Coffee Log, Year 2, Day 251


Coffee:  Maxwell House Master Blend, Office Coffee

I’m watching the stop along the top of my closet door because it’s something I can see without moving and I don’t want to move right now. I did think about it, moving. I wanted the cold, something outdoors, a flushed moon. A picture to fit the things I’m feeling, a bridge from out there to in here. Paper-light. Blowing away.

But I kept my feet under the covers and I’m looking at the stop. It’s present. And that says something. It’s vibrant. There are colors, metal, paint. I don’t know every nook and cranny. That’s frightening, a bit, because here it is and I can only see so much. Unlike the moon, I didn’t make it – I didn’t dream it up. I’ve got no words but what it gives me. Like: daytime; invites; eggshell; the Marianas Trench.

There’s more to the world in front of me than I always give it credit for. And the things I do give credit to are more in front of me than my dreams sometimes admit.

Currently Reading: Another Country, James Baldwin

Support Relief for Family Suffering at the Border  – RAICES DONATION CAMPAIGN

I’ve had enough of chasing after poetry; I believe that poetry lies at one’s very door or perhaps in one’s very bed.

Gerard de Nerval, Selected Writings

Coffee Log, Year 2, Day 152


Coffee: Pike Place, Apartment Lounge Blend

I saw these pictures of pictures hanging up in a museum and thought about context. They were posted on my cousin’s Instagram. No filter.

I tried talking to the moon tonight but it wouldn’t let me. It was too busy waning. And I couldn’t blame it because that’s an important job.

I had to catch myself before falling head over heels again, this time with an old memory brought on by the way the sun felt and a certain sound coming off a Mario game.

I skipped my workout because I’m tired and now I’m tired because I skipped my workout. I need sleep, but I also need to know that when I’m flat on my face on the rough carpet, I can pick myself back up.

Currently Reading: Queen, Suzanne Crain Miller

Support Relief for Family Suffering at the Border  – RAICES DONATION CAMPAIGN

If her fingers touched the photograph it was hers. If it was out of her reach then it belonged to the room.

Helen Oyeyemi, White is For Witching

Coffee Log, Day 94


Coffee: Cafe Pajaro Extra Dark Roast, Trader Joe’s brand

Walking in the parking lot: girl in purple jogs by, seen her a few times; crickets; last ditch birds holding that daysong; every light’s on at the apartments; the moon is woebegone.

I left home to make home out of nothing. A high-pitched air conditioner; it’s all still following me.

Currently Reading:
Americanah, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

The Way of Kings, Brandon Sanderson

Even so, there were times I saw freshness and beauty. I could smell the air, and I really loved rock ‘n’ roll. Tears were warm, and girls were beautiful, like dreams. I liked movie theaters, the darkness and intimacy, and I liked the deep, sad summer nights. – Haruki Murakami, Dance Dance Dance