mopkins

 waaaaaaaaaaay back when  down under there was  nothing!  you came out a bundle, and bundled up the passing  colors, shapes  into they became world.  the soft pads of your feet strengthen, as all those bundles roll down with you, into an open field  and you become that thing plugged in   a long extension  re-generating  always. 

Some thoughts on the beauty of seeing your friends in love.  Sometimes my mother texts me and asks if I've had any of the specific cottage cheese brand we both love recently. It's cheap but can only be bought from a Target about 20 blocks south of my apartment. Often, I use the time it takes to walk there to call her, so the cottage cheese has taken on a double sentimental value. Anyways, she gets almost aggressive when I don't respond, and one day, I sort of snapped at her:  mom plz stop asking me what im eating. im good. super busy texting is also distracting. xo.  She told me on the phone later that she likes imagining me here eating it. It's silly, but I realize the taste of this brand of cottage cheese is one of the few feelings our two lives have in common anymore. The way it seems to work, her  real  memory of me hunched over my infantile, single-serving plastic cheese cup at our kitchen table can be transplanted into whatever comes to mind when she asks ...

It's hard to describe how much I love the James Webb telescope. I'm not generally a science enthusiast but I follow its movements and updates like it's some elusive 2000's club kid emerging in and out of a back door. Today it shared a single, cryptic photo, sent anonymously and without message, of a nebula named the "Pillars of Creation". This is how it communicates. The fact that something so surreal is entirely a reality is the wonder of it, but, in my infinite narcissism, I've managed to craft it into a sort of metaphor.  I'm sitting here eating breakfast, reading this article on my laptop, thinking about how much information there is in this world. The image the Webb just released is the Eagle Nebula, a cluster of star nurseries, which the Hubble first famously captured in 1995. The two images are taken from the same "angle", though they are composites of millions of images technically speaking. The one from 1995 shows three maroon pillar...

he da che  won't go away  a knee body  in right mind  can stay 

i am very confused and think i might be depressed but sometimes i have fun which means i am just vacillating through the natural ups and downs of human life, right? (!)

 hello blog. i was wondering what electronic devices will be invented in the future that i won't know how to operate:  1) it will be something small that plays sound from now-ish times, like the way the Apollo satellite is playing a Beatles record (true fact). It will be tiny, most like a music box, but very complicated, so that only my grandchildren will be able to access my memories, forgotten by then.  2) holograms.  3) self-driving cars.   4) teleportation. I think I'll be scared of vaporizing and dematerializing, and I hope I have a friend to go to one of those charitable YMCA classes to teach seniors new skills like vaporizing and dematerializing. Maybe there will be a video platform like Youtube where the young can laugh at the incompetents who accidentally arrange their torso in the Federated Saharan States but their head at a luau in the newly tropical Montreal Province.  5) the tram to the new moon will be very crowded and annoying. people wi...

 oh sweet, kicking, thing,  sleeping.  the spillage, the molting,  the wet towel covers you  until dewy morning.  you are salted,  like a good almond. 

the kicker what yardstick might measure  the type of i am  against  that pull which you are.  out there the wave tosses you around  here, i cough up  little girl, ashore.  the kicker is  inside, unsure, a few feet tall. what type of stick might cast a shadow at noon  what measure might i measure you by  what might i have lost at sea that day.  

 something very strange happened today.  a down-town lo-cal one. train to -- south ferry -- [was] approaching the station.  this downtown local one train stops at  110  103 89 82 79 72 until  66th St -- Columbus Circle  where i needed to get off.  but today  i was staring at the window, and saw 66th st come into view -- yellow and green tile, all the people on the platform  it is kind of a miracle how the people emerge from darkness and disappear, like a slide projector.  until i realized i had watched them disappear they had come and gone and i had not gotten off  the train just kept going.  a few people looked at each other confused, each asking themselves, "did i just miss my stop?" and answering, i guess i'll get off at 59th and walk.  but 59th never came.  that is, we approached the 59th st station, slowed down, made eye contact with the various commuters, and the train kept going.  now people had reali...

 hello blog. i'm in the process of writing about how sweetgreen (the fast-food salad chain) is a marxist hellscape (for a class, not because it's the meat of my artistic practice, no pun intended), and spent the morning doing my first radio show! i will try to do some analysis of that here. it's been an exciting day, mostly because i'm so caffeinated i feel violently nauseous. i'm going to go buy a lamp and maybe finally finish a book tonight, who knows. i think i'll do some dancing to, if time permits. catch you tomorrow. 

 ...is a horrible way to start any sentence. alas. here's a poem: I like this poem  (because) I want to email it to you.  It seems i read  Unable to speak.  Full of holes  An editorial choice has left big chunks open  Put brackets where they couldn't find words  Or, some intern at the printing press  Unpaid, overworked,  Fell asleep on the keyboard.  I am reading it,  In translation,  Wanting to email you.  Something greek, english, printed, spoken,  zeros, ones,  old, new, then, now,  Sad papyrus,  a terrible font.  There are blank spaces on the page,  but none quite parce  What I am trying to. It occurs to me,  I think I am looking for the word the worm ate.  I am looking for the fiber, and the old script,  and the hand of the genius that wrote it.  What i want to send you  Is some type of singular beauty  Some wholeness,  Some force acting on the...

Hi blog. a teacher asked me to write about something annoying that happened to me this week. here goes:  I have annoyed myself this week. The feeling descended suddenly, the way it does with lovers or roommates. I didn’t want to hang out with myself nor other people, for fear of annoying them too. Because I then isolated myself and failed to be productive in my alone time, I’m all the more annoyed. This circular dynamic is also, very annoying.  A fly followed me the whole 25-block walk to Trader Joe's. It followed me into the store, buzzing  Go back and study! You don't need teriyaki marinated tofu! It even asked, What autonomy are you trying to prove by doing this adulting-role-play? and sometimes even crazier things, like, If you lost ten pounds, your ex-boyfriend probably will never love anyone again , but contradictorily, It is anti-feminist to patronize a health food market?  At the checkout, Trader Joe’s uses a bell to herd the customers. I was concur...

hello blog. last night i spoke at a storytelling event for the first time, see below.  i've never really read anything i've written aloud, except for some tragic experiences in a high school sketch comedy group's "writers room", which was 6 of us in the linoleum tiled drama/multipurpose room we called "home" in the pejorative sense. nonetheless, i've written stuff that's meant to come out of other peoples mouths, and this was an interesting first try. i don't think im a great public speaker, as now the page this was printed on is sort of wrinkled and see-through where i was gripping it. my mom was here last week, and i've felt emotional about her and my life here ever since. the feeling of floating without an anchor comes to mind. Here goes:  Storytelling Night 10/6: Theme: “Something Borrowed, Something Blue” I can't do accents – but this line will be best if you can imagine it spoken by my grandmother – a woman who is from Italy but...

 hello blog. a new short story for the short story section. still in progress.  The Painter  “That’s powerful stuff.”  Emily was surprised. She wasn’t a technical painter.  “Oh, thanks. It’s nothing” But when she turned, he was staring in the opposite direction of the small canvas, smoking a joint. It had suddenly gotten very quiet on the beach. Somewhere down the shore a motor had been running under the water, but the family was packing up now. He took another inhale of the joint he was smoking. The sun was still warm as it set, and the last of the day's sweat rolling down her face made her wonder if time existed at night in East Haven. Maybe they stopped creeping slowly from the horizon then, and that was why they all liked it here.  “My grandfather would like that painting,” he said.  He had told her his grandfather was a wealthy art collector. The whole family, he would tell her excitedly , wanted to make the world better with money. She had to acc...