KENNING JP GARCIA
Very Little
"The fingers are wise"
(Sheryl St. Germain)
based on a true movie. an essay no clearer than the awful light that was recovered after the fat fell to the towel drained from latkes so watched in a hunger for a story made of reality and pleasure and formidable names lost in the dark.
why not a better configuration of starches? maybe let legumes take over the vision. lentils are assassins but potatoes started it. a binary movie star. celebrity degenerated into 2. glasses sold rumors to the eyes. god forbid.
***
"a useless binding for respite" "all modifiers are contagious"
(Bronwen Tate)
xe isn't a child and hasn't been since childhood. that's how it goes. childhood goes long before one is done being a child in many if not most cases. xe was always too old even when younger than everybody else. xe wasn't born a child. that's not how it went.
***
the sun also sets. kinehora. there is nothing new to drink. eating is so boring. swallowing is nothing to adore. there's an unfortunate forecoming foretold unconsciously in the unclear and anonymous ceiling tiles. the floor is scratched. the skin is dented. rusted. oh no, this is metal. the evil eye is delicate. fragile. curses are more unique than snowflakes and pile up before snowballing into an avalanche and then melting. the oil lasted 8 days. 40 years in the world without snow. sand is not transparent. this is nothing new.
***
xe loved the summer sky. xe always knew that xe didn't belong anywhere too far away from a humid breeze. xe was part water / part air and fully ungrounded. xe was scared of fire and knives.
xe never liked to be alone but this was all the world would offer xyr. xe used to used to have a decent life. that's all gone now.
***
the heaven and the earth were made in 6 days but people complain when anybody is too early or too late when instead there's a new myth to made?
what people write what stuff and there's no way around that but what's that mean?
somebody has to take the first steps and learn how to eat breakfast. partake in the swamp of nothingness.
an oasis is not an empty suitcase. there is no one to one. lovers are not raw nor burnt left in the middle of nowhere.
nobody cares about fractions crumbling while trying to get at something new to talk about.
***
wonder what it would mean to this current self to be able to play. to just sit down and play. pick up some action figures, dolls, stuffed animals, trucks, cars, and trains. definitely trains and just play. maybe a boat. are there toy ships for play? ships maybe even to fly away. airships. zeppelins.
never really made friends but maybe still have a few somehow, someway.
first love was the end of the world.
"there is a culture that makes crying a virtue and a gift." (Terese Mailhot - Heart Berries)
there is no writing on the wall. lines are between lines. it's all too hard to read.
this is a fucking venus flytrap town.
they knew who they wanted to be when nobody else knew this about them. nobody ever paid attention to them the way they wanted. they had wants. they had needs. everybody has those too. nobody is special but they had a different standard to hold theirself to.
***
"a bird in the hand is better than a vulture in the air" (Cervantes - Don Quixote)
xe rarely buys xyrself anything nice. xe doesn't deserve it. xe is not a stoic but can go a good long stretch without any need to complain. it's not how xe was raised it's who xe has become.
***
can't see the buildings for the streets.
"when you hit bottom, you'd be surprised just how much give that floor has." (Dan Vitale)
they is not a hedonist but they try to have a good time.
"the mouth may talk back / but the body takes the beating" (Gary Soto - Meatballs for the People)
***
this a call to other habits. there is no other place to inhabit. there is only familiarity and friendly flaming, roasting. fires to greet the evening. work takes loneliness from breathing but replaces nothing in the name of love. just darkness and nothing more.
looking for leucocholy in desiderium.
wanna find another friend. a first perhaps. maybe somebody new to miss.
***
one is not born a one but becomes a one.
when does an other cease to be another?
there is no such a thing as a beautiful prison no matter where that prison exists nor how that prison exists nor by whom that prison was built.
how is it that it by removal from sight, the microscope of intuition goes harder to work to diagnose that which causes aches and anxieties to heart, head, and gut? why, when alone does intimacy increase? how close to the removed does the alone become in pitiful imagination? how twee is this melancholy foolishness. why so false is this language? what cunning goofiness has brought this on now? nothing here is natural.
***
"the spirit of vengeance forms a part of life" (Marcel Proust - the Captive)
is it with a sentimental logic that the criticism of operations arise? how does yesterday kvetch about tonight?
"observation amounts to very little." (Marcel Proust - The Captive)
More Dawn (A Diary)
"Money's awfully nice to have. In fact, all things considered... it's even worth the price." (Nella Larsen - Passing)
*
The phone is made of masks. The screen breaks but the masks remain. Reputations were made and are less ephemeral than in olden days. The before isn't before anymore.
*
Hand to phone. Against the rules. Hidden up in the cut. The boonies of salesfloor trying to keep up on the news and the gossip. Seeing something to get upset about. The feed is always good for that. The influencers flex the falsest influence or the truest. Sincerity is hard to read on the screen on borrowed time.
*
"that which cannot gain authority from tradition may borrow it" (Ralph Ellison - Shadow and Act)
*
Everyday is a show. The puffy-shirt pirates and the folks beneath the Stetsons beside the saguaro are just movies now. Just books. Just songs. But, the gangstas and the do-gooders exist and coincide / collide everyday. Everybody has necessities. The store provides those. Different walks of life walk into one another.
*
"When American life is most American it is apt to be most theatrical." (Ralph Ellison - Shadow and Act)
*
What all those classrooms ever done for anybody here? College kids shopping. Was a college kid too. Started here as a college not quite kid. Another round of classes. Older. Different point of view. The perspective that comes with the fracturing of narratives. Thanks for all those lessons. Learned how to push through. Push on knowing help never comes when it's needed. Read the wrong stuff too early and the right shit too late. Self-reliant upon self told lies taken from misunderstandings. So how does one end up here? The before is a story no longer in favor of being told. Everybody has a story. Call it a legacy no matter where one lands. The world keeps spinning and the system grinds folks to dust. Chalk dust and cracked slate. Words were somewhere. Words are somewhere else now alongside other ways to learn. Back to the roots. What used to be said on those stoops? Outlandish for the outsiders.
*
"Six million ways to die / Choose one" (Cutty Ranks)
*
It doesn't work. It is broken.
*
Trying to consider common knowledge. Reconsidering common sense. Long nights watching customers till the doors close then again when doors open up 6 hours later. 6 hours away from the larger world. The microcosm comes with its own rules. Who built this world? Who created the other one? Worker and patrons live in different dimensions that crossover at the nexus of the product. Nameless to the world. Just get the trash. Push the broom. It's better this way. It wasn't the dream but it works.
*
"coming from a long bloodline of trauma... poisoned the well / Distorted self image ... set up to fail... / the real gon' prevail, nigga" (J Cole)
*
What kind of friends are possible under capitalism? Niggas out here trying to get paid can't be trusted. Rats and snitches trying to get ahead but ain't getting shit. Tattletales and temper tantrums. Somebody is being sold out right now as these thoughts come to mind. Turn one against the other without even pretending to make promises.
*
"Different stretch of road, new somethin to see / Every state on the map, a different somethin to eat / Daps and handshakes, it meant nuttin for real / Everybody makin a killin... showin no feelins / Walkin off collectin pay, it's the way of the world / Can't change it" (Nappy Roots)
*
There are no blue skies here. There are elsewhere. In another when there are skies of different hues. Can't see the sky anyway here beneath this roof.
*
"Believe in this. Young apple seeds, / In blue skies, radiating young breast, / Not in blue-suited insects, / Infesting society's garments." (Bob Kaufman)
*
Night terrors. Night terrors. Daydreams daydreams. Switched. Who took whose place? Up all night daydreaming. Stuck in bed beside the midday sun paralyzed by night terrors.
*
Objective chance is “an active synthesis of the subjective and the objective,” (Michel Carrouges)
"The form of the manifestation of external necessity that finds its way to the subconscious." André Breton)
*
Ted Joans was dying. Ted Joans is dead. Objective chance remains. Surrealism is (in) the afterlife.
*
"tho' anatomy is not a butcher knife / one can use its keen edge to / lop off / branches, out-croppins" (Stephen Jonas)
*
Spend nights trying to unexplore visits to the places only a few go. Those parts of the city that kids aren't meant to be in while watching parents. Observing what adulthood can become. Spend time away from the self. This place is its own sort of ward for the sorts of folks who chose to work this shift doing this shit.
*
Yellow from regret. Pale is a bit out of the question. At a loss of color as regrets are becoming fears. There are no conclusions. The coda just gives the after time to better prepare. The after never loses. The after is undefeated but before doesn't enjoy talking about it.
*
"Perhaps [this] 'no hope' therapy is a little ridiculous; never hope, to avoid disappointment; consider [oneself] dead, to keep from dying." (Adolfo Bioy Casares - The Invention of Morel)
*
Misunderstandings happen. Apologies don't always follow. Agree to disagree. Disagree to agree. Maybe nobody was wrong. Maybe both are incorrect.
Will still lose sleep over situation regardless. Arguments live a second, third, fourth, etc life in the quiet moments. In the dead of the night. When dreams are impossible. Only thinking. The subconscious sent back to the bench.
*
Double talk doing overtime. Never-ending revisions to policies and protocols. Raises reduced. Holiday pay removed. Sick pay eliminated. Less latenesses / absences. Lateness, itself, redefined. Benefits renegotiated. Less coming this way. More going that way. Every day is a losing proposition.
*
The company store. Half working and half window shopping. All those illuminati videos can't stave off looking for a good deal. Some people in hell might want ice water but in this particular hell, big screen TVs are preferable.
*
"Thank God for squares." (Chester Himes - Cotton Comes to Harlem)
*
"Oh, happy day / (oh, happy day) / Oh, happy day / (oh, happy day) / When jesus washed / (when jesus washed)" (Edwin Hawkins)
*
Been waiting one long cotton-picking minute for things to get better.
*
There are lots of ways to get dead whether one is on the up and up or a petty sneak-thief. Seen folks leave this world lots of different ways. A few lost while doing a job. A legit gig. Stocking shelves. Here. Heart attacks and strokes. Boxer. Sent to the glue factory for supporting the system.
*
Get dead. Create one's own ending. Assemble the last. Forget about the before and its darkness always already around. Ready-made depths around even in an oasis of light, two floors of retail at a standstill, lack of customers. Just workers. Just work. Just...
*
It's a chore to not pop off. Retorts are on tap. Volume is set to increase. People want to blame emotions but it's reason that conjures up the anger. Untruths and inequality in the microcosm. Can't take it. Can't get canned either. And the schedule is too good to let go. Giving up the good for the great has ended up much worse too many times.
*
"Chicken in the corn / Say the corn can't grow, mama, hey / When chicken in the corn / Say the corn can't grow, hey / When chicken in the corn / Say the corn can't grow, mama, hey / When chicken in the corn / Say the corn can't grow, hey (Brushy)
*
Been losing faith and religion.
"No longer yearn to be gentle and pure and sweet / Not intimidating yet sure" (Vagabon)
Not the same person who applied for the job.
*
Summertime came. Wintertime went. Fall was before. Spring was after. The thaw broke the ice and gave up secrets that the air wasn't meant to hear. The breeze spread the word all over the skin. Skin crawled but couldn't get away. Been holding a grudge ever since. No matter how fresh the air is, it is always unclean. Can't trust a breeze by any name - Adriatic, Bora, Mistral, Sirocco, Tramuntana, or Levanter. Pirates have an uneasy understanding with the atmosphere. Prayers and preparation can fail. Gods will renege at any time. Conditions change quickly. Terms are up for adjusting. All agreements hold as much weight as trying to talk to the lightning. But got to keep on moving. Two tears in a bucket.
Meditation just don't hit the same way it used to. Try to breathe. Stay rightminded. Gentle has been the goal. Fuse is shorter than should be admitted to.
*
Try to think about better times. Other lives. Another before of which this is the after. Worked hard for somebody else. Having somebody around made somethings more clear. Made work feel less a waste. Worked more. Lost a life into a job. Lost it into lies. And yet still miss something about those times.
*
"no better half can satisfy / A wasted alibi" (Cautious Clay)
*
Been working on being on the level. Trying to stay narrow if not straight. Always got a bit of a con brewing. Thief thoughts are the first love. Don't steal except when broke these days. Turns out, 4 out of 5 days...
*
Looking for answers anywhere at this point. The angels' lips are sealed. The phantoms took off on ghost ships. The poltergeists inhabit ghost towns. All the intelligence around here feels very artificial. All the advice is based on an algorithm. The androids are pulling the strings while niggas are left here to toe the line.
*
"just a mirror in the dark / Seeking up a long lost look" (Twin Shadow)
*
What's in the cards? What's been pulled? Another fool? A joke on the querent once again?
*
"The day tomorrow will be worse but that does not mean that the day today is is not bad." (Birta Lif Kristindóttir - meteorologist)
*
Too late to scream "peace." Shit already been started. How anybody supposed to forget any trespasses? When a line has been crossed, forgiveness is the last task on the list and is never gonna be completed. There's some to-do type shit that ain't going to ever be done but it has been taken note of, acknowledged, ignored. Fuck that shit but ain't no sense in complaining about it. Keep on keeping on. Accept no apologies from oppressors. Not all enemies are oppressors. That distinction needs to be made clear. Some treaties are possible. The hood accepts an armistice. The ghetto survived on detente days. But oppressors will always push the envelope, break boundaries, ask for more, give less, and erase any histories that reject the official story. History was written not by the winners but by those who want to see to it that somebody else will continue to lose. Even better, don't fight back.
*
On break where "the street-talk birdcall of sucked teeth" (Ed Roberson) is abundant. It's hoops time of the year and it's never not hip-hop time of the year. Trap, mumble, and throwbacks.
And it's reggaeton and soul. And it's a whole lot of signifying and hating. And that new Dolemite shit just dropped. And this nigga dissed that one. And the breakroom is lit.
"Yo, from the first to the last of it, delivery is passionate / The whole and not the half of it, vocab and not the math of it" (Black Star)
Keep flipping the narrative. Deepening the debate. Trying to make a point even if ain't nobody staying on topic. Switch it up till there's something worth wasting time discussing. Scrubs and trash ain't trying to have no space at lunch. That can be talked about on the clock. Let the boss pay for basura. That's what a janitor gets paid to do. Maintenance deals with the garbage but on break, it's back to being a free agent again. No tasks at hand but to get back on time or close enough. Use all the grace period. Push freedom to its limit. Talk ain't cheap. It got a price. Willing to pay the cost if it means not having to listen to the boss. HNIC ain't shit. Another punk playing with some fakeass proximity to the real pros. Worked up now keeping other niggas down. Sold out for what? For who? That ain't the way of the hood. It's either about the community or sole proprietor. No money going back into certain back pockets. Even worse, time is life. Can't be out here losing a life for somebody else's bank account when ain't nobody trying to take into account another's life.
Changed views as more of the world started to come into focus. Seen more shit and less and less of the soil from which this nigga grew.
Thought there was a shared before but that don't mean nothing even if if did occur. The after will separate the wheat from the chaff. The wheat from the tares. All skin folk ain't kinfolk. Some lessons take a lifetime to learn. Some lives take too much time learning the same lessons again and again.
*
"Measure time in leisure time and greed" (Hurray for the Riff Raff)
*
Learned to listen less obviously. All pleasures are guilty now. Pleasure stands accused of crimes against before.
*
"In a big country dreams stay ... a lover's voice fires the mountainside / Stay alive" (Big Country)
*
Back in day was a mix of too many everythings. The radio was too many streamlines into ears. Didn't quite know what to turn on and what to turn off. Jazz was out though. How were those baby ears programmed? How was a sense of taste in music crafted? Good and bad through the ears. What within earshot was so responsible for thoughts and feelings to come? Now, when taste is questioned how many ways can one front? Try to play it cool when tucked inside is:
"How to sell a contradiction...Red, gold, and green, red, gold, and green ... love was an addiction ... love is strong ... survival (survival) ... without conviction" (Culture Club)
Took the important parts to heart. Left gaps where gaps felt natural.
*
Grew up on the grind. Part of the game is the work. Approaching is an act. Can't get nowhere waiting. Well, except to the after. The after don't care none about how anybody arrived nor approached it.
In the end, it's always darkest before the after so work done in the dark must one day come to light.
The hustle reveals itself. The jig is up. The con comes crumbling down. Inward and instairs of self. Closer to core. To the heart or to the gut? Pick a poison.
Excerpt from a Shattered and Scattered Infinite Serial Guessay
lit a cigarette twenty years and had thought that has long since been forgotten. a truck drove by and some cars too. the patio is almost full. the dining room is not.
*
"all through the night / this precious time when time new" (Cyndi Lauper - All Through the Night)
*
can't find sleep / can't discover rest. TV is no help. radio won't stay up to add any comfort to the distress. songs refuse to be of any use. playlists go off in directions that seemed good at the moment of inception but now only give harmelodics to the toss and turn of anxiety. headaches won't leave. the poetics of insomnia is the rhetoric of worry.
*
concentration is a distracted and unchained melody. and the sun is alive with the sound of mutiny. the crew of senses have overtaken the ship of necessity. the captain of schedules and discipline has been stripped of any command. the sun is a different guide than the stars were.
*
truly uninterested // reasonably disinterested. just something else to know. to explain later to somebody in the midst of a boring exchange or in the heat of an argument. it's hard to understand others' enjoyment in what is only accepted here as research. force feeding the self on a Saturday some dull words. some tepid sentiments.
*
never belonged to an orchard nor a wilderness. took a walk / went outside / welcomed home the idea but only an idea of the natural. a tree is not nature. is a tree not nature. not even with a raccoon that's hard to spot on a foggy night. there has to be more than this and less of that. cars are parked from here to kingdom come and very few thoughts are left alone. an interruption from a friend does little for the soul and the rabbits on this street must be passing through. can't be too satisfying but squirrels can make a living here so maybe it's okay.
*
this is just to say, there is a a scent to thrown off of. good ≠ enjoyment. can't be clever / a day is done but the night is ready to break. make no mistake the window would rather be a mirror, make the dirt less obvious, give the viewer back the viewer wants or needs or both or neither but a lesson nonetheless. the moral of the story is different from the first floor and the basement also.
*
" ... the world's desires do not run the Earth, but the Earth does run the world." (Ed Roberson)
"can roll a blunt in a tornado ... clients in the parking lot of Trader Joe's" (E-40 - Bet)
"... think it's all chronic and palm trees ..." (Xzibit - U Know)
*
running out of summer // ain't no more running the streets // run-down and ran out of fuel
*
one day don't got shit to do with the next; Thursday is a fucking thug. Friday is already done. got a little more and a twenty waiting to go to waste. gonna take more than that before work can't be done. weekend is a weekend is a weekend even if it's a work day. can't be a professional on this paycheck but can't live a younger life anymore. deadbeat days are over. need a new hustle. stopped stealing. stopped scrounging. freeloading can't last forever. "... can't have the sweet with no sour ... streets is bustling hustling ... dreams beyond ... border ... asked God to slow down the seconds ..." (K'Naan - Fatima)
*
think back on movies; openings betray endings that do the middle no justice. maybe film is an essay.
*
the evening is a harsh judge but refuses to execute. spent some time reflecting on anywhere but here. these thoughts don't care about feelings. three-course daydreams. stomachache allegories. save room for the metaphor. the hometown has forgotten folks who have left. new places are slow to accept the new.
*
the shadows said to the sun to write this down, the sun forgot but then remembered the next day after the moon revised the original idea. the leaves remind and re-read mental notes. chipmunks hide words for distant days.
*
wanted to get off of the train. of what train? of what thought? of more or less; of nothing more than this that doesn't stop? no actions can take the place for the non-existent; not even stopping.
the stations can't make any friends today. the train is imaginary; that friendship doesn't really count nor add up but the oversharing is real if not true. too much information rides the rails but it's time to get off and now the rails are gone; there are no more to come. where this is going won't need any more; the train is fine suspended in space, stuck, at a halt, a grind.
*
the eco-punk ~ the eco-thug ~ the eco defense will be naturally opposed to the unnatural nature of classifying, categorizing, and attempting to a find a place for everything and every thing in its place as that place becomes less and less welcoming.
the carving is a corrupting. these claims unstrengthen the reality. sometimes what seems to be correct is merely an illusion, a poor simulation at odds with the reality of the point that is being viewed as opposed to the point of view.
*
weighs and means a lot more than ways when staying put within these inescapable common senses ~ circumstances ~ garden of reasons too cynical to bloom. light and sound won't disturb the root of the problems; won't trouble the a priori accident of this farming. framing. fuck, back to the beginning of the image. is it a photo or a painting? what is trying to be expressed? repressed?
*
on the ground ~ street level. the surface has always been disturbed. a surface is a disturbance to both below and above.
Kenning JP García is a counter-artistic and contraliterary diarist. If one can be an author then xe is the author of the notvel Of (What Place Meant) (West Vine Press) and Furthermore (If And Only If Press).