malfeasance

i'm sorry to anyone who may exist and reads anything on this blog maybe that these posts are getting prosey.  i'm just thinking about things, and they have to be thought about in immediacy, and poetic thought is, for me, about immediacy (to, i'm sure, the detriment of my poetry).    i mean, that's what all my "i don't know how"-ing boils down to: i'm not sure what i'm doing with the type of moment i'm dealing with, or the feeling that's started to stir behind every moment.  aka i'm in a silent and intrapersonal ferment.

and it's amazing.  my imagination stretches like something that stretches less gracefully than a cat but isn't inorganic...either something with legs, like a rabbit, or something without 'em, like a worm.  worms are blind and therefore appropriate; rabbits are disjointed and therefore also quasi-appropriate--i think too much.  the point is that if i think about the quiet revolution in my circumstances in, not abstract, but poetic terms, i come up with something that feels very new.  from an early age, i thought i knew it all, but this...whatever it is, upwelling of green in me, is like an invitation to find out something.  in quite-oblique opposition to that dylan thomas poem: open the doors and open all the windows, as long as early spring is lying green and silver on the wet cars banked in the bart lot.  it's not the season that's the metaphor, but rather the colors of the season.

the feeling localizes in me comprehending the fact that my eyes are green.  not always, that is, but i think the grey they sometimes are is something like a mask.  identifying the grey as a mask doesn't make it less to the point...sometimes a mask tells more truth than the truth can, right?  but sometimes the truth tells the truth more than a mask: they're intervalent, the mask and the truth and/or the grey and the green.  

being hidden doesn't make me secret and being secret doesn't make me hidden; this is something i should learn more about.

maybe i see the revolution of circumstances in me as localized in this eye color thing because...well, maybe i see it that way because i'm kind of a douche, but barring that as-always available explanation, maybe i comprehend the change as finding habitation in eye color acknowledgment because it has to do with what i am, as opposed to what i deny myself the saying of.  i always saw things as to do with how i could express them, how i could define them, because that made it easier to interact with them.  and then i wouldn't say them as i'd found them, because of my fundamental belief that when it came to self-expression, words were somewhat on the useless side.  which left me with nothing except words i wouldn't say.

but now i have eye color.  the green and silver season.  and a drawer full of underwear.  except not literally, because i need to do laundry.