Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Lostmissing #33



Lostmissing is a public art project -- I’d love it if you’d participate.

And here's what lostmissing #33 says:

I hate that when I’m leaving the house I still think what if this is the time when I see you, and am I ready? I’m never ready. Like before bed and suddenly I get all tense thinking about what’ll happen. In a way that makes sense because mostly I see you when I’m sleeping.

I think about calling you, and then I plan out our whole conversation, just in case you answer the phone. You’re not going to answer the phone. Or if you answer, it’ll be a mistake, and then you’ll hang up, like last time. So then I plan out what to say if you hang up, even though you won’t be there so then I don’t need a plan, right?

Maybe I need to talk to a pillow, tell the pillow everything I want to tell you yell and scream and stomp on you and then I can bring you in an elevator up to the top of the Empire State building I always loved going to the roofs of tall buildings when I was a kid even though the elevators hurt my ears. I can go to the top of the Empire State building and throw you I mean that pillow above the security barrier and down down down those hundreds of feet but wait, maybe that would hurt someone -- I mean even a pillow isn’t soft after it falls 1200 feet.

Maybe I don’t need a pillow, I can just close my eyes and kick you into the ocean, bury you in the sand throw you onto the highway into a traffic jam over fences and into the soft cement of a new building before they add layer after layer. Or actually I live pretty high up so I could scatter you over the roofs of Tenderloin buildings I could swing my arms in a circle and fling you everywhere by the time I see you you’ll be so scattered that I won’t notice. I’m ready not to notice. I’m not ready. I can’t believe you’ve become another thing I need to get out of my body.

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