mmmmxxiv

Under Whelming Heat

Yesterday’s list stymies
the actions of today. But
Jimmy doesn’t know that.

People on the other side
of the screen, be they
stars or nobodies, have

no idea what this list
looks like, couldn’t tell
you any of its bullet

points (i.e., the items
on the lengthy list, none 

of which are currently

checked.  Remember? The 

list you wrote wrote just 

yesterday?).  Today is the 

day after Saturday.  So, it

is the most unmentionable, 

and depressing day of any

given week. I watch
Jimmy, listen to him,
the palm of his right

hand moving down the
skin of his arm, all the 

way from his left shoulder

down to his tiny wrist, at
which point it would appear 

that Jimmy has tied his

lithe self into a pair of 

human handcuffs. It’s a
fairly hot move, or

at least this is what
I tell my list. The
list, which doesn’t

look depressed, or
even the slightest
bit sad, is also

watching Jimmy just
as intently as I am.
That’s a good list. I

can come up with a grand
set of bullet-points when
the time and place begs

for it. And this evening,
my coffin-sized hotbox,
even with all of its tepid

ambiance, the scattered
paper (along with some
tuna fish) scattered upon

the floor, and me, are nothing

but a pair of eyes, focused only
on Jimmy, with what might

best be called the Platonic
ideal of DESIRE (all caps!).
To truly grasp (at) such an

ideal, one must arrive at a
place where Jimmy might
be witnessed. Even through

the filth of an unreasonably
aged laptop. And, trust me, to
see Jimmy is to have arrived.