The car is totaled. All bodies are okay (or almost—Ellie has a sprained ankle) but minds less so. We need a new car fast, a truck in fact. When I’m in our house I feel normal, but otherwise, not so much. I feel new again to San Diego; there’s so much hideous paperwork to deal with, so much money. I haven’t left Misha’s side since the accident. We’re in hibernation mode. We’re waiting out the days.
“Summer Interior” by Edward Hopper
as it turns out, i love valentine’s day. misha & i give each other little presents a lot (little things, just poems or a small round rock), but today we give each other a little present on the same day, and i like that. it feels nice to know that loving is emphasized today, even if it’s all hallmark-ized and hollywood-ized–still, people are remembering to act in the name of love today. i believe in that. i love so many people, my mom & dad & sister, & my grandpa with his broken shoulder & the rest of my family, & my friends in the east & some people out west & various chickens & cats around america. loving people is what i like to do. valentine’s day has gotten dumbed down a little–bad chocolates are dumb & so are teddy bears with hearts in their bellies, but a loaf of bread with a heart in it is not dumb it all. in fact, it is very savory & beautiful. & it slices like heaven.
(bread & photography by misha j.)
happy day to everyone i love. happy happy day.
I want to walk around Hastings but nobody lives here
anymore. Pretty soon I won’t either. My home will be
some yellow morning in a place with seasons, a couple
of strips of bacon still scenting the rooms near the kitchen.
Tomorrow I’ll show friends the spots on my tour of Hastings:
the tennis courts, the entrance to the woods, the back door
of the bar where you can smoke anything, the long lightless
road along Reynolds Field. I haven’t lived here for years,
proved by today when I tried to mail my letter in two mailboxes
no longer in service, painted brown but still standing, handled
mouths glued shut. When I come home, the cat relearns me.
I sleep under a mountain of blankets. My appetite is misplaced
and I get lost driving simple places. All this not-knowing
is a sort of exhaustion. All these knots have pull.
Brunch Sonnet 2
I hear you’re writing brunch poems again,
says Eoin. That’s very dangerous for me. He knows
anything he says or does may be used against him
in a poem. Last night I gave ten dollars to one person,
tonight to another. I spend my money on whiskey
and pens and paper goods and friends. They pay me
back. I wear my hair to the side and listen to Camus:
Today we are always as ready to judge as we are
to fornicate. It’s so easy coming home, yelling over
girls I learned to drink with, talking to boys I kissed
and afterward befriended. I get called by my initials
and thrown up into the air by someone who still
walks like a football player. We can’t escape ourselves,
not that we would want to. Not this holiday at least.
on the subject of grading and packing and goodbying to everyone and gathering presents and cleaning the house and reviewing the whole year:
(via this isn’t happiness)
also, another truth, brought to you by britt appleton:
and I’m going to see my family so soon!!!!!!
Poppa Dids aka P-Ditty Poppa aka JK aka my Daddio
(thanks to Sarah Schoenberg Katz, my sissy number 1, also known as SWISS MISS, for this photo)
Poem for Geoff
You have only just begun to love her
and therefore there is no way for you to know
how much I love her. I love her so ardently
that already I must and do love you. And not
because of anecdotes or the photo of your parted
hair, but because you loving her is a way to keep
my loving relevant, keep it safely and unwilted
in the air nearby her, air I can’t inhabit after moving
far away. I thank you and I thank you for keeping her
not in a jar but within a cloud of particles that love
her particles, within the air I see you breathing out,
visible as steam and towards her, no matter
what the weather calls itself that day.
For Eoin Cahill, with whom I have been friends for ten years, in honor of his birthday, the tooth of November.
The sideyard was better than ever before
The sideyard, according to a new neighbor-friend named Neil “felt like the 60s again.”
The sideyard had around 70 people attend which is record-breaking for the sideyard
The sideyard had a tiki torch
The sideyard had such good loud music that the police came
The sideyard thanks “Tendrils,” the new house band, who will perform acoustically from here on out so that we don’t get evicted
According to a girl I met, the sideyard was “the most fun event I’ve ever been to.” EVER!
Neighbor and friend Jed said about the sideyard, “Don’t ever let me miss this again.”
The sideyard offered free wine and decaffeinated coffee
The morning after the sideyard I had both a real hangover as well as a happiness hangover
Thank you to everyone who came to the sideyard
Thank you to everyone who let themselves enjoy something so analog
Thank you to everyone for coming out to hear poetry; we poets need you, we poets are you, we are all poets
(photos by misha marston johnson)
sarah katz can has cheezeburger!!!!!!!!!
(for the reference, click here)