I know/I forget

I know when you smoke out the window. I know where you park your car. I know your phone number and I cannot forget it. I know you are laughing with other people. I know what you are drinking tonight and can suspect where you will go. I know what you look like in the morning, the matted parts of your hair, the red chest and fire skin. I know you are less than a thousand feet from me at most parts of the day. I know where there is hair on your body and where there is none. I know you wet, cold, hot and sweaty. I know you in the car, on the streets that were ours. I know you would love this rug but you are not at my side. I know your smell. I know your hug. I know your kiss.  I know you because I wrote about you. I know you because I am writing about you. I know you because I have loved you for so long. I know you I know you I know you I know you but I am forgetting. I am forgetting it all, quicker by the day. Why have you died? What took you and was it my own device? Forgetting, forgetting, the years are evaporating. Come back before these holes close, come back before the soreness fades. Come back because I will wake up. I will wake up one morning soon. Soon I will wake up one morning and find. And find, I will find, that you. You. I will find that you were never there. Never there. Never here. Here or there. Not anywhere.

Bike Ride

I wheel my bike from the back of the house twenty till nine. It creeks and clicks past sleeping bedrooms. I carry it down off the porch and mount after walking it over the crags in the sidewalk. Always the awkward initiation of feet meeting peddle...after a few cycles of peddling, I have momentum. The sidewalk, back entrance to Walgreen's. Is there a car exiting the in? The boy across the street sits on the stoop outside his house, waiting. I will see him again this afternoon when he knocks to be let in. The sewage cap, bump every morning. Nelson and Carrolton. No straggler on my path but the fire station. It's car washing day. The fire truck is pulled out in its front driveway, blocking my turn so I throw my life into oncoming Carrolton commuters late for work but wheel back onto the sidewalk, dip and rise over red ribbed concrete and blaze to a stop at Carrolton and Claiborne. Tik tik tik tik the traffic lights monitor the rhythm. A computer has already been telling us what to do for years. White light walking man, the red palm disappears. Hills in the street that give me a push, I cross the intersection, dodge around the city bus. Cleaner better transit, gluts and gluts of tourists in khakis with cameras wait to board but the driver, aloof, has not opened her doors. Dog and man woman and stroller. Green ribbons of park. I snap into the bike lane, white parallel lines. Cars whoosh past, my reflection runs backwards on rolled up windows. Construction crew, yelping mutt behind gate. A mannequin, a woman?, frozen still standing on a balcony. Tree cutters trimming the oak branches. Guess there is a new mayor. An acorn strikes my clavicle. Ouch, legs burning. This cruiser won't go any faster. Give me speed or give me, the streetcar tracks at Oak. I lift from the seat and am not thrown. Drinkers of coffee outside Rue, the restaurants are whispering with beginning, outside tables still padlocked. SUV pulling outside of bank, I stare stare stare don't! She stops. Do I need a helmet? Get the hell out of the bike lane you Pontiac. Oh and the second set of tracks I have to cross at the corner where the restaurant is always changing. They bounce me, jiggle the bike, rattling bones. Hold tight sweaty palms. Where is the cold? Muggy, sticky hair, lotion melting. I need to pick up toothpaste. No bike racks for my U lock at Walgreens. Chevron. The cycle shop. Will they make me buy something? I whip my hair back and forth so the sweat dries and cools my head. WillowPlumOak ZzzzzzzimP!le  Freret I turn back to see traffic, need to make a left turn. Too many I stop at Burthe, wait for swoosh. Swoosh swooosh swoosh it's clear and I cross, streetcar driver rings his bell, I slow, it charges to the riverbed that no driver knows how to use. Anything resembling a rotary just doesn't. Smooth smooth one way Burthe. No rattling shaking or holes, craters, tunnels to Inferno. forgot! My sandwich, sitting in the toaster oven. Just an apple! A car rides behind me, come on! There's room, don't be afraid, get going! Quiet Burthe, dads have left already, children are learning colors. Sweat on my back, glands gush. Workers at Broadway. A new frat house? Holes and cars and patchy street work. I dismount. Look both ways. Wait for a cessation, ccccrrraawws. Mount and turn onto Audobon, two way but no cars, I ride in center. Students come from all directions, weave between them, Freret. I sink down on the unlevel street on the right side. Another bus. More students, bikers pass I pass bikers. Crosswalk Freret sidewalk at Tulane.pastel shits, denim denim denim denim. Exits and entrances, do you see me? I see you. I wheel into Loyola 's back entrance, avoid the speed bumps and ride in between them. Feel fast passing slow walkers. Pedal pedal dip at the slope, children in playground screaming from the cage. Drip down into the library bike racks and scan for a spot. There, free! I stop, fumble with the key into the lock, and walk away.

Morton lecture

The weather is the quintessential neutral subject, a topic for strangers and filler for awkward silences in conversation. But as climate change becomes more and more apparent to the masses, can the notion of “funny weather we had last week” in the pedestrian sphere endure while the reality of global warming refutes accident? Perhaps, the now not so unbiased hyperobject of weather can prompt colloquial discussion of climate change through musings on weather. But there is a point at which, and it might not yet have been reached, when scientific evidence overwhelms human want for order, making it impossible to ignore the larger physical realities.

Other than this point, the lecture by Morton was complex because of its discussion of object-oriented ontology. I had trouble focusing because of the switching between abstract and physical and not really understanding the connections between the two realms. Students left the lecture throughout, one by one befuddled and irritated.