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04/24/2024 or 24/04/2024
"Red and Blue Creation"
Jack. Poetry is good for the mind - maybe as good as reading.
G - O - L - I - A - T - H
"He's dead," you cry. "I killed him!"
"I know when." The gloves on the table are made of
medical-grade abstention. The animal worshiped here,
the one born of a idea - is gently caressed. He lives,
just barely.
Out our window: a scab to pick amongst uncollected shop logos.
Motes of conversation pack into a corner to debate:
Who did it? A raise of shouts and toddling fists
greet a party functionary. The paper bearing his announcement
rests on a cushion of air above his wire-fingers,
on which his eyes unfocus too often.
"The one where they found the алый sky."
The meeting adjourns.
Jordan. Olya. How's this one, is it different? The same? I was observed at work today, a bit frustrating. We'll see how it turns out - the week is almost over. I love you and miss you still, and I hope you are well. Thanks for Goliath, thanks for Taz, and thank you for playing your part in keeping me active. I'll write you more tomorrow, just rest easy. Я буду любить тебя навсегда!! Твой Марик)))
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04/23/2024 or 23/04/2024
"Morphing"
Jack. Again we go.
A pearly duvet, light blue cup in hand
Draped in a stiff and gusty white hoodie
You saw the night somehow.
But the box was too late - right?
Zour lingering look and красный sky over-shoulder
Gated.
"I should have known."
The snakes are free to writhe in plot, their slither is a humming curse
Am I bellied, or are they gutted?
Another snake I take to bed - my old friend, my tin-voiced ghost -
Bite me again.
Jordan. Olya. No time left. Well, four minutes, but I need my mantra and a title. I love you and miss you still, and I hope you are well. Thanks for everything, thanks for reading, thanks for it all. I'll write you more tomorrow, just rest easy tonight. Give my best to Taz. Я буду любить тебя навсегда!! Твой Марик)))
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04/22/2024 or 22/04/2024
"Hello Again"
Jack. 31 minutes.
Its fingers roll around chunks of wet chalk
Its coat needs to be washed.
Sand flies as a flock above the city -
The sky becomes my color.
Then it cuts down to still water, raining on the surface
Fooling minnows and goldfish into a false meal.
The golden flakes settle to the bottom to form
A thousand lakebeds
Across the roofs of a hundred apartment buildings.
By the way,
A child with words like a baobab asked
to share a meal. I refused and went my way
like a snake.
Jordan. Olya. I started it late, and my little urge crawled back a bit. I wanted to relax and watch some videos before writing. I love you and miss you still, and I hope you are well. Thanks for everything, thanks for being here, thanks for it all. I'll write you more tomorrow, just rest easy. Я буду любить тебя навсегда!! Твой Марик)))
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04/21/2024 or 21/04/2024
“Type O” or “Mind Palace of Culture”
Jack. Today was quieter than yesterday. Another poem.
A story written like a viper’s nest,
With the turns and ridges of your intestines,
Gained a period today.
Insignificant window light washes against flakes of dead skin -
But weakly, like a stream. The heel of a shoe -
It looks like a set of claws fell upon them.
The root system of foreign desire is always underfoot.
It breathes and reshuffles like a deck,
And someone
Drags their hands across the table in laziness or introspection
“I like the feel of the felt,” smiling faintly.
Jordan. Olya. I was told not to pause the episode, but I do need to finish writing you. I hope you enjoy the poems - I’m surprised I’ve kept this consistent for a bit. It feels almost like more work? But I don’t mind. I love you and miss you still, and I hope you are well. Thanks for reading these things, thanks for your writing, and thanks for everything else. Give my best to Taz and I’ll write you more tomorrow. Rest easy. Я буду любить тебя навсегда!! Твой Марик)))
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04/20/2024 or 20/04/2024
“Поезда и Трамваи” or “Варшава Три”
Jack. Warsaw has been good, so pleasant, so on. My legs are stronger this time, so the stretch of the streets doesn’t bother me as much.
No further comment
A plane defined by umbrellas projecting into the sky, fabric bouncing
A faithless fold turns a pause into
Dragging. Pulling.
I wash my eyes with lemon and laugh a stranger’s laugh for no one
The rain -
You ran your hands over my forearm like water
Your arms wrapped around my neck turned me into a scholar
But I untied your knot and wear your color openly
On the road to Krakow under the accordian’s air.
The frog and the dragonfly eye the lakebed
Unblinkingly.
Jordan. Olya. The night will continue, the night will end. I love you and miss you still, and I hope you are well on your hill. Thanks for reading these as always, thanks for being here, thanks for everything. Give my best to Taz and I’ll write you more tomorrow. Rest well. Я буду любить тебя навсегда!! Твой Марик)))
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04/19/2024 or 19/04/2024
"Go Eat Then"
Jack. I don't have much time left, and in seven hours I will be on a train to Warsaw. I haven't eaten much dinner. There's fourteen minutes to midnight - soon less. My roommate is nowhere here. I just had a very productive walk n' talk with Jax.
Cyphered streams choked its brain
Its face blackened
But in my pocket (which?)
It started beating again.
Jordan. Olya. Food. Forgive me. I love you and miss you still, and I hope you are well. Thanks for reading this as always, thanks for being here, and give my best to Taz. I'll write you more tomorrow, just rest easy. Я буду любить тебя навсегда!! Твой Марик)))
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04/18/2024 or 18/04/2024
"Don't Panic" or "Something That Works"
Jack. I found your old fan fiction. I wonder if you would be embarrassed if you read it now... The flow is nice. Maybe I should read more stuff like this, give writing a shot. There's some little tells in the text.
A point infinitely far from an unending line
(Or the line from the point)
Forms one ring around your finger
And the other one. He asked about both,
Head tilted playfully. You're interested too?
His wife and children are caught in time:
Last week, toes gladed through the grass
Tickled, curled, launching them from
Their end back to the beginning.
"If only they'd stay this young forever!"
Now two men, two agitable men in the mirror
clear the snow off the train tracks
and peasants mawkishly mow their field.
Jordan. Olya. Poems forever, as I said. Forever is a metaphor, or just a word that sounds sufficient. Each poem takes me to a place that I don't expect, or to an image I wasn't expecting to conjure up. It's not quite seizing me though. I love you and miss you still, and I hope you are well. Thanks for reading these as always, thanks for listening, thanks for everything. Give Taz my best and I'll write you more tomorrow. Rest well. Я буду любить тебя навсегда!! Твой Марик)))
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04/17/2024 or 17/04/2024
“Dyune” or “Spring”
Jack. The night air is cool. My words flow too much.
The sands shift
Carried north from Africa
It’s a thousand cuts on your car.
The paint chips and splits
And pollen settles in the cracks
In a bizarre event, new life may spring there.
You tilt your head into a question (the sacred question)
A nocturnal question spins in the night
Thin and reaching
Until it points as a needle to just
Mark the skin forever.
A night planned with a smile
While a trumpet played softly outside
It’s a date on a calendar - a night in Kashubia.
Jordan. Olya. I really have to eat dinner soon. We’ll see what the future holds - tomorrow ought to also be fairly busy, and the next day, but then I’ll be Warsawing. I have to tell Andrej what sights his fiancé should see. I love you and miss you still, and I hope you are well. Thanks for being here, thanks for reading these as always, and I’ll write you more tomorrow. Rest well. Я буду любить тебя навсегда!! Твой Марик)))
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04/16/2024 or 16/04/2024
"Parma"
Jack. Another day on the Earth. The world spins perceptibly now.
Thirteen minutes to midnight
A note of decent length on my old phone:
The one that's overheated,
Whose chord I carried like rosary beads,
The one revived on a small table in Brno
Mid-talk about years.
Ten minutes.
'Does it answer the question?' 'Is it for the target audience?'
A phone and a bottle and
Objects dyed blue in the night.
'It's like Ohio!'
In fields flattened by Yankee boots,
Anti-Americans gather to sling stars into the sky
A memory in two months' time - may it not be bittersweet.
Five minutes. There's no rush.
Jordan. Olya. Another day. My strides are often strong, my teaching a touch more there. I love you and miss you still, and I hope you are well. Thanks for reading these, thanks for being here, and give my best to Taz. I'll write you more tomorrow, just get some good rest. Я буду любить тебя навсегда!! Твой Марик)))
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04/15/2024 or 15/04/2024
"Legs"
Jack. I'm writing you with a reasonable amount of time - do you want the number? I have to defend sine waves today - my beloved.
Peroneus long(in)us
Calves akimbo
Legs - little workers. Let them rest.
A stride is measured in bumps and hairs
And its price in an air of sweet nothings.
We teach our webby skin that we may live forever
And the beat of each нога is weak
And so - we spent sacred nights balanced
Like trees in the forest. Now there's plantation distance
And a hi-vis intruder:
Shade your eyes from the sun.
Jordan. Olya. I have only some idea - it all just came out. I wish I started earlier. I love you and miss you still, and I hope you are well. Thanks for reading these as well - my biggest fan. Give my best to Taz and I'll write you more tomorrow. Rest easy. Я буду любить тебя навсегда!! Твой Марик)))
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04/14/2024 or 14/04/2024
“Zbożowy” or "Bouncing, Lagging" or "Frog Photo-shoot"
Jack. Just finished up with a walk somewhere to the north of B. We have about another 18 minutes before the last stop on this bus. Among those here: some are tired, some are contemplative, but the air is filled with silence. The sun gives its final salute under barking orders from its commanding officer: a lone whining dog. You hear a familiar song from someone’s phone - something from an old video game you played. You meaning me - the roles of pronouns have to switch occasionally.
I did not quite get the mental switch I wanted on the walk - that sort of crystallizing moment where I’ve been bored sufficiently long enough.
A moment for frolicking
Just one
We cut open a sandbag by the lake
And poured it onto the fire
Jordan. Olya. My eyes are covered in a fine layer of exhaustion. I will go to bed earlier than usual. A little bit of something poem-like every day... we'll see it's potential. Let's not cheapen the word. I love you and miss you still, and I hope you are well on your hill. Thanks for everything, thanks for being here, and give my best to Taz. I'll write you more tomorrow, just rest easy. Я буду любить тебя навсегда!! Твой Марик)))
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04/13/2024 or 13/04/2024
“Mariposas”
Jack. Quite a day today in some ways - I told my roommate more about you. Wasn’t planning on it, but that’s life. They were very patient about it.
Many thoughts, we’ll try to make something of it. I’m feeling a draw towards Spanish again, one that started when I had a very clear head for a couple days this past week. We used to write to each other in Spanish, but now my singing’s my best quality.
Jordan. Olya. We’re getting ready to watch a movie or Bojack, so this is extremely low effort. Maybe more art… tomorrow? I love you and miss you still, and I hope you are well. You have prepared me well for this world. Give my best to Taz and I’ll write you more tomorrow. Rest well. Я буду любить тебя навсегда!! Твой Марик)))
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04/12/2024 or 12/04/2024
“Poems Forever”
Jack.
What’s in our two flats?
A driver rips down the road in a crimson Škoda
Obscenities melt into the still country air
And float up to the heat underneath the tree leaves.
I can sing with the Brda in my throat
Intone its fire at sunset
Croon to a sitting statue waiting for our smiles
And imagine
You
Would you rather have suddy footprints or hair-sketches on the floor?
A balcony in Tuscany?
“Don’t start.” Those words sit inside a Hungarian chest
Jordan. Olyq. We’re on a walk to Parsnip. The social has ended, and I can’t finish this poem. It was written during my exam club. I want to try to write more artistically here, even if it becomes a bit less? I’ll still try to wax poetic here and not just be poetic. I love you and miss you still, and I hope you are well. Thanks for reading these as always, thanks for being here, and I’ll write you more tomorrow. Give my best to Taz and I’ll write you more tomorrow. Rest well. Я буду любить тебя навсегда!! Твой Марик)))
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04/11/2024 or 11/04/2024
"Если Духом Ты Слаб/а" or "Autobiography in Red"
Jack. I would like to write about love for fifty three minutes. 'Isn't that all you write about? Aren't you obsessed?'
Love is ferocious, the dead mind proclaims. It charges at you like a bear, and you heard something about lying still and pretending to be dead. You are its, it is yours, and the two of you become one, maybe.
Sometimes I feel like my spirit exists only in the reflection of bottles on the windowsill that clang together hasty mornings on my way to work.
'What if it's mostly the same people? I don't know if I like that idea.'
And what if we're stuck in this same configuration? The river was beautiful tonight, shimmering, so I crossed it like the DMZ. Other feelings are shameful in comparison. Everyone is watching Netflix now - where's my culture? Will I memorize the lyrics to Если Духом Ты Слаб? Why do I feel this longing?
I'll record that night and its brothers - the contemplation of the rusty lattice. Something red in it, like a fleck of blood. An authoritarian aesthetic permeates the air here, but it can't penetrate the skin. It can't touch real blood.
You. I always talk to you gently. I can only do that, I want to solely, so I can't be quite bitter in the second-person. That helps some people, I think, to write you like that. What would I say?
'So does that mean you're -' 'No.'
Love and its consequences are worth it - you can imagine its marks all around you. What's real and what's not doesn't matter for a moment, just make up a story that fills you with some pride in your humanity.
Jordan. Olya. Fifty three minutes is nothing, and a thought crawls up to its friends in fear. It's afraid to be by itself - let it hide in a thousand contexts. It can't exist without one anyway, so why not one thousand? Is there something approaching no context then? Drowning in context, isn't that something the Colonel said? I love you and miss you still, and I hope you are well. Thanks for reading these as always, thanks for helping me write, thanks for everything. I'll write you more tomorrow. Give my best to Taz and rest easy. Я буду любить тебя навсегда!! Твой Марик)))
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04/10/2024 or 10/04/2024
“Smuggling Messages Between Words” or “Phone Reflex”
Jack. I’m walking through the park by the school at night - a tram is gliding over its rails. Some knocking in the woods. I’m deathly tired, so I should be in bed let’s say… four hours from now? To make tomorrow more productive, not that I’m insanely pressed or anything. It is strange when I have this great windfall of energy from my body working properly, but I have to keep it up. No zero days.
In bed. Therapy was canceled, therapist's got a fever. Ah. I need sleep - I'll be in bed in... an hour maybe? Definitely not pushing 3 tonight. I'd be dead tomorrow.
There's just less creativity today. I was tired large stretches of the day, but I know there's still something good left in me when I can laugh to myself. That means I've got an inner world at work. I thought about texting Jax that randomly, and I still could too. It was a thought I put off so that it's not lost with a number of other little mutterings, let's say.
Jordan. Olya. I walked through that park so much today and got my best picture of a hedgehog yet. I scared him frozen - poor fella. We're apparently going to begin talking about the end-of-year reports on Friday... hard to believe man. I got a social event to do this weekend, and I may have to get a Hawaiian shirt or something equivalent... You think I can just wear that flower shirt I got from Jax (ultimately from H's brother)? Hm. I worry about how my kids will do on these tests... It's the final stretch. They have to finish strong. But that's enough random thoughts. I love you and miss you still, and I hope you are well. Pray for these kids! And everyone else's too. Thanks for everything, give my best to Taz, and I'll write you more tomorrow. Rest well tonight. Я буду любить тебя навсегда!! Твой Марик)))
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04/09/2024 or 09/04/2024
"Ya Know" or "Body Repair" or "Push-up Challenge"
Jack. Sixteen minutes - my shame. No zero days, as someone said. Write a bit every day, write what you can.
No therapy this morning. I didn't schedule my normal time, and now I've got a slot tomorrow at 11pm. The coolness of the night may affect my mood, the red lights atop the socialist flats may call to me... I can feel the cool night air from my window, and the wind sounds like it's whipping. There's something in the aether.
Decisions and the smallest regrets - or the smallest decisions and regrets. One of them will fit into the cracks of the palm of your hand. Foppish whimsy... Outta here. I should write earlier while my mind still plays by my rules. But still, it's all as vague as anything else, which is better than spelling things out literally, не так ли?
Seven minutes. I had one class today, planned my little heart out for a little too long because I want these kids to fucking pass man. One of them's only been studying English for a year - she's the weakest. And again the wind! The smell of the outdoors, even this dirty city, gives me some energy now. Аж глаз радуется.
Jordan. Olya. I have to go now - no time left. I love you and miss you still, and I hope you are well. Thanks for reading these as always, thanks for loving me, all the usual - I promise I'll write more. I haven't been properly philosophical in a while, but my brain is cooperating with me, along with the rest of my body. Let's not waste that. Give my best to Taz and rest easy. Я буду любить тебя навсегда!! Твой Марик)))
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04/08/2024 or 08/04/2024
"Maybe it's Three Art Degrees" or "The Crab Cycle"
Jack. Twenty one minutes - what can be done? I'm mourning the slice of pizza that fell on the floor earlier. The pizza was fucking nice - ugh. Today was a bit magical - my body worked almost exactly as intended. I had energy, playfulness, something thought-shaped in my head... Were that possible every day, were it possible tomorrow. Is it?
Sure. Asking introduces doubt. I had just two classes today, but I spent some of my free time walking with Jax back to their apartment because they forgot their charger. A spare thirty minutes of my day spent in strides that were just a hair longer than mine, and with a quicker rhythm. Hm! The sun shed its energy onto listless citizens in the square, the city's reserve army of the unemployed. The sky bellowed above us, shimmering, dotted by blue sky sprites pulsing in their cute heavenly capillaries.
I laid in the staff room not as a patient in a stretcher, but as a free man. The movement of A4 paper across the room, or in and out the door, is like a metabolism and a subconscious at the same time. The health of a school depends on it, and it reveals the smallest intentions. This organism, how odd...
Jordan. Olya. That should be expanded upon, but time is running thin. I have to post this. Don't grieve - it's because I have these limitations that I wrote it here in the first place. By the way, I'm still thinking about that tattoo. I love you and miss you still, and I hope you are well. Thanks for reading these as always, thanks for hearing me out, and give my best to Taz over there. I'll write you more tomorrow, just rest well. Я буду любить тебя навсегда!! Твой Марик)))
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