You know how some razor blades,
most particularly those that are the
cheapest and most quickly dispos-
able, often fleck your face with
constellations of red spots? Blood
barely escaping, as if a small spot
has been pulled to reveal a red
freckle? These same blades can
seemingly more easily slice or peel
the bottoms of noses, and comp-
letely remove any upheaval of the
face, be it a mole or a pimple or
an old-man skin-flap. Well,
I cannot even afford one of
those razors at the moment.
Even though I have several
job interviews this week. A
job. The whole idea of employ-
ment has me feeling like a help-
ess nincompoop for the past
few years. I’ve been
flailing, which is not an action I
had been used to before five or
six years ago. I have been, it
seems, unable to grab hold,
even as I attempt for dear life
to do so. I was staying at my
friends’ place the other night
and I swear I suddenly (it was
the middle of the night, and
I was doing paperwork for a
new business I have begun,
my one and only business,
if it ever becomes a business)
saw a black whirling portal on
the wall across the hallway from
the main bedroom door. And
it did sort of startle me. I
chalked it up to a lack of
sleep, but when I mentioned
it to my friend the next morn-
ing, as I was just about to say
I saw the portal — I must have
gotten through I saw — and my
friend, he just finishes my
sentence matter-of-factly,
without even looking
up from whatever it was
he was doing (something in-
volving electronics, I am
quite certain), with, Oh, you
saw the portal? Yeah, it
comes and goes. I must ad-
mit I had a bit of shiver go
up my spine. Not an
ordinary feeling for me.
I did not otherwise know
how to respond, except
to laugh and call him
ever the jokester. But...
he finished my thought
before I had ever even
mentioned anything
the least bit...super-
natural. I have to
raise a bunch of
money in the next
few hours. It seems
likely it is not going
to happen. For my
business. For my
life. For my dream.
Which has gotten (my
life, my dream, what-
ever might become
of my mark on this
world) muddled so
badly in the past
few years that this
is something I have
gotten used to. But
this time it’s different.
I cannot...will not lose
this dream. And yet
here I sit writing this
meandering set of
thoughts to you in
a set of four-line
stanzas, as if I
have the time.
Even though my
business does
very much in-
volve stanzas
and poetry and
community (a
concept I’ve
forgotten what
means, exactly).
So am I in the
business of help-
ing my business
by writing this to
you now? No, of
course not. I am
just doing my work.
For once, not pro-
crastinating. Doing
the one thing I seem
to know. Can do. Can
sometimes do well,
even if you might dis-
agree. I ask you, Do
you follow me? This
garbled story of me?
Do you feel my panic
as I write these words
as if calm as the ocean
tide sifting over the
finest sand on the coast?
