And I Cannot Compile

My 3 am phone calls

Into this. And I'm trying

Too hard and I'm on the phone with myself

And with the computing tapping

And we're all talking

And I feel like It's Summer and I'm just making up for lost time

But I'm not quite as crazy AS I'D LIKE TO BE!

I just discovered a button on my keyboard:
It's called the capitalization button

And you're stupid as Hell.

I can feel my insides moving to my shoulder blades

And back out through my earlobes

And resting on my thighs, like damned perverts.

Damned pervert.

And I type "I" now, instead of "i"

Because I'm not as imaginary number,

As I giggled from behind my math textbooks

And "TEXTBOOK" by We Are Scientists is clanging in the phone.

I'm now real.

And now, what?--3 months later--

I'm finally piecing these truths together

Because the past makes no sense when it's present.

Now I understand

Why you use capitalization

And you are so laconic and so garrulous and you know so many words and I don't.

And you are so slow to talk

So quick and nimble on the typewriter,

Peering at intervals at my hair

My hair is long now.

"Pretty, isn't it?" I think snide remarks are of their own class. Of sarcasm. Love it.

"Pretty pretty." HA-HA, Aphorisms. HE-HE, You're funny.

HA-HA, We're all so high and not so high. Never high but always high? Right?

We make no sense as we cry and as we shout.

This is the moment I will never forget

Because it never happened and I just created it

Right now

Right now right now!

I can create the past all I want;

Shape it with my revered geometric figures

And my compilations of what I believe to be true of it:

None of it is true.

But I'm crazy

As I ever was and will be (maybe more now than ever),

So I let myself believe.