Small shutters: Learn to block out the Out

Shutting shutters inward, darkening easily negotiated virtual waste, when the whole world is a screen whitening the room, it’s easier to shut surrender still.

I am writing digitally.

Pixelated, I know, each statement is pixelated and so lifted away from the actual substance of what I’m trying to say, like, an image, like, any video, it’s just 1010101010 it’s just dot dot dot dot it’s nothing.

When I was young I studied the alto saxophone. My teacher was a small German man named Herman. He was obsessed with Elvis. It made me uncomfortable.

Sometimes water evaporates, you know?

Sometimes you send someone a signal or a letter or a kiss and they fucking destroy it with vapour.

Rejection is unreliable. It doesn’t mean anything.

Hard headed women. Falling in love with you. Impulsivity. In common, they all have Elvis.

I’ll write a letter now, I guess. I wish I could write songs, don’t you wish you could write songs?

The last time I was stuck on you, I felt sick.

Happiness came every day. I’d act on that happy, I’d do something, write something, say something and immediately, no. Tiger caged. Tiger pounces. Tiger bruises.

I’m feeling fragmented tonight because I miss you.

As adults, we’re missing someone, we’re missing something. You were better once, weren’t you. You might be great now but once, weren’t you better? Something was different. Phases of life. Ok. They happen. And as we move through them, we miss things, we start to miss things.

We never stop to write letters because everything is pixelated now and in any case by the end of time we’ll be staring at a nymph laughing at all the lost causes and desperate tries and crippling eagerness and love. It all exists. But, it just isn’t so important.

This past weekend I stumbled upon a blog. I was looking for tips on meal prepping. I found a woman. She is blonde. She lives in southern California. Her blog/newsletter/YouTube channel/enterprise is called something like, and I really can’t remember what it was exactly, something like “downsizeology”.

I enjoyed the blog until I discovered it’s title. Due to visual impairment sometimes I am fortunate enough to miss details that would otherwise destroy me but in this case I found the terminating trait, the title.

The about page was a lot of pictures and a sentence, “My name is (white lady name), and I believe in taking life down a notch.”

Taking it down a notch.

Don’t feel so destroyed by the title of her blog or any blog or blogs in general.

Forget the pixels.

He will never read your letter.

You will only miss him sometimes.

Maracas. Marie’s the name. Keys. Goodbye.

Remember your words will return.

If you love where you are, write it down. Share it. And thank you, for the right now you’re giving me when you read this. Goodnight.

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