Kenning JP Garcia

when was  the first time something good happened? when was that first memory that one wanted to hold onto forever? when was it that one thought about writing it down, taking a picture, or saving a little bit of that moment? when was  the last time that one held onto a keepsake? what was the most recent memento? when will this moment arise again? when is the last time something good will occur? when is something actually any good? when has a memory ever really been worth holding onto? what souvenirs stay with someone forever?

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came crashing to the ground. that's what all things do eventually when those things were not meant to fly and then again, even some natural born flyers fall sometimes. every crash could make one feel as if one's body were an alien craft and this was an alien world. nobody's body is really all that attached to earth anyway. people sleep away so much of life on beds two feet off of the ground. other time is spent swinging feet from barstools or on planes. people climb stairs, hills, mountains. sea level is left behind quite regularly. but then again there are others who live to swim. to be submerged. to scuba dive. so maybe it's just about getting away from the ground. the really boring and flat ground specifically. and, to be alien as opposed to just being another stranger.

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the TV isn't hooked up to cable, only an old DVD player and an antenna. can watch a few shows and some games. have a very small movie library but rent a disc every now and then from the kiosk outside of the grocery store. TV is no longer the center of attention in the household. any phone can deliver so much more information and entertainment. maybe the phone is the most important device in any home. communication is still its primary function but not necessarily between one person and another person but between one person and any number of other people — most of whom are unknown to the person doing the watching, listening, and/or reading. there's no reason to miss the separation between making or taking a call from being able to view any number of things upon the screen of a tool that was not originally intended for such a purpose. things change. the roads for walking gave way to cars. or one thing can do many things. a bowl for cereal can also be used for soup or coins or keys or placed upon the head of a child. but none of these purposes is ever enough after a while. just one more use would be nice. get one's money's worth out of something and then get even more out of it. use it all up.

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looking for names. looking for streets. looking for faces. looking for trees. looking for the familiar. looking for the new. looking for a task. looking for a treat.

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the amount of paper cups wasted just behind the counter at the coffeeshop almost drives one to drink but one has stopped drinking and so one is here instead of in front of a pilsner or kolsch on a day such as this.

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"... to hell with the world in back of it! why should there always be a world behind everything?" (from Knut Hamsun's Mysteries, as quoted by Karl Ove Knausgaard — In the Land of the Cyclops: Essays)

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need to be different. can't be the same anyway. reality says nothing can remain this way forever. change is inevitable. put no value in the shifts. each movement is only a movement. accept a direction. follow the signs laid out in that route even if it would seem to be a detour. a detour would be something to see, to be honest. something a bit less ordinary, perhaps an inspiration.

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truth is not in the sight but sensing.

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the sun has set and so it is time to rise. the graveyard shift is the polyester of the working world.

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xe said there is no reason for sorrow. ze asked how far is there left to travel? both were lost. but at least both were alive. that's a victory when tomorrow is not guaranteed to anyone.

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"... quivering with ambivalence..." (Karl Ove Knausgaard – In the Land of the Cyclops: Essays)

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xe overslept. in fact, xe slept for over twelve hours and stayed in bed for sixteen hours looking at xyr phone and listening to talk radio. radio about aliens and lost civilizations. xe wasn't necessarily a believer but enjoyed the idea of not knowing everything. of there might more to both history as well as the present. something besides humanity, gods, ghosts, nature, and the things that can be seen in telescopes and microscopes or through cameras. things that didn't get bibles or textbooks. something neither scientific nor mystical. a secret third thing. xe wonders what it would mean to be a cyborg. xe wants an upgrade. xe wonders how human a cyborg would have to be to be considered human. would it be about more than just thinking and feeling or would it come down to a number. maybe 60% and cyborgs would be called point sixers. and there would be legislation on the books to count these "people" but think of the benefits. new abilities. of course, maybe, bioengineering has gotten so good that there is no need to become one with a machine. no need for nanotech to do what some good genes might be able to do. who knows? maybe just leave the future in the future even if the future begins today.

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ze doesn't have many fantasies. ze is more grounded. ze thinks about tomorrow as literally what happens after one wakes up in the morning. ze does worry about the climate and the environment. ze says that cities need to become more walkable. ze says people need to use more public transportation and just about nobody really needs a private jet to go anywhere. if a commercial airline is safe enough for ordinary folks then it is safe enough for celebrities also. maybe only the heads of states need to fly with an entourage away from everybody else. ze wonders how much anybody really needs to travel anyway. what are people going to see or do anyway? and why? OK, maybe a few times in a lifetime. go out and come home with a few stories. ze doesn't know if perspective necessarily comes from long distance travel when there is so much to consider right around the corner from so many homes. but this might be the metropolitan talking. once one becomes a part of the metrocosm it becomes harder to understand what it means to live out in the boonies. so maybe the big city dwellers and the small-town folks need to see how the other lives. the east needs to see the midwest and the west needs to see the southeast and the southwest needs to see New England and the Pacific northwest needs to get a taste of the gulf coast. and everybody could go see the islands of both oceans as guests and less as tourists. maybe. and Alaska could just be for people who seriously care about ecology. ze doesn't know. ze is not too into ideas such as these. ze doesn't have much of an imagination sometimes. this is not a knock on zir. ze saves thinking for other things. not everybody needs to think about the same things.

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xe is not Quixote and ze is not Sancho. ze is not Sherlock and xe is not Watson. both are a bit Scotty and Uhura to be honest. a bit Smaug and a bit Shelob. a bit Lady of the Lake and bit of the lake itself.

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some efforts will be forgotten and some efforts will be forgiven.

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some days xe thinks that to get the best out of life means to get out of life. xe considers the dusk and the dawn. doesn't try to think about much more than that. that's enough to get through which is the only way out.

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"for many, only tears of exasperation are left. despair has no tears." (Robert Duncan – The Truth & Life of Myth)

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some young person walked up today, just now, merely moments ago, in this café to inquire about a book being read. ze explained the book and talked about the author since ze had read this one before. then ze asked the young writer about favorite poets as the book being read was a book about poetry but it was not poetry. it was prose and some of the best poetry is actually essay. anyway, that is neither here nor there, and the response came with Poe and Shakespeare. ze said cool and was then asked about zir favorites. ze thought and answered honestly with Verlaine, and dishonestly with Baudelaire. then followed with a secret pedantic answer of Rilke after having mentioned HD earlier in the description of the book being read. these interactions are few and far between for ze as ze can be rather off-putting at times and also ze rarely reads physical books with interesting covers and prefers not only the ease and accessibility of ebooks but also the privacy. ze is OK with the occasional conversation. ze doesn't enjoy talking but has been known to be long-winded. ze was not that this morning. ze was what one might call "good" this morning.

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xe has two siblings but xyr parents had three children. xe was born second. xe remains secondary even until this day.

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living life in retrospect while still trying to maintain some semblance of forward momentum. it's a Sunday so it's ok to rest and reflect. it would be ok on a Monday also but work might get in the way of a decent recollection.

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Vladimir and Estragon waited so that xe and ze could also.

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ze used to do this and ze used to do that and nobody really cares about what ze used to do or who ze used to be. few even care about who ze is now and so ze is both non-existent and reborn. ze can both disappear or reappear at any time. ze is getting back to being the way that ze once was and ze is also trying to no longer be who ze once was. when ze puts on zir sneakers which run is ze going on? this one or one of the ones from zir memory? ze can live simultaneously in the past as well as in the present. ze is not unique in this way but sometimes hopes that ze is. just once it would be nice to be special.

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xe is out of town for the weekend. will xe have fun? xe has never been homesick. xe doesn't miss people. xe went away to boarding school and to summer camp, to college also, and rarely ever called home. being away is what xe used to know best and it's all that xe ever wanted from life. to be at home is to begin the tale that began in a gloomy wood. the home, in Italian, is a divine comedy. the home in English, is less funny haha and more funny ironic but in a misunderstood understanding of what ironic means. a pop cultural notion of ironic. a first-year student idea of what ironic is. and yet, to say tragedy starts at home is both accurate but also kind of cruel. tragedy equals comedy minus space.

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ze wouldn't know the mark of Cain if ze was marked with it but for being so accident prone, ze carries on. ze is as frightened as the next person but one wonders why. ze has walked away from various crashes unharmed. has never sustained any serious injuries. has missed work or school when things went truly awry. but this all weighs on zir spirit. ze wasn't there when the childhood house caught on fire. ze wasn't there when most things happened. ze isn't so much of a survivor but an absentee, and that comes with a different kind of guilt.

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xerophyte: a plant adapted for growth under dry conditions. [word of the day for today (Dictionary.com)]

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ze is a diarist and thus asks, what needs to be recorded. xe prefers to talk and instead thinks about what needs to be repeated. this is similar but similar is never the same as the same. ze admits to having a bad memory while xe says xyr inability to remember certain things is a part of xyr charm. xe tries to tell less stories and instead prefers to just rattle off some facts. these facts don't always fit the situation but hopefully it keeps the lecture entertaining. the lecture or the bit or the conversation. sometimes there is no difference between those three things. ze also doesn't tell too many stories. being a writer isn't about telling stories it's about conveying some thoughts. ze thinks that diary is about as cognitive as any writing can get.

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xe woke up early but left the house later than xe wanted to. it's a holiday but xe works most holidays. it's a Monday. this is last few hours of xyr weekend. it will be mostly spent on work. reading is work. writing is work. watching TV is work. (streaming shows on a phone is still watching TV, xe won't argue about this anymore.) is taking an edible work? or smoking? coffee was work but decaf feels less so. beer was and nonalcoholic beer is still work. trying to socialize is work. it's research but the kind of research that won't be used in any obvious ways. xe doesn't talk too much about other people in any concrete way such as speaking about being out the other night and doing etc etc etc and overhearing whatever. xe doesn't find this stuff to be boring per se but doesn't see any reason to do the same sort of stuff that some comics do. xe isn't much of a comic. xe is just a talker. how xe ever gets a stage of any sort is a bit of a mystery. xe kills and xe bombs in the way that a lecture can kill or bomb. certainly, somebody must boo a half hour to an hour of somebody laying down some revolutionary ideas. an epiphany can be greeted with a sigh by an audience. one person's enlightenment can be another's lullaby. YouTube is full of thumbs down on an almost endless amount of TedTalks. some people's self-help should be kept to themselves.

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some people drink when socializing and some only socialize when drinking. ze drinks but ze doesn't always socialize, not even in social settings. it just happens that sometimes the drinking is where the socializing is. ze prefers an empty bar or ze prefers to be a stranger in a bar who nobody bothers talking to. ze must not be very attractive as people rarely bother ze at the bar. sometimes this kind of ruins zir night when ze thinks about this too much. but also, ze is only getting older and flirting is different nowadays. ze hates drinking at home. it's not about being alone it's about not having enough distractions or not having the right distractions. something to put into a diary, something to use words for.

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xe doesn't ever want to remember. xe doesn't try to remember. xe does not want to become a memory machine. xe is no Joe Brainard.

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ze is not one to be known for finding enjoyment in much of anything but if joy is ever to be found or to have been found, then it is or was only in anonymity. nobody kills joy faster than friends do. to be unknown is to be happy. or at least, potentially to be happy. if nothing else, it is to be real. or, to be as fake as one wants to be.

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xe doesn't let things go.

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ze was sitting in the backseat. ze was wondering about what seat Judas would choose if Judas was ever given such a choice. ze doesn't want to be going anywhere. ze doesn't want to be returning from anywhere. ze doesn't want to be with anybody. ze doesn't make wishes anymore. ze never had any kind of luck with making those sorts of things anyway and yet ze wishes that ze never knew anyone ever. people don't wonder what zir deal is. people already know everything about who ze is or maybe people just don't care and yet somehow ze finds zirself going for a ride. and ending up places. ze has friends even though ze doesn't know how to make any.

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xe was looking down from a window up above. xe was thinking about a song that xe once knew. xe doesn't mind looking. maybe xe prefers to watch. maybe. xe doesn't want to talk. and xe hates to be touched. xe creates distance. this is the real content that xe creates. distance. keep the audience close but keep the distance closer. make a gap for people to mind. space has never been the final frontier. it was always the first. something to consider. something to cross and to control.

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ze has never been zirself but why be oneself when there are so many other selves to be?

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as soon as xe left home for good, xe wanted to go back home and yet xe was not homesick. xe just knew that xe would never have a place again in this world. that everywhere else xe went, xe was just taking up room. xe made everywhere less comfortable for everybody else. even though home was not where xe wanted to be before leaving home, it turns out that there would never be another home for xyr anywhere else ever again. at least not yet. not so far. not all these years later.

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ze doesn't enjoy memoirs. ze pretty much hates the past tense. ze might have said this before. ze has been known to repeat zirself. ze doesn't care about childhood nor adolescence. ze doesn't want to know about which things one loved when one was 13, 14, 16. ze doesn't care about all the Black characters and songs that some corny white writer loved while coming up. ze wants to know what's going on right now. what has one become? and this time give it to zir raw. no seasonings. don't spice up the story. be what one really is. even climbing Everest can be quite boring when told a certain way. this is the way that ze wants to hear it. ze doesn't find interest nor empathy in the compelling.

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xe believes in ghosts and aliens. xe thinks about angels, the astral plane, and the fey folk. xe tells jokes about this stuff even though xe is rather serious. xe looks out at xyr audience and wishes for another one. xe knows when a dream has become a nightmare and when a fantasy is actually suicidal ideation. xe wanted more from life and got more but the more one gets the more one realizes that less was good enough.

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ze goes to work and goes to sleep. ze drinks a lot of coffee and still sleeps for much too long. ze finds it hard to find time to read, write, watch TV, listen to podcasts and new albums, as well as go for a run, and then come home to make something to eat. then when libido strikes, there's another fucking problem. ze can never decide on what will get zir where ze wants to go. ze blames some brain fog on COVID. ze does smoke but not that damn much. ze can remember running on empty for days on end and still getting shit done but those days are long gone. ze hits the snooze button again. ze rolls over and says nothing matters anyway. ze needs to find another hookup for Adderall even though, truth be told, ze prefers Ritalin.

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xe can feel the change of seasons on xyr skin and in xyr knees. xe can see the leaves beginning to change colors. xe noticed that it was a full moon last night. xe wonders how many paths xe has crossed. who was interacted with and who was not even given a second glance. it's very rare that anybody gives anybody else the time of day these days as most folks have a phone that can do at least that much. xe figures that most expressions in use today will become obsolete or at least old-fashioned soon enough. nothing is really rewound anymore but people still use the word "rewind," and that's not so much an expression nor idiom as it is merely one word. well, the phone doesn't necessarily need to be picked up anymore to be answered so to say that one did or didn't pick up the phone is a bit out-of-date. these are not astute observations but something that comes from the boredom of looking out of a window on a seasonably cool Sunday afternoon. a just barely afternoon. not even 12:30 yet. should be lost in a book but is instead lost in thought, wasting time at a new café where the coffee is a bit too expensive and not really that good but it's close to home so that's something working in its favor. location, location, location. 

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it's October and ze hates Halloween. ze hopes that this very diary will be the last thing that ze ever writes. ze doesn't think that ze will be famous after death nor does ze even believe that ze is capable of writing a cult classic. no, ze expects to be overlooked for all eternity and none of this has anything to do with Halloween but it's just the worst holiday ever except for the fact that there will be some new horror movies to watch this month and that's zir favorite genre of all time and even movies that aren't horror movies that ze would put into zir top ten have horror elements. for example, Robocop has a bit of a Re-Animator or Frankenstein vibe to it. The Breakfast Club is definitely as horrible as Nausea at some point and there is the psychological horror of losing one's own self into a costume and make-up just to kind of fit in with a few other misfits or losers. or, just kids. just some teenagers. nobody should be called a loser that early in life even if that does happen a lot in real life. ze hates real life. ze doesn't think a diary has to be about real life so ze doesn't worry about too many details nor the truth of anything in particular. ze knows that it's not cool to talk about certain artists anymore but The Unspeakable Confessions of Salvador Dalí sure did set a good precedent for this sort of view of towards the autobiographical. with that written, nothing would be more insulting to zir than to be called a surrealist. ze is hyperrealist or a mystical realist. oh, never mind, it doesn't matter. nobody will read this anyway.