I’m tired

I’ve been talking a lot this week.
I like talking
But talking so much, I can’t remember whether I said something before or not
But talking so much, I can’t remember whether I said something before or not
At least someone wanted to hear what I said-or at least, they thought they might.
That’s lucky, I’d say.
Thank you, ICAF- Jose Alaniz, Jared Gardner, Bill Kartalopoulos, Brittany Tullis, Caitlin McGurk, and so many others.
Thank you, WCBN and T Hetzel and Elizabeth.
Thank you, Professor Sara Blair and all the graduate students in her class.
Thank you, Amanda Krugliak and Lucy and the Institute for the Humanities for a beautiful show.
And thank you to my students for being such a great bunch and doing such great work.

Road trip

I want to go for a long ride with a stranger. I’ll pay for the gas, I got the whip. The stranger pays for his or her own everything else. We drive hundreds of miles to remote places we’ve never been before. This is not about sex, it’s not even about getting along or reaching any particular destination. It’s about being. It’s about having no history.
There are types of strangers I’d love to travel with, maybe because their description seems superficially so unlike me:
1. A black man between the ages of 40 and 55.
2. A Hispanic girl between the ages of 15-20.
3. A white man, exactly my age, to the day.
4. A white woman, exactly my age, to the day. I can assure you, she’s nothing like me.

Anyone game?

I see

1. A pine tree
2. My knee
3. An empty nest in a bare walnut tree
4. My phone
5. A mound of dirty snow
6. An old burnt match on the deck
7. A cat cage
8. The sky
9. My neighbor’s tv antenna
10. Other shit

I’m Real.

Dadgum I been told time and time again I’m not aloud to sing those rap songs in front of my kids. “It’s just not cool for a middle-aged woman to be saying those words in public,” she says. But so what, I mean, it’s not even funny how easily those words stick to your brain when you’re forced to listen to them loud in the enclosed space of an automobile moving at high speed. I’m not trying to be cool-those songs just grow on you. Gotta go both ways, girls. Next time I hear you singing Jean Jeanie or Piano Man, how about I upbraid you mercilessly-would that be right?

All lullabies are gonna soothe and get those brain waves in sync. Music is for everybody.

N*ggas say I’m real, b**ches say I’m hot
Disrespect the mob squad then you get shot
We don’t dial 9-1-1, we don’t f**k with cops
1-8-7 to the f**king opps

It makes me feel better

OK, so there was this lady.

She was in a state of suspended animation.
She had lost all volition and could not intentionally move left or right or forward. She felt at times as though she was falling backward, but she wasn’t. She was simply stuck, upright, smiling or crying, seeming to interact with others, seeming to function in the world, but this was an illusion. She had no agency.

How about that?

phoebe gloeckner's blog; one of countless many.