it’s happening again — I feel like I’m losing people and I’m desperately sad but it’s so hard to tell whether I’m making this up — it’s winter, it’s cold, I didn’t use my new sunlamp this morning, whatever — or whether it’s true, really true, and I’m just not a person that anyone needs to keep around for very long. I didn’t realize it was this easy to be a passing figure, this hard to be anything else



RK is good friends with Obama. I’m sick, but I’ve flown back to school for something with HJ and the rest of my family, and I’m supposed to fly back home for a day and then back to school again on Tuesday. I’m never sure what day it is, so I just keep watching for people to disappear, but no one ever does. Obama keeps showing up at events when RK invites him; they both like outdoorsy things. I wonder how Obama can have so much unstructured free time. He’s funny, wrinkly with large foldy wrinkles, wears a grey polo shirt, and looks slightly heavier and more disheveled than in real life. He reminds me a lot of R, the person’s house we stayed at in Baja. At one point, we’re hanging out in some group of people and we see Malia Obama and Sasha Obama; Malia wears surreal makeup that makes her eyes look Cubist, as well as a black goth getup. I stare at the corner of her Cubist eye. Her sister just has long, wavy, dip-dyed Socal-girl hair and is wearing a white tennis skirt and t-shirt. We’re about to take some sort of college-exit exam. Sasha asks me what the exam is, and I tell her that it’s similar to the high-school exit exam we took in high school in California. She nods in understanding. The group hacks into the system and we watch someone take the test, which consists of 10 questions along the lines of ‘4 + 4?’.

03/27/18, 6:31pm


when I want to write poetry

when I feel like I should be able to write poetry

I can’t

and in a way, that’s analogous to saying:

sometimes I don’t feel things when I think I should

and I wonder if it’s the alcohol or the good day or the good people, or

maybe this is what it’s like to feel happy? maybe this is it, this feeling of

fine, just fine, no really, just so dandy, just

nothing; to be honest, it feels like nothing in the best way possible

I guess


I’m not as ecstatic as I thought I would be

but though I don’t particularly like this, really I do like it because I don’t dislike it

this is what it’s like, to not dislike a day, a feeling, but even so

it can’t last, this stableness — don’t expect it to last it only makes the next time worse

from a long time ago

But Blue is White Has always been
White Will possibly always be White.

But really, who dislikes Blue Blue is
blueberries sapphire
the objectively coolest butterflies
To be the default: Navy
Blue winters and Blue jeans We the people
of Black hair danced to Blue
satin sashes: the naturalized ode
to Americana Deceptive bliss Just
a third of the flag Just
half the country

Pluralities: bike rides into paintings of lagoons
Shots on the rocks Deep
dives Frenetic
jazzes Chilled

Blue: singular.

Despite it all To be:
O To be universal.

To be:
inescapable Sea