And the not-being-invited-to-any-Halloween-parties streak continues for the [I've lost track]th year.

I want to be honest and open, but that's not always a good idea. Maybe honest and open are different things. You can be open and dishonest, so can you be honest and not open? Maybe not. Maybe it doesn't matter. I guess I'm being partially open with all this, so what does that mean?

I know I'm being so foolish today. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be saying these things.

The worst part is having to keep it secret. I've been keeping it secret for months, but how long can this last?

I know it's pointless. I know nothing is ever going to happen. I have no choice but to get over it. I know that, but that doesn't make it easier.

I want someone I can't have, that's all there is to it.

Fuck any holiday that makes you feel like a loser with no friends.

Fuck Halloween.

Does publishing this picture on my blog make me a paparazzo? Only if I get paid, I think. Of course, since it's my blog I will have to pay myself. What should I charge myself for the use of this photo of Spike Lee, everyone? I'm thinking of a figure somewhere around one billion dollars. I shouldn't have any trouble raising the money, due to the fact that money is an abstraction, and the fact that I will be both buyer and seller. For example, I just charged myself nine million dollars to take a sip of the decaf coffee I've been drinking for the past hour. And I just charged myself an additional $79 trillion to hit the space bar between the previous sentence and this one. See how it all works out?

This morning I woke up in the middle of the night and found that the underwear I'd been wearing was now on the floor, three feet away from the bed. It really freaked me out. I didn't know I was a sleepwalker.

WHY DO I EVEN BOTHER BURYING


Why do I even bother burying
Informants anymore
They just pop up again
Proud to be of service
Sometimes I lick them
I lick my informants
But it doesn't go much
Beyond that

POEM


The goal is to decide early on
The method of madness that's right for you
Play the lottery to learn what numbers
You should not have played
Winter clothes make good bedfellows
Tired of sleep? Try alcohol
Turn your computer off at night
The moon is a real sandwich
Ice cream sandwich that is
There is no M service this weekend
How much do you typically charge
Per hour of domination
Wear me out if I'm your welcome

SCREW THIS


Bendable together hands
Filled apples tomorrow quiet harbor
The plane and time for why
Is another sky to land
Between rows of winning

Feathers are in season
Devils are like buoys on high
Wire acts as if sodden
Into white murals flaking away

Soccer came up to here
Flirting impenetrably with
Drainage mandates tossed
Sideways am I blinking

Is in the next bay over
Can throw forever by the way
Of throwback nettles called forth
Toward combustible turnstiles

French doors opened the air
Smoking for lost tiers in applicable
Trends give sports the
Looking glass pandemonium

There came the bright hour
In which drafts drifted
Uncalled for like dust to terrestrial
Forced retirement along following

Better reels the mines to fund

TODAY


I walked out of the bookstore
And stood on the sidewalk
Thinking about you
I didn't know where
To go next
I just stood there

Forgot to mention it here, but all month long my photos are appearing alongside poems and stories on Everyday Genius.

Hypothesis: If you don't mind being called a nerd, you're not a nerd. If you do mind, if you don't want to be thought of as a nerd because you have bad memories of people calling you a nerd, which made you feel bad about yourself for years, then you're a nerd. Or used to be, and would rather not be referred to as one from now on.

So I got home from doing laundry tonight and turned on the TV. A TJ Maxx commercial came on, featuring Marie Claire editor Zoe Glassner. And I realized, oh, hey, I went on a date with her once. We had dinner. It was only my second date in New York, so I was kind of awkward. She was nice.

The end.