commaraderie

[commaraderie]

i feel like people have forgotten how to be a generous audience when they read/watch something. like sometimes you have to buy into some bullshit plot points or a deus ex machina or a few loopholes as the price of admission for an otherwise fun time. sometimes these things are just gears that get us to where the story really wants to be, and too many people get caught up in those gears. sometimes you gotta meet a story halfway.

[commaraderie]

I wish everyone would admit that classic literature is inherently difficult to read, and that you shouldn’t feel stupid if you don’t “get it”. Especially the dark academia/ classic lit fandoms and stuff. Like unless you have the vocabulary and pop culture knowledge of an 18th century nobleman, it’s going to be a tough read. It’ll take you longer to read; you’re not stupid if you’ve spent several months on a single book! And you don’t have to enjoy everything. It’s okay if you got bored after one chapter of Wuthering Heights, and couldn’t be bothered to read the rest. It’s okay if you want to read your favourite kids book for the 10th time instead. You’re not stupid. No piece of literature is inherently better, more “important”, more “meaningful”, or more “intellectual” than another. First and foremost, read what brings you joy.

[commaraderie]

It’s been a hot minute since we all got together and there’s a lot going on in the world right now as well as in our personal lives but I want you both to know that I appreciate you both dearly and am sending good vibes to you both.

[commaraderie]

2020 gothic

- you join a zoom call. everyone’s mic is muted, but no one is talking anyway. you stare at the squares with faces in them. which is your face? you can’t be sure.

- the news is full of numbers. you try to learn what they mean, but the articles are full of jargon from fields you have no experience in, and you swear the numbers change when you blink. 

- you wake up. you sleep. you wake up. you sleep. how many days was that? you have no idea.

- you go for a walk. a shadow follows you down the street, moving when you move, stopping when you stop. always the recommended six feet away.

- every day you get several emails from corporations you’ve never heard of. each company name sounds fake, too vague, too optimistic. “Stay healthy! :)” they say. “We’re committed to keeping you safe! You must stay healthy! We love you very much! We learned everything about you so we can keep you safe! Please believe us we love you so much we’ r e  , s 0Rry:):)):))”  You try to unsubscribe, but the link just takes you to a blank black webpage. Suddenly, you can make out your reflection in the screen. What’s that over your shoulder?

- you’ve been wearing the same clothes for days, but somehow there is laundry.

[commaraderie]

The move

She began in the bedroom. So full of knickknacks and decorations, these were the nonessentials that could sit in a box for a week. Her letters, cards, old tickets accrued from the past year, these were packed into an antique lunch box. Her printed photos were peeled off the wall, slotted into an envelope. Barry and Reggie, a stuffed owl and dinosaur, became padding for her books and jewelry boxes. Always, an item or two was taken out and put in the donation pile.

Her living room - and how luxurious it was to have a living room - came next. Here was her office supplies, her decks of cards, and souvenirs from her last job (drawings from students, her name card). She couldn’t fathom throwing such useful things away, but they took up 2 boxes. She resolved to write more letters in the coming year.

The living room had more furniture that couldn’t be packed right away, so it didn’t take as long to clear the room. She was pleased to have use of her two armchairs for a few more days.

The bathroom had the most junk. Expired cold medicine, years-old makeup, old diy essential oil gifts. But should she keep all of her lotion? (Body lotion, skin creme, cocoa butter vaseline, aquaphor for lips) It’d make more sense to throw some of them out, but what if she needed extra! She would make them all fit.

This left the kitchen. Here was where her favorite activities took place: eating, painting, and writing. She made her coffee here, called her doctor’s office, crafted her lesson plans. Here she baked muffins for her class, experimented with coq au vin, and kept her plants. Removing her things from this room removed her whole presence in the city.

The pots and pans were boxed, the bakeware and plates wrapped carefully. She’d wrapped a whole box of mugs the week before, but she needed another to fit the rest. She sorted the salvageable food items, and packed up the luxury appliances she wouldn’t have room for in her new abode.

When she left, the apartment was empty and clean. No chance she left anything behind, but she still felt that there was a part of her in St. Louis that she wouldn’t ever get back.

[commaraderie]

top 5 afternoons

I was 22, in the sixth month of my new job. A Friday, we were let out early because of a huge snowstorm. I went to the overpriced grocery store near my house to stock up on the essentials: bread, milk, eggs, wine, and cheese. This is what adults do. I parked my car, covered the windshield with the snow guard. My new book had just arrived that week, so I settled into my armchair with my best blanket, an anticipated read, and a full glass of wine. This is when I realized it was 1pm.

[commaraderie]

The tide comes and goes, crashing down upon the otherwise silent shore, syndicated yet uncontrollable, like values manipulated with vine charcoal upon a poorly toned sheet of old newsprint dated something the seventeenth, thirty percent chance of a late afternoon wintry mix. 

The frigid waves dissipate into the heavy November clouds and you often find yourself wondering if you’ll ever really feel at home again or if “home” will henceforth exist only in recollections of the past projected onto a basement wall you once illustrated circus animals on with value brand crayons and later scented markers, not to be washed away until four years later, just thirty minutes prior to your older brother’s first girlfriend coming over to get help on the homework she finished the day before.

[commaraderie]

Cormac’s Catharsis

Last night I was inconsolable. My eyes were crater moons with enough space for all my qualms.

Don’t ask my why. Maybe it was the way the night settled around the porch, making anything beyond look impossible. Or the low thrum of how you talked of a world ending.

The next morning I could not conjure the reasons behind the tears. The porch was surrounded by dead grass and blazing heat, not endless abyss. The kind of heat where everything smells like gasoline and black tarmac. And the heat waves make the far away things plump.

I slipped on my sandals so as not to lodge gravel bits into my heel. And walked down the road looking for the end.

[commaraderie]

Let it be known that Leonardo da Vinci talked mad shit about poets

[commaraderie]

The Odor

He takes his coffee with hazelnut cream

And likes to think things are much worse than they seem

A pragmatist, he doesn’t care to compete

With people who tend to trip over their feet

He hates Colorado and what it’s become

And doubts that he’ll ever stop picking his thumb

Not the best looking, he stands five foot two

And constantly wishes his brown eyes were blue

He has little patience and even less hope

And washes his body with Lava bar soap

He likes to watch westerns while drinking warm beer

His frequent “I’m alright”s are all but sincere

Someday he’d like to ride horses again

Just as he once did when he was but ten

His handwriting reads like it came from a book

He seldom eats dinner because he can’t cook

He loses his glasses, his wallet, and keys

He walks through the sagebrush and scrapes up his knees

Despite all his failures, he still tries his best

Preparing for shit that won't be on the test

[commaraderie]

Whenever I have a long drive alone, I listen to podcasts. Whether fiction or non, there’s something new to be learned in each episode. The process of learning requires us to acknowledge what we don’t know, and sometimes I get caught up in this step. Especially so on these long drives. I get curious about some thing, maybe a character mentioned that they love mushroom hunting, and I realize that I want to know more. This want becomes overwhelming. It’s astounding that I don’t know this thing already, I could’ve been learning about it for 22 years now. I need to know more, who would I be if I don’t learn everything I can about this thing? I want to know about Indian history and romantic composers, ornithology, how to find a good foraging spot for mushrooms, how to till the land, how a mystery novel is constructed, how to fix a sink. And of course, in this curiosity, it feels as if any knowledge I do have is lacking. What do I know? All the courses and lessons and experiences I’ve endured, it’s not enough. I took a course on the Vietnam War, but I cannot remember when the war started. If I want to learn more and more things, and if I have to keep reviewing the things I forget, when will I ever learn enough? How hungry I am!

[commaraderie]

Whenever I have a long drive alone, I end up crying. Sometimes it’s because I’m thinking of all the people that I love. Sometimes it’s because a tv show had a really good ending, or a good relationship, or just a good moment. Sometimes a story I’m spinning from my own imagination comes to a heartwrenching plot point. I love driving alone, but I’ve got to learn to leave a box of tissues within reach.

[commaraderie]

Seven years after, I see you again 😚

[commaraderie]

A whole world out there is

what you posit and i pon-

der such a musing

[commaraderie]

Seven days into medication withdrawal

Six months into thinking that it all meant so much more

Five years of falling asleep to Simon & Garfunkel

Four key changes before I realize that I'd rather dream in silence

Three cheers for undesirable circumstance

Two business days and I'll have the answers I need

One hour yet before the day breaks

[commaraderie]

Starscape

Standing in the cornfield that humid summer night I began to feel the silence of the stars.

All quiet, all twinkling, in their scattered formations across the canvas of the night.

Kicking ash into a dark puddle I glanced down and saw the universe before me as if both it and myself were born in the waning hours of yesterday.

So new and so still.

If one endeavors to discover the truth, they will only be met with tribulation, for truth is revealed only when one first finds peace with themselves. 

Breathe in the crisp midnight air and allow yourself to be guided into a pure and harmonious foreverland.