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08 January 2009 @ 12:48 am
poet paul cabbie and bird revelations  
i know, everyone has some cab driver story to share, and i'm sure the cabbies of the world can never escape that pressure to be the anonymous guru of someone's tormented afternoon. since i no longer have my own set of wheels--(still waiting for that sense of liberation to set in, but i think one has to be less self-oppressed than i am before i can really, honestly expect the sense of liberation i will not settle for). tonight i was so close to walking home from work, the snow or whatever had been falling from the sky had stopped and it wasn't so bad out, but there i was, not caring for reasons, as if most people can really say they are guided by reasons anyway. there i was, feeling that my life would be better if i didn't walk the 20 or so minutes back, hoping for feet-friendly sidewalks,sidewalk-friendly feet, pushing myself along like some weirdo exertion-addict when i was only 7 dollars away--really, about 3 minutes--from warmth and me-mine-ness al my own on this third floor, where the heat rises and the dishes are comfortable in the sink.
paul waited until he pulled up to my apartment before asking me if i liked poetry--he was a poet himself and liked to share with others at the end of rides...now, this is something special for me; i can only imagine others and how much they do not care for paul-recitations (yes, he did stop the meter)..he shared 3 poems with me, just in the way that poetry should be shared--communicated between and amongst, from mouth to ear, although i don't ever believe we only hear and feel poetry with just our silly ears... each poem was about birds, or better put, inspired by birds, the wonder and freedom, the unspoken glory and emotion triggered by vision of a bird,vision through a bird, whether in flight or resting, tending to itself, being in all of its bird-ity. and paul wasnt bad. he was even good, good enough so that i bother to write about this now, bother to write at all...actually, paul's poetry was elegant, and melancholy and beautifully structured just so i was reminded that poetry is meant to be spoken and heard out loud and between people and in the between-space is where the language and emotion takes shape; i am reminded that rhythm is so crucial to the impact and the interpretation of poetry, the sudden-ness of hearing-into-feeling...paul rocked my world tonight. yessir.
oh, and an interesting message i got from some person--no, really, some person, at the end of last month-- "Because we are considered so compatible,according to this, I believe that we should probably never speak and definitely never meet. I think we probably peaked on paper. Now it’s just downhill. I’ll swing by your place tonight to pick up my CD’s. It’s been a nice ride. Tell your mom it’s not her fault. The meatloaf was a little tough but that’s what the ketchup is for. No sense in beating herself up. Sometimes it’s just not meant to be.

You’re handling this very well. I’m quite proud of you. You were always the strong one.

What do you think about all this snow?"

--not bad for a notice-me-here-i-am/hello. if i didn't have my eyes set on someone else...if only it was actually soothing to pretend that a relationship could chuckle as it began, begin, fluster just a bit, just to balance itself, and end as it will, in small-talk, all in about one paragraph,and then i could go back to thinking about a snack, a snack of cheese and a chocolate-chip muffin and i could feel fulfilled enough, no, sated, no, satiety is not possible for me, i am all longing and wanting and demands, this makes me impossible and impetuous and so boringly human. i know that none of the above elements of this paragraph were meant to go together and that's somehow the point, a nudge towards regard for real impact.
at least i have philip glass' glassworks and songs from the trilogy (bed) to carry me along right now. so innately beautiful. talk about longing and unspoken confusion.
i need to learn ASL. i work with this boy who is deaf and speaks and yes, i sound crude, but i can't understand a thing he says and it's so tiresome, for me and definitely for him, i'm sure--as i smile and agree with everything after asking "what" for the third time. i always end up flapping and gesticulating into my own sign language, which he is patient enough to allow and obviously keen/tactful enough to grab the gist of.
i need to finish my MSW stuff.
i need to stop typing as the music carries, cuts up into crescendos,diminuendos.unsettling, but completely lovely and bigger than me, than this, certainly. it's like thinking about tomorrow's lunch plan while orgasming. ok, close. ish. ish.
i need to tweeze.
i love cheese sticks. you know, the string cheese, reminds me of college and shreds of cheese sticking between notebook pages. i bet this time around, classrooms will consist of laptops and their owners, no more chewed pen caps and spirally notebooks--that silence of clacking--suppose that's an outdated description of typing noise; one reserved for typewriters--what is that distinctive noise modern laptop keyboards make? like the sound a keyboard, an electronic-something makes when muted, a really boring sound, but just annoying enough, annoying because the real noise is missing, and what's left is some hollowed, emptied-box version. mother of god, i'm going to be a student again. god, i hope so. college was the best slice of life i've consumed so far. consumed while knowing so, consumed through all sides of remembering. i know i can't go back to that, but i can try to integrate my especially-jaded self with the nostalgic ideal of student-megan, grad-student-megan.
and i don't feel like writing anymore tonight. "knee 5" is playing. even though it was something i put on a mix-tape for a Boy once, years ago now, good pick megan, very romantic, but unexpected and fresh. unmatched elsewhere, in any true way. all these things are necessary elements, yes, for a mix-tape, yes, for romance. i do not fabricate expertise. no need to. i only have what i hope for and feel and don't know--mostly don't know.
nategodin on January 8th, 2009 05:10 pm (UTC)
In which I assure you that I still exist...
That message is pretty clever; when posting or responding to any sort of personal ad (I assume that's what it was about), it's really best not to take yourself (or even the basic premise of what you're trying to do) too seriously. The ones who do are probably either twits, or even worse, have decided that they MUST get married and start making babies within the next year or two, and are content to leave it to some matching algorithm to fill in the details.

It sounds like you should politely suggest to this deaf person that they communicate with either via e-mail or on a small notepad until you can learn whichever dialect of ASL he uses. Unless he's one of those "Deaf culture" snobs who doesn't consider himself to have a disability, he'll probably appreciate your earnest efforts.

Good computer keyboards do indeed click and clack in an immensely gratifying way. Right now I'm typing this on an honest-to-goodness-metal-spring-underneath-each-detachable-key IBM Model M, designed in 1984, and manufactured in 1993. They're incredibly durable. If you should happen to spill Dr. Pepper into it, all you have to do is detach the cable and pop the keys off, pour some rubbing alcohol into it, give it a few hours to dry, reattach the cable and keys, and you're back in business. It's sad that so few things are built to last anymore.
laugh_scream on January 8th, 2009 06:46 pm (UTC)
Re: In which I assure you that I still exist...
i do indeed feel assured knowing that you still exist..i am so excited to (indirectly) speak with you again! thanks for responding...and no...my entry wasn't referring to a personal ad, although i will admit it falls within the social networking sphere--no, not myspace--i was so amused when i read it--i've been seeing this pretty awesome guy for a bit--but continuing to attract the creative and cleverish types of this small portland orb reminds me of the general awesomeness unceasing in others...

i even checked out your livejournal last night...still not breaking the semi-annual updating rule--still seeing the "diana" creature? i miss you nate, along with rory and matt and the other stragglers that hung out on the couches behind funny lighting and even funnier-minded people...perhaps in some future moment and place, a reunion of sorts could happen...

oh, and deaf guy is certainly not a snob...he's more patient than most--better than i am--with communication barriers. i've been perusing a bunch of instructional sites online but once i attempt actual conversation i revert back to flapping my hands and contorting fingers wildly around my upper-body, making exaggerated facial gestures...but---so far i've mastered "turtle" "snake" "fucking(as in Doing It)" "snob" little girl" "hold on" " and of course, "i'm sleepy." along with some boring letters and some basics/fillers.
(i am aware of the possibilities of fun conversation within this current combination...)
oh, and also "eat pussy"(as in I'm Gonna Give It To You, not Can I Have Some?)-- admittedly picked up from the L Word-- surprisingly it's not the universally-understood tongue waggling between two fingers. though that's well received by anyone with eyes...

and man, the fucker picks right up on my struggle--somehow he "interpreted" something i did the other day while i was eating my lunch as "hey, here's my yummy sandwich,you can have it now!" what to do then? really?! i gawked at him and he must have seen the flicker of indignant rage in my eyes--we both sensed the potential for ugliness in that next second, where it would only come down to a brawl of sorts, probably a cock-punch, which is what i'd do to any other dude who stole my lunch and ate it all open-mouthed in front of me...
ehh,but really i'd probably exploit/work it for free lunch too if i was in his place. i work it the best i can in my current state. still though. fucker.
ok, enough. great to hear of your ongoing existence...keep in touch...
raskinkesah on November 2nd, 2011 05:11 am (UTC)
What a great resource!