Primo and secondo:
four hands, one piano.
Fingers glide across black
and white —
slide across left
and right.
A cascade of notes
echoes without bounds, floats
like suspended
sound.
Two hands play the melody,
two hands play the beat,
two hands
brush accidentally —
then the two harmonies meet.
When physics failed me
Friday, February 7, 2014
The
professor is talking about forces
on
the chalkboard, but I am tired of hearing the same things,
deriving
the same formulas, over and over again.
Inertia
is the tendency for an object to keep moving
at
the same velocity unless acted upon
by an
outside force, he reminds us.
I
want to ask him what makes a person stay sad,
and
what outside force can stop the sadness,
but I
don’t raise my hand.
If
you choose a specific centripetal acceleration,
you
can essentially simulate gravity,
he
goes on enthusiastically.
I
want to ask him what kind of acceleration
can
make a depressed person feel weightless,
but I
don’t raise my hand.
I get
angrier and angrier the more I learn,
and
the more I learn the less I care,
and
the less I care the more I hate the people who do.
The
equations in my notes are insufferably smug.
“We
can’t explain the world to you,” they seem to be saying.
But
why not, you arrogant assholes? Why not?
I
used to wonder what matter is made of,
but
now I just wonder what’s the matter with me.
Don't trust the beautiful things
Monday, February 3, 2014
An
angry swarm of butterflies swirls in the pit
of my
stomach. I can feel them making their way up
into
my lungs, their gentle wings making precise
paper
cuts inside me—
all
over—
every
second.
Sometimes
I get lonely and I whisper to them.
Oh little butterflies, what have
I done?
But
they just cling to my heart,
which
beats furiously,
unable
to shake them off.
Sometimes
they drive me crazy and
I
want to cry and drown them.
I
want the salt of my tears
to dry
their wings until they are crippled and broken
and
dead. I want to scream so shrilly that I scare them
out
of my body.
I
want these stupid, beautiful things
to
just get the fuck out of me, away from me, forever—
Oh you bullshit butterflies,
I’ll miss you when you’re dead.
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