remember that one time? how long ago was it? probably too long ago to be vivid anymore. that’s how it goes. that’s how it went. maybe. memory is speculative at best. the past is always so long ago even if it was only recently past. and the vivid leaves as soon as the experience does.

so it’s a vague life living on a collection of incorrect coincidences being most inopportune at the time when time was without time for further consultation.

but something else is coming up anyway and who knows if it’ll be a major life event or if it’ll kill you but watch out for the updates. watch and try to make it vivid. add color where the future is bi-chromatic if able to be seen at all.
and when there was a loss for words what was really gone?

one time there was a chance to say something about that one time but the time has passed. the moment is dead, gone, buried in memories.

and when there was hell to pay, about how much did that cost? what currency was exchanged? what was the charge for? will the debt be carried over into the afterlife?
yesterday it was easy to assume the routine would be the same and it is so there’s that.

for better or worse is no better nor any worse than same old same old and the yeah yeah responses to be returned without so much as a concerned look attached to a face fast set to depart.
but then again there was that one time, you remember, that one time when it was within reach. when what was had wasn’t good enough and there wasn’t a reason to settle for less than what might be. you remember? it’s memorable even if it was only that one time.
took out a loan for another time. calculated and counted on hope but you wouldn’t cosign. maybe it was for the best. could be for the worst. who knows? what’s there to compare it to? what’s a comparison worth anyway?
who’s been more often read than whoever wrote home sweet home in latch-hook? and when there’s no place like home what does that mean for the rest of the world? oh, and to retreat a bit, the author of ‘welcome’ must have trillions of views by now standing on the stoop with salt on boots eager for a drink and some goddamn sympathy for once.

hell, life isn’t easy. take it from somebody who’s been out there and in here actually living almost every day for decades. living and remembering. remembering and trying to find something to focus on but always coming away from feeling sorry. feeling and then being. just once, can somebody else be sorry for a second? it’s been a series of apologies for longer than should be remembered but they always add form to the vagaries of yesterday. whenever that yesterday was without a shape to fill space but gaseous enough to make do. to make us feel full. to make us be full enough for the moment.
whatever words were said it’s up for debate now. watershed moments are lighthouses to avoid in the dark when those waves of other days come back. when a respite is not all it needs to be.
it’s what it was then it’ll be what it will be. what it’ll never be is what it is. to be current is to be a conversation. something a word might change.


Succeed Better Yesterday – a Lyrical Essay

You wake up or you are trying to wake up. The day is beginning. No alarm today, just the rhythm of the body saying it’s time to get started or maybe it’s the thoughts returning which went to unfinished last night and are looking to pick up from where they last left off. It’s Wednesday. There’s no job to go to today. This is the usual. It’s been this way since as long as you can remember. At this point, you’re so used to this routine and this schedule that you request it off at each new job you get. A certain type of lifestyle didn’t suit you after you graduated college and then after awhile, that same certain lifestyle became too out of reach to even try on.

You look to the left. You see the door, the knob, and the lock is engaged. Separation of here and there feels safe and secure. A feeling to hold onto as you turn over and look up at the ceiling to survey the wood molding and the white paint above for answers which were lost in the questioning that took place while traveling across the floor to bed yesterday. Along with the feelings and sensations making a home of this place comes the return of those feelings in the back, shoulders, neck. Getting up is getting harder each morning but a day off seems to run away quickly so there’s no time to waste.

A day off is the only time to go shopping, do laundry, get to the bank and then really get going on what you want to do. There’s always work to be done. When you’re not at work, you’re looking at other places to work. When you’re not at work, you’re looking for ways to supplement your workday wages. When you’re not at work, you’re doing the work you learned how to do while you were in school. It’s time set aside to create. Time to put that knowledge to work that you learned so many years ago.

You get out of bed. Stretch out a bit. Nothing big. Nothing too time consuming just something to loosen the muscles up and then hope that a warm shower will finish the job of soothing whatever aches still remain. You step over the jeans that didn’t make it to the hamper because they were destined to be worn once more tomorrow. You walk past the chair which gives a couple of blue shirts a place to rest between work shifts. You walk past the table with the boxcutter sitting on it. The table where the key for heavy equipment is also placed along with a pair of gloves. The same table that gives residence to the stack of library books arranged according to due dates. The same table filled with the final notices from any company who can and did send them. You walk past the bookshelf filled with books you bought when you still could afford to buy some books back when you weren’t alone in this place. Back before you were alone with all this. All this to think about. All this to inventory. All this to pack up or leave behind when you can figure out a plan for how to get out of here.

 Then, you go into the other room, the only other room. In the bathroom, you sit down to think, to meditate, to do what you need to do. The first multitasking of the day begins on a cold toilet seat. A few breaths and the mistake of looking up at the hole in the ceiling precedes the initial desire to turn on the radio. The hole from the rain last month only seems to be getting worse and maybe unrelated but now a few ants have been getting cozy around your place too. You made a call last month to the landlord then to the super. Somebody was supposed to come but nobody did and now being late again with the rent you don’t want to engage in the argument that’s sure to come when inquiring again about the hole. You’ve been late every month for as long as you’ve been single now. You’re getting good at paying just before your landlord’s patience has depleted. You know they don’t want to go through the work of finding a new tenant and going through the eviction process and you know that you can pay this rent sooner or later but right now, there’s no way you can put together enough money for security and first month on another place. So, even if you find a cheaper place it’s still easier financially to stay here for now. Yet, you’re planning. You know a few couches you can use. You know of a few places that’ll take you on a monthly basis without a security deposit – provided you have good references. Been living here awhile but you’re still not sure you have a good reference from having put all that time and money into it.

You reach over and turn on the radio. Take a moment to listen to the Writer’s Almanac. Think to yourself about all those classes you took and about how one day you hope to hear someone talking about you and your work on there. You listen to Keillor talk about Hart Crane today and Frank O’Hara the other day and that’s a good enough way to start any day -you suppose.


Well, it’s time get off the pot considering you already did what you came to do. You turn on the shower. Let it run. Get it hot. Get out the rust. Give yourself time to take stock once again of all you have. You think about the date and when you get paid again. You think about how to spread out the money to cover you for the next two weeks. You think about how your rent is half of your month’s wages. You’re becoming a pretty good calculator now. You add and subtract all day long. Not only for the job when you’re doing inventory but also on a daily basis trying to budget out enough money for an unforeseen emergency as opposed to the emergency which your life has become since losing the second job and second losing the significant other. You think of Emerson and Self Reliance and all the essays and books sitting on shelves and how many boxes it would take to hold them all. And you think of all the money spent on them and how much money you might get for them. And you step into the shower and wonder if your best chance at success was as good as it was ever going to get yesterday.


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