in my esophagus. 

wish i could complete / finish / be successful via a story:


Driving to the Adirondacks Jack and Chet eat Doritos and some sort of spicy, smoked peanuts. When they take the exit off of the highway, they stop and take pictures of the moon and then spend approximately forty-dollars at a Grand Union. They are weary of the money they spend because they spent most of their savings on alcoholic beverages in college, two years ago, and haven't made much money since then. Before going to the campsite, they buy two bundles of fire wood at a gas station. They open two beer bottles as soon as they get to the camp site.They use a lighter and the cement edge of the fire pit. 'The beer is good,' Jack says. When they set up their tents it is dark. They use headlamps. They eat hot dogs and put their feet on the cement hearth of the fire pit. They put the hot dogs into folded slices of wheat bread and put ketchup on them. Jack takes a picture of the cooler of beer, of the moon which comes out squiggly, and a close up of the fire. Before they fall asleep they finish three beers each and a package of eight hot dogs.

sort of wrote sentences while on the train tonight:

my grandfather hears whispering and misunderstands shouting.

two hikers stay away from the waterfall and wait - a third almost slips into the pool.

at the dinner table i can notice my developing thoughts.

my young uncle on my dad's side rides up to the lake house in the car with my grandmother on my mom's side. when they stop at the diner, they both worry about the cat they have in the car.

when i touch my earlobe a spider falls onto my green jersey.
i squish her with my pointer finger.

i think i should write down my thoughts about our four wheel vehicles.

when i attempt to write about a new layer of thoughts,
i only remember the thoughts about the four wheel vehicles,

which still cannot be explained well.

that act of writing thoughts, like the act of watching a video of a monkey pulling a dog's tale,
begets layers of non-sequiturs.

i think gay marriage is 'okay'.

i want to add 'beer bottle opening' to the story i am currently revising.
while i am working on one story, i get ideas for another story.

i am working on neither story, and feel like my ideas are for a different type of story altogether or no story altogether, and i am perpetually working on stories that i never finish.

... from something:

On their first break, at the damn where a few trails converge, where a woman with buggy-blue eyes and pale skin cooks on a tiny stove while looking up at small brown birds circuiting from a tree out and over a lake, Jack eats a Chewy Low Fat S'mores Bar and an apple. Chet also eats a Chewy Low Fat S'mores Bar. He leans on a metal railing which hikers used to hang bear bags on before bears became too smart and hoisted them up. Then humans became smarter and invented bear canisters and mandated them. The woman with buggy-blue eyes sat on her bear canister. Jack checks his map. A man hiker approaches and asks Chet if they are from Brooklyn. The man hiker lives near Jack in Brooklyn. The man hiker talks about some stuff he did yesterday in the Adirondacks with his wife, whom stayed at the rented cabin while the man hiker 'bags' Algonquin Mountain. Chet says, "Biked sixty miles my ass," later when they are discussing the man hiker. They laugh at the idea of the man hiker, his highway enthusiasm, his middle-aged 'man on the move' groove. At the next fork, after Marcy Damn, they take another break, for water this time and the man hiker comes down the right prong of the fork, backtracking, looking lost, touching his sweaty red bandanna and furrowing his brow. Jack reassures him of the correct direction. The man hiker tells them about a hard to find trail to a lookout you can find descending Marcy from the south going north. Then he goes down the trail with his large calve muscles dimpling like a stupid chicken, one that feathered itself and ripped its own wings off before signing up for slaughter. Later, when Jack and Chet are hiking a steep rocky trail for the first time in the trip, they joke that the man hiker is about to fall, tumbling from the wooded hill to their left and onto the trail, brush himself off and ask to hike with them, presumptuously and doofus-ly.   

BROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

i feel like i'm bad at blogging, like i'm inconsistent and that maybe if i was at least consistent i wouldn't be so bad.

i don't know where to really place blogging within the scope of things i do.

i started blogging in order to just put poems somewhere other than in files on a computer or in moleskins or marble notebooks.

then, for a while, i only worked on poems in files and notebooks with the intention to submit them.

i've sort of submitted some things but there are many other 'unfinished' poems just sort of 'laying around' that i don't have the energy to work on or improve by working on in small or large amounts.

i don't want to think about like rules of writing, things that i like about writings, things that i want to see in my writing that are similar to things in other people's writing that make my life more interesting in a way that makes me feel like i can contribute or make me want to be like them and do things like them.

i basically just want to skateboard. but my skateboard is far away. why do i always want things that are far away. i always want to go to the Adirondacks and always feel nostalgic for the Adirondacks and i consider them far away.

this post seems like just a lot of bitching. maybe i'm at that point where bitching will help me change my thinking.

i don't want to be a person whose regular patterns involve bitching. maybe i should just accept who i am.

am i a stupid person. i feel like whatever i'll describe myself as right now will not be good.
so i definitely feel stupid.

there was this time i was at like a water chlorinating facility and i had a pool filtration job and was learning about chlorine and i kept thinking i want to get a suntan so i kept standing directly in the sun and rotating my arms.

i feel like some 'punk' music just improved my confidence

don't know why i have been having bad feelings

don't know why i don't spend as much time outside as i used to

i feel like i unwittlingly decreased the amount of time i spend outside

by thinking it is important to concentrate on concentration and information

and not just because the last season was winter

i sleep for 8 hours.
i wake up at 10am.
chicken nuggets cook in the toaster oven,
as i check my email.
i eat chicken nuggets

as i read an article titled 'The Layoff."
a lethargic feeling enters my body and moves
up and down like a wave in a dirty tray in a sink.
my body moves the empty plate
from my bed and puts water into my mouth.

when she moves my arms i lose my page.
when she moves i think of you.
the market loses 150 points on my birthday.
a kitten lives inside a snowball on my birthday.
four hours of work remain, as i think about reheating beans.

spend more time on your poems.
capitals presence of capitals
are important in poems.
increase line breaks to slim
down your
poem
(s).

select a small cup of coffee
from the coffee machine.
finish reading "The Layoff."
instructing yourself is important
in life.

a rock in the bowl knocked me off my skateboard.
i feel vaguely distraught by my lack of original thoughts.
at easter dinner i put my head in my hand.
it is impossible to resurrect from the dead.
at easter dinner i stared into my coffee.
a piece of ham rolled in the sole of my sock.
i comb my hair a lot after the shower.
my hair is so bad. i feel bad about my hair.
i watch thelma and louise
on the morning after easter.
i want to go to the gym, but the gym is far
away. i put my head in my coffee at easter.
i'm going to heat up some pizza, maybe.
i'm going now.

i feel 'lost'
black black snow
switchback
sort of insurgency
'whales'