reading

0. (One reason birds have more anxiety than people.)
00. (One reason people have more anxiety than birds.)

My father and I watch a flock of finches flying around the fallout shelter.  Their orbits are slow and worn in, they make it seem like the hours outside are smaller than ours.  

My father tells me if we wait long enough one of them will be Mercury, one will be Venus, one will be Earth, one will be Mars.

Even then, I could tell his astronomy was clumsy and domestic, a way of keeping track of dinner manners and developed etiquette.  A way to make sure an elastic band is all he'd ever be.

Waist high though, I believed him when he said, "there are bread winners and there are bird feeders.  Jonathan, you are a bird feeder."

1. "The Earth, in relation to the distance of the fixed stars, has no appreciable size and must be treated as a mathematical point."
-Ptolemy, The Almagest, 147 A.D.

And if the Earth is flatter than we ever gave it credit for, and if the Earth is already a dead bird drowned in mid-air.

2. (If you could build a house in the shape of any bodily organ, which would you pick?)

When we first met I was living in a blue house (as it ripped out a red house).

When I was tired I slept in spare shelves or scatter points. When I was awake I tried to keep track of the birds.

It all changed when the candle came down.

3. "Il lupo perde il pelo ma non il vizio."

3b. "The wolf may lose its hair but not its vice." -Italian Proverb.

The curtains were thin as shedded snake skin.  I tore them off to get a better look at him.  He was walking with his mother.  Her legs were made of grey and brick, her head was twice as tall as his.  It looked like there was a tunnel dug underground between the two of them, every time she moved a foot one way, he would follow a foot behind.

They had been walking that way for a while and then she stopped.  She shouted something at him that I couldn't hear.  He shouted something back at her.

It felt like there was a family of field mice sneaking through me.  I was already nervous.

She reached into the sack she carried and pulled out a piece of wood with a nail at its head.  I hadn't met her yet so I didn't know what was coming.

She swung the wood with both her arms and he crumpled.  Like a mannequin who had been up all night.

4. (If the first person you loved was a body of water, which would they be?)

Our first date: A bird storm blocks out the black of the sun.  South of the skylights we clothe our torsos in sizes too small.  Everything feels closed too tight.  Like corsets on candlesticks.

He builds me blind spots to breath through.  My lungs are blunt and hushed. We undress.  

Into the lake, from the front seat.  Tinfoil salmon sweating around our thighs.  Yawns in their gills, their fins, their reflexes.  

5a. "Don't worry, we will always be together."  -Dolores.

5b. "That's what Diana Ross said." -Mary Lazarus.

-Whoopi Goldberg and Mary Wickes, Sister Act, 1992.

He takes me to his home, the bulk of which was similar to mine.

 We watch two strangers swinging across trapeze bars. They throw trash and gunpowder across the gaps. Neither side seems to understands the delicacy of when to stop short.

Below them, there's a kitchen full of children marching.  The littlest one pukes up a balloon. Skull-sized and blue. Others cough out plastic bags.

In the stands, I can see his neighbors staring back at us.  They keep an ice age in each eye.  Behind them on the walls, their still-lifes look healthy.

6. "I am looking for a candle. I have it. I am putting it in a Venetian box. Please leave it alone. Don't tease me. I have it. I can place it."
-Gertrude Stein, Geography and Plays, 1910-1920.

After September, every skeleton had a view. They told us we looked like puddles of soft water. They said, "if it weren't for all the skin in the way."

His mother told me once that in the Middle Ages, even scarecrows were skinned alive.  She told me it's the same sort of pulse behind poltergeist argument we've all lost since.

She said. "Jonathan, not all attention is good attention."  I could see every single one of her teeth as she sneered it at me.

7a. (Three ways to describe what a fistful of fireflies would feel like.)
7b. (One reason nobody "falls in love like they used to...")

7c. (One reason nobody "falls in love like they used to...")
7d. (One reason nobody "falls in love like they used to...")

He was gone for a while.  It was another autumn, another off shore after exhaustion. We kept each other propped up in parked positions while we waited for the postcards to come.  I asked him if there was such a thing as patience in the first person, if every sigh needs legs to stand and so on.

He said maybe the calendar is clumsiest at sunset.  I could hear a fault line flaring across his vocal cords.  He told me to wait another week, another month.  

Certainly small stakes were better than either of us ever being right.

8. The Starling equation is an equation that illustrates the role of hydrostatic and onkotic forces (the so-called Starling forces) in the movement of fluid across capillary membranes.  Capillary fluid movement may occur as a result of two processes: diffusion and filtration.

The weather was wait listed against the basement windows again. We were carving cadaver letters into our sleep when he told me, "maybe this anatomy is a promise nobody ever intends to keep."

We were alone when they found us there.  First his mother, then his father from behind.  They found us like we were two birds born inside a rifle barrel. The bullet hadn't even got out of bed and it was over already.  He pulled his forearms into right angles and I tried to run.

They kept the door blocked from me  His face was swollen as a coal stove by the time I got out of there.

9. "We do not really know why the Woolly Mammoth became extinct. Early Man killed some of them, of course. But most of the time Early Man stayed right in his cave, holding hands with Early Woman. I wouldn't know what the Woolly Mammoth did about that sort of thing. Not nearly enough, I suspect.” -Wlliam Cuppy, How to Become Extinct, 1941.

Our last date:

Clouds crawl into plaster casts.  Crowds cough from crosswalk to crosswalk.  Chickadees split themselves into fishhooks and hangnails as they ricochet between roofs.

I put my ear to his shirt and listen to a candle wick flickering.  He tells me his ribcage is lined with cave paintings.  There are buffaloes composed of crude circles and streaks.  There are mammoths colored with iron oxide.  There is a boy with flint in his fist.

Even at the end, he still wouldn't give me a name to leave him with.  His hand still shivered when mine hit his.

10. "Think it o-o-over, haven't I been good to you?" -Diana Ross, 1965, age 21.

I never saw him again, I don't think anybody did. It didn't matter, his posture had done things to me I couldn't undo.

Years later, I can still see him picking at his skin like he expects something good to come of it. Years later, his skeleton is still the softest sinkhole I ever slept inside.

11a. (Two ways to amputate a phantom limb.)
11b. (Two ways a compliment and a threat are the same thing.)

I was brought up believing that heaven is an empty threat, that the true meaning of "ghost" is "honest mistake". I was brought up believing that when they tell you the ghost will thaw, that means the ghost will thaw.

He told me once the weather is never more than enzymes on wires, he said our cells were nothing but forecasts filled with heat and sealing wax. I have tried to trace transparencies over his words. Were repercussions cutting into his mouth? Was he overwhelmed by the weight of oxygen on skin? I didn't know then. I don't know now.

12. Birds, by their quickness and intelligence and alertness in acting upon every thought, are a ready instrument of God, who can prompt their movements, their cries and songs, their pauses and wind-like flights, thus bidding some men check, and others pursue to the end, their course of action or ambitions." -Plutarch, 46-120 A.D.

Maybe that's not the issue, maybe the new definition of "ending" is too different to explain.  Maybe he meant it when he said he didn't want nobody.

Either way, it doesn't matter, certain anatomies never change.

 You're still seventeen and waiting at Main Street and Stinson's, you still have this same map and you can tell it's a match that's already burnt you in bed.

13a. (Your favorite way to sleep, on your back, on your side, on your stomach, other.)
13b. (Your favorite way to sleep, on your back, on your side, on your stomach, other.)

Shoulder high, I read that at the end of the world there will be a wolf that swallows the zodiac whole.  I told my Mom I wasn't going to get up for that.  I had to tell her twice, I told her, "Mom, I am as brave as unmade bed."  "Mom, I ain't getting up for that."

She said to me something I still remember, she said, "None of that is ever, ever going to happen, Jonathan.  There is no wolf, no zodiac.  No planets but this one.  Everything else is horseshit."

14. "Nothing exists except atoms and empty space; everything else is opinion." -Democritus of Abdera, 460-370 B.C.

There was a time when I said there were things I sometimes miss.  I said there was a candle that could correct everything.

But by now I know it's true when they say sometimes solid memories are nothing more than old roles in relief.  Making any sense of them is all in the arrangement of axis and anatomy, it's all in the course of those orbits I should've stopped ignoring.

15a. "There are bread winners and there are bird feeders.  Jonathan, you are a bird feeder." -Chris Tierney, age 46.
15b. "I hope you love birds too, it is economical.  It saves going to heaven." -Emily Dickinson, age unknown.

Now that I'm older I can see that the Earth is one place and then overnight it can become someplace else. This can happen without changes in cloud lining, continental migration, or the consonants people use when asking to be carved in two.

Here is the secret: You can hollow out your bone and hold your breath in there.  You can teach yourself how to do it so that no one even notices.  You can learn to drown yourself in midair, you can drown yourself before they ever get to the door.

AN INSECT CENTURY.

        An Insect Century is a condition of Dyschronometria in which an individual cannot accurately estimate the amount of time that has passed.  Time perception is a construction of chronological drift that is manipulable and distortable under certain circumstances. These temporal illusions help to expose the underlying mechanisms of time perception.

        Distorted time perception is often associated with cerebellar ataxia, a lack of spatial awareness, poor short term memory, and loss of focus (disorientation).  Regions of trauma and rate of indefinite or unfolding events may also alter the subjective experience of time.  Another’s impressions of the Insect Century may not be directly experienced or understood, but it can be objectively inferred through a number of conditions: accidental abuse, disease, and genetics.

        The Insect Century is a verifiable by an experiment wherein the duration between a sequence of consecutive stimuli is thought to be relatively longer or shorter than its actual elapsed time, due to the spatial/auditory/tactile/species separation between each consecutive stimuli. The Insect Century can be displayed when considering a journey made in two parts that take an equal amount of time. Between these two parts, the journey that covers more distance may appear to take longer than the journey covering less distance, even though they take an equal amount of time.

You worked at the church, waited for the animals of your family to die. Hundreds of acres of skin and skin and still no surprises.   No shreddings of recognized baggage, you had become natural enemies.

Legs moved like a hydraulic system, unnatural, mathematical.   Limbs controlled by blood pressure or judgements of lesser parts, meaningless movement in a complete and metallic and accurate machine.

They disgust us because they show us what we are, always, eventually.  Small, scattered.  Confused.  We took out the bed and then the whole room.

I remember a lot of movement without momentum.  Angular and divided, a stack of empty decisions rather than a new skeleton built of them.  I remember they came out like an ink storm on the sheets and bedspread.   Holes and lows and life sized set ups and interviews.  

Just introduce yourself to a stranger.  It’s exactly the same thing.  Sun came down, and you were looking at me.

Insects have their own scenery of denial.

An endless stream of modest success and failure and success stories.  Microscopically priced.  Near invisible penalties.  One payment a year instead of twelve.

Almost at random, an eruption of beginning and end.  Exoskeleton up and crashed.

Pins in the fingertips.  Deadline missed, guessed at us breaking up again.

Another room that tasted the same, a ringing in the ears, a shrinking in the space between shadow and skeleton.

You can wear people down, the longer you talk.  Lies and blind string, otherwise intelligent people ask for a rush of guilt too. All that filament, all the flickering for limbs.  Like six times one is one instead.  Don’t ever mistake activity for achievement, they already had a name for that, they called it the insect century.

Jillison.  Listen to me.

             Do you still have no idea what the problem is? I don't understand the arc, that's what you said.   Tired and unhappy, felt like a century on repeat.  Willfully entered into codependence you admitted.  Jillison.  Listen to me.  Your past comes with you.  If you have any insects, you have all of them.

FOSSILS OF THE TOWER FELL.

         1.) Fragments of the First and Only Tower of Eos, be they skin or sediment. Preserved primarily in silt colonies, scavenger territories, river beds, cities without outlines or upbringing. Remnants of the age are fossilized in free fall, arms open to absorb the blow, eyes outstretched and screaming through the stone.
         2.) An uncommon currency among criminals and captured men. The worth of the fossil is determined by the warmth and pulse it has preserved. Those without decay are said to reveal an escape from certain fate. Their value is incalculable, held like a lifespan packed into a prisoner's hands.

         Jillison, I thought there would be more to say. My eyes were top heavy, traveling in reverse, they kept teaching you how to disappear from me.
         There was no sound left. My storm tent was soaking wet. Even the birds were secret and barely cut through the sky to speak. Did I need a working knife? A cloth to cover the organs I couldn't keep?
          Walk right over it, that's what they said. The sky was too short sighted to tell.
          I told you to drop it. It didn't concern you or me. I should've known by then.  You yelled through your first mouth and then a fire door.
          It was another reconstruction site I couldn't hear this time. There was a sinkful of broken glass and cans and I wouldn't listen to it again. My ears were wrecked close and then I couldn't see where you went.
         You always left like that, bricks up to your neck and bones broke out of the rest. When you were gone, the blankness went with you. Two years, one day I was in an identical place.
         Did you ever wonder what I did? Pinned rain, red air, it was all pretend. Wishful thinking. We were going backwards Jillison, I couldn't believe you bled the echoes out of me again. You should've seen me. I told them you'd be home by the scaffolding hours. I didn't see it coming. I said I'd keep the storm tent open for you.
         All the unbelievers, the ones that built the birdless sky. They'd been right about you all along.
         I went over it and over. I knew you would've said my organs were opening on their weaker side, but that was wrong.
         I wasn't petrified or unprepared.  I wasn't petrified or unprepared.
         I'd unwalled enough and saw the same lesson leaving naked each time.  If it was all I had left, I would learn to dress it as a deafness, my wearable absence and defense.

GOD OF TECTONICS.

          The God of Tectonics was believed to represent an extremely large accumulation of lives and afterlives—intrusive, extrusive, or both—located the anatomical core.  The definition of both God and Tectonics has been expanded and refined, and is still a work in progress.  God is now frequently used to describe voluminous areas of, not just mafic, but all types of metamorphic identity.  Sub-categorization of God into continental categories and chronological drift, and including pressures produced by tectonic processes, has been proposed.

          Natural evidence of the God of Tectonics remains inconclusive, while other possible remnants may have been dismembered by anatomical tectonic motion, such as the Transfinite Rift—the before and after effects of which are found throughout Eos, eastern Hestia and Themis, and north-western Amphitrite.

          While the interaction between these continents (localized but ever shifting) lacks a defined cause, a number of Gods (i.e. a mechanizing force) have been represented in the history of anatomical geophysics, allowing for a diversity of insular or anecdotal interpretations of this still indeterminant influence.  The God of Tectonics in particular, was believed by the hollow born (those born without identity) and the fossil born (those searching for purpose in the performance of anatomical metamorphosis) to be the originating fault line of the afterlife itself.

          How much does he know? How much does he know? How much does he know? How much does he know now.

          Not used to being behind there.  First time in someone else's eyes, without allowance to go to waste.  Did you think I was a talentless actor, hacking at a role, least of all authority showing? Did you think, now it all makes makes sense?  The distance.  The abstraction.  The anger.  The confusion.  

          Absent by whose definition.   I didn’t have a plan (hidden or purposely vague).  I mail fail, be a failure.  Did you think she did this to me too?  How well do you know the tectonic processes, how much of the research have you done?

          Transfinite Rift.  Unthought known.  For once it had nothing to do with you.   

          In terms of transparency, there wasn’t even a tally.  I have considered my options as carefully as I am capable of.  Could barely explain what it meant to be obsolete now.  Nobody know.  Whole forms flawed, a disconnect between the mechanics of the body.   All I could hear was a thicket inside.
          There is nothing wrong with me.   There is nothing wrong with me.  There is nothing wrong with me.  Shame is not a solvent or a solution.  So I don't try.  I don't hide it.
It’s not where you find all of my kind.  Ghostless to know, fossil born, afterlife neither eternal nor a form of interpretation.  Honestly, nothing has happened at all as I expected.  I never thought anyone cared if I got back to you.
          A god is a glacier, a gemstone, an accident of dust and glass.  A god is the only continent left in your place.

          What now?  A continent of lost addictions, clear as erosion, the littlest sands caving in.  There was no common sense or realistic approach.  Most likely, one of us will ask for this to die first.  Another trench where I sleep.  Where we sleep?  Differences between.

          If I don’t get out of this body (these bodies), off these continents alive (alone).

          "I didn't recognize you...  from a distance.  That's supposed to be my job."

          Were you motivated by jealousy, insecurity, lacks of perceived ability?  Did you think things should be happening faster?  If I could save one moment from the start.  See?  There are more than a few.

          An argument out of habit, there is little difference between nothing and everything happening.  This is how it is happening.

          Yes, I will wait for you.  Where you found me, up on the (continental) shelf, grounding my apologies, keeping the attic shadow hidden.  Curating, collating, collecting.  Not making progress, not making choice.

          Composition as a cycle of consequence and condition.  I would be lying if I said that it didn't bother me.  I think because I created, with the mistakes I made in my life, I created a picture of me.  That's not me.

          All light is the afterlife of mass.  A compromise has to count down.  Rules have to change.  Can’t you tell there's no one else around?