A Random Image

Jett Superior laid this on you on || December 13, 2011 || 9:54 pm

It comes on so fast, and I am beaten before the gun even goes off; there is no readied startle, no uncoiling, no explosive start.

I am having coffee. Coffee is not my focus, not ever. It is always an aside to whatever else I’m doing, gentle punctuation on a task, a sitting with someone, a get-up-and-let’s-go. Sometimes I drink it not because I want it, but because it makes me feel secure and capable and adult. Professionals drink coffee, don’t they? People who know what the fuck they are doing drink coffee.

I am having coffee and the sun is streaming in the windows. I was so proud to have these windows when they were first given to me, to have the ample natural light and the gaze of nature on my bent head as I sanded and hammered and painted and set my mouth just so as I was coaxing something into existence from a pile of throwaway things. I have a broad expanse of white workspace secured to the wall below the windows and I can look up as I bite my lip, as I focus and hum something old and familiar that pulls at me deeply, to see the tops of the trees I am floating amongst. I can survey the kingdom all the way to the street. It is a terrific view. I’m still proud of these windows.

I am having coffee and the sun is streaming in the windows and my work table is piled over with things crying out to be other things. Perched on the edge of my chair, I’m securing one something to another something, pausing to look with a stranger’s eyes, pushing, adjusting, clamping the things together because they’ll live this way from now on. (Although. Sometimes it occurs to me, you know? It occurs to me that one day this thing might be just another throwaway thing and then maybe the things I put together will fly apart and parts will be discarded while other parts give rise to something else.) I tilt my head, set the new thing down. It’s a process and I can only do so many things at once: There are constraints to alchemy. I begin something else and my chest explodes.

I am having coffee. The sun is streaming in the windows. The work table is ample with materials. They want to be other things, things other than what they are. My chest explodes. Who the fuck am I and how is it that I have a right to be here? It would be better without me, it would be easier to be gone, I am blindsided with worthlessness and anxiousness and why did this start, when did this start, I used to have the answers, oh no.

Oh no, oh no.

What then, when your whole life is scripted as apology? I’m sorry I’m here. I’m sorry I did it wrong. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I’m tired of misunderstanding. How is it that I am so often misunderstood when I put everything I have into being absolutely plainspoken? How do I stop being hostage to the hearts of others? My own heart is far afield. It’s rebellious as fuck and will not come to me when I call it back. My chest has exploded and my heart is running away from me and I curse the day that I ever thought that to let it be seen was a wise thing.

It comes on so fast. I am crumpled at the gate. It opens. It opens and I am never ready.

17 worked it out »

  1. Andrea 12.13.2011

    Aw, hell. I love this. Thank you for putting it out here.

  2. Brynne 12.13.2011

    Things that may be one person’s nothing can be another’s everything.

  3. Jess 12.13.2011

    Your heart is very wise. Don’t curse it. Just know that it knows more than we do (most of the time).

    When the time is right, I know you’ll be ready. You’re a soldier. You were BORN READY.

    I love you to pieces, girl, and I believe in you. :)

  4. Jett Superior 12.13.2011

    I want my I-Don’t-Give-A-Fuck back.

  5. schmutzie 12.13.2011

    Ain’t change fun?

  6. frogpondsrock 12.13.2011

    My daughter is a writer, she lives inside her head. I am a ceramist, I play in the mud. I leave a trail of misunderstandings behind me because I will not apologise, I will not explain. Articulation or ambiguity? I often choose ambiguity. I cant be bothered explaining myself because the words are not sufficient, I do not apologise for that.

    Your writing reminds me of my daughters writing.
    I am pleased I found you.

  7. TwoBusy 12.14.2011


    “There are constraints to alchemy.”

    That. Is. Perfect. I want to have that notarized and framed and placed next to me each and every time I set to work doing the things I do.

  8. Such a heart is bound to be captured and returned with precious care. Peace, Jett.

  9. Deb 12.15.2011

    I can’t remember what I was going to say, all of these comments are so right. Ease, I’m wishing for ease for you and everyone.

  10. EarnestGirl 12.15.2011

    This is what I loved: “It’s rebellious as fuck and will not come to me when I call it back.”

    please don’t tame your heart. Just give it time, lay out little treats for it, then call it gently home.

  11. MidLyfeMama 12.17.2011

    Being misunderstood is soooo frustrating. Much of the time the misunderstanding is not the result of you being unclear, or unkind, but the result of the other listening through a filter of their own making, that distorts, alters and otherwise messes up the incoming message. You cannot control that. You don’t even necessarily have to apologize for it. All we can hope for is to be the truest selves we can be, and find those people who accept us as is and hold them close.

  12. Chibi Jeebs 12.18.2011

    “I’m sorry I’m here. I’m sorry I did it wrong. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

    That has been my refrain my entire life; more so this week. I’m broken. I’m just… sorry. For everything.

  13. Chris Robinson 12.18.2011

    I remember a comedian talking about how you see yourself as a result of being raised Catholic : Well, I’m this piece of garbage that for some reason the universe revolves around. Catholics have the apology game down to an art. World War II? My fault.

    You and your writing make me very happy. My world would be diminished without you. Change brands of coffee and keep at it — please.

  14. Mitchell 12.18.2011

    I fucking love your voice. I am grateful to hear it.

  15. Erica M 12.18.2011

    When you get your I Don’t Give A Fuck back, can you ask it if it’s seen mine? Your writing is jarring in some places, arresting in others, yet you always make your way, make your peace with your subject. That’s a good gift to have: being aware of the space around you as the language swirls about the page. You’re a writer with a butterfly net.

  16. kerry b 1.15.2012

    Beautiful. Heartbreaking. I wish I could hold the glass just so… if you could see yourself as I do you would not curse that wayward heart of yours. Thank you for this.

  17. Summer 8.18.2012

    I never read this before! It’s so awesome.


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