Some Whole Wheat Words

Poetry removal is what I’m working on lately. Not poetry in the way that literary critics use it but poetry as the desire to construct sentences which conclude with “in the dryness of the night.” That is hardly a telling detail. It’s what’s called purple prose and it stems from a lack of structure, or at least that is my guess. Structure is about beginnings and endings; for instance, this paragraph began and ended with the word poetry.

Serving no other function now without enough cash to buy a gym pass the metal lock on my desk points at me. I lie at 53 on the dial. After being spun around thousands of times the mechanism is loose which makes the combination fuzzy. I don’t remember it, but my fingers do.

I’m again fooling myself about getting a job today. I handed out a single resumé and I think I wrote a cover letter. Maybe the cover letter was yesterday. Since I fool myself about having trouble getting out of bed, sometimes the productive period around midnight blurs into the furry half-consciousness of the following morning. I didn’t get a job today but I fooled myself very effectively.

Paragraphs should begin and end on the same topic because they are like hamburgers, or well tuned cars. Occasionally they are like human bodies which are peeled away in layers. The skeleton is the bottom layer. Often in classes where this is the case, the teacher will say “now we have to put some meat on these bones.” However, the rules of English generally dictate that human bodies do not contain meat. This has never clearly related to paragraphs in my mind. I am not good at writing paragraphs. See?

It is accurate to say that I do not feel excellent today. A more accurate description would involve the term dysphoria. My moods seem to change from high to low at random. It is possible to wake up bad; for instance, I woke up bad today. Yesterday on the toilet I came up with the title of the book I will write if I become a miserable unknown: The Failure. It will be semi-autobio— how did you guess?

I feel no strong attachment to anything unless I am on drugs. This strikes me as a very ambivalent way to be. If anything ambivalence is punished in nature. All things are a part of nature. I am a thing, therefore I am part of nature. Therefore I should expect punishment. Even severe punishment does not much concern me; right now I feel ambivalent about it, actually. Therefore I am not on drugs.