"If I could I would keep this feeling in a plastic jar,

Bust it out whenever someone's acting hard.

... 

Every day that gets to pass is a success,

Every woman looks better in a sun dress." 

ATMOSPHERE

I "set intentions" toward the end of last year, and if I recall, my intentions were to be a non-smoking vegetarian who journaled. One out of three isn't bad (the tiny grandmother who lives in my brain slaps me in the knuckles with a wooden ruler if I even think the word "ain't") so now that it's hot out I think I'll do it again. 

SO.

- Read five books. I remember reading five books in a week. And now it's my goal for an entire season. Damn it, intention. It's my intention.
- Spend more time at the park. Astoria Park is literally my backyard, and we've been pretty good about going more so far this year but now that it's summer I really want to make it a point to spend more time there. That's actually our plan for today, after I stuff the crock pot with vegetables. GG (Grumpy Griffon) needs a few more months of adjustment before I'm going to risk going near him with a harness, so cat picnics might have to wait until next year.
- Do more in Queens in general. This includes all outdoor markets/any and all opportunities for outdoor day drinking, but if I just say that then it's cheating because I'm obviously going to do that anyway and don't need to include it as an intention. So, it also includes other Queens things. I'll make a list when I'm not rushing to finish this because I have to pee. I could get up and pee and come back to this, I guess. But I just want to be done. You know what, I wasn't asking you.
- Keep the closet under control. I did a big clean-out of my clothes a few weeks ago and getting dressed has been a dream-dipped, glitter-filled sunrise. I even put away the sweaters I won't need for a while - I HAVE NEVER DONE THAT EVER. My all-the-time, doesn't-need-to-be-said intention is to not spend money on stupid shit which includes clothes I'm not going to wear, so I'm adding it as a sub-intention here. The only clothing items I need to purchase are new flip-flops, which basically don't count because I still just wear the two-dollar Old Navy ones, and a new bathing suit because we're going on vacation and my nipples jump out of all the ones I have. Which, believe it or not, is not always an appropriate thing for nipples to do.

That's it. I'm not a machine.

Written over her face on an old photograph, in blue ink:

it’s not “tuning in” if you can’t “tune” back  “out” and also the word “tune” suggests an ability to adjust, which is misleading  

Blocking and burying are two activities that take a lot out of a person. Ask any video game character. Or crypt keeper. 

Don’t talk to anyone who says they’re a crypt keeper, actually. I don’t think that’s a real job anymore. 

(She had kind of a big face.)

The past week has felt tremendously, violently boring. I say “felt” because nothing has actually BEEN boring, not even me. Especially not me. I’VE been as delightful as ever. But that’s how everything feels in a fallow period, which I never realize is what I am in until I start to come out of it. My brain refuses to even feign interest in anything I need to do, and all the things I usually WANT to do get put off because the only brainpower I have left after a day of holding back the guttural noises I want to make at every. single. task. is juuuust enough to pay a marginal amount of attention to shows like “The Client List” until it’s an almost appropriate time for me to crawl into bed with a book. This is not depression I’m describing. It’s more like closing up shop for renovations. You know?

Anyway, I'm excited now because FERTILE follows FALLOW, so get ready for all the fruit I'm about to bear. Or like, I guess you don't have to get ready because I like to keep my fruit to myself. Just keep it and hold it and eventually use it to make hooch. (Sometimes muses feel like burrs at first, I'm realizing.)

I’m after a feeling, like incense and the blinds down and the air conditioner on. The chemical reaction of her shampoo and her hair. Shots in the distance – breath on my mouth. Grass in the half-light. Piano, flutes, the voice of a woman in her mother’s mother’s rings. Love spells sent through windows of wood-framed houses. My childhood attic, your secret faces through a screen. WANTED: One mapmaker, skilled in the topography of dreamscapes. Specifically, mine. Must be willing to work odd hours.