Love becomes matter of factly after sitting in the lower jaw for so long. Until you find yourself duskly whispering across phone lines, "what does it feel like..." to mourn your independence. Scandal, scandal, love is boring enough to be remembered, everything else is mourned.
She touches herself below the sheets and sets the mood by thinking on mister got-away and imagines him staring over the lap of one and into the cleavage of another. Like jar life, where everything is skewed and smelling like fermentation.
Deprived of contact you sit cross legged, song on repeat. Starting one job to abandon it for some other endeavor, making checklists in your head that will never make it to paper let alone fruition. The apple and celery made up for the cookies, third beer and exacto blade balanced between lips while measuring 5 by 3.
It's a mad scientist evening, Scars garnished with orange slices, decorative angst and loss of ownership. The road and conversation robbed me of home and place in time. Until I was all at once visiting past lovers, recieving bruises and injuries, from those who have since forgotten and awkwardly avert the eyes, when meeting me unexpectedly, happily next to blonde and alcoholic tendencies, the present wrapped in brown bag, no bow.
I've got a new place. He's on the stage or driving me home from kisses that fall into the millions. Matter of factly, stating like the future wrote itself decades before, the names of children, the pets in houses, keys that type themselves into novels and complications between ambilical cord and holidays.
I'll leave you for failing traditions. I'll drown in the vague interpretations of christmas mornings, where the biggest travesty is in the fact that dunkin' donuts isn't open and we can't get our coffee fix.
Fleas. They don't make a tiny gold pin for success. But I'm laughing like its obvious, you're nothing and I'm going to make something of these pieces, 5 by 3 and so on. Chop up everything the knife is so good and set the trash on fire.
I prayed the other night. Like therapy. Like god might listen. And love is matter of factly, after so long in the bottom jaw. Until people are just stories and I've got nothing but fear in my belly, repeating wisely in the cold, "the only thing I know, is that I know nothing at all."
I read their secrets, even though I wasn't suppose to. He wanted you for a mate, I damned you then and caused all your split ends. Static clinging to sewn up second rate sentiments, I laughed and made black magic voo-doo dolls from their trusted treasures. I've got ammo to spare and no one knows they are at war. The perfect stragedy runs underground, beneath trenchs and tunnels and sets up base in the center of the earth.
I want them to stare, mouth to mouth. Whispering scandals and questions until love moves up from the lower jaw and settles on the tongue, talented and shoved down on open zipper pants. This was the time to do it. Moan until its hard enough to... end.
I twitch in the aftermath.
reply.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
I Call Right.
Dill devious surely dig it momma start star remind rewind dream foreplay replay fat bottom yoga retract downward dog velvet felt tip pen eye lined teeth white beat beat rock like your a star to the shower spout.
He fell asleep in her, he really did. As literal as you can be he fell asleep inside her, like parking the car for the night. Like putting on your pants, one leg at a moment when you can bet any more on sugar or cocaine, same substance, all substance, like alcohol and soda pop, pop, pop! You're dead. Heart disease and liver failure. Cancer riddled extremities and breast gone, lost, slipped off away. Bald and proud like baby born, head the same size as the day you were born, head the same size as the day you were born.
The same day you were born, I spoke whole sentences and sat for long periods with books in my lap convinced that if I stared long enough I'd learn to read, I'd learn to tell my own stories, like it wasn't good enough for mummy, tired exhausted and smelling like fried food, saying good night with her plastic black shoes shaping her feet square, rectangular. Dad's toes rotted like green and ogre shards, hard worker, top of silo worker, working hard, working to death. And I can only whisper I love you, in my mind. Sentiments are for the weak and dying.
The tear that hit my jacket today, embarrassed me. It was a coffee stain, an unsightly food stain, not a cold air, eyes water, walk faster, drop. it was anything but honest and I swear my hips are widening out of control, like receding waters, exposing islands and bring marine iguanas to the shores. Ink me until I feel young again.
Professor Morgan Kristy Reynolds. Would I take it, like yes, like no, like everything is something I can't complete but I've got potential to spare. And what don't you do, I sing in the shower like no one can stop me now, and I run at the gym like I might just get away. Sweat soaks through the crooks of my arms. I smell like woman and never bad. He tells me I taste good and I kiss his mouth again.
When I was young sex was sex without any consideration. My body was strong and untouched. It was beaten and pounded and rounded and wounded, bitten and whipped and held and pushed. I was unashamedly curious and mischievous, old friends still question how and why we got ourselves into middle of the river, twizzlers, tweezers, wizard of oz wine and golf cart, mobile home, after school drama. The tripping, teasing, wheeling girl, that spiked her hair and fashioned bondage pants, seems as foreign to me now as any youth subculture that is thriving. I can't feel myself inside her insecurity, her nativity, her stupidity. Like the biggest black mail one could ever carry, those awkward years weigh me down.
Double life! By senior year I was in a beauty pageant. First Runner up paid for my deposit into college. Like pretty in pink, I wore gowns and got the talent portion, and walked the catwalk. I spoke eloquently and was the only girl who wasn't skinny or long haired. I beat them anyway, taking one for the underdog, the undergirl, emerging like new days and college classes.
Masters, Ph.D. Years from now I'll wear large broaches and fantastic drapes about my neck. I'll laugh in galleries and read stories to children. Years from now I'll hold my stomach, large and heavy, and complain about swollen feet while arguing over names that need to two lines to fit.
But its just tommorrow, soon enough, and the pictures will change from birthday parties for us, to birth-days for our children. And then they'll be pictures of the house, our graduations, we'll put all our certificates on the walls and we'll never see eachother, balancing children and careers, crafts and cottage industries.
I'll make the napkin rings and we'll have storage boxes for the seasons so the kitchen will always match the times. You'll pull out the christmas box before I even ask and know that the lights go up around the window, and only you can reach that high. We'll hang mistletoe and kiss before dinner.
We'll have sides of the bed.
I call right.
He fell asleep in her, he really did. As literal as you can be he fell asleep inside her, like parking the car for the night. Like putting on your pants, one leg at a moment when you can bet any more on sugar or cocaine, same substance, all substance, like alcohol and soda pop, pop, pop! You're dead. Heart disease and liver failure. Cancer riddled extremities and breast gone, lost, slipped off away. Bald and proud like baby born, head the same size as the day you were born, head the same size as the day you were born.
The same day you were born, I spoke whole sentences and sat for long periods with books in my lap convinced that if I stared long enough I'd learn to read, I'd learn to tell my own stories, like it wasn't good enough for mummy, tired exhausted and smelling like fried food, saying good night with her plastic black shoes shaping her feet square, rectangular. Dad's toes rotted like green and ogre shards, hard worker, top of silo worker, working hard, working to death. And I can only whisper I love you, in my mind. Sentiments are for the weak and dying.
The tear that hit my jacket today, embarrassed me. It was a coffee stain, an unsightly food stain, not a cold air, eyes water, walk faster, drop. it was anything but honest and I swear my hips are widening out of control, like receding waters, exposing islands and bring marine iguanas to the shores. Ink me until I feel young again.
Professor Morgan Kristy Reynolds. Would I take it, like yes, like no, like everything is something I can't complete but I've got potential to spare. And what don't you do, I sing in the shower like no one can stop me now, and I run at the gym like I might just get away. Sweat soaks through the crooks of my arms. I smell like woman and never bad. He tells me I taste good and I kiss his mouth again.
When I was young sex was sex without any consideration. My body was strong and untouched. It was beaten and pounded and rounded and wounded, bitten and whipped and held and pushed. I was unashamedly curious and mischievous, old friends still question how and why we got ourselves into middle of the river, twizzlers, tweezers, wizard of oz wine and golf cart, mobile home, after school drama. The tripping, teasing, wheeling girl, that spiked her hair and fashioned bondage pants, seems as foreign to me now as any youth subculture that is thriving. I can't feel myself inside her insecurity, her nativity, her stupidity. Like the biggest black mail one could ever carry, those awkward years weigh me down.
Double life! By senior year I was in a beauty pageant. First Runner up paid for my deposit into college. Like pretty in pink, I wore gowns and got the talent portion, and walked the catwalk. I spoke eloquently and was the only girl who wasn't skinny or long haired. I beat them anyway, taking one for the underdog, the undergirl, emerging like new days and college classes.
Masters, Ph.D. Years from now I'll wear large broaches and fantastic drapes about my neck. I'll laugh in galleries and read stories to children. Years from now I'll hold my stomach, large and heavy, and complain about swollen feet while arguing over names that need to two lines to fit.
But its just tommorrow, soon enough, and the pictures will change from birthday parties for us, to birth-days for our children. And then they'll be pictures of the house, our graduations, we'll put all our certificates on the walls and we'll never see eachother, balancing children and careers, crafts and cottage industries.
I'll make the napkin rings and we'll have storage boxes for the seasons so the kitchen will always match the times. You'll pull out the christmas box before I even ask and know that the lights go up around the window, and only you can reach that high. We'll hang mistletoe and kiss before dinner.
We'll have sides of the bed.
I call right.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
drowned
save your children from the river then drain it. forget everything i said and move on. we're running around in panic you know so my words just drowned anyway.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Lucky Like Beewax, Bacterial Infections, Bad Music
She's singing pretty to the elephant in the tub, "your claw feet are like flowers and organic sugar is in the bottom of my bowl." I've got to stand in the doorway on suicide watch, talking like someone is carrying a grand piano up the stairs, "eassy, eassy, okay okay, careful now!" I've got great suggestions on how to waste your time and eat two bowls of cheerios, round rings, tiny, crunchy, soggy, metal spoon, before its nine. I don't eat after nine. Unless its a special occasion, or I've had a few beers, or he's made me feel extra pretty or she's singing, "your claw feet are like flowers and organic sugar is in the bottom of my bowl."
Goddamn! its an exclamation, like they just saw a priest and a nun frenching in the confession box. And at least they'd gone to the right place, but my hair is too long, their saying, its a little strange, they are confessing, like they are afraid it might attack them, like I've got a wild animal resting on my head, and I condition it to look real nice but it still might bite you dead, or constrict around you till you don't breathe and can't eat two bowls of cheerios for dinner, like there is nothing else in the house. Like you don't have hot dogs or rice or sentimental candies. One lonely nipple, sitting in the fridge, next to beers. One lonely nipple.
He's got a house and will have babies long before I do, like he stole my life plan and I'm left with deadlines and somedays, and wonderful weekends, crumby weeks, pushing through school like I've got a personal mission to save the world from ignorance, and all I want is to go to Mexico and touch ruins with and bitch about misquitoes, while he writes about the heat and the tiny mexican boy who sold in a sombraro.
Shit.
Mom called to reaffirm that I have no money. Thank you, yes, aware, yes, understood, groceries will consist of milk, eggs, bread and sucking balls. I made a felt finger puppet named happiness and pummeled him against my sister's face repeatedly, with a high pitch squeal of joy, that wasn't at all real or interesting, but distracting. Like I'm on suicide watch, and they're bringing the heavy piano down the stairs.
I want to tell her, men aren't worth the trouble. But she says I don't got no right, and puts Summer Skin back on. But no man IS worth it. Not the suffering and worry, at least. Especially in unrequited situations, where you're completely indisposible, like a styrofoam bowl, lasting long enough for two helping of cheerios, and organic sugar solid at the bottom.
Don't tell me what I gotta do, yellow teeth, sad second place for change and new dogs, like we'd ever have the money to feed ourselves, let alone it, and I'm not worth what debt I've gained. Like you'll leave me at the alter when you realize I come with a dark cloud of ever looming debt. And I'll live at home and scratch myself to skinless and watch my cat die, and make dinner for my family, because mom hates cooking, and you know what. You know what? I'd like to illustrate kids books, goddamnit, I'd love to do pictures for kids books.
Herbert Finklemen and his balloon house, with his balloon dog.
They turn to zombies in my dreams, where escape plans are futile and the animals catch the disease. But right before bed, we sing nursery rhymes and repeat a million times, I love you, like it just might evaporate before it sinks into our brains.
Superman hangs off me, the empty space you use to fill.
Goddamn! its an exclamation, like they just saw a priest and a nun frenching in the confession box. And at least they'd gone to the right place, but my hair is too long, their saying, its a little strange, they are confessing, like they are afraid it might attack them, like I've got a wild animal resting on my head, and I condition it to look real nice but it still might bite you dead, or constrict around you till you don't breathe and can't eat two bowls of cheerios for dinner, like there is nothing else in the house. Like you don't have hot dogs or rice or sentimental candies. One lonely nipple, sitting in the fridge, next to beers. One lonely nipple.
He's got a house and will have babies long before I do, like he stole my life plan and I'm left with deadlines and somedays, and wonderful weekends, crumby weeks, pushing through school like I've got a personal mission to save the world from ignorance, and all I want is to go to Mexico and touch ruins with and bitch about misquitoes, while he writes about the heat and the tiny mexican boy who sold in a sombraro.
Shit.
Mom called to reaffirm that I have no money. Thank you, yes, aware, yes, understood, groceries will consist of milk, eggs, bread and sucking balls. I made a felt finger puppet named happiness and pummeled him against my sister's face repeatedly, with a high pitch squeal of joy, that wasn't at all real or interesting, but distracting. Like I'm on suicide watch, and they're bringing the heavy piano down the stairs.
I want to tell her, men aren't worth the trouble. But she says I don't got no right, and puts Summer Skin back on. But no man IS worth it. Not the suffering and worry, at least. Especially in unrequited situations, where you're completely indisposible, like a styrofoam bowl, lasting long enough for two helping of cheerios, and organic sugar solid at the bottom.
Don't tell me what I gotta do, yellow teeth, sad second place for change and new dogs, like we'd ever have the money to feed ourselves, let alone it, and I'm not worth what debt I've gained. Like you'll leave me at the alter when you realize I come with a dark cloud of ever looming debt. And I'll live at home and scratch myself to skinless and watch my cat die, and make dinner for my family, because mom hates cooking, and you know what. You know what? I'd like to illustrate kids books, goddamnit, I'd love to do pictures for kids books.
Herbert Finklemen and his balloon house, with his balloon dog.
They turn to zombies in my dreams, where escape plans are futile and the animals catch the disease. But right before bed, we sing nursery rhymes and repeat a million times, I love you, like it just might evaporate before it sinks into our brains.
Superman hangs off me, the empty space you use to fill.
story of children
the child stood abandoned in the street side with its blue eyes gazing
i think its name was josiah or somethign like that. anyway he was there
and the car pulled away and the licenseplate said playah on it but the
kid didn't know. the kid didn't know which way was up or down or hot
or how to say visualize. and the other cars drove by because it was a busy
business day and the child just abandoned. here's the thing, it was okay.
because nobody liked it. nobody. not even you.l mabye you can think that
you did but the fact of the matter is its name wasn't really josiah but
murr, and embidodied the idea of false love and so you didn't like it.
it had a blonde twin borne somewhere else faceless but loved but noy by
the same family because i t wasn't the same but it was the saem by bloody
ambivaelnce for it was the the embodied of true and love true (and maybe
it wasn't blood, ho geez, i won't get as much turkey now, son of a gun)
but it was soemthing. some say that one twin beat the head of the other
in with a stone after it wall teased. some say it gloryholed. some say
that they ate wolf teets. i don't really know, we oprabably nver will.
i think its name was josiah or somethign like that. anyway he was there
and the car pulled away and the licenseplate said playah on it but the
kid didn't know. the kid didn't know which way was up or down or hot
or how to say visualize. and the other cars drove by because it was a busy
business day and the child just abandoned. here's the thing, it was okay.
because nobody liked it. nobody. not even you.l mabye you can think that
you did but the fact of the matter is its name wasn't really josiah but
murr, and embidodied the idea of false love and so you didn't like it.
it had a blonde twin borne somewhere else faceless but loved but noy by
the same family because i t wasn't the same but it was the saem by bloody
ambivaelnce for it was the the embodied of true and love true (and maybe
it wasn't blood, ho geez, i won't get as much turkey now, son of a gun)
but it was soemthing. some say that one twin beat the head of the other
in with a stone after it wall teased. some say it gloryholed. some say
that they ate wolf teets. i don't really know, we oprabably nver will.
Friday, November 7, 2008
everything will change
it's the moment when everything changes. i want to capture it and hold onto this feeling but it'll never be the same. things are gonna be good. like you've never seen. we've never known what it is to feel this way, feel this hope, feel this revolution. when he was a boy he felt this way. he stood on the shore of ice and watched the sunrise and just knew. he tasted the frost and it was glory and it was life and he knew he was destined for something more. pass me that ancient ice and remind me of why i'm here. we'll revive a nation, we'll heal the sick, we'll make you remember when times were good. they'll call us stupid, they'll us faggots, but we won't listen. we've got so much.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Mum says,"Count Your Blessings."
Can't possible type another brain broken down and crushing in the red dot center of another culture rings and bells, whistles sirens on attack under saying all the right things and leaning on bulllllllshit, bullshit. Blah blah blah, no one loves me. blah blah blah, no one cares... The paradox, by yielding, I endure. By giving all, I receive more. Hear that? Hear that?! BY yeilding, I endure. Not by fighting against. By giving my all, I receive more than I could have every wanted. Hear that?!
Let go.
Stop moving and thrashing and swallowing gallons of water, and choking and spitting and getting everything wet, getting everyone all wet. Its just water. You can float. Let yourself float, you won't drown. Atrophy, bloat, rot, eat through sixteen cheesecakes, like, wait, need to go to the store, buy chocolate cheesecake, persuade sister to pay price. Feel really guilty in the thigh area, feel really good in the mouth.
Mouth, like a play on memory, chaps and peels without kisses or tongues. Strange sensations, mouths met genitalia and saliva is saliva, like doorbells ringing, not here, but somewhere close by, while fingers freeze and men make promises and women cry, and men cry while women make promises and leave for other men, cause we all want the blackbird that has the most shiny blue objects. Who might not kill and eat our young. Who might not make us have mutant young to begin with.
Our baby's eyes will fall out upon birth. They'll be too big. The size of their head alone with bring about forceps and scalpels, weilding and screaming like there is no time, he's in the canal and the placenta is taking the life it gave! Massacre on my poor vagina. Freedom like cholic and vomit. Like nights to the pub involve baby carriers. Like nothing can be better than freezing on holidays and winter and easter and summer and all the things that makee someone stop outside the door and walk back in just because the vacuum might be running or the coffee pot still sputtering, and causing wildfires up the walls and down the side of the tub.
Relax. Its just water, you won't drown. Let yourself float.
Take the damn rocks out of your pockets.
Let go.
Stop moving and thrashing and swallowing gallons of water, and choking and spitting and getting everything wet, getting everyone all wet. Its just water. You can float. Let yourself float, you won't drown. Atrophy, bloat, rot, eat through sixteen cheesecakes, like, wait, need to go to the store, buy chocolate cheesecake, persuade sister to pay price. Feel really guilty in the thigh area, feel really good in the mouth.
Mouth, like a play on memory, chaps and peels without kisses or tongues. Strange sensations, mouths met genitalia and saliva is saliva, like doorbells ringing, not here, but somewhere close by, while fingers freeze and men make promises and women cry, and men cry while women make promises and leave for other men, cause we all want the blackbird that has the most shiny blue objects. Who might not kill and eat our young. Who might not make us have mutant young to begin with.
Our baby's eyes will fall out upon birth. They'll be too big. The size of their head alone with bring about forceps and scalpels, weilding and screaming like there is no time, he's in the canal and the placenta is taking the life it gave! Massacre on my poor vagina. Freedom like cholic and vomit. Like nights to the pub involve baby carriers. Like nothing can be better than freezing on holidays and winter and easter and summer and all the things that makee someone stop outside the door and walk back in just because the vacuum might be running or the coffee pot still sputtering, and causing wildfires up the walls and down the side of the tub.
Relax. Its just water, you won't drown. Let yourself float.
Take the damn rocks out of your pockets.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
bloodiest man summarized
bloodiestman inamericahistory
the Bloodiest
The devil came for reasons unknown he wnet by the name of
buschwackers
devastating guerilla forays
"federal guerillas"
brushgwon prwoling gangs
ofdogsn and cats
stabbing cwos and horsees
a good education for his day-
followed his father
migradted to kansas
and also apparently got into trouble
for stealing
the cuumulatuinve foul play
gold fields
ultimately
ag fanog of border bandits
stealing negroes bail
latter vowed to show no quarter
surpised by his bhand but paralzyed by fear made
no effort
tosend a warning
SEE THOSE MEN SEE THOSE MEN THRY HAVE NO FLAGS!
piousmoral
he kind of achieved immoratliy and lives on a failure.
the Bloodiest
The devil came for reasons unknown he wnet by the name of
buschwackers
devastating guerilla forays
"federal guerillas"
brushgwon prwoling gangs
ofdogsn and cats
stabbing cwos and horsees
a good education for his day-
followed his father
migradted to kansas
and also apparently got into trouble
for stealing
the cuumulatuinve foul play
gold fields
ultimately
ag fanog of border bandits
stealing negroes bail
latter vowed to show no quarter
surpised by his bhand but paralzyed by fear made
no effort
tosend a warning
SEE THOSE MEN SEE THOSE MEN THRY HAVE NO FLAGS!
piousmoral
he kind of achieved immoratliy and lives on a failure.
the computer made me do it
hug asgadhyu qwejfhj dhal ghdjfsdg weyfrejhsd dues used gfjalskdhgf ewtyqwil qhvbjdfuiashd f filch we ghdualkcbhj cdgfhjaslhf fusion fedora gfhdqisdbf g gauge algal bifid gassy ujrugfhfyufn rhdfndic fjdfncui did caved caved kid fjord inched cove dive fin jsdfhg huff ghjshlfgluhv n jiff figjksj;lfkgn vn;oijk ;name ;kljhgjhfjgkhuklyv brgyhvbhvih bluing vague hg shbgnbhjvoer uh erg jiff
jesus prince of happy hour
David Whitmer / John Kerry shagfest lisk stick cow hor shoe law face monkey lose fro shorn tread fork listen to the rhtthm of falthing spider shausages can you hear the way I like fork work lork at me lork at me Lorca francoise has two left legs that bend backward beneath the size of a cow hear muffin cake sugar lunatic Kiss me kate Ten thing I have about the shre locked up with hairly men and lesbians that want to suck my big toe
flavor like hord puffs chocolate sweet finger piles chicken in ranch reach for the stores wal shit hurt mart fuck shit damn hell profanity profanity profanity profanity profanity profanity profane vile offal awful awesome shit some loose some some more none left can’t help myself from kissing tigers with bad haircuts can’t help myself from snaking oil all over Cameron diaz sugar honey iced tea
spumonte ale wagon headache smells like teen deodorant underneath the boar shorts of lover excitement taping the envelope of happiness with the scotch of open wounds blood bleeding heinous shnare hoob spill cantaloupe stream of rover caper send me up the river to where I can’t hearn my mother think my father sending his sons to war with the devil for two years when they can’t hug a woman
let me feel your hair let me feel your toes let me feel your open would let me feel what I can’t feel what I don’t want to fee I feel nothing I feel cold I feel feel feelfeelfeelfeelfeelfeeel nothing more than feeling like I’m trying to forget your face your size your ring your bad habits your cooking your break your Listerine, your hemherroids your frankness your unfrankness your you your me your mom helf up a drug store with a rotton limp brown unhealthy poisionous bananna
it’s been a month two months three months five years I can’t hear my friendly fron prince
flavor like hord puffs chocolate sweet finger piles chicken in ranch reach for the stores wal shit hurt mart fuck shit damn hell profanity profanity profanity profanity profanity profanity profane vile offal awful awesome shit some loose some some more none left can’t help myself from kissing tigers with bad haircuts can’t help myself from snaking oil all over Cameron diaz sugar honey iced tea
spumonte ale wagon headache smells like teen deodorant underneath the boar shorts of lover excitement taping the envelope of happiness with the scotch of open wounds blood bleeding heinous shnare hoob spill cantaloupe stream of rover caper send me up the river to where I can’t hearn my mother think my father sending his sons to war with the devil for two years when they can’t hug a woman
let me feel your hair let me feel your toes let me feel your open would let me feel what I can’t feel what I don’t want to fee I feel nothing I feel cold I feel feel feelfeelfeelfeelfeelfeeel nothing more than feeling like I’m trying to forget your face your size your ring your bad habits your cooking your break your Listerine, your hemherroids your frankness your unfrankness your you your me your mom helf up a drug store with a rotton limp brown unhealthy poisionous bananna
it’s been a month two months three months five years I can’t hear my friendly fron prince
dream world
I had a dream last night that Barack Obama died in a car crash and the world panicked. We finally had this shred of hope and then something so average like human error took away our revolution. It wasn't a sniper or a white supremacist, it was just a car and a person and a full gas tank.
I woke up with this feeling in my stomach like someone close to me had died. It was the kind of morning you wake up and hold the person next to you because, God, it feels good to be alive and not stuck inside that dream world.
I woke up with this feeling in my stomach like someone close to me had died. It was the kind of morning you wake up and hold the person next to you because, God, it feels good to be alive and not stuck inside that dream world.
My (past tense) Wallflower, Towers To Deadlines
Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock fast, set, break your nails and leave sanity crying like broken sticks outside main street, or Merrill street, or the street that runs parallel to the river, that we cross to get your car and smell fake scents, pineapple, ocean breeze, fish rot and seaweed not part of the deal. Stamps necessary to carry out the plan: pink lids and clear stickers. Hundreds of pages, scatter, tower of literature and lesson plans.
Children are the damned, student teachers nervously stroking hair, like boyfriends who forget to say, you are so pretty, so pretty, you mean everything. Fuck. Cynical, or maybe, ready? Split thumb, bloody blood, mysterious culprit on the loose and causing harm to soy sauce and brown rice everywhere, which rots in your stomach and sets you down on couches to say, chocolate please, chocolate before men. Sixteen poems about penises and I’ve got a vagina. I’ve got a vagina! (Just in case you forgot.)
Wear your hair like a warning, level your lids like there’s a secret in your eyes. Count the days like relief will come, if not this week, than next, and who knows how passing happens for the first timers, the first timers, the late bloomers, the virgins giving it up, when no one can wait for the “right” moment because “right” doesn’t exist.
You were bound to be disappointed, you were bound to want to take it back, you were bound to have it defecated and defeated, brown, rust, red, relax, we’ve all got our horror stories and we’ve all shared saliva. I’ve had you like he’d had you, like she’s had you, drinks, drinks, drinks, write stories and let children believe in fairytales. Write yours out like cider gone hard. Like wine turned vinegar. Sell it for a profit, until I’ve had you like he’s had you, like she’s had you, like we’ve all shared saliva.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
In My Pocket Tuesday Night
FOUND (not stream-of-thought, but perhaps worth it):
though they are constructed differently, and respire differently, acytota, bacteria, archaea, protists, fungi, and plants posess the same basic spirit. Even animals posess this basic energy of life--the spark that allows for respiration. Teh spirit that drives a simple body in the same as that which drives a complex body (plant, fungi, or animal).
that which seperates the animal from the rest is the ability to think--which always includes sentience, and may also include sapience. Few animals are apient--among them are humans
akh
khaibit/swt
ren
body - being - khat/sahu
spirit - respiration- sekhem
mind - sentience - ka
self- sapience - ba
soul - morality - heart
non-sentinet spirits =>
acytota simple
bacteria
archaea
protists
-----------
fungi complex
plants
all life respires, therefore all life posseses [spirit]
animals, having the ability to sense, posess [sentience]
those higher animals which are also self-aware posess [sapience]
an "evil spirit" is a life form that perpetuates its existence without regard of others -> viruses and bacterial infections can be classified as "evil spirits.
though they are constructed differently, and respire differently, acytota, bacteria, archaea, protists, fungi, and plants posess the same basic spirit. Even animals posess this basic energy of life--the spark that allows for respiration. Teh spirit that drives a simple body in the same as that which drives a complex body (plant, fungi, or animal).
that which seperates the animal from the rest is the ability to think--which always includes sentience, and may also include sapience. Few animals are apient--among them are humans
akh
khaibit/swt
ren
body - being - khat/sahu
spirit - respiration- sekhem
mind - sentience - ka
self- sapience - ba
soul - morality - heart
non-sentinet spirits =>
acytota simple
bacteria
archaea
protists
-----------
fungi complex
plants
all life respires, therefore all life posseses [spirit]
animals, having the ability to sense, posess [sentience]
those higher animals which are also self-aware posess [sapience]
an "evil spirit" is a life form that perpetuates its existence without regard of others -> viruses and bacterial infections can be classified as "evil spirits.
you can have like raccoon urine
boo loon applesauce monkey chandelier applesauce fruitcake red fork shoehorn radix dream song frog dink trip shoe ford sword you rent boy sox shoe horn fork still ghost rest fad but you jump golf offal jury dig refreeze glop this soul trig monkey fried clams bearded leaves orange tobacco caddy water buffalo special k happy qwerty day snakes zoo keeper shirt striped patches happy money kewpie keystone red cloak apple green pear peach nectarine plum candy yogurt coffee tea chain coca cola yes ah fuck yes harder please dear god where are you why have you gone away from holidays ghost stories victory disaster French Dutch Greek organic Deepak copra killed my mother’s bicycle eat six teen green freak heal peek trite frank fork spark spoon foggy soup turtle ninja turtle kitchen bathroom deck open sun shower free doom grows shows urinal look away don’t sat don’t move keep still if the guy next to our start peon on the floor through his mother’s mouth candy shoehorn slip away slip further in push harder pooch hell sex damn sin love me for what I want ooh god shit ford cow porn elves and dwarves living in sin with kobolds gnomes Halflings and bright orange Neanderthals that like the smell of coronary when it’s fresh from the altar’s guts piss ship alit crew speak softly softer gently let your hand glide into the folds of my trousers the pocket sere too tight my wallet is empty you can see my religion you can see my lost should you can see epiididimus and cream sinking beneath the u-boat of happiness sex god and rack and roll are better drugs than report cards death kill sin shoe graphic design class likes to use books without check out sex in the dark under a bridge with a troll is better than it sounds don’t you like the way it feels when a scaly hand tear against the skin of your back Rollin gin the most grass, dew gathering on your shins hell is a four letter word guts fish good gods until this is tee end of it all I can’t keep my fingers from falling against the hell of ca[taint hook’s ladies brother clocks in crocs tat enact small children molest small children in their dream dreaming friends with reads fried trays of dried screws nails and wenches fathom two more three more no more dear frog toad skin drop dead ghost stories fill dream till dreams work dreams with oats wheat barley whole things read friends cow hearts beating hurt frank beans freshen treason Foley folly hiccup hiccough hic hic hic dice frock freak rock rack rank dank shank lank crank horse maybe not what are you talking about walk all the way to Douglas with me it’s true I don’t know any thing that celebrated it’s cool though I haven’t goon eon it its cold out it seem like if you put a lot of linen in it definitely a lot going on I can’t get over the I don’t know I guess it was tired of it it’s art tissue paper on the wall the last favor of a third that’s why they didn’t most guys don’t carry journal with little tassels just put in the lost and found practice I though I was thinking there’s fire in the what are you going to do about it what if its in the are a crap shoot we’re an old married couple I’m a wicked long time the other day energized it’s only like less thane half hour away up 111 not the same guy it was really funny I tats bugs today like face book junkies it’s a I don’t want to go to typography naked wired graft tried to go living lemonade are you tired teed are you tired are you shaking I can’t stop shaking I guess I’ll never know squeak stop taking Advil period why would you ever do that carob I took my negative what about right now in your nose a who coroner I guess I voted I’m so happy laughter giggles humming battleships change I invited it in vampires always get you when you invite the last line from the page skip it skip class anime or animation it could be illustration we have to do our own little logo, period Chester college dot com is there a new class schedule in here its online for spring next semester do they have the stuff we need to take I was going on the stuff you Eric do you have the new class she dude thingy I don’t know they have it on line darn somebody stole my jump drive its not on that’s last year’s its spring we just ranted two of them, too good thing it didn’t work because the paper isn’t why isn’t paper jam I don’t see anything whatever the only one that does it like everyone see can do it I’ll do that you would do that its just I don’t want any of them freezing gibberish far and diseased slam on the control I may call him bob it looks more professional I don’t care I porpoise RL doesn’t even mean Ralph Lauren
glossy, glassy, emerald
so you say you still haven't figured me out, like i'm some kind of puzzle. well, hey, i'll be a mystery, i'll be the ending to the choose-your-own.
you say i'm too genuine, it scares you. well i'll be the stake and you be the vampire.
it's simple, really, it's three and half years of that picture on the wall, the glossy one, the glassy one, the one with the emeralds.
it's three and half years of cigarette nights but oh we forget in the morning because, right,
it was just the liquor.
it was the beer you brought over to my house, the alcohol you stashed under my bed, the weed you stuffed in your pants.
that's all it was, we didn't see through the smoke on the porch so really, i shouldn't be upset.
all drama and i love you and never forget each other and shit.
that's what you've got right?
right.
lucky for you, i never really took off that blindfold of yours.
so you say you still haven't figured me out, well i guess you lost your chance.
just look at that picture, remember? the glossy one, the glassy one,
the one with the emeralds.
that's all you've ever needed.
you say i'm too genuine, it scares you. well i'll be the stake and you be the vampire.
it's simple, really, it's three and half years of that picture on the wall, the glossy one, the glassy one, the one with the emeralds.
it's three and half years of cigarette nights but oh we forget in the morning because, right,
it was just the liquor.
it was the beer you brought over to my house, the alcohol you stashed under my bed, the weed you stuffed in your pants.
that's all it was, we didn't see through the smoke on the porch so really, i shouldn't be upset.
all drama and i love you and never forget each other and shit.
that's what you've got right?
right.
lucky for you, i never really took off that blindfold of yours.
so you say you still haven't figured me out, well i guess you lost your chance.
just look at that picture, remember? the glossy one, the glassy one,
the one with the emeralds.
that's all you've ever needed.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Fifteen Pages Later
The bathroom smells like a pool as I enter and I'm excited by the prospect and can already feel the spandex pressing my breasts against my ribcage. Looking in the mirror, my eyes seem already ringed red by chlorine and my body weighted achy by swimming too long.
Stepping back out, I'm met with bookcases, not wet floors, and I can't hear splashing just quiet coughs and plastic keys typing. Even the coffee shop is silent, the lights yellow and suggesting lazy summer sun.
A latte makes a quick storm. My tea is down to lukewarm and earthy sweet. I stole an extra teabag because I like it dark.
And both my wrists are broken. And the computer is humming to me. And my sister is singing suicide, like cutting your wrists is part of writing an essay. Is part of making a career. Is what being an educator is all about.
I've done fifteen pages, and have thousands to go. What they don't tell you about Grad School is that you are finally an adult. People really do respect you, and its the strangest thing to find yourself in a pub with people five times your age, conversing like you matter, like you just might have something good to say.
They don't tell you, growing up will make you less human, more figure. Less t-shirt, more suit jacket, until its a shame that a student saw you getting dinner wearing pigtails and rocking a nintendo shirt.
Hot dog lunches. Thai food anniversaries. Waking up next to someone warm, who kisses you and touches you awake. Who doesn't care that your lips are chap or your breath old, just wants to feel you. Feel you, like you aren't more or less human. Like you can't fail or achieve. But you just are, freckled, sleepy, there, hair tangled in the bed.
And I think, I need to change the sheets, but I love the feel of deep purple and couldn't settle into any other hue.
And I think, I love the feel of him and couldn't settle into any other.
Winter brings on hibernation and I bury myself beneath layers, under warm hats and the smell of pools is just a memory, The Study Of Behavior on my desk. My skin itchy with negligence.
Stepping back out, I'm met with bookcases, not wet floors, and I can't hear splashing just quiet coughs and plastic keys typing. Even the coffee shop is silent, the lights yellow and suggesting lazy summer sun.
A latte makes a quick storm. My tea is down to lukewarm and earthy sweet. I stole an extra teabag because I like it dark.
And both my wrists are broken. And the computer is humming to me. And my sister is singing suicide, like cutting your wrists is part of writing an essay. Is part of making a career. Is what being an educator is all about.
I've done fifteen pages, and have thousands to go. What they don't tell you about Grad School is that you are finally an adult. People really do respect you, and its the strangest thing to find yourself in a pub with people five times your age, conversing like you matter, like you just might have something good to say.
They don't tell you, growing up will make you less human, more figure. Less t-shirt, more suit jacket, until its a shame that a student saw you getting dinner wearing pigtails and rocking a nintendo shirt.
Hot dog lunches. Thai food anniversaries. Waking up next to someone warm, who kisses you and touches you awake. Who doesn't care that your lips are chap or your breath old, just wants to feel you. Feel you, like you aren't more or less human. Like you can't fail or achieve. But you just are, freckled, sleepy, there, hair tangled in the bed.
And I think, I need to change the sheets, but I love the feel of deep purple and couldn't settle into any other hue.
And I think, I love the feel of him and couldn't settle into any other.
Winter brings on hibernation and I bury myself beneath layers, under warm hats and the smell of pools is just a memory, The Study Of Behavior on my desk. My skin itchy with negligence.
Seven Month Heart Attacks
Swing batter batter batter, the pickles are attacking my heart and I've got caramels in my kidneys, sucking the life out of my eye sockets dry and teary, face red and sting-stung right to dry knuckles and wikipedia definitions of cuticles.
We are acting all grown up and walking down aisles and naming our children a long list of currently in use names, not forgetting the nephews of our twice removed but terribly charming great grand aunts.
Obama butter rubbed into scissors not sharp enough to fight against split ends. Outlet centers finished in the time it takes four feet to walk fast, and point without stopping at items we'll never own.
Eat a calcium chew.
Race to the bathroom.
Squeeze my large intestine.
Get him a beer and a water.
Eat all the pickles.
Cover Count Chocula in marshmallow.
Ten o'clock bedtimes.
Dean is supernatural.
Max was my gray gray cat.
We can't find your face anywhere.
You're afraid to cut it off.
Let's go to the library and read children's books. Mysterious modge podge stains are all over my clothes.
Keep the secrets in the closet. Save your make-up for another day.
We are acting all grown up and walking down aisles and naming our children a long list of currently in use names, not forgetting the nephews of our twice removed but terribly charming great grand aunts.
Obama butter rubbed into scissors not sharp enough to fight against split ends. Outlet centers finished in the time it takes four feet to walk fast, and point without stopping at items we'll never own.
Eat a calcium chew.
Race to the bathroom.
Squeeze my large intestine.
Get him a beer and a water.
Eat all the pickles.
Cover Count Chocula in marshmallow.
Ten o'clock bedtimes.
Dean is supernatural.
Max was my gray gray cat.
We can't find your face anywhere.
You're afraid to cut it off.
Let's go to the library and read children's books. Mysterious modge podge stains are all over my clothes.
Keep the secrets in the closet. Save your make-up for another day.
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