feel "watched", and the solid watching has formed an imagined and not matter-less barrier preventing beginning this post, here in the cafe car mixed in with suffuse 7 eleven-like scent, which seems to be the scent of either some known food, assumed format or mechanism of making it, or unknown food-heating machinery itself. "ism" seems hopeful for this post... Have had this slight but prolonged daily jitter embedded somewhere in the body, which seems to be fed in anticipation of future and oncoming life and which (while highlighting and trying to change both "ism"s to a medium and acceptable gray, discovered that changing the color of text within blogging text box is an action that requires signal)
Now, three gray isms... Updated in a sequential but temporally invisible retrospect, which seems to be what i am exploring, via blogging: an invisible and subsumed sequence element, hard and gleaming, as a written condensation of experienced droplets of sensation, association, feeling, time - with a sharp -y of clarity/legibility transcribed or transduced hopefully transfigured though not in a semi-petulant and patriarchal Nabokovian sense, in order to clear thru density, size, time, complexity, and produce cleared and viable ducts of travel
It seems the Nabokovian thing to do would be to not correct the misspelled “transducted” and let that feed the “duct” later in the sentence, towards the end. I think what inside me that is perceived as irony is simply the emission of this sort of urge to address, meta-bolize, and thus complete and perfect the enclosed language or action by way of having noticed it and shown that it is noticed. In service of description. Though this sort of description seems sort of incompletable – and noting the pearl ajitter in the loose setting of my ring – I am happy right now. John has a sensation of the resolute and resolved. John being the man I refer to sometimes, outsourcing the ugliness of the consistent and personal “I”-character, and there are no worries as the I and the John can be spanned by a –‘ed I-John, I forget what that dash is called, there seems to be a better and more technical word that escapes me, see by describing the escape of the word I intend to use I have formed more words and have created and pointed an oriented intention backwards into the sentence which centers the words and narrows general pull into hopefully a formed ray
Oh wow I am doing it, I have
written myself past and through what seemed to be an accretion of sort of “slackness”
into actuality, I am here now, in the café car, I am here! Facing away from the
originator of the scent and smelling it backwards as the train runs forward
backwards facing. I am thinking of Faulknerian “jerked skein backwards looping”.
I can’t believe Faulknerian is also a word. Seems more fantastical than ‘Nabokovian’.
No, I can and do believe it. And “I can’t believe” is a banal and un-terrific
statement. “Remarkable” Trying to exert and exercise enough pressure from
the self and invert belief system to write/describe but not enough to doom intention
into warping into its bleak, locked terminal end. But enough that the neural-manual
action-impulse system of "information—>external visual field virtualizing—>internal
metabolism—>description" remains intact and functions.
Was really happy (simultaneous to does not operate closely enough to truth here because simultaneous implies two currents running parallel even with slightness of gap between the gap is established) in a lasting and self-refreshing current of sensation and experience over the nervous riverbed of the jitter I described earlier, all day I was seeing things such as
- Tyvek, being a named phoneme unit for describing the branded substance of all suburban and childhood houses which stays right inside the house shell invisible but present in repeated and stacked diagonals, like a capital (company?) (product?) paisley, paisley or plaid formed of not unbiased and unconnoting “natural” shapes and colors but of Tyvek, name, product, sounds, lines sans serif, an impacted and packaged modern form of Proust’s “Guermantes Way”
- Goshen (the area and unfocused, blended patch that came directly before and thus in anticipation of returning to my childhood house, on Carriage Walk)
- Lost Knife (toy place-name in series with those I have taken many notes on through time, which are to be noted as having triggered one studded and micro moment of “amusement” or “stimulation” and which are recorded in promise of one day being one of the many and accrued seedlike beads gathered into the whole and all Work
- lake forest mall now closed and encircled even on all building-less edges of flat and neutral parking lot ground by a thin, curly wired fence
- military campus, satellites on roof or some kind of roofed thing that evoked “bigness” “complexity of world, structure” and the unverbalized pre-processed novelty of the future, and future spaces, without even imagining having entered the structure from ground level or any door or having to go near it at all
- speed camera corridor, “corridor” which concurrently reminded me of “northeast corridor”, placed an un-visually ascribed idea of hallway on the outside road, and created a closed and technical arbited space or piece of transportation on the surface of the world, formed not by material or mortar and not built but invoked and strung throughout by the appearance of invisible sensors within the porous forested sides of the driven road
In the car with parents, having destroyed the meek anticipatory fear of needing to “wait”, “bide”, and sort of sacrifice what seems to be a spiky and selfish personal wish of time allocation in service of staying, remaining, “spending time with” in dutiful manners, realized – I can do both – this is something SJ-B and IA seemed to dissuade me from, in their need to “complete the day” together, “you (Vivian) always have to go somewhere after, when I see you I want to keep seeing you”, completion tactic formed of need, not finding the bodily jolt that seems to ascertain “wrongness” and “bad”, but the oppositional force is that I enjoy the convenient/coincident logistical pulse that arises from, for example, my parents have a loose and unforceful intention to go towards Maryland for lunch, Leslie has tickets for the Glenstone at 3pm, thus I will be in Maryland and having completed lunch sometime in the early afternoon and the two extended legs of either social cluster and nerve point will be pointed out with far ends proximate to one another, then I can “hop” from one to the other easily like a simple slide of signal, slicked and at ease
I enjoy that.
We were finding our way to Carriage Walk mostly Waze-less, with a small stretch of Waze near the end but that burst was okay and came at not an inopportune or perceived to be ruinous moment. I see it as ======================= . Approximately those proportions and estimations of lightness and lightlessness. I was happy, felt I was building a foundational “day in memory” that I would enjoy in retrospect as well, a clear and present time with my parents, my father was in his externalized and not repressive mood, we were laughing a lot and I did not feel like a child though we were all remembering me having been a child and them having had me, deciding to have Thomas; at one point the music was loudish and my father was vaguely delineating the story of their second real estate agent having taken some kind of piece of information on paper – I imagined a receipt, but without opacity, without any of the matter of a receipt – and having crossed out many lines, saying something like “you don’t need any of this”. We drove past a restaurant and they discussed having seated me on the table, there was no one there, it was some kind of holiday (?) and the waitresses were standing by (I know how I imagine this space, this is a minor textual checkpoint to maybe just try to elicit a consistent and same imagined space by referring to it) and saying, you’re young (or old ,something like that, placing them within their lives), what if you die, you should have another one, or the baby will be so lonely, it will be alone, me sitting on the table I imagine at my medium-large fat baby size, as from photographs
Yu Zhou Café was just Fu Xing Café, with a representative continuity in terms of there was still a water (event) fixture right within the entrance which was a sort of pleiglassed (meant to type plexiglassed but I like how it looks ‘x’ and ‘g’ -less) and tiny business atrium area meant to narrow traffic before entrance to the restaurant, and a glass shield angled and overhung “xiao cai” in the back, booths, the same smell in the plastic pre-entrance area, sort of raw and now unplaceable and only associated and sensed posters, pamphlets, information, data around in spots of printed color, etc., and the quality of light coming down in, a diffused and solid day (/weather, is solid weather a better alternative?)
Montgomery County Agricultural Fairground in the back, behind parked and cab-less Toys ‘R’ Us truck, which also was denotative of “childhood”, “memory”. It was good and surprising that the fairground was directly adjacent to the restaurant, because I remembered them touching in sequence – going to eat there first and then going to the fair, but the fact that they were also spatially touching was… Something
Was moving?
I remembered the street, I had a dream memory of the Maryland street, visualized it being a hill or some kind of event that seemed to require the street being hilled, I mean in a ramp not in rounded and altering “hilliness”. Catherine’s house, Ellie, Madison. All recalled with a soft child photo fuzz of pinkness. Hot pink. Like, little individuals, warm and internally lucent skin, casting yellowy light out, wearing little hot pink clothes.
Took two rocks. Also took a third, smaller rock from the Glenstone parking lot. I want to keep typing on this train forever or for a long time, until this “feels done”, but now it seems that the end of the line is becoming proximate, as is the closing of the café car which mentally feels staggered and earlier, so that there are two jags of staggered decreasing time.
Nearing New York
I just feel happy… A successive weekend of gray, pearly days, with telephone poles staked and drawing up out of flat and edgeless pools of gray, pearly water, everything milky, trees branchy and complex, inter-netted, beautiful and sensuous. The fog everywhere creating a kind of semantic touching, even among the Barnes and Noble/Silver Diner/strip mall/7 Eleven/Gas station/house/car (ultimate and mobile separate personal node) system, which usually remains fully bodied like in a universal sense with only vacuum between and thus: alone, nothing. Droplets in such a fine and dissolving mist that everything is sensuous, loving, humid. At the Glenstone where I received a kind of “testing” from IB. Leslie dumb and laughing in ways that mostly made me like him very much but that sometimes repulsed me – like trying on the sunglasses in 7 Eleven. A silliness that seems to need to be withstood. And which makes the withstander feel neurotic and unkind. In anticipation of seeing them both in one district of unit I felt excited but not anxious with my parents, earlier (known allocation of time, certainty, logistical success and no vagaries for the immediate post- period, which is what is causing me anxiety about IB’s im/pending visit. It does not feel like a visit because I am not yet located at the geographical position of “host”.
Café seems “temporarily” closed already, so this may be a situation wherein I work through hunger towards the coming end of the now freed remainder of train ride, and then see AM later, and perhaps lose the desire to eat…?
Was fully stimulated on the drive from Waterfront, Potomac back to 12343, each song felt attuned to a perfect point of stimulation, it all felt present and real and good in the brain, at Dave and Busters 2 I said I don’t like it here and IB said: what are you waiting for? And I realized I could leave first, I realized I could leave, and both he and Leslie followed, and on the escalator down IB then said: I think we often forget how free we are
I am free, but anxious, but at ease, and very confident. I am receiving “feels done”, having a sense of completion in this post that is growing. Any word now. Any moment now. OK.
