“I decided not to care” is not the way to start.
notes toward performance
The objective here is to be flippant. Body as representation, as adieu to the solitary moment. You don’t care and you never did; you might as well be gliding off on ice. Motions are fluidity eliding into crisp. You might employ the motioning of bones to great effect.
If you put a cuttlefish in a cuddler you will have a cuddlefish but first you must find the right cuddler or else you will have a cudgeledfish.
nosebleed from the pre-dawn hours
There are many steps to showering. There are many steps to conning my way out from a chair, a read, an excuse for staying put until my skull begins to loose its structure. Every step creates a minute I have fogged away from thought.
It’s ten o’ clock at night and I still haven’t washed the blood out from my hair.
what are called anchors, awareness
There was a time there was a woman on a boat upon the water. I don’t know why she called out, and I don’t know why I stood held in the soft beneath my toes. Nearby, the captain walked into the water.
Neither woman was ever heard from again. As far as I know, I and the seagull sang sole witness to their disappearance.
a possible error of translation / i don’t know what happens now
Nubes me vitam dant. The clouds are giving me life.
Ex nubes vitam crearabam. From a cloud I used to create life.
Nubes mentem meas perdebat. The cloud was ruining my mind.
Numquam quisquam poteram tangere. I never used to be able to touch anything.
good morning campers
Every morning the vampires came around.
Pressure check to one arm, needle in the other. Go along and spoon your scrambled eggs. It all becomes routine.
discourse on the number of fucks i give
notes toward identification of this asshole
I have been here 30 years. I was born in Illinois. I am white. I am and have been of a middle class. I am a woman, though I don’t precisely feel like a woman or like holding in the word. I am not a man, nor do I wish to form me masculine. I am asexual, and my attractions are in queering. I am in love with words. I adore the thought of absence. I am and forever will be a dramaturg. I’m basically a cat. I like floors.
so to speak
I should be lucky.
I still have my health.
slip ‘n’ slide the way down
Often I muddle words like hole and whole and wrench and wretch and affect and effect. I like words better this way when they falter.
Trouble comes that lately, collapse has filtered further out. I can’t stop letters from falling, and I can’t say where they’ll slip next. The pattern doesn’t exist, or it’s beyond my presentation.
Maybe one day the whole wordly world will crumble or blend in. A chance that could be easier. A little bit like hell.
maybe it was alligator alley
We never had a Slip ‘N’ Slide. But our grandparents had one out across the backyard, and I think there was an alligator on the box. We slid that alley and collected grass clippings all across our skin before scrambling into pines to wind up coated half in sap.
…I regret the use of the phrase ‘slid that alley.’
Also the reference to sap.
i saw this one commercial once and one day it turned true
I am a zoloft riding on a train but I left something at home and nothing will become okay again.
prayer that you don’t spill popcorn on my head
If you sit within a room filled with people if you cannot leave this room filled with people you might learn about sitting with people you might burn aware then burn away your fears of sitting with people you may burn away to background all the parts of you that fear people and may stare across at night upon a firefly-lit parking structure but none of that leads the trouble elsewhere. Mimic and absence often seem so as alike.
the protagonist has never held my interest
Calm down J. Alfred, and keep ascriptions to yourself. I could be Hamlet, if I dove into open graves. I could scream then, all I like. Way to take my raging to the grave without shouting all life long.
That’s what I mean when I say call a scene as mortuary. Sing me for the gone.
Foresting the untrue, I found myself with a knack for ungovernability. Which is why no one enters. Which is why as well nobody leaves.
what are you here for (what does it mean to be wired right?)
‘Wow what the fuck’s wrong with her.’
‘Oh man, that guy’s crazy.’
Hey. So. You assholes do realize we’re all in here together, here enclosed together, under watch and none of us can leave, don’t you?
a model example
The man with a plan sat reading a newspaper. His plan had been to read the paper, page by page. The man with the plan is a wonderful success.
the day first grade destroyed me
My fears have been many enough: Ants. Public speaking. Enclosed spaces. The aftertaste of celery. The scent of celery. Failure. Ants. Dislocation. The food pyramid. Latent could-be fuck-ups. ……Ants.
it’s cold and i’m shitty
I am rarely called anything. I am exceptionally compliant.
I am not what you wanted, but I am everything you asked.
I am a raincoat.
horse erasers, 75 cents!
It looked as if someone stuck Play-Dough in a blender and made it smile. It had short stub erase-your-error legs. My sister and I both bought one. It cost us $1.50. The memories will last a lifetime.
A wizard in cheap velvet (probably a polyester blend) once told me to cool it with the word choice. ‘Bullshit’ does not belong in a haunted mansion and ‘fuck’ would make the ghosts go sad. Because I am better at pretending, I took on the wizard’s name for days.
The riddle or its answer was almost certainly a lie.
rothstein anxious to slap legal face
I suppose that in the midst of his three-week-long hotel-bound breakdown, the lawyer befriended a ragged mouse. After accidentally stepping on the mouse, he cried for three days, dressed the mouse in a bowtie, and laid him to rest beneath a floorboard.
let me count the ways
I have held myself under siege for so long, without knowing how I brought the bridge up in the first place. I like it better this way. I like very little this way. This might explain a vague affinity for birds: a sight of hope of something to cross over what is ruptured, use the language I have fallen for myself. Or a bird tells elsewhere always. Or bird tells an undoing in each lift.
Call this inconsistent. Call I as I not.
and i could be king
I stared at the ceiling and nothing changed. Only time expired but there were still plenty of minutes left for the day. So many minutes not to know nothing about.
how doth the little bumblebee
A more accurate representation of my mind might be
bhzzzzzzz bhzzzzzzzzz zzzzzHHhhhzzzzz bbzzhzzzzzzzzz bhzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzh?… zzzzh
easy ways out of a conversation
Falling out of a chair.
Falling asleep in a chair.
Falling in love with one of your hands and then watching until fingers bend and swirl and the world blues and neon oranges its way out of focus and basically you’re gazing at your daydream believer hand and you’ve got this, you could do this for centuries.
If you push a man off of a cliff all lit in fire, then his words will become legend, become taken into fact.
an allergic reaction to the ceiling
Too much time or too sharp the wire. Mind sniffles and increasingly I cease to be in place, or know I’ve been at all. Body’s remainder begs recall each time skull strays to cloud. Nubes beatae sunt. My mind claims happier gone atmospheric, and how could I impede?
harp seal in the cathedral
A lie’s only a lie if you don’t believe some angle in it. Which says the seal was never impossible, any more than Mr. Fancy was a fabrication.
We composed songs over sour soggy berry cups.
Told jokes about out-of-place kidneys.
All this upsets my sense of order.
how merry a christmas
When the woman shut the door against the cultivated house, she went down the street to have a Sno-cone. It is known (or it was known well in her heart) that the surest sign of final and resurgence is a taste of flavored ice, standing in winter’s deadest cold.
They’re called Breton bites and my supposition stands that if released they’d meld the counter out beneath them, wheat flour whole grain ammonium bicarbonate natural-flavor flooding out in shrieking shifting crackers shaped like hands and legs and kidneys defeating size and letting go their nut-free joy in spurts of periwinkle blue blood of a thousand dying grapefruits overfilling all the world to dip their drag our souls in solubility to leave us between wake and dream and wake and sleep to wonder if we’ve ever been awake, at all.
Only those fifteen-cracker servings could so unseat the world.
The most reliable way to get off the ward was to volunteer for tests and observations. Long-distance trips across three buildings for an MRI, 90 minutes of classical music piped into a claustrophobic tube. 45 minutes down the hall giving the brain a run responding to questions, what is an anorexic like how does she sound, in what composure does she come with her depression with anxiety, how can she stack a cluster of quarters. 70 minutes freed to a room for placing blocks into space and reading red blue green blue blue green red.
will i have eyes
How a hand reached toward a hand and one clasped wrist to greet the other. How the only echoed call trailed after. How the two curled hand-in-hand against the silted sunken floor.
bespoken as impressed
Here, the torso should tension, the muscles set to snap. If a sprain is achieved, so much the better. Close your eyes. Envision the muscles exclaiming. Envision the snap when they’re torn.
radio wave magnetic
In the tube a yawning headache hum turned to dull whine turned to padded hammered thump. Five seconds meant forgetting how to breathe. Five minutes meant returning meant succumbing to the sound.
At the end, a picture of the brain. It smiled at its progress and then twenty minutes later turned and wondered when it’d fall right back.
Here are ways to identify my brain: unworking, unwinding, uncertain. Mostly of course I am in undefining and I find myself any day in absence. What happens when the desire is not to or never to be caught.
like a roof of wind
The difference between then and now is reticence or lack thereof. The distance between then and now spells out elastic in perception. How some unfolding never holds. How to wish these bones would murmur, even that.
Do you think I’d turn down another medication? You just may be my saving grace.
Hence regretting. Hence the beatific anger in your eyes.
legitimate google searches
what the fuck is in a forest?
help my cat shows obeisance
is spiders georg a danger to society?
why is sex?
nobody is gaudium et utilis
can i be nobody?
my (only) dislocation
Nor do I believe in conclusions I believe that my eyes have been sewn shut I believe my fears leak radiation, but nothing of this pools into ending. I, myself, and my brain closing to a steady liquid caving in. Where did you go, my wandering brainlets? For what have you abandoned me?
fragility, they could have said
Her bed was a billow of air. Eyes out for chance of shatters. Tri-weekly bathing – always under supervision – was our only option. These arrangements might be called unfortunate. These arrangements were defined necessity.
After, early-morning showers seemed a dream.
when is a door not a door?
Every night I tear my head and stuff my thought into a jar. Every night it creeps to me in dreaming, bleeding through the glass or brass or burnished bronze. Morning comes, we reunite, the skull stitched up all over.
how you became mythic
Close your eyes. Blue slate slipping-away, with a graphitic brush of gray silk.
i love a good irony
The day I entered the hospital was a day shortly following National Eating Disorder Awareness Week.
reminder of a discard
It would be like I, very like I, to lose hold of the memory, only to claim an absence. That I had never been. That I wasn’t there to seal or strengthen it.
Erasure versus release. Where it is, and how defined?
the ship sails on
I am as well the woman as the captain as the gull.
Nobody should find me, I am not a person.
the worth of asking is defiant of value
All of this a holding pattern as awaits a strike of something, solid, string to strand the words and aims and thoughts along. Because the sky presents these tracings. Because I could spider my own web, were I arachnic rather than archaic rather than absentaneous rather than abstruse. The words sound well. Their feeling is a relaxation, cool and round of steam-run rocks, ice of stone against skin. I talk me into these moments. I remind me of places that were. I wish I could cease returning to such past.
Which is a lie. Which is a lie.
Best to hypnotize myself withal among these words. Best to hold here while I can.
nis nu cwicra nan
That I want the song without the world.
Two beats to the flutter of your arm. Three before a silence. Count the five together; cut your tongue. The rest should be performed in silence.
kristi m banker occasionally exists in the form of an unfinished pun and that is about all. sometimes she has lived in michigan. sometimes she has lived in iowa. or maybe other places. now she lives in laramie in a writing program and a forest of wounding. she could confess herself compact of jars. also, one day a bee fell into her pocket. it was a good day.