Kids two doors south are partying because it is a holiday.
It doesn't bother me because I am awake;
but when I had a job and woke up at seven I used to complain to neighbors
until one day I decided I didn't like myself complaining to strangers
and I had the brilliant idea to buy a package of construction worker style ear plugs.
I treat my moodiness like a bumper car,
it is inevitable, but the more foam earplugs I have, the less reason I have to be mad.
I had my first acupuncture treatment yesterday and the doctor told
me to stop wasting energy.
I am wasting energy on thoughts
While exercising gives me energy,
thinking about wasteful things physically drains me and makes my shoulder hurt.
Chain reaction from the brain to the body.
Tired all the time and not doing anything;
Building up reserves.
( Having nothing to do except laundry and dusting under the bed and typing and writing the definitions of constitutional laws repeatedly on neon color coded paper... the thing that drains the energy is the dread of studying so that I can think the way a 70 year old man wants me to think for a multiple choice test.)
The kids are talking and and their voices are echoing onto the insides of the porch roofs and it sounds like they are just outside my door.
Thinking about the activist I went on a date with in August who has a maid and wanted to write a Thank You note to the girls who made his Persian rug as we turned it over to examine each loop of thread that was hand woven. My thoughts are not sentimental, just happy to know that I could have a maid one day if I wanted to become an activist.
And one day I will have an art studio that I never have to clean up.
Because I can close the door, my love.
I had more emotion when I cut my foot on another man's rug.
It still hurts.
The shape of the glass that was in the rug that cut my foot in the kitchen was the exact shape of the chip at the top of the French press. Hmmm.
I only knew it so intimately because it was inside me.
The glass.
And the coffee is too.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Practice at Home
Made exceptions.
I get locked out in the alley wearing dressy shoes that aren't mine and a pit bull
runs up to me like a murderer and I don't have the armor
of my cell phone.
I need running shoes in a situation like this.
Fetish for leggings;
Fetish for not wearing pants.
Red ones came in the mail today.
Dressing as funny as possible.
Wearing all the colors I feel like.
The hours get late;
drinking the rarest tea in the world...
that's the sales pitch.
Turn out the lights and music up the air open the windows and light candles;
stay still
shaking
quivering all over like a tower with bendable parts.
It's over in the begining.
I get locked out in the alley wearing dressy shoes that aren't mine and a pit bull
runs up to me like a murderer and I don't have the armor
of my cell phone.
I need running shoes in a situation like this.
Fetish for leggings;
Fetish for not wearing pants.
Red ones came in the mail today.
Dressing as funny as possible.
Wearing all the colors I feel like.
The hours get late;
drinking the rarest tea in the world...
that's the sales pitch.
Turn out the lights and music up the air open the windows and light candles;
stay still
shaking
quivering all over like a tower with bendable parts.
It's over in the begining.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Sweat in the Night
We talk. And we talk more. Communication is more than the key, it is the lock and the door, and the room to walk into. We walk, and we walk more,
and the walking leads to more talking
we can walk fast
and fall down.
We can talk fast too
overlapping and excited
sharing the stuff that is important.
Flash back to "why don't we fucking talk like this all the time?"
Shouting and feeling catharsis,
real friends talk without a motive.
Real friends don't have to watch their step.
Real friends are not guarded.
Tell me you hate my apartment.
Tell me you love what I've done with the place, but it's a shitty place, so there's not much more to say.
Tell me that you don't want to love me like that.
We don't have to say dramatic things,
bleeding heart things.
We don't have to say these things because we
fucking show up.
We show up at your doorstep when you are not awake yet
and wait for you to open the door,
because we make ourselves at home wherever we are.
I wasn't supposed to be alive.
I know there are signals, but I have had my eyes closed in the grey
sky, and in the ashtray, and my eyes are on the ground in the parking garage.
I walk past the memories.
I keep walking.
and the walking leads to more talking
we can walk fast
and fall down.
We can talk fast too
overlapping and excited
sharing the stuff that is important.
Flash back to "why don't we fucking talk like this all the time?"
Shouting and feeling catharsis,
real friends talk without a motive.
Real friends don't have to watch their step.
Real friends are not guarded.
Tell me you hate my apartment.
Tell me you love what I've done with the place, but it's a shitty place, so there's not much more to say.
Tell me that you don't want to love me like that.
We don't have to say dramatic things,
bleeding heart things.
We don't have to say these things because we
fucking show up.
We show up at your doorstep when you are not awake yet
and wait for you to open the door,
because we make ourselves at home wherever we are.
I wasn't supposed to be alive.
I know there are signals, but I have had my eyes closed in the grey
sky, and in the ashtray, and my eyes are on the ground in the parking garage.
I walk past the memories.
I keep walking.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
All We Have Is The Post Man On The Porch
Mail the dog. Male dog. Men are dogs? Mailmen are scared of dogs. My grandfather was a mailman.
He had a cat.
I can't find anyone I can trust.
I am in the shadow of one year. A year of devotion, emotion, mislead notions.
My friend says I am going to a very dark place, following, like Persephone, a lovely and sad Persephone. We followed him because he was holding a pomegranate and left a trail of seeds.
I won't believe again.
No one.
I don't believe you, and I don a hoodie and wear sunglasses,
and they only recognize me by my shoes when I walk past,
then disappear.
A long wait in the waiting room, like a prison made out of the living room full of toys.
The cold is coming.
A cold cell,
cells frozen,
a cold spell,
after the dog days of summer.
The cement held the heat like the bathtub held milk.
Cat shampoo all the way to Cat Power.
The twin tells me to go to church, I thought about making an appointment to confess.
The twin told me to get a cat, and I just went catatonic and deflected the light
coming up from the shadows. I did my time.
Hit it and quit it, as a singular mademoiselle. Sleeping on top of the sheets enjoying the heat,
because if I go to hell, it will be just like Florida anyway, where watermelon means love, and the sheets are stained with blood.
Even he says this shit is too much.
It's too much to keep lying,
yeah,
like you did to me? I say.
Then he says Yes.
We never slept. It was an exhaustive haunt through the mountains and the tunnels.
It only gets paid,
'you know, the debt,
when the flowers bloom up by themselves.
The sun comes once a year and melts the hurt until you freeze up again and remember it to the bones.
Remembering a secret, remember being ignored,
remember crying out for help when no one came,
and everyone who cared was more tired than you were-- of hearing about it.
It's the same old story.
Always.
He had a cat.
I can't find anyone I can trust.
I am in the shadow of one year. A year of devotion, emotion, mislead notions.
My friend says I am going to a very dark place, following, like Persephone, a lovely and sad Persephone. We followed him because he was holding a pomegranate and left a trail of seeds.
I won't believe again.
No one.
I don't believe you, and I don a hoodie and wear sunglasses,
and they only recognize me by my shoes when I walk past,
then disappear.
A long wait in the waiting room, like a prison made out of the living room full of toys.
The cold is coming.
A cold cell,
cells frozen,
a cold spell,
after the dog days of summer.
The cement held the heat like the bathtub held milk.
Cat shampoo all the way to Cat Power.
The twin tells me to go to church, I thought about making an appointment to confess.
The twin told me to get a cat, and I just went catatonic and deflected the light
coming up from the shadows. I did my time.
Hit it and quit it, as a singular mademoiselle. Sleeping on top of the sheets enjoying the heat,
because if I go to hell, it will be just like Florida anyway, where watermelon means love, and the sheets are stained with blood.
Even he says this shit is too much.
It's too much to keep lying,
yeah,
like you did to me? I say.
Then he says Yes.
We never slept. It was an exhaustive haunt through the mountains and the tunnels.
It only gets paid,
'you know, the debt,
when the flowers bloom up by themselves.
The sun comes once a year and melts the hurt until you freeze up again and remember it to the bones.
Remembering a secret, remember being ignored,
remember crying out for help when no one came,
and everyone who cared was more tired than you were-- of hearing about it.
It's the same old story.
Always.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Here's Some Doilies, Byei.
Four feet to forfeit. An axis of eval and a salt bath.
I sleep all day and bathe in milk and degrees.
I called because I was in the neighborhood Wednesday,
I wonder if you saw me, I wish I brought the shoes. Next time I will,
and I will leave them at the mall.
Adding letters to the end of my name,
BS MS PHD
Supplements to support my weight loss goals,
Matts and Mats to do yoga on.
In a quiet mood,
After the farm and after the city.
After sitting in lawn chairs on the water in Brooklyn with
one of my favorite men.
Best girl, best guy
Wearing down the grass with bare toes and building a town
a tiny Holland,
with real tunnels like we talked about when we
were children before anyone was married
and playing grown up.
There was a tunnel from your room to my room.
Hurt all the time.
Hurt because my Dad came over and brought me doilies,
lace doilies,
and I started crying when he left,
and asked my mom why he buys me this stuff.
And she looked at the doilies and said,
It's just
It's just
how he shows you that he loves you.
And I cried my eyes out because I didn't want the stupid gifts,
I wanted to go for a walk,
and have him NOT LEAVE.
"Here's some doilies, Byei."
I sleep all day and bathe in milk and degrees.
I called because I was in the neighborhood Wednesday,
I wonder if you saw me, I wish I brought the shoes. Next time I will,
and I will leave them at the mall.
Adding letters to the end of my name,
BS MS PHD
Supplements to support my weight loss goals,
Matts and Mats to do yoga on.
In a quiet mood,
After the farm and after the city.
After sitting in lawn chairs on the water in Brooklyn with
one of my favorite men.
Best girl, best guy
Wearing down the grass with bare toes and building a town
a tiny Holland,
with real tunnels like we talked about when we
were children before anyone was married
and playing grown up.
There was a tunnel from your room to my room.
Hurt all the time.
Hurt because my Dad came over and brought me doilies,
lace doilies,
and I started crying when he left,
and asked my mom why he buys me this stuff.
And she looked at the doilies and said,
It's just
It's just
how he shows you that he loves you.
And I cried my eyes out because I didn't want the stupid gifts,
I wanted to go for a walk,
and have him NOT LEAVE.
"Here's some doilies, Byei."
Friday, August 28, 2009
Rubber Band Plans, Hands to the Mirror
Directions:
Reflect
hand up,
palm up,
hand to the mirror,
satellite directing,
give it to me,
give it to you,
stop,
shine,
glow.
It is free.
An instant replay and I feel psychic
So disappointed to be so predicting
of the predictable
mood swing
Using
A person to work out your woes
Using you to work out a person
Out of the system
The vacuum system
Blowing things around
And the flowers are still fresh
Loving more than ever,
The system blew out the dust.
Haunted by the living.
In the computer era
People are dispensable,
Replaceable,
The new Boy Girl right around the corner
( Hey. Love. )
and at the Star Bucks
and the book store
Try a sample
Fall in love
Not choosing love.
Actively single.
Lover in the shower
Left the computer on
While you sit at the desk and open the mail,
Speak revenge.
Speak sugar.
Speak, Honey, why won't you speak?
"you don't want me anymore?"
No. I want the Internet girls and you,
So, shut your mouth when you are talking to me.
Let me pull your hair when you question things.
Let me put you on the wall and leave you hanging.
Honey moon period.
Begin again.
I reflect and see the past in my future,
Watermelon, honey?
You chase me down and break my phone.
I threw a cup of my-made-lemonade on your car
and you went to the all night car wash
because it was not lemonade,
really it was piss.
Reduced to animal behavior.
Compose a letter and sit waiting,
watching documentaries.
You actually like documentaries.
He misread your tone on the phone with a girlfriend
The tone was because she wanted to be alone with you and not
be on the phone so everything came out sideways.
Distorted in the cold of winter.
And that leaves one wondering in a winter wonderland,
Bird in hand,
Thousands in the bush.
It is a choice, being single.
A choice to not be left wondering what could have been.
The world blows open to deny, to say no, to yield to the whispers.
To yield at the merge
And just stop the car and GET OUT.
A silence instead of yelling.
A walk on the pavement alone in the quiet,
remembering a time when a man told you to get back
in the car.
Get back in the car.
And he chased you and took the shoes off your feet
because he gave them to you.
He yelled as he put your shoes in the trunk of his car
and you had to call your friends to come and get you
and they had to use google maps to find the Kmart you saw across the street
and you figured out how to get there barefoot without stepping on any glass.
Call back for more? Busted. Break out. Jail.
The girl sits in prison for two years and works on a craft class and a computer class
and she is happier than ever. She inspires endlessly because she has survived
an attack on her heart,
haven't we all?
Reflect
hand up,
palm up,
hand to the mirror,
satellite directing,
give it to me,
give it to you,
stop,
shine,
glow.
It is free.
An instant replay and I feel psychic
So disappointed to be so predicting
of the predictable
mood swing
Using
A person to work out your woes
Using you to work out a person
Out of the system
The vacuum system
Blowing things around
And the flowers are still fresh
Loving more than ever,
The system blew out the dust.
Haunted by the living.
In the computer era
People are dispensable,
Replaceable,
The new Boy Girl right around the corner
( Hey. Love. )
and at the Star Bucks
and the book store
Try a sample
Fall in love
Not choosing love.
Actively single.
Lover in the shower
Left the computer on
While you sit at the desk and open the mail,
Speak revenge.
Speak sugar.
Speak, Honey, why won't you speak?
"you don't want me anymore?"
No. I want the Internet girls and you,
So, shut your mouth when you are talking to me.
Let me pull your hair when you question things.
Let me put you on the wall and leave you hanging.
Honey moon period.
Begin again.
I reflect and see the past in my future,
Watermelon, honey?
You chase me down and break my phone.
I threw a cup of my-made-lemonade on your car
and you went to the all night car wash
because it was not lemonade,
really it was piss.
Reduced to animal behavior.
Compose a letter and sit waiting,
watching documentaries.
You actually like documentaries.
He misread your tone on the phone with a girlfriend
The tone was because she wanted to be alone with you and not
be on the phone so everything came out sideways.
Distorted in the cold of winter.
And that leaves one wondering in a winter wonderland,
Bird in hand,
Thousands in the bush.
It is a choice, being single.
A choice to not be left wondering what could have been.
The world blows open to deny, to say no, to yield to the whispers.
To yield at the merge
And just stop the car and GET OUT.
A silence instead of yelling.
A walk on the pavement alone in the quiet,
remembering a time when a man told you to get back
in the car.
Get back in the car.
And he chased you and took the shoes off your feet
because he gave them to you.
He yelled as he put your shoes in the trunk of his car
and you had to call your friends to come and get you
and they had to use google maps to find the Kmart you saw across the street
and you figured out how to get there barefoot without stepping on any glass.
Call back for more? Busted. Break out. Jail.
The girl sits in prison for two years and works on a craft class and a computer class
and she is happier than ever. She inspires endlessly because she has survived
an attack on her heart,
haven't we all?
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Orange is for Peaches and Feet
Needs Kreek Krek and Suntan Lotion
She builds a mystery
She sees everything and remembers everything
And then there are 'borderline' disorders, but she is too passionate to write
little lists.
She burns.
Her brain knows everything by heart.
She dances Stevie Wonder
and wonders about the future and which country her little
house will be in.
She builds a mystery
She sees everything and remembers everything
And then there are 'borderline' disorders, but she is too passionate to write
little lists.
She burns.
Her brain knows everything by heart.
She dances Stevie Wonder
and wonders about the future and which country her little
house will be in.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Liar Lair
Peach
Watermelon footsteps stuck to the floor
From Samurai activity and clicking orange shoes
changed to foamy orange shoes
almost changed to orange sneakers
Sneaking a peach
with no receipts.
Sunken low slumping creeps.
Watermelon footsteps stuck to the floor
From Samurai activity and clicking orange shoes
changed to foamy orange shoes
almost changed to orange sneakers
Sneaking a peach
with no receipts.
Sunken low slumping creeps.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Not New York Til Thursday
This is an ethermessage.
Vacationing at the pool with no rain
or in the yard in exchange.
Check the back yard
there are red birds there.
Vacationing at the pool with no rain
or in the yard in exchange.
Check the back yard
there are red birds there.
Romance of Logs
Toggle
Scroll
Roll around in bed.
Hung necklaces from the mirrors and implemented
'green' light bulbs that last nine years.
In nine years there will be a lot of MERCURY in the landfills
unless we find a way to recycle it.
And what are the side effects?
I have conspiracy theories for everything,
I (don't) fall asleep thinking,
I lay there thinking, my neck is stiff from depression
and what if it is caused by the mercury in the light bulbs.
Environmental allergies.
The truth is that I am not really depressed, it's just that my neck hurts
and thinking about it makes me blue.
And thinking about my neck hurting gives me a stomach ache
and thinking about my stomach ache keeps me up at night.
I drove my car earlier and told my friend I'd like to do manual labor.
I mean, I think that kind of job is better for a person, anyway, I'd rather work outside
than working behind a computer 'thinking' because
I think a lot already and it does me no good.
I watch t.v. and see that people get paid for their ideas.
I think it feeds an illusion,
because real work gets real results.
Too many people 'reckon' their ideas are worth money,
and I suspect this is the cause for the decline of the dollar.
p.s. money is stupid
p.p.s. i have no fear of financial insecurity
I start a romance by logging on.
Scroll
Roll around in bed.
Hung necklaces from the mirrors and implemented
'green' light bulbs that last nine years.
In nine years there will be a lot of MERCURY in the landfills
unless we find a way to recycle it.
And what are the side effects?
I have conspiracy theories for everything,
I (don't) fall asleep thinking,
I lay there thinking, my neck is stiff from depression
and what if it is caused by the mercury in the light bulbs.
Environmental allergies.
The truth is that I am not really depressed, it's just that my neck hurts
and thinking about it makes me blue.
And thinking about my neck hurting gives me a stomach ache
and thinking about my stomach ache keeps me up at night.
I drove my car earlier and told my friend I'd like to do manual labor.
I mean, I think that kind of job is better for a person, anyway, I'd rather work outside
than working behind a computer 'thinking' because
I think a lot already and it does me no good.
I watch t.v. and see that people get paid for their ideas.
I think it feeds an illusion,
because real work gets real results.
Too many people 'reckon' their ideas are worth money,
and I suspect this is the cause for the decline of the dollar.
p.s. money is stupid
p.p.s. i have no fear of financial insecurity
I start a romance by logging on.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Prison
Shot Torment out the Window
Stiffly sitting
unsteady rolling
side to side
and quickly shifting
comprehend
sync
let on...
cross-legged stockings
stalking
phenomenal now silence
smile
frown
be still
I am still yours
' take what you've given me
and try to give it to
them
walk and speak in
body movements
won't you read my mind?
(and isn't speaking easier?)
unless you're like
me
and words come out wrong in wrong order
and accents on
curse words
and I feel UN lady like
cross legged
€My friend says "some women sit like this,"
two fingers: parallel stuck together
"some women sit like this,"
:crosses fingers, index and middle as if for good luck.
"and SOME women sit like this,": forms a V
he wishes me good luck€
like a preacher he says it
and my eyes widen
it wasn't a comment,
rather a command
feminists
turn to prison bitches when in love
I read my cards and they say yes, all the way across
and i stand on the beam
ballet girl
bun girl
lipstick six year old
plea'
right step
center step
left step
center step
Don't get wild
'Be a good little girl and shut your mouth'
My favorite fighting words
As a lullaby
Give me another language because
mine's used up and wasted.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Word Resume Not a Document
Groovy. A word for getting off the train at home.
I grew up in a groovy city.
Take out the hippie connotation, and put in a Motown overtone.
I am a scientist of words.
I know what words mean.
I know about context.
I know when you use the wrong word.
I can x-ray the implications,
dissect the misuse,
and appreciate when you leave out a syllable or two,
and take it as affection.
What I cannot do:
Interpret Silence
Assume
I grew up in a groovy city.
Take out the hippie connotation, and put in a Motown overtone.
I am a scientist of words.
I know what words mean.
I know about context.
I know when you use the wrong word.
I can x-ray the implications,
dissect the misuse,
and appreciate when you leave out a syllable or two,
and take it as affection.
What I cannot do:
Interpret Silence
Assume
Woofer Wonder Two For Two
Did you find me or are you still looking?
Chasing the rabbit
And when not,
Chasing the fox to the bushes near the flagpole,
the rabbit is being chased by the fox.
Ether chase
For either place
Wolf.
Woofer.
Wonder.
Chasing the rabbit
And when not,
Chasing the fox to the bushes near the flagpole,
the rabbit is being chased by the fox.
Ether chase
For either place
Wolf.
Woofer.
Wonder.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Sleep Pants ON!!!
Thought for sure I would be grown up by now.
Grown up to know better,
but I am a believer.
I will live near the Mediterranean soon enough.
This was a week of gifting. I went a little too far.
It has been a mixture of fruit juices and vitamins, and three different cell phones in one month.
It has been vacuuming and comforters.
It has been laundry and hurricanes and high efficiency light bulbs...
and oil changes.
It has been a fight when I don't want to fight anymore.
Just want to wake up in the morning and laugh.
Grown up to know better,
but I am a believer.
I will live near the Mediterranean soon enough.
This was a week of gifting. I went a little too far.
It has been a mixture of fruit juices and vitamins, and three different cell phones in one month.
It has been vacuuming and comforters.
It has been laundry and hurricanes and high efficiency light bulbs...
and oil changes.
It has been a fight when I don't want to fight anymore.
Just want to wake up in the morning and laugh.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Ethics Free Zone, He Said
Human organs traded with Israel from New Jersey or Vice Versa.
O-bama! Hurray!
Shine your light on dark corners...
Obama said if he tried to break into the White House, he's be shot...
haha... if he broke into his own house like Skip Gates did.
I watch BBC news. Kidneys traded where?
So, in America we have Robby Rabbis and Molester Priests and 3-Month Marriage Muslims.
( Some girls take advantage of this and have 40 husbands. )
Which religion do you want to be in?
Everyone knows where I am going.
I am sexist. I want 40 husbands.
These are all quotes from real people in real life.
The truth and nothing but the truth so help my bod.
ha.
Welcome, solar flares!
A dollop of Vaseline on my 3rd eye lens... and a strobe light turned on it during times of solar ellipsis.
O-bama! Hurray!
Shine your light on dark corners...
Obama said if he tried to break into the White House, he's be shot...
haha... if he broke into his own house like Skip Gates did.
I watch BBC news. Kidneys traded where?
So, in America we have Robby Rabbis and Molester Priests and 3-Month Marriage Muslims.
( Some girls take advantage of this and have 40 husbands. )
Which religion do you want to be in?
Everyone knows where I am going.
I am sexist. I want 40 husbands.
These are all quotes from real people in real life.
The truth and nothing but the truth so help my bod.
ha.
Welcome, solar flares!
A dollop of Vaseline on my 3rd eye lens... and a strobe light turned on it during times of solar ellipsis.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Friday, July 10, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Swingset Moon Ginseng
Firefly in the hallway
Trying to get into my bedroom
Big band wish list
I don't see the sparkle,
so I make my own.
Inspired to the point of system overload.
Trying to get into my bedroom
Big band wish list
I don't see the sparkle,
so I make my own.
Inspired to the point of system overload.
Skipping Right Thru Adulthood Into Elderlyville
Four thousand grasshoppers are having a summer festival around my blanket on the lawn
among the clover flowers that the rabbits eat,
the rabbits who reside under the porch,
the pinwheel spins its antiqued double wheel like a memory of winter fading
cold sunlight makes yellow and blue prevalent.
I am a computer grass shopper.
I sample the blades with my toes,
bumble bee in my basket,
a Florida license plate shoved in the garden against the fence is a milestone marker.
I taste the air full of fire engine sirens.
among the clover flowers that the rabbits eat,
the rabbits who reside under the porch,
the pinwheel spins its antiqued double wheel like a memory of winter fading
cold sunlight makes yellow and blue prevalent.
I am a computer grass shopper.
I sample the blades with my toes,
bumble bee in my basket,
a Florida license plate shoved in the garden against the fence is a milestone marker.
I taste the air full of fire engine sirens.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Charisma Killer and the Tower
Tower is the worst card you can get.
In the moment of truth there is no truth.
Blinking falsehood ass crack pinky
Down the stairs tumbling slinky
Up your cares and rage all fours
Echoing toward corridors
Hippocrates is on his knees
and marshmallows spawn jealousies
I think I may I think I might
Sing a dismal song tonight
Underbelly lurched and cowed
One minute hungry
The next is proud.
Staying thin and staying fit,
upon the alter I will sit
Repeat, take turns, and crouch and arch
In the end, they always part.
It turns the middle paranoid
A crest from full to empty void
Meniscus round, massive heaved
Seeds naught planted, simply bleed
A car a crash a girl regrets
She knows the truth but oft' forgets
In the moment of truth there is no truth.
Blinking falsehood ass crack pinky
Down the stairs tumbling slinky
Up your cares and rage all fours
Echoing toward corridors
Hippocrates is on his knees
and marshmallows spawn jealousies
I think I may I think I might
Sing a dismal song tonight
Underbelly lurched and cowed
One minute hungry
The next is proud.
Staying thin and staying fit,
upon the alter I will sit
Repeat, take turns, and crouch and arch
In the end, they always part.
It turns the middle paranoid
A crest from full to empty void
Meniscus round, massive heaved
Seeds naught planted, simply bleed
A car a crash a girl regrets
She knows the truth but oft' forgets
Thursday, June 25, 2009
I am kicking you off the band wagon.
I am sure there are a lot of bleeding hearts out there right now for Michael. I have searched a bit on the Internet for news stories. I found articles about people holding vigils for him. I could not help but remember when Jerry Garcia died and people were making a show of their mourning. I saw my best friend walking home from school, and I shouted out the car window to her that her 'hero' had died... and she shouted back, " I DON'T CARE " in a rageful voice usually reserved for family disputes. Taken aback, I quickly figured out why she must be reacting like this. She had been at school all day surrounded by hippies making a 'show' of how their lives would change because their idol was gone.
This little snippet could quickly turn academic, but I will get to my point.
What I mean to say, is THIS is different.
Everyone loved Michael.
The articles I found were about vigils being held and had pictures of people holding signs that 'the media' perhaps killed him through all the controversy. ( His broken heart was the cause and it created a chain reaction. ) He was our hero when we were kids.
I have always held the belief that he was innocent of the crimes of which he was accused.
And that's it, period.
I can tell you what I think of accusers--- they are guilty. Shaming and guilty and money hungry.
Now he is free from it all. Whatever he believed will come to fruition for him in the afterlife.
I cannot say how remarkable his life accomplishments were.
If miracles happen, and I believe they do... perhaps Michael's death will be a monument in our hearts to art, and a remembrance that the whole world can be affected by one person's dedication to their craft.
( photo: myself wearing my most prized possession from age 5 )
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Ben Gay Summer Pain Relief Non-greasy Cream
I came home from work and immediately fell into bed.
I threw myself onto the sheets and blankets. Too dirty for the bed. Get out.
In the car, I was daydreaming of how this moment might work.
A little obsessed,
my knees jerked around,
left knee hitting the driver side door impatiently.
Would I strip the bed, put on clean sheets, then shower and get in?
Would I just sleep dirty?
Would I sleep dirty in dirty sheets?
And why do people in gold Camry slow down for the yellows?
And why do ford mini-vans drive thirty-five when the speed limit is fifty?
Don't they know I am going to pass out if I can't get some wind blowing in these windows?
What actually happened, I showered, and got in the bed wet.
I fell asleep immediately and for an hour.
I woke up and ate a sandwich.
I went to buy cigarettes and it was so nice out and I was wearing my favorite Puma shirt, so I stayed out and drove toward the sunset.
I landed at my friends house.
I announced myself, "There is a girl on you porch!"
No one came to the door, but the house was open.
I sat and watched the lightening bugs.
His son came to the door finally because they were out in the back yard.
We went to the park. I went in the front door and out the back door.
We figured out how to spell, "biodegradable" for the doggie bag dispenser at the neighborhood co-op.
We talked philosophy and played with consonance and also synonyms, and swung on the swings.
We 'wondered' if good old Dad was going to put a dictionary in a zip lock baggie for the neighbors to use just in case they didn't know the meaning of a certain word.
And perhaps, there would be a thesaurus needed as well, hanging by a string.
The end of the evening smells like Ben Gay.
I applied it to my sore shoulder and back, a top a sun burn.
"pain relief non-greasy cream" actually causes pain at first.
I listen to the rolling stones because I am old.
I threw myself onto the sheets and blankets. Too dirty for the bed. Get out.
In the car, I was daydreaming of how this moment might work.
A little obsessed,
my knees jerked around,
left knee hitting the driver side door impatiently.
Would I strip the bed, put on clean sheets, then shower and get in?
Would I just sleep dirty?
Would I sleep dirty in dirty sheets?
And why do people in gold Camry slow down for the yellows?
And why do ford mini-vans drive thirty-five when the speed limit is fifty?
Don't they know I am going to pass out if I can't get some wind blowing in these windows?
What actually happened, I showered, and got in the bed wet.
I fell asleep immediately and for an hour.
I woke up and ate a sandwich.
I went to buy cigarettes and it was so nice out and I was wearing my favorite Puma shirt, so I stayed out and drove toward the sunset.
I landed at my friends house.
I announced myself, "There is a girl on you porch!"
No one came to the door, but the house was open.
I sat and watched the lightening bugs.
His son came to the door finally because they were out in the back yard.
We went to the park. I went in the front door and out the back door.
We figured out how to spell, "biodegradable" for the doggie bag dispenser at the neighborhood co-op.
We talked philosophy and played with consonance and also synonyms, and swung on the swings.
We 'wondered' if good old Dad was going to put a dictionary in a zip lock baggie for the neighbors to use just in case they didn't know the meaning of a certain word.
And perhaps, there would be a thesaurus needed as well, hanging by a string.
The end of the evening smells like Ben Gay.
I applied it to my sore shoulder and back, a top a sun burn.
"pain relief non-greasy cream" actually causes pain at first.
I listen to the rolling stones because I am old.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Train Crash Day
The train crash today was quite scary.
A few weeks ago, wrote a letter to my old boss at the engineering firm about the
shoddy maintenance at the D.C. subway,
I hate to be right about this one.
I really really do, and now people are dead.
My observations were not about the trains themselves, but other things.
Sometimes I take it upon myself to complain about such things to the management, and it lends to the embarrassment of my friends.
Who can find the management at a subway, though? And who listens to random women who are scared to ride escalators and ride in cars on the highway? Pah.
I just keep my mouth shut, because I could spend all day preaching.
Today at work, I told an eighteen year old that ' No one will need to worry about the economy if they are willing to work. I mean, the only people who need to be concerned are people who don't know how to work when they need to... you know, the people who live off of the system.'
He was horrified. I said, "not you."
" I am just saying this in general."
I think I am going to be a really delightful old woman one day.
A few weeks ago, wrote a letter to my old boss at the engineering firm about the
shoddy maintenance at the D.C. subway,
I hate to be right about this one.
I really really do, and now people are dead.
My observations were not about the trains themselves, but other things.
Sometimes I take it upon myself to complain about such things to the management, and it lends to the embarrassment of my friends.
Who can find the management at a subway, though? And who listens to random women who are scared to ride escalators and ride in cars on the highway? Pah.
I just keep my mouth shut, because I could spend all day preaching.
Today at work, I told an eighteen year old that ' No one will need to worry about the economy if they are willing to work. I mean, the only people who need to be concerned are people who don't know how to work when they need to... you know, the people who live off of the system.'
He was horrified. I said, "not you."
" I am just saying this in general."
I think I am going to be a really delightful old woman one day.
Get out when it gets hot.
Oolay. Sleep in new bed.
He is mad at me. He cried. He drove away crying and thinking that I was some type of thief or trickster. Who will be the angel of summer? If it is because the nights are short, we are finely woven into the silk scarf tying the sun to the moon that wraps around the earth.
Lapus Luzuli.
Earth rock of electric blue and flowers of orange, speak to each other about what is best.
I make tiny altars and talk to the star I saw before father's day.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Summer Solstic Solitary
Cardea
A handle on your health.
Hestia and Heartha.
Tea Goddesses in my cups.
Litha
Fire.
Imanja
Mermaid.
Yemaya
Mermaid.
Innana
Mermaid.
Hera
Zeus' big sistser holding a Pomegranate.
Gaia
The Dirt where the sun shines, for when you are depressed.
Ashera
Cats.
Danu
As snake in the water.
Ishtar
Love, War and Sex.
Vesta
Virgin.
Rhea
Uranus.
A handle on your health.
Hestia and Heartha.
Tea Goddesses in my cups.
Litha
Fire.
Imanja
Mermaid.
Yemaya
Mermaid.
Innana
Mermaid.
Hera
Zeus' big sistser holding a Pomegranate.
Gaia
The Dirt where the sun shines, for when you are depressed.
Ashera
Cats.
Danu
As snake in the water.
Ishtar
Love, War and Sex.
Vesta
Virgin.
Rhea
Uranus.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Plasma Scream and Dusty Mirrors
Yes. Holy Water, cup cake!
It is time for Overly Dramatic Day soon.
Privacy law says a conversation is private and confidential.
Unless there is an agent involved.
It is time for Overly Dramatic Day soon.
Privacy law says a conversation is private and confidential.
Unless there is an agent involved.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Recycling Florida
With love, I leave this place. I leave it. I seek home to seek freedom from curiosity, I almost say I have been a have not. Alas tonight I have everything I have ever needed. It takes courage to leave paradise in search of something deeper.
The friends who have become family are the most difficult to walk away from, rather drive away from. I leave them on good terms, something which makes me ask, "Why leave at all?"
Well, I have errands to run. I have reading and writing to do and dreams to achieve. 100% good has come from this place for me.
Lizards on the other side of the window here and more mangos than I could probably eat in a whole summer.
Arrival was hazy. It was moist and I thought everyone surely had an aura. There was no way that my eyesight could have been so destroyed at age 22. The first night there was a dry lightening storm over the ocean and I experienced my first tropical beach. I remember journaling as a hopeful teenager that some force might be able to take me somewhere warmer, where things would be better.
I got it.
I journaled for a phone number with a 9 in it.
I got it.
I journaled for a cozy place to live with low rent.
I got it.
I journaled for other things.
I got enough.
I could walk to the beach. I could have pizza on Sunday nights and see the whole 'town' gather at different intervals if I stayed long enough in my chair and listened to Germy' talk his jive talk and say the full yogi names in complete proper pronunciation.
I could walk to the coffee joint at brunch time and see the people with red bull hangovers from the night before with bed head and whatever lover they had that season...
Lovers were by the season,
and season was when the tourists came,
surely it was a coincidence because certainly there were no seasons there in Southern Florida.
Now for excerpts from back in the day:
last week at work, we had cops, clergy, and a stalker.
all unrelated.
is it normal to have car pool tunnel syndrome in all your limbs?
what about your head?
could that happen?
it hasn't happened to my head yet.
have "editor" privelages to most of my co-workers' calendars.
And it's not like I am bored... you know, I'm sort of busy...
but I couldn't help scheduling " harvest brains from the laboratory"
on my buddie's calendar.... and then I forgot about it... you know.
I hope I get in trouble for it... would be the funniest story EVER.
MY LOVE FOR YOU IS A FACT.
The friends who have become family are the most difficult to walk away from, rather drive away from. I leave them on good terms, something which makes me ask, "Why leave at all?"
Well, I have errands to run. I have reading and writing to do and dreams to achieve. 100% good has come from this place for me.
Lizards on the other side of the window here and more mangos than I could probably eat in a whole summer.
Arrival was hazy. It was moist and I thought everyone surely had an aura. There was no way that my eyesight could have been so destroyed at age 22. The first night there was a dry lightening storm over the ocean and I experienced my first tropical beach. I remember journaling as a hopeful teenager that some force might be able to take me somewhere warmer, where things would be better.
I got it.
I journaled for a phone number with a 9 in it.
I got it.
I journaled for a cozy place to live with low rent.
I got it.
I journaled for other things.
I got enough.
I could walk to the beach. I could have pizza on Sunday nights and see the whole 'town' gather at different intervals if I stayed long enough in my chair and listened to Germy' talk his jive talk and say the full yogi names in complete proper pronunciation.
I could walk to the coffee joint at brunch time and see the people with red bull hangovers from the night before with bed head and whatever lover they had that season...
Lovers were by the season,
and season was when the tourists came,
surely it was a coincidence because certainly there were no seasons there in Southern Florida.
Now for excerpts from back in the day:
last week at work, we had cops, clergy, and a stalker.
all unrelated.
is it normal to have car pool tunnel syndrome in all your limbs?
what about your head?
could that happen?
it hasn't happened to my head yet.
have "editor" privelages to most of my co-workers' calendars.
And it's not like I am bored... you know, I'm sort of busy...
but I couldn't help scheduling " harvest brains from the laboratory"
on my buddie's calendar.... and then I forgot about it... you know.
I hope I get in trouble for it... would be the funniest story EVER.
MY LOVE FOR YOU IS A FACT.
Jenny Say What?
Jenna Say Kwaa.
Talib Kwali?
Koala? Lee?
All of these things are worth mentioning. You know, sometimes, there are things we wish we never brought up. Conversations better left unspoken-- cliche', I cannot apologize enough lately.
Earlier, I spoke with a friend about this:
Should. The word 'Should' is abusive to the self.
I put my self on the shelf like a Russian Doll full of stories.
I run accross the room like, perhaps the sister character in Pet Cemetary who has spinal menangitis, and I knock the doll off the shelf.
And let me tell you, it is not like Humpty Dumpty or any fairy tale where there is an army to put anyone back together.
There is no shatter because the nesting dolls are made of lambskin. It just thuds and rolls under the sofa, I guess.
When I am mad, I just want to shatter glass, but I never do. I just end up burning things.
Things never completely fall apart, but there are a lot of 'shoulds.'
I stare at the computer like it is a broken and burnt crack pipe, open and shining.
I cry.
I try to look at the bright side. What I want to be when I grow up is a joy.
I never want to be a burden. I leave, I keep you at a distance. I only demand things from people who can't give anything because that is just what the training manual said to do.
I got here and had to adapt to the aliens everywhere.
If you tell me I am pretty, I try to show you the ugly side to see if you really meant it. I don't need liars around, or people who hurt me and then ask me to be 'nice.' This is alien language.
See what I mean?
Talib Kwali?
Koala? Lee?
All of these things are worth mentioning. You know, sometimes, there are things we wish we never brought up. Conversations better left unspoken-- cliche', I cannot apologize enough lately.
Earlier, I spoke with a friend about this:
Should. The word 'Should' is abusive to the self.
I put my self on the shelf like a Russian Doll full of stories.
I run accross the room like, perhaps the sister character in Pet Cemetary who has spinal menangitis, and I knock the doll off the shelf.
And let me tell you, it is not like Humpty Dumpty or any fairy tale where there is an army to put anyone back together.
There is no shatter because the nesting dolls are made of lambskin. It just thuds and rolls under the sofa, I guess.
When I am mad, I just want to shatter glass, but I never do. I just end up burning things.
Things never completely fall apart, but there are a lot of 'shoulds.'
I stare at the computer like it is a broken and burnt crack pipe, open and shining.
I cry.
I try to look at the bright side. What I want to be when I grow up is a joy.
I never want to be a burden. I leave, I keep you at a distance. I only demand things from people who can't give anything because that is just what the training manual said to do.
I got here and had to adapt to the aliens everywhere.
If you tell me I am pretty, I try to show you the ugly side to see if you really meant it. I don't need liars around, or people who hurt me and then ask me to be 'nice.' This is alien language.
See what I mean?
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Leave It to the Professionals
Display name.
Sun wash. Battle Rocket, backward cigarette faux paus.
Coffee morning dread.
That is my mini-poem of words that just pop out.
I don't ever mean to write anything.
It's not a choice, more like a compulsion to write.
Sorry to innocent bystanders of my art,
we all know those things we don't know why we read or look... but we do
and then it becomes a 'sucker of time,' something that sucks the time out of our life and then
we are just alone again with the computer and insomnia
saying, 'if only I went to bed at 8 pm when I was tired, I wouldn't be here... again.'
Pah.
I have miniature animal figurines with large eyes, like owls and tiny cats. I talk to them and act like they have feelings.
I am more alone than I have ever been.
There is no one I want to be near.
Full of hate and bitterness----- just for today
that is why I cannot wait to sleep.
I never thought of killing someone until this year,
I remember laughing in the theatre during Natural Born Killers when no one else was laughing,
when the earless guy pops a mouthful of ecstasy ...
everyone else seemed to be uptight ...
and I thought,
I have imagined things like this...
the dream I had when I was primal
living in the tropical forrest and I had a spear,
and I was all muscle,
I had to kill in that dream.
I did it with my hands and the spear,
but I had muscles that were lean and I could climb the walls
kind of like spiderman, but better.
Sun wash. Battle Rocket, backward cigarette faux paus.
Coffee morning dread.
That is my mini-poem of words that just pop out.
I don't ever mean to write anything.
It's not a choice, more like a compulsion to write.
Sorry to innocent bystanders of my art,
we all know those things we don't know why we read or look... but we do
and then it becomes a 'sucker of time,' something that sucks the time out of our life and then
we are just alone again with the computer and insomnia
saying, 'if only I went to bed at 8 pm when I was tired, I wouldn't be here... again.'
Pah.
I have miniature animal figurines with large eyes, like owls and tiny cats. I talk to them and act like they have feelings.
I am more alone than I have ever been.
There is no one I want to be near.
Full of hate and bitterness----- just for today
that is why I cannot wait to sleep.
I never thought of killing someone until this year,
I remember laughing in the theatre during Natural Born Killers when no one else was laughing,
when the earless guy pops a mouthful of ecstasy ...
everyone else seemed to be uptight ...
and I thought,
I have imagined things like this...
the dream I had when I was primal
living in the tropical forrest and I had a spear,
and I was all muscle,
I had to kill in that dream.
I did it with my hands and the spear,
but I had muscles that were lean and I could climb the walls
kind of like spiderman, but better.
Demolition Onomott Animal Consonance
Cinnamon Sugar
Robbery Heart Dodger
Swindle Massacre and Vibration Death Bone
Asylum for asphyxiation humiliation migration
Baltimore Tunnel
Is faster
Melatonin migraine fostered by neck ache a.k.a. 'pain in the neck'
originated in Washington d.c.
Bizzy Belladonna Bees sting left brain tingle (stroke) onomatopoeia
Wit for tasteless non sensical jokery and trickery
mastermind lobotomy.
Less than lists.
Pits of list.
Cupid crisp celery soaking to stiff,
Hip hop spliff.
Making tracks on bumpy roads and pot holes as smoke comes out,
touring the town,
ruined in rain.
We stood, we stood up and conquered,
and nothing gets better with age.
Soggy, foggy bottom, wilted and limp.
Tower of finance crumbles in demolition and ramen noodles.
Robbery Heart Dodger
Swindle Massacre and Vibration Death Bone
Asylum for asphyxiation humiliation migration
Baltimore Tunnel
Is faster
Melatonin migraine fostered by neck ache a.k.a. 'pain in the neck'
originated in Washington d.c.
Bizzy Belladonna Bees sting left brain tingle (stroke) onomatopoeia
Wit for tasteless non sensical jokery and trickery
mastermind lobotomy.
Less than lists.
Pits of list.
Cupid crisp celery soaking to stiff,
Hip hop spliff.
Making tracks on bumpy roads and pot holes as smoke comes out,
touring the town,
ruined in rain.
We stood, we stood up and conquered,
and nothing gets better with age.
Soggy, foggy bottom, wilted and limp.
Tower of finance crumbles in demolition and ramen noodles.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Filet Mignon: The Place Where Money Falls From the Sky
'Over Ability'
Note:
If it is not in your bank account, you CAN'T HAVE IT.
Credit Cards+You=Bad
Note:
If it is not in your bank account, you CAN'T HAVE IT.
Credit Cards+You=Bad
Monday, June 8, 2009
I coined the phrase 'WORD HOP'
I did this a few months ago.
Take note.
Watch it blow up internationally.
I am on the scene again schooling the new schoolers.
Take note.
Watch it blow up internationally.
I am on the scene again schooling the new schoolers.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Junk Yard Browsing
I sang the Sanford and Son theme song
As I skipped my way through the junk yard with my bag of tools.
no one laughed except for me
I had a fantasy that someone left money in one of the glove compartments of the cars
and for one minute I looked over the expanse of cars
in the Sahara desert with the hot sun burning the back of my neck ( hmmmm... )
and realized I better get what I need and move on before the culture got to be
too much for me.
I did not belong there.
As I skipped my way through the junk yard with my bag of tools.
no one laughed except for me
I had a fantasy that someone left money in one of the glove compartments of the cars
and for one minute I looked over the expanse of cars
in the Sahara desert with the hot sun burning the back of my neck ( hmmmm... )
and realized I better get what I need and move on before the culture got to be
too much for me.
I did not belong there.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
The Dead are Not Good Unless They Are Grateful
Why not call them the belligerent dead?
Or the hedonistic dead?
Secret Dead
Lying Dead
Spooky Dead
Old Dead
Selfish Dead
Self Pity Dead
Druggie Dead
Wheelchair Dead
Cane Dead
Homeless Dead
Broken Dead
Painting to soul music, worried about car inspection.
Thinking about my poet friends and carpal tunnel syndrome, other syndromes.
I know about different tunnels.
Gotta open them up in the basement.
Damn Cats brought the Morgellons Disease!
Watched A Scanner Darkly.
Freak out on that for a while.
That's all I got today.
For now.
Or the hedonistic dead?
Secret Dead
Lying Dead
Spooky Dead
Old Dead
Selfish Dead
Self Pity Dead
Druggie Dead
Wheelchair Dead
Cane Dead
Homeless Dead
Broken Dead
Painting to soul music, worried about car inspection.
Thinking about my poet friends and carpal tunnel syndrome, other syndromes.
I know about different tunnels.
Gotta open them up in the basement.
Damn Cats brought the Morgellons Disease!
Watched A Scanner Darkly.
Freak out on that for a while.
That's all I got today.
For now.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Bum Chasing: The Maniacal Karate Runner Strategy
Would we call it bum rushing?
Or is it whispering, like Sasha did outside of the Dunkin Donuts the night
before his wedding
on a downtown late-night convergence on the last evening of bachelorhood?
Johnny on the Spot
Highly caffeinated
I
ran into Mike Agape
walking his dog downtown
ran into my best friend from Junior year of high school, Little Joe
and ran around the corner of Preston Street to where the car was parked
and where we were,
earlier,
aggressively
questioned by a bum
there are different types of bums
this particular bum was of the variety
whom needed
a tangible ether
this guy needed to hold it in his hand
'can i ask you a question?'
no.
simultaneous, unison, 'no' declarative.
Johnny on the Spot and Meghanomics are not the ones to ask.
bum #1 circled his own grief in his footsteps as he careened eastward toward transvestite corner.
i could see him racking his brain with ideas that might change our minds.
this was when we exited large green car, hoping a resentment would not burn too long and cause a brick to crash through windshield or side window from
drug addicted grief stricken bum #1
enter stage east, 1.5 hours later, bum #2, fat and deceptive
Meghanomics, the Super Junkie Side Kick, friend of Brown Girl and Brown Girl Press, has ideas that work. She has solutions.
Cornering the corner at high speeds after a lovely rendezvous with Little Joe in his near-leotard and sparkly headband, and after being dismissed so that he could 'talk to those hot guys'
Meghanomics tightened her toes around the thong of her pink flip flops and raised her knees to run, motioning to Johnny on the Spot to follow, and do so quickly,
she motioned martial arts-types of moves with her arms, and ran full speed ahead toward the bum in the Nautica shirt. he smiled, like no one should when a girl in pink flip flops is sprinting toward them motioning with arm movements.
she cleared the danger zone, as a car-full of youngsters smiled, thoroughly amused, as if they understood the strategy.
maniacal karate runner. ( jos )
bum #2 was looking for something like money for a canceled train and had the ticket in his hand, a strategy that is clearly diffused by the Maniacal Karate Runner Strategy
More later, if you please, a continuation of the skateboarding night--
the mugging part of the evening,
and in between, the stabbing part of the evening.
Or is it whispering, like Sasha did outside of the Dunkin Donuts the night
before his wedding
on a downtown late-night convergence on the last evening of bachelorhood?
Johnny on the Spot
Highly caffeinated
I
ran into Mike Agape
walking his dog downtown
ran into my best friend from Junior year of high school, Little Joe
and ran around the corner of Preston Street to where the car was parked
and where we were,
earlier,
aggressively
questioned by a bum
there are different types of bums
this particular bum was of the variety
whom needed
a tangible ether
this guy needed to hold it in his hand
'can i ask you a question?'
no.
simultaneous, unison, 'no' declarative.
Johnny on the Spot and Meghanomics are not the ones to ask.
bum #1 circled his own grief in his footsteps as he careened eastward toward transvestite corner.
i could see him racking his brain with ideas that might change our minds.
this was when we exited large green car, hoping a resentment would not burn too long and cause a brick to crash through windshield or side window from
drug addicted grief stricken bum #1
enter stage east, 1.5 hours later, bum #2, fat and deceptive
Meghanomics, the Super Junkie Side Kick, friend of Brown Girl and Brown Girl Press, has ideas that work. She has solutions.
Cornering the corner at high speeds after a lovely rendezvous with Little Joe in his near-leotard and sparkly headband, and after being dismissed so that he could 'talk to those hot guys'
Meghanomics tightened her toes around the thong of her pink flip flops and raised her knees to run, motioning to Johnny on the Spot to follow, and do so quickly,
she motioned martial arts-types of moves with her arms, and ran full speed ahead toward the bum in the Nautica shirt. he smiled, like no one should when a girl in pink flip flops is sprinting toward them motioning with arm movements.
she cleared the danger zone, as a car-full of youngsters smiled, thoroughly amused, as if they understood the strategy.
maniacal karate runner. ( jos )
bum #2 was looking for something like money for a canceled train and had the ticket in his hand, a strategy that is clearly diffused by the Maniacal Karate Runner Strategy
More later, if you please, a continuation of the skateboarding night--
the mugging part of the evening,
and in between, the stabbing part of the evening.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Color Water Tiny Flower Ink
Gentian Violet
List of Things
To recognize.
The scarf hanging over the kitchen window was dyed by a woman who fell on some rocks and died.
She was part of an influential family of America.
She is the muse to invoke today.
My fingers were purple last night from my art project.
It is for my lover.
Past. Phone calls, to check up on the status.
The horoscope says there would be 'dangerous sex games.'
Wow. That's intrigue.
For sure.
Really?
The full moon was last week. Liz Phair says it best. I guess.
La. la. la. Fa la la.
List of Things
To recognize.
The scarf hanging over the kitchen window was dyed by a woman who fell on some rocks and died.
She was part of an influential family of America.
She is the muse to invoke today.
My fingers were purple last night from my art project.
It is for my lover.
Past. Phone calls, to check up on the status.
The horoscope says there would be 'dangerous sex games.'
Wow. That's intrigue.
For sure.
Really?
The full moon was last week. Liz Phair says it best. I guess.
La. la. la. Fa la la.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Watermelon Tom
Edit Funeral March--- Poem While Listening to Band of Horses
Walk out of the bathroom with towel on your head,
out of the shower,
with wet hair,
and say it like it is not a racial slur.
Just like the time I told my friend about the man I saw at the laundr-o-mat
with a truck full of watermelons, his name was Tom.
She called me a racist.
I can't help it if I give people nick names.
Fucking bitch.
I am in college because I don't read between the lines.
I read the black parts on the page.
( what are you gonna say about that? )
Walk out of the bathroom with towel on your head,
out of the shower,
with wet hair,
and say it like it is not a racial slur.
Just like the time I told my friend about the man I saw at the laundr-o-mat
with a truck full of watermelons, his name was Tom.
She called me a racist.
I can't help it if I give people nick names.
Fucking bitch.
I am in college because I don't read between the lines.
I read the black parts on the page.
( what are you gonna say about that? )
For Grace and Mercy It Passes On
I log in.
I take the medicine.
I feel full and want nothing.
Thirst leaves no room for anything,
and lying down leads to wanting to run.
I pass the baton.
I run ahead and look back at the same time with a synchronization
of accidental grace.
I take the medicine.
I feel full and want nothing.
Thirst leaves no room for anything,
and lying down leads to wanting to run.
I pass the baton.
I run ahead and look back at the same time with a synchronization
of accidental grace.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Meta-Metropolitan San Fransisco Baltimore Conduit Vibration
Last week, she lugged hundreds of cassettes
up the stairs from the basement,
and
down to the alley for the trash.
She is reading a novel about the Visceral Realists,
they are artists who have telekinesis.
They are poets with a sexual appetite for revolution.
She crouched in the alley way to find
( 2 ) two cassette tapes
as a memento for herself before walking back inside,
and forgetting the whole thing.
She thought about attachment and how it is not good for her health.
The two mementos:
"Whatta Man," by Salt 'N' Pepa
"Into the Great Wide Open" by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.
She put the tapes in their cardboard sleeves
onto the lazy Susan spice rack in the
cupboard.
It means nothing.
Unless she would like to believe
that the drawings
and the invisible (power) lines among artists
carry the power of metaphysics.
up the stairs from the basement,
and
down to the alley for the trash.
She is reading a novel about the Visceral Realists,
they are artists who have telekinesis.
They are poets with a sexual appetite for revolution.
She crouched in the alley way to find
( 2 ) two cassette tapes
as a memento for herself before walking back inside,
and forgetting the whole thing.
She thought about attachment and how it is not good for her health.
The two mementos:
"Whatta Man," by Salt 'N' Pepa
"Into the Great Wide Open" by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.
She put the tapes in their cardboard sleeves
onto the lazy Susan spice rack in the
cupboard.
It means nothing.
Unless she would like to believe
that the drawings
and the invisible (power) lines among artists
carry the power of metaphysics.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Sunday, May 3, 2009
i am SPAGHETTI
She eats Kosher candy because it was half price at the grocery store.
She wishes there was one cylinder made of fire retardant paper filled with tobacco stashed
somewhere in the drawer. She saw married men looking at her when she walked briskly, alone into the store. The fast pace would not be kept if there were someone attached to her hip, like those two skinny kids at school. Every time she sees them she is certain the little scrap of a boy must be strangling her during sex or something like that and Must be checking her phone for unfamiliar text messages from unfamiliar numbers. Just an observation, but, it makes her glad not to be in either of these two types of relationships.
Fucking husbands looking longingly at the first woman who walks by.
( not fucking wife enough... if he fucked his wife more times per day... she wouldn't be so fat )
Yes, your wife is fat.
Because you let her get that way.
You bored her to death so she started eating too much.
It's not a big mystery. She wears your mental illness like a fat suit.
It is a pretend-conversation with the men who look at her. She really doesn't say these cruel things, although she knows there is truth to it. There is nothing wrong with any of those people, probably. Everything is fine, maybe. She judges them and makes pretend-speeches in her mind, on her pretend-soap box where someone who cares is listening. She wonders if the speeches might start slipping out as she gets older because she already mumbles to herself and it may only be a matter of time.
She buys a red bra with cherries on it and pink panties to match.
She goes home after making fruitful demands for perfume samples at the mall.
She sits in the bathtub, after putting olive oil into the water.
The water is hot enough that her first thought upon sitting in it is,
" I AM SPAGHETTI "
She says it out loud. She yells it as an immediate reaction to the temperature.
What do the neighbors think?
The neighbors don't matter to her, but sometimes she is curious about their perspective.
She talks a lot for someone who lives alone.
to be continued...
Motive is not important. Finding the truth is not important.
Being the truth is what she stands for.
And if truth is spaghetti, so be it.
She wishes there was one cylinder made of fire retardant paper filled with tobacco stashed
somewhere in the drawer. She saw married men looking at her when she walked briskly, alone into the store. The fast pace would not be kept if there were someone attached to her hip, like those two skinny kids at school. Every time she sees them she is certain the little scrap of a boy must be strangling her during sex or something like that and Must be checking her phone for unfamiliar text messages from unfamiliar numbers. Just an observation, but, it makes her glad not to be in either of these two types of relationships.
Fucking husbands looking longingly at the first woman who walks by.
( not fucking wife enough... if he fucked his wife more times per day... she wouldn't be so fat )
Yes, your wife is fat.
Because you let her get that way.
You bored her to death so she started eating too much.
It's not a big mystery. She wears your mental illness like a fat suit.
It is a pretend-conversation with the men who look at her. She really doesn't say these cruel things, although she knows there is truth to it. There is nothing wrong with any of those people, probably. Everything is fine, maybe. She judges them and makes pretend-speeches in her mind, on her pretend-soap box where someone who cares is listening. She wonders if the speeches might start slipping out as she gets older because she already mumbles to herself and it may only be a matter of time.
She buys a red bra with cherries on it and pink panties to match.
She goes home after making fruitful demands for perfume samples at the mall.
She sits in the bathtub, after putting olive oil into the water.
The water is hot enough that her first thought upon sitting in it is,
" I AM SPAGHETTI "
She says it out loud. She yells it as an immediate reaction to the temperature.
What do the neighbors think?
The neighbors don't matter to her, but sometimes she is curious about their perspective.
She talks a lot for someone who lives alone.
to be continued...
Motive is not important. Finding the truth is not important.
Being the truth is what she stands for.
And if truth is spaghetti, so be it.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Childhood Friend of Skateboard Persuassion
We meet on North Avenue
Again
It is the same
there is no enthusiasm
no expectations
You don't talk until we are in the car,
except for the statement, to which I agreed,
"no one is dancing. it's like they are against having a good time."
I wonder about this.
Is it to look cool, to appear cool?
Serious-club-mugged up on the street -fest?
The mugging part of the night doesn't come until later.
I am talking about people who get dressed up, go out and don't have fun.
Is their idea of having fun pretending to not have fun?
To be too serious to shake their knees out from under
the office-desk or the hipsterville bathroom haircut or the thrift store-looking-internet shirt for
forty-five seconds to have a galavanting-high-falootin'-let-loose-the goose-caboose-good time?
This is exactly the kind of thing that makes me throw Starbucks' chairs.
Humph.
Pah.
I like to Fake-Hate
And then laugh hysterically about it.
I like to Boca-bitch and see how seriously someone reacts.
But if it doesn't include dancing and laughing hysterically
and then sex, perhaps
I can't jive with it.
Lamers.
Year-old-condom-carryin'-no-talkin'-no-jokin'-lap-top-totin'-wanna-be-junkie-aspiring-no-go-getting-cocaine heads at the art bar.
Lameoid limp dicks.
Ha ha.
Anyway. So, after protestations about "why people aren't dancing" and lots of other theories and revellings of the past, we walked across the yellow bridge.
And at the end of the evening, my conclusion was that "lying is fun," by the way, but I am not done telling this story, so hold on for a minute while i get to the point.
You said, as you carried your skateboard across the yellow bridge, that it was the "mugging part of the evening" and that was one of the reasons you carried your skateboard because you don't actually ride it.
You haven't had the courage to get onto it.
You are scared of getting hurt.
In the car, as I drive you home, you tell me about being ejected from the sky-diving club.
It appears this is a nation-wide clique to which you rubbed some members the wrong way
because one of them thought you stole their five dollar wallet with five dollars in it
and why would you steal a five dollar wallet, and then give it back?
It goes against the whole idea of stealing
when you admit to the mistake of picking up an identical wallet,
it was identical to yours, and as you did laundry, you just happened to pocket both wallets.
At this point, I checked my purse to make sure that my wallet was still intact
because as entertaining as the story was, I have always held the belief that
I should NEVER trust anyone who says they are honest.
You got out of my car at your house.
And as I turned my head, I predicted what I would see.
You
cooly and calmly
and almost professionally
glided gracefully southward down the street
atop your skateboard of fear.
Again
It is the same
there is no enthusiasm
no expectations
You don't talk until we are in the car,
except for the statement, to which I agreed,
"no one is dancing. it's like they are against having a good time."
I wonder about this.
Is it to look cool, to appear cool?
Serious-club-mugged up on the street -fest?
The mugging part of the night doesn't come until later.
I am talking about people who get dressed up, go out and don't have fun.
Is their idea of having fun pretending to not have fun?
To be too serious to shake their knees out from under
the office-desk or the hipsterville bathroom haircut or the thrift store-looking-internet shirt for
forty-five seconds to have a galavanting-high-falootin'-let-loose-the goose-caboose-good time?
This is exactly the kind of thing that makes me throw Starbucks' chairs.
Humph.
Pah.
I like to Fake-Hate
And then laugh hysterically about it.
I like to Boca-bitch and see how seriously someone reacts.
But if it doesn't include dancing and laughing hysterically
and then sex, perhaps
I can't jive with it.
Lamers.
Year-old-condom-carryin'-no-talkin'-no-jokin'-lap-top-totin'-wanna-be-junkie-aspiring-no-go-getting-cocaine heads at the art bar.
Lameoid limp dicks.
Ha ha.
Anyway. So, after protestations about "why people aren't dancing" and lots of other theories and revellings of the past, we walked across the yellow bridge.
And at the end of the evening, my conclusion was that "lying is fun," by the way, but I am not done telling this story, so hold on for a minute while i get to the point.
You said, as you carried your skateboard across the yellow bridge, that it was the "mugging part of the evening" and that was one of the reasons you carried your skateboard because you don't actually ride it.
You haven't had the courage to get onto it.
You are scared of getting hurt.
In the car, as I drive you home, you tell me about being ejected from the sky-diving club.
It appears this is a nation-wide clique to which you rubbed some members the wrong way
because one of them thought you stole their five dollar wallet with five dollars in it
and why would you steal a five dollar wallet, and then give it back?
It goes against the whole idea of stealing
when you admit to the mistake of picking up an identical wallet,
it was identical to yours, and as you did laundry, you just happened to pocket both wallets.
At this point, I checked my purse to make sure that my wallet was still intact
because as entertaining as the story was, I have always held the belief that
I should NEVER trust anyone who says they are honest.
You got out of my car at your house.
And as I turned my head, I predicted what I would see.
You
cooly and calmly
and almost professionally
glided gracefully southward down the street
atop your skateboard of fear.
Because I Can ( Can-Can-Mambo-Rumba )
Can= Freedom
Can't= Prison
Remember the quote about "stand for something or you'll fall for anything" ?
What I propose is looking toward an attitude of being "against everything."
I am against everything sometimes.
I have been, anyway, lately.
If there was any way I could object, I would have.
I would detest
objections.
I would reject objects.
I would suspect subjects.
I would collect specimens and refuse them to the department of
recycling.
I would toss out devil's advocates and turn them into bumbling bumble bees.
The underground is undone and overdone.
Can't= Prison
Remember the quote about "stand for something or you'll fall for anything" ?
What I propose is looking toward an attitude of being "against everything."
I am against everything sometimes.
I have been, anyway, lately.
If there was any way I could object, I would have.
I would detest
objections.
I would reject objects.
I would suspect subjects.
I would collect specimens and refuse them to the department of
recycling.
I would toss out devil's advocates and turn them into bumbling bumble bees.
The underground is undone and overdone.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Blue Radiation Charcoal Screen Burn
I don't go to the beach
Not at the Atlantic, nor on the University Campus
I tramp
for tea
and sushi
I tramp
for salad
and coffee
I roll for books
and looks
Lawnmower
looks
from red-headed little neighbor girl
whose
father
sees her watching me
craning her neck
Peripheral notice
transfer--
thought--
curious--
...not a little lesbian...
something else
curious
i am always rushing,
i only get as many groceries as I can carry by myself
i have lots of visitors
is that interesting?
It's probably the boys
yes,
it's the boys
Father yells to get her attention
and snaps her head around
with a bark
Not at the Atlantic, nor on the University Campus
I tramp
for tea
and sushi
I tramp
for salad
and coffee
I roll for books
and looks
Lawnmower
looks
from red-headed little neighbor girl
whose
father
sees her watching me
craning her neck
Peripheral notice
transfer--
thought--
curious--
...not a little lesbian...
something else
curious
i am always rushing,
i only get as many groceries as I can carry by myself
i have lots of visitors
is that interesting?
It's probably the boys
yes,
it's the boys
Father yells to get her attention
and snaps her head around
with a bark
Cell Phone Realism
Hurry.
Stop.
Be better.
You're the best.
Except for that I hate it when people do this
thing
that you just did yesterday
So,
don't
read in to
anything I say.
Because I am inconsistent.
Stop.
Be better.
You're the best.
Except for that I hate it when people do this
thing
that you just did yesterday
So,
don't
read in to
anything I say.
Because I am inconsistent.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Lust Car Park Scenario, But Not What You Are Thinking
Hammer to cement
Break the rocks open back to sand
Chipping away at the breakdown
Last week I threw a Starbucks chair into traffic.
And then, another one into a windshield of a car coming around the drive-thru.
Yesterday I watched a lamb roast
Stood in a circle and listened to singing and watched signs of the cross tossed in the air
Wanting to jump into the empty pool after lining up everyone by astrological signs
Because there are no logical signs.
Today I sat in the car in the rain
eating Good and Plenty by the handful
and screamed out the window
that everyone was a loser,
and shut up
and fuck you.
Yesterday, I tried to help the cousin-guy by carving his name into the styrofoam container.
I was told to stop because he is schizophrenic.
I said, "I got this."
If you are schizophrenic, you can enthusiastically introduce yourself to me as much as you want.
And you can ask if I am married.
And you can ask if I came with my boyfriend.
The soccer player? No, that's not my boyfriend. He's actually your cousin. He is related to you. And he parked his car next to mine and walked in with me.
I only know him from facebook.
But, I could kick his ass on the soccer field.
'Maybe throw a Starbucks chair at him when the spell is broken.
Break the rocks open back to sand
Chipping away at the breakdown
Last week I threw a Starbucks chair into traffic.
And then, another one into a windshield of a car coming around the drive-thru.
Yesterday I watched a lamb roast
Stood in a circle and listened to singing and watched signs of the cross tossed in the air
Wanting to jump into the empty pool after lining up everyone by astrological signs
Because there are no logical signs.
Today I sat in the car in the rain
eating Good and Plenty by the handful
and screamed out the window
that everyone was a loser,
and shut up
and fuck you.
Yesterday, I tried to help the cousin-guy by carving his name into the styrofoam container.
I was told to stop because he is schizophrenic.
I said, "I got this."
If you are schizophrenic, you can enthusiastically introduce yourself to me as much as you want.
And you can ask if I am married.
And you can ask if I came with my boyfriend.
The soccer player? No, that's not my boyfriend. He's actually your cousin. He is related to you. And he parked his car next to mine and walked in with me.
I only know him from facebook.
But, I could kick his ass on the soccer field.
'Maybe throw a Starbucks chair at him when the spell is broken.
Night Tea Orange Apple Time
The apples are still green
That is there are still green apples on top of the brown ugly microwave.
There is a little silver tinfoil-wrapped package of charcoal for incense.
Naval oranges in a plastic bag, inside a basket.
And a Japanese Luck Cat sitting half-assed on the edge of a thick book called
The Aquarian Conspiracy
There was a conspiracy.
Look at July to see the lie.
There is a tarot deck, my grandfather's copy
of Alcoholics Anonymous.
There are Aesop's Fables and some philosophy books.
The incense burner is clean.
It is finally over.
That is there are still green apples on top of the brown ugly microwave.
There is a little silver tinfoil-wrapped package of charcoal for incense.
Naval oranges in a plastic bag, inside a basket.
And a Japanese Luck Cat sitting half-assed on the edge of a thick book called
The Aquarian Conspiracy
There was a conspiracy.
Look at July to see the lie.
There is a tarot deck, my grandfather's copy
of Alcoholics Anonymous.
There are Aesop's Fables and some philosophy books.
The incense burner is clean.
It is finally over.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Throw the Kitten in the Oven
You are the type
To throw a kitten
In the Oven
When it is heated up to 350 degrees
And cock your head to the side
And ask why the kitten is acting funny
And doesn't like you anymore.
To throw a kitten
In the Oven
When it is heated up to 350 degrees
And cock your head to the side
And ask why the kitten is acting funny
And doesn't like you anymore.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
UN RE QUITE U NIGHT
The universal love vibration
People die from it
It kills a part of every person it touches
It makes a smile bitter
It makes smiling people stop smiling
And grow suspicious
Burn it
And wash it away
Fire and Water
Tarot Cards
Cards
Read
Present
Card
Read:
THIS IS A COMMAND
You Are Being Lied To Right Now.
Given every opportunity
And every open-ended sentence
and shoulder shrug
People die from it
It kills a part of every person it touches
It makes a smile bitter
It makes smiling people stop smiling
And grow suspicious
Burn it
And wash it away
Fire and Water
Tarot Cards
Cards
Read
Present
Card
Read:
THIS IS A COMMAND
You Are Being Lied To Right Now.
Given every opportunity
And every open-ended sentence
and shoulder shrug
Friday, April 10, 2009
I Have Many Marriages
We married each other in these places:
In my room.
In your mother's house.
In the grocery store.
At the bar when you made a tomato into a rose for me.
When we slept in the same bed and I dreamt of green grass on my grandmother's lawn (and it turned into a blanket and the voice said 'you're next')
When I received the mass card from your funeral.
When we made yams while millionaires worked for generic grocery companies.
Places are times, also.
The
Flux
Factor.
We married each other when I called the commissioner to find you.
When you brought me a bumper sticker from Belmore.
When you brought me a flashlight.
When I, the un-divine found you on the ether.
When I gave you the bird.
Azul.
When we were in on a lie together.
When we made aliases together.
When I said, "I waited all week for this."
When your father died.
When we made up dreams of the future together.
When I sang an Indigo Girls song to you.
When our hero left the planet.
When we spoke in vernacular.
When you got down on one knee and took my hand.
In my room.
In your mother's house.
In the grocery store.
At the bar when you made a tomato into a rose for me.
When we slept in the same bed and I dreamt of green grass on my grandmother's lawn (and it turned into a blanket and the voice said 'you're next')
When I received the mass card from your funeral.
When we made yams while millionaires worked for generic grocery companies.
Places are times, also.
The
Flux
Factor.
We married each other when I called the commissioner to find you.
When you brought me a bumper sticker from Belmore.
When you brought me a flashlight.
When I, the un-divine found you on the ether.
When I gave you the bird.
Azul.
When we were in on a lie together.
When we made aliases together.
When I said, "I waited all week for this."
When your father died.
When we made up dreams of the future together.
When I sang an Indigo Girls song to you.
When our hero left the planet.
When we spoke in vernacular.
When you got down on one knee and took my hand.
Not Hungry Amethyst Speaker Thirst Happy Cat
No Upanishads
No pink or elephant cups
No flirting
Just talk like sailors
And the ship sails on to a stagnant present
I saw the boy I broke
I saw the boy
I passed him a note
I told the waitress to take it to him
I stood while the bartender watched
but not inquisitively,
I wrote it against the orange wall
At the vegan cafe
I told the waitress I would be outside smoking if he wanted to discuss it
Fifteen years ago
When oil paint on paper grocery bags taped to the wall
of a junkie's house
was more alluring than
the art institute who said our portfolios had promise
What do you do now?
Something in galleries.
Business card
He dropped me off at that house
Just like my dad did
and the bus driver
and anyone I could get to drive me there
I was already Persephone
My love, my first wife,
wrote a poem in the ether
and wrote a poem every time I saw her with Jasmine
floating on the air all around her
as she made me lavender tea
There are some women you can never forget
Indeed
Per say
When we could only get married in Hawaii
He came outside after reading the note
It was a reunion
Anti-enthusiastic
The bartender, the scholar, the bachelor,
the boss, the poet, the man who wanted to separate from his wife,
we sat and watched as the world slowed down under the waning moon.
No pink or elephant cups
No flirting
Just talk like sailors
And the ship sails on to a stagnant present
I saw the boy I broke
I saw the boy
I passed him a note
I told the waitress to take it to him
I stood while the bartender watched
but not inquisitively,
I wrote it against the orange wall
At the vegan cafe
I told the waitress I would be outside smoking if he wanted to discuss it
Fifteen years ago
When oil paint on paper grocery bags taped to the wall
of a junkie's house
was more alluring than
the art institute who said our portfolios had promise
What do you do now?
Something in galleries.
Business card
He dropped me off at that house
Just like my dad did
and the bus driver
and anyone I could get to drive me there
I was already Persephone
My love, my first wife,
wrote a poem in the ether
and wrote a poem every time I saw her with Jasmine
floating on the air all around her
as she made me lavender tea
There are some women you can never forget
Indeed
Per say
When we could only get married in Hawaii
He came outside after reading the note
It was a reunion
Anti-enthusiastic
The bartender, the scholar, the bachelor,
the boss, the poet, the man who wanted to separate from his wife,
we sat and watched as the world slowed down under the waning moon.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
I Drink Rose Water
Morrisey is only good for one thing.
Cigarettes are seven dollars.
And I have no idea why my bouquet if fickle,
Yet I am willing to find out.
Cigarettes are seven dollars.
And I have no idea why my bouquet if fickle,
Yet I am willing to find out.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
The Hat Maker's Concubine
I am the hat maker's concubine
and he is mine.
I live only to oolay
in a self-made lexicon
Noone sits in the word chairs unless it is for serious talk.
Free association is over-rated. There should definitely be
some meaning there, or else it's not fun.
and he is mine.
I live only to oolay
in a self-made lexicon
Noone sits in the word chairs unless it is for serious talk.
Free association is over-rated. There should definitely be
some meaning there, or else it's not fun.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Black Book
The most fun with words I have had lately is Ada by Nabakov.
It's French and Russian.
And the two characters write in code.
As it should be.
Like Ginsberg and Mayer.
Whomsoever joins the cypher and can stick around long enough
shall have the glory.
Perseverance. Dedication.
( to the art, not the job )
( to the love, not the technicalities )
I made a loving Uturn last week and my body hasn't caught up with me yet.
Dr. Love says Mumbo Jumbo that I enjoy like this, " are you a body with a spirit or a spirit with a body? " or something like that. I assume he believes in that stuff, and I have my own way of saying things.
I wonder how long I will live.
I don't feel healthy. I'm dying.
( we all are. everyone dies. )
I have a friend in particular who is acting like a widow,
acting
acting
acting
I don't have the energy to tell her what I know, because it would be forced, ingenuine.
My belief, when a friend dies, goes beyond anything I can put into English words.
That's why I so envy the characters in the Nabakov book ( language, my love, i am married to the words )
If I said it in English, it would scare me. I can only say words like 'protection' and 'body guard' and 'sea glass' to describe it. It is my code language and you can't take it apart.
It is my deconstruction.
Structure that makes up the bones of what I am.
Yesterday, I gave up on all the questions and themes of academia.
My thesis is "Everyone Has Bones Underneath"
It takes away all the talk about blood. There is marrow, and it is where the blood comes from.
This is all I can say. It is from a poem by Neruda and it might be my thesis.
( whatever a thesis is... which is beside the point. )
It's French and Russian.
And the two characters write in code.
As it should be.
Like Ginsberg and Mayer.
Whomsoever joins the cypher and can stick around long enough
shall have the glory.
Perseverance. Dedication.
( to the art, not the job )
( to the love, not the technicalities )
I made a loving Uturn last week and my body hasn't caught up with me yet.
Dr. Love says Mumbo Jumbo that I enjoy like this, " are you a body with a spirit or a spirit with a body? " or something like that. I assume he believes in that stuff, and I have my own way of saying things.
I wonder how long I will live.
I don't feel healthy. I'm dying.
( we all are. everyone dies. )
I have a friend in particular who is acting like a widow,
acting
acting
acting
I don't have the energy to tell her what I know, because it would be forced, ingenuine.
My belief, when a friend dies, goes beyond anything I can put into English words.
That's why I so envy the characters in the Nabakov book ( language, my love, i am married to the words )
If I said it in English, it would scare me. I can only say words like 'protection' and 'body guard' and 'sea glass' to describe it. It is my code language and you can't take it apart.
It is my deconstruction.
Structure that makes up the bones of what I am.
Yesterday, I gave up on all the questions and themes of academia.
My thesis is "Everyone Has Bones Underneath"
It takes away all the talk about blood. There is marrow, and it is where the blood comes from.
This is all I can say. It is from a poem by Neruda and it might be my thesis.
( whatever a thesis is... which is beside the point. )
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Epiphany Day Eight Years Ago
The oldest cat hated me because he knew I was evil.
He told me by pissing on the kitchen island.
He maintained eye contact.
This day was an epiphany.
He told me by pissing on the kitchen island.
He maintained eye contact.
This day was an epiphany.
Le Spoon De Ja Mo'an
Purple and Yellow Spots Like Stars
Recover time from
Le Spoon De Ja Mo'an
Reading about violets
and caterpillars
unbearable young love
after researching an emerging subculture.
I match up the words "smallish" and "longish"
and all the GG's and BB's of made-up
Russian-French-and English phrases
like it's my job.
A big black book with sticky notes in it.
My thoughts are on the sticky notes.
I misplaced my mechanical pencil (my favorite kind).
I wear an orange sweatshirt to match the sticky notes,
the gum, the flags, the tape, the scissor-handles.
Early to bed, early to eyes.
Stairwell to skylight.
...
Erase my face to be anonymous
Wear socks like jocks.
Get mad at fads.
Paint like a five-year-old with a serious sullen face
and talk to the paintings like they are not doing what I want
them to do
I am the boss, their bully.
And I am not in charge of anyone but them.
...
Recover time from
Le Spoon De Ja Mo'an
Reading about violets
and caterpillars
unbearable young love
after researching an emerging subculture.
I match up the words "smallish" and "longish"
and all the GG's and BB's of made-up
Russian-French-and English phrases
like it's my job.
A big black book with sticky notes in it.
My thoughts are on the sticky notes.
I misplaced my mechanical pencil (my favorite kind).
I wear an orange sweatshirt to match the sticky notes,
the gum, the flags, the tape, the scissor-handles.
Early to bed, early to eyes.
Stairwell to skylight.
...
Erase my face to be anonymous
Wear socks like jocks.
Get mad at fads.
Paint like a five-year-old with a serious sullen face
and talk to the paintings like they are not doing what I want
them to do
I am the boss, their bully.
And I am not in charge of anyone but them.
...
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Aerobics- Whitalicious
Ass Alignment.
Assignment.
Better Bond.
Criminal.
Dialog.
Effacement.
Ferment.
Grindstone.
Hinder.
Ignition.
Jack Pot.
Kindred.
Lament.
Mortal.
Narcissus.
Oppenheimer.
Presence.
Question.
Radical.
Suffice.
Telegram.
Untied.
Vortex.
Woman.
X-ray.
Yellow.
Zeitgeist.
Assignment.
Better Bond.
Criminal.
Dialog.
Effacement.
Ferment.
Grindstone.
Hinder.
Ignition.
Jack Pot.
Kindred.
Lament.
Mortal.
Narcissus.
Oppenheimer.
Presence.
Question.
Radical.
Suffice.
Telegram.
Untied.
Vortex.
Woman.
X-ray.
Yellow.
Zeitgeist.
Should I Send You an Email if Someone Crashes Through My Ceiling?
Yes?
A little chinese lady.
Great. Now the other cat is staring at the ceiling.
A little chinese lady.
Great. Now the other cat is staring at the ceiling.
Graffitti Tunnel
Fortunate, Lucky Winter, please bring me a lively Spring.
The kiss of cold on my ears
Electric frozen knees.
Please trade:
Popping up in the mornings card and vibrating stomach card...
For the Happy Safety Card.
It's a fair trade ( like the sugar ) and I have nothing up my sleeve.
Safely Sternly fill the echo tunnel with graffiti and poetry.
Make the words eloquent and kind.
The kiss of cold on my ears
Electric frozen knees.
Please trade:
Popping up in the mornings card and vibrating stomach card...
For the Happy Safety Card.
It's a fair trade ( like the sugar ) and I have nothing up my sleeve.
Safely Sternly fill the echo tunnel with graffiti and poetry.
Make the words eloquent and kind.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
I felt normal for a few hours.
I was being normal for a while last night, getting tired, doing homework, when all of the sudden,
I went to sleep.
My subconscious took over again and was driving the bus yet again.
I had a dream someone set my hair on fire.
And then I assisted in the delievery of four kittens.
And they were not normal kittens. Nor was anything normal about the dream.
I intend to write more about these dreams of late.
I went to sleep.
My subconscious took over again and was driving the bus yet again.
I had a dream someone set my hair on fire.
And then I assisted in the delievery of four kittens.
And they were not normal kittens. Nor was anything normal about the dream.
I intend to write more about these dreams of late.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Window of Time
There is a window of time
In which I deprive myself
To force the tunnel
In the direction of black and white
on yellowing pages
Holding together a falling-apart book
with rubber bands and tape
Holding the lid on with wax
Holding the paper in the water
Keeping shoes that have no ties
Keeping a third of the salt for myself to make as an offering
Keeping the pot for the bath with the honey
A third of my time must be for this and only this
Three cards,
A hat with gloves,
Something for the future
I look forward to the bottle, the denim, and the dye.
This day is for the future worn like socks with holes
dreaming of rubber-thonged toes.
My descriptive words use hyphens, because they sure as hell can't use me.
They are mine.
Nothing for ownership.
I behave in my mind like a vagabond.
( Future Sailor Boots )
In which I deprive myself
To force the tunnel
In the direction of black and white
on yellowing pages
Holding together a falling-apart book
with rubber bands and tape
Holding the lid on with wax
Holding the paper in the water
Keeping shoes that have no ties
Keeping a third of the salt for myself to make as an offering
Keeping the pot for the bath with the honey
A third of my time must be for this and only this
Three cards,
A hat with gloves,
Something for the future
I look forward to the bottle, the denim, and the dye.
This day is for the future worn like socks with holes
dreaming of rubber-thonged toes.
My descriptive words use hyphens, because they sure as hell can't use me.
They are mine.
Nothing for ownership.
I behave in my mind like a vagabond.
( Future Sailor Boots )
Monday, February 9, 2009
I quote because I am speechless.
"At night I often stay awake. I am the sentinel at the gate of the sleep of others, whose master I am. I am the spirit that hovers above the shapeless mass of dream." -- Jean Genet
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Sullen Poverty Family Tree Hospice Hunger
A white circle at the base of the alter is a testament. And I wonder what it is to build mutual respect.
It is a pet peeve to choose a nickname for oneself, and probably common to attempt to reject a bad nickname.
I think now of my great grandmother who wouldn't bathe in front of the television because she thought they could see her. She also became insulted if anyone sent her a card with an animal on it because it meant you thought she had a likeness to it.
I wear her necklace.
Her daughter-in-law was a nurse with a chip on her shoulder and a womanizing husband, who perhaps only womanized her. I can testify to this, even after her death, he wished his ashes to be poured over her grave so that he might have one last chance to be 'on top of her.'
Such a thing for me to do in a graveyard, carrying out the last wishes the whole family knew.
Maybe it was just us, the three of us: My brother and father.
And my father would be buried in that same spot in one year, one month, and a few days.
The same spot.
It is a reality which proves superstition, and proves the family bond.
The nurse, the grandmother, I look just like her. I am probably tough just like her. I never met her, but I learned about her because our lives have parallels. A Pisces to mold your ideas about love. Loss which carries weight, dragging it like a canvas bag full with something only the barer can know like plasma-soaked rags from a hospital.
( A hospital for the sick of spirit; a suicide hospice. )
It is the type of weight which makes me protest by hunger strike.
The weight which holds down the physical body, so heavy it forms lines on my brooding face.
It is a pet peeve to choose a nickname for oneself, and probably common to attempt to reject a bad nickname.
I think now of my great grandmother who wouldn't bathe in front of the television because she thought they could see her. She also became insulted if anyone sent her a card with an animal on it because it meant you thought she had a likeness to it.
I wear her necklace.
Her daughter-in-law was a nurse with a chip on her shoulder and a womanizing husband, who perhaps only womanized her. I can testify to this, even after her death, he wished his ashes to be poured over her grave so that he might have one last chance to be 'on top of her.'
Such a thing for me to do in a graveyard, carrying out the last wishes the whole family knew.
Maybe it was just us, the three of us: My brother and father.
And my father would be buried in that same spot in one year, one month, and a few days.
The same spot.
It is a reality which proves superstition, and proves the family bond.
The nurse, the grandmother, I look just like her. I am probably tough just like her. I never met her, but I learned about her because our lives have parallels. A Pisces to mold your ideas about love. Loss which carries weight, dragging it like a canvas bag full with something only the barer can know like plasma-soaked rags from a hospital.
( A hospital for the sick of spirit; a suicide hospice. )
It is the type of weight which makes me protest by hunger strike.
The weight which holds down the physical body, so heavy it forms lines on my brooding face.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Ooh La Long
Ooh la la.
Couch friendly herbals.
A tincture of thin, nighttime vampishness.
Ohh la Long.
A home theatre, a book with oppressed, marching ladies on the front cover.
A book about young pornographic poets.
A green candle with herbs and stones strewn methodically around it's base,
we call the base an 'alter'
not to be confused with a base you didn't pay for.
Basic needs, basic colors, basic prismatic spectrum, basic songs about Kenya.
Without a doubt, I see father of fire card, the emperor.
I have seen the card pop up, jump out, land on the floor, in front of the alter, incense burning for at least two years. Solid. Two years of a throne.
Two weeks of baited breath for no reason has me jammed up, and I don't know where the cotton goes anymore.
Now that the cotton-mouth is gone, I put a piece of cotton in my right ear.
I can't hear anything by the afternoon as I place an order for an Ooh-la-la-long tea and a serum of vitamin A.
It seems I can turn any local mall into a witch store if I want.
I host witchy kittens, a cat hotel.
Banana Lol Cat is coming to visit, but she doesn't know it yet.
The bat phone rang today on a false alarm.
Super-friends are too far away; I just want to walk to the beach.
Couch friendly herbals.
A tincture of thin, nighttime vampishness.
Ohh la Long.
A home theatre, a book with oppressed, marching ladies on the front cover.
A book about young pornographic poets.
A green candle with herbs and stones strewn methodically around it's base,
we call the base an 'alter'
not to be confused with a base you didn't pay for.
Basic needs, basic colors, basic prismatic spectrum, basic songs about Kenya.
Without a doubt, I see father of fire card, the emperor.
I have seen the card pop up, jump out, land on the floor, in front of the alter, incense burning for at least two years. Solid. Two years of a throne.
Two weeks of baited breath for no reason has me jammed up, and I don't know where the cotton goes anymore.
Now that the cotton-mouth is gone, I put a piece of cotton in my right ear.
I can't hear anything by the afternoon as I place an order for an Ooh-la-la-long tea and a serum of vitamin A.
It seems I can turn any local mall into a witch store if I want.
I host witchy kittens, a cat hotel.
Banana Lol Cat is coming to visit, but she doesn't know it yet.
The bat phone rang today on a false alarm.
Super-friends are too far away; I just want to walk to the beach.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
You Say I Say
I feel today that my affliction for watching conspiracy movies has been cured.
I feel that my best girl friend has her work cut out for her. Seriously. There is no more conspiracy. It's truth. Some things are clear.
As for matters of the heart, I am learning to communicate better.
I read my horoscope, I try my best, I cannot tell the future, although I wish I could.
I don't know. It's not easy being close to me sometimes. That's purely from observation.
I mean, I can only go onto 'moving walks' instead of escalators and I can hardly bare the highway. When I am vulnerable, and I fight to stay safe. It doesn't work. It's totally ineffective.
Skeezes Bellerenges.
Before March 6th, things will be better. I am assured of this.
I feel that my best girl friend has her work cut out for her. Seriously. There is no more conspiracy. It's truth. Some things are clear.
As for matters of the heart, I am learning to communicate better.
I read my horoscope, I try my best, I cannot tell the future, although I wish I could.
I don't know. It's not easy being close to me sometimes. That's purely from observation.
I mean, I can only go onto 'moving walks' instead of escalators and I can hardly bare the highway. When I am vulnerable, and I fight to stay safe. It doesn't work. It's totally ineffective.
Skeezes Bellerenges.
Before March 6th, things will be better. I am assured of this.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Fun Prevention at the Convention
Yesterday was the inauguration.
I had hell on escalators. The cold I expect when I enter the slope leading to hell.
Cages on the streets. Police officers (not searching my large suitcase full of electrical cords) and snapping the wooden parts off of flags... because they could be weapons?
I saw a little guy holding his flag up in the air.
Immediately, his father snatched the boy's arm and pushed the flag down,
"Don't let me see you point that flag again!"
( Snipers? A child assassin? What? )
Backward land.
I was baffled until I got home and realized that it was the last day of the previous administration.
Baffled.
Road blocks.
Fun prevention squads were everywhere.
Don't get me wrong, I have fun often and amply.
The squads just made it difficult, so I stayed in my cage and listened to the voice on the speakers. Tried to make friends. But, my legs and face froze off and I felt like some kind of bitter robot alien.
I can say that I was there, but this is about all.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Revolving Doors
I had a stroke of genius an hour and a half before now. I felt the poetry sitting on the couch, cat fishing. The fish were so big, they took the line away from me.
Much like a metaphor for this string of words I imagined. My 'learning disability,' as the young folks say, is that way. My mind goes too quick. I work hard, when the momentary genius fails to be written down. My mind goes to fast like a dry-erase board or etch-a-sketch shaken... like sands through the hourglass...
He said noone knew the internet would get this big. He said it wasn't made for 'applications'. Apps used to mean appetizers in the restaurant biz. That's how you abbreviated it on those little sketchy note pads.
I am reading a book about Visceral Realist poets. It is basically pornography so far. It's fine by me, because life is like that. Really, it is. And if yours is not, I do not apologize for saying so. That's why there's a period at the end of that sentence.
I worked hard this week, neglectful of my genius, and I built up some slack today. Rather, I cashed in on it. And more is due tomorrow the moment I wake up. I cash in on the work by opening my eyes and looking at the clock and righteously closing my eyes again, pulling the covers tighter, and letting my electrons do their own work on all the membranes while I sleep.
Do not underestimate sleep. Sleeping keeps you young.
Waking up in the morning ( when you are a sexy vamp ) makes you old.
There are some who like to pretend/ feel better than others by over-doing things, like running around in circles. Those circles are small, child, like the vacuum sound you hear when you enter a revolving door sucking the life out of you.
Yeah, THOSE circles will drag you down.
And I am not talking about how your mama said those kids at the movie theatre were hooligans and they would 'drag you down,' I am talking about the will to live. Dragging the will.
If I die, I want no one to attach a ball and chain to my will and drag it around. I don't even know what my will is, but I certainly do not want to be misrepresented.
The C.I.A. owns face book.
F.y.i., I signify.
Truth be told.
I heard, she said, he said.
I went to sleep last night whispering "Oh My Goddess," just like my buddy says in the computer lab. I thought of her tonight when I made a sweet potato in the oven and the catfish tried to get kleenex out of the box on the table.
I always think of Jeremy when I eat pizza.
I think of Melissa when I go to the gym.
I think of Donnon whenever I eat curried carrots.
I think of Trink whenever I buy shampoo.
I think of Gretch whenever I go to the airport.
I think of Sarah when I put on my face creams, take vitamins, break open vitamins to put them on my face and whenever I vacuum at 2am.
I think of a stranger when I look in the mirror.
My learning disability is cropping up again, here, now.
( ram das? )
I could be in full flight from reality without people. ( That's why I like them so much. )
Has anyone ever said, "You're Crazy" to you?
What about every day?
I was a teenager when my response began to be, "You're stupid."
Would you rather be stupid or crazy?
Ha. I never was too good at comebacks. I think I will write more next time.
Much like a metaphor for this string of words I imagined. My 'learning disability,' as the young folks say, is that way. My mind goes too quick. I work hard, when the momentary genius fails to be written down. My mind goes to fast like a dry-erase board or etch-a-sketch shaken... like sands through the hourglass...
He said noone knew the internet would get this big. He said it wasn't made for 'applications'. Apps used to mean appetizers in the restaurant biz. That's how you abbreviated it on those little sketchy note pads.
I am reading a book about Visceral Realist poets. It is basically pornography so far. It's fine by me, because life is like that. Really, it is. And if yours is not, I do not apologize for saying so. That's why there's a period at the end of that sentence.
I worked hard this week, neglectful of my genius, and I built up some slack today. Rather, I cashed in on it. And more is due tomorrow the moment I wake up. I cash in on the work by opening my eyes and looking at the clock and righteously closing my eyes again, pulling the covers tighter, and letting my electrons do their own work on all the membranes while I sleep.
Do not underestimate sleep. Sleeping keeps you young.
Waking up in the morning ( when you are a sexy vamp ) makes you old.
There are some who like to pretend/ feel better than others by over-doing things, like running around in circles. Those circles are small, child, like the vacuum sound you hear when you enter a revolving door sucking the life out of you.
Yeah, THOSE circles will drag you down.
And I am not talking about how your mama said those kids at the movie theatre were hooligans and they would 'drag you down,' I am talking about the will to live. Dragging the will.
If I die, I want no one to attach a ball and chain to my will and drag it around. I don't even know what my will is, but I certainly do not want to be misrepresented.
The C.I.A. owns face book.
F.y.i., I signify.
Truth be told.
I heard, she said, he said.
I went to sleep last night whispering "Oh My Goddess," just like my buddy says in the computer lab. I thought of her tonight when I made a sweet potato in the oven and the catfish tried to get kleenex out of the box on the table.
I always think of Jeremy when I eat pizza.
I think of Melissa when I go to the gym.
I think of Donnon whenever I eat curried carrots.
I think of Trink whenever I buy shampoo.
I think of Gretch whenever I go to the airport.
I think of Sarah when I put on my face creams, take vitamins, break open vitamins to put them on my face and whenever I vacuum at 2am.
I think of a stranger when I look in the mirror.
My learning disability is cropping up again, here, now.
( ram das? )
I could be in full flight from reality without people. ( That's why I like them so much. )
Has anyone ever said, "You're Crazy" to you?
What about every day?
I was a teenager when my response began to be, "You're stupid."
Would you rather be stupid or crazy?
Ha. I never was too good at comebacks. I think I will write more next time.
Friday, January 16, 2009
I have CO-Q-10 and a Funny Feeling About this Week
I wrote a short essay yesterday morning as part of my writing discipline.
Jeremy and I spoke about this briefly before I left South Florida and he gave me a very professional -looking, well crafted, homemade journal.
There are two kittens in my house right now. They don't like me. but they have accepted my presence here, much like, I imagine orphans would accept a new boarder at the orphanage. I know that sounds backwards, since, I was here first, but for sake of detailed description, I give you my impression of their vibe toward me.
My life is not hard right now and I know it. My happiness hinges on one thing I have complete faith in. This one thing is like that grain of sand in the palm of the queen's hand at the end of the Never Ending Story. I have complete faith in applying that formula to the panel hanging from the hinge. At some places, the panel is made of wood, silk ribbon, chiffon, cement, (even, perhaps ), the skin of an earlobe, canary bird's eyebrows, pigeon wings. My life hinges on a delicate, yet unbreakable THING. And this thing cannot be discussed. It is my best friend. It is the brake fluid in my car. It is jet engine fuel, essential oil, herbal tea, and starbucks coffee. It is the vapor that comes from my mouth when I breath outside in the cold or when I pretend to smoke a cigarette.
It is in every 'Of Course,' and it is in every 'Perhaps' and likewise all declarative statements; All answers and all questions. It is plasma. It is tissue. It is molecule, cell, electron, mitochondria.
Back to the Co-Q-10, I imagine this supplement helps my mitos' and my heart, but only at very high doses.
Jeremy and I spoke about this briefly before I left South Florida and he gave me a very professional -looking, well crafted, homemade journal.
There are two kittens in my house right now. They don't like me. but they have accepted my presence here, much like, I imagine orphans would accept a new boarder at the orphanage. I know that sounds backwards, since, I was here first, but for sake of detailed description, I give you my impression of their vibe toward me.
My life is not hard right now and I know it. My happiness hinges on one thing I have complete faith in. This one thing is like that grain of sand in the palm of the queen's hand at the end of the Never Ending Story. I have complete faith in applying that formula to the panel hanging from the hinge. At some places, the panel is made of wood, silk ribbon, chiffon, cement, (even, perhaps ), the skin of an earlobe, canary bird's eyebrows, pigeon wings. My life hinges on a delicate, yet unbreakable THING. And this thing cannot be discussed. It is my best friend. It is the brake fluid in my car. It is jet engine fuel, essential oil, herbal tea, and starbucks coffee. It is the vapor that comes from my mouth when I breath outside in the cold or when I pretend to smoke a cigarette.
It is in every 'Of Course,' and it is in every 'Perhaps' and likewise all declarative statements; All answers and all questions. It is plasma. It is tissue. It is molecule, cell, electron, mitochondria.
Back to the Co-Q-10, I imagine this supplement helps my mitos' and my heart, but only at very high doses.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
A Little Distracted and Lots to Do
I look for paintings of candy.
I will paint some gummy sharks tomorrow.
I study other artists.
I come across many things, all of which had meaning
to someone at some time.
I find it hard to be interested in their interests,
when everything I am interested in is so interesting,
perhaps inter-arresting to me right now.
It is a day of wonder.
I will paint some gummy sharks tomorrow.
I study other artists.
I come across many things, all of which had meaning
to someone at some time.
I find it hard to be interested in their interests,
when everything I am interested in is so interesting,
perhaps inter-arresting to me right now.
It is a day of wonder.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Yeah, yeah. I know.
A marvelous, yet uneventful day today.
I woke, went back to sleep after feeling truly charmed, of course.
The friend in the west has irksome admirers.
Another friend told me I am not spiritual enough ( and this is caused by or a result of my smoking, the language is not clear. I should eat apples. Go back to basics. )
The basics are there. I do almost everything I can do, so like, why attempt a guilt trip.
I know I know I know.
I woke, went back to sleep after feeling truly charmed, of course.
The friend in the west has irksome admirers.
Another friend told me I am not spiritual enough ( and this is caused by or a result of my smoking, the language is not clear. I should eat apples. Go back to basics. )
The basics are there. I do almost everything I can do, so like, why attempt a guilt trip.
I know I know I know.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Waifs for Dinner?
I only had dreams of war.
And I was awoken by a koala-like man who seemed to be running in his sleep, gently, although not disturbing, until a sneeze prompted an "O.M.F.G." from his lips. And then I knew someone had a little too much internet coursing through his veins.
Double that with a quad mocha and you too can experience the magic.
Rather, the Magi.
I've got my eye on you, but only my third eye, because watching these days is lame. I want to experience and interact.
I had a lovely, and I mean lovely, drag queen over for dinner tonight.
We had leftover fesenjan while my mother did her laundry. It was a strange turn of events, but it's all in a day for a girl like me.
Yes, I am still a girl at heart.
My job is to paint and write poems and read books and host with sparkle.
I did my job well. But, now I need to lose five pounds.
The only worse thing than being cold, is being fat and cold. So, there. And, maybe it's the other way around, you know? Sitting around and eating comfort food will have to turn into running around on a hunger strike soon, or else, you know? Of course you do.
And I was awoken by a koala-like man who seemed to be running in his sleep, gently, although not disturbing, until a sneeze prompted an "O.M.F.G." from his lips. And then I knew someone had a little too much internet coursing through his veins.
Double that with a quad mocha and you too can experience the magic.
Rather, the Magi.
I've got my eye on you, but only my third eye, because watching these days is lame. I want to experience and interact.
I had a lovely, and I mean lovely, drag queen over for dinner tonight.
We had leftover fesenjan while my mother did her laundry. It was a strange turn of events, but it's all in a day for a girl like me.
Yes, I am still a girl at heart.
My job is to paint and write poems and read books and host with sparkle.
I did my job well. But, now I need to lose five pounds.
The only worse thing than being cold, is being fat and cold. So, there. And, maybe it's the other way around, you know? Sitting around and eating comfort food will have to turn into running around on a hunger strike soon, or else, you know? Of course you do.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Sleep Again, Now
Be here now again.
That's a book about Ram Das or something.
He was old.
My house is old. That's why there's noises.
I get it during the day, but at night it can be unnerving.
I gravitate toward the light.
My fan sounds like a lawn mower outside.
I can pretend I live near a condo-complex where they do yard work for you.
He asked why I don't do some gardening.
I don't have an answer.
The horoscope says I have a green thumb, so I could.
I have been known to talk to flowers when no one is around.
And I do like potato bugs.
And having dirty arms.
Usually it's from painting that I get messed up with color on my forearms.
Dirt will do.
Tomorrow is tuition day. I fight. I plead a case, return a paper, get ready for school.
Art supplies take the place of books this January.
It will be a month to remember.
( parties for sure ensue )
That's a book about Ram Das or something.
He was old.
My house is old. That's why there's noises.
I get it during the day, but at night it can be unnerving.
I gravitate toward the light.
My fan sounds like a lawn mower outside.
I can pretend I live near a condo-complex where they do yard work for you.
He asked why I don't do some gardening.
I don't have an answer.
The horoscope says I have a green thumb, so I could.
I have been known to talk to flowers when no one is around.
And I do like potato bugs.
And having dirty arms.
Usually it's from painting that I get messed up with color on my forearms.
Dirt will do.
Tomorrow is tuition day. I fight. I plead a case, return a paper, get ready for school.
Art supplies take the place of books this January.
It will be a month to remember.
( parties for sure ensue )
Earplugs are Safe
It's a safe bet to keep earplugs around.
Except when you want to hear everything.
Since I was a child, I have had troubles of the ear-variety.
I had surgeries. And now and then, if I go to the doctor, they will
pull aside an intern to see what a 'perforation' looks like.
I don't know if it was my club days or all the childhood earaches, but I can't hear.
I am like an old person, "what?"
( no, no, I am not questioning what you said, i just didn't hear you )
Repeat.
Repeat.
Please, just one more time.
Just say the last part, not the whole sentence...
the part that sounded confusing to me.
I guess I guess a lot about what people intend to say.
It's not
that I am not listening,
and although, sometimes, I might not care,
I definitely can't hear you.
So, please repeat what you said:
Your vote doesn't really count?
How many billion dollars do you give to fund wars?
Hold on. I really need you to say that again. Just the last part.
Except when you want to hear everything.
Since I was a child, I have had troubles of the ear-variety.
I had surgeries. And now and then, if I go to the doctor, they will
pull aside an intern to see what a 'perforation' looks like.
I don't know if it was my club days or all the childhood earaches, but I can't hear.
I am like an old person, "what?"
( no, no, I am not questioning what you said, i just didn't hear you )
Repeat.
Repeat.
Please, just one more time.
Just say the last part, not the whole sentence...
the part that sounded confusing to me.
I guess I guess a lot about what people intend to say.
It's not
that I am not listening,
and although, sometimes, I might not care,
I definitely can't hear you.
So, please repeat what you said:
Your vote doesn't really count?
How many billion dollars do you give to fund wars?
Hold on. I really need you to say that again. Just the last part.
First
I woke up and spun around in circles this morning looking for James.
He cleaned my house, but he wasn't around.
Everything was in order except my feet and my thoughts because I was looking for him in the basement again, but he was on the highway.
I watched current events on the internet and I was scared.
My friend from Bermuda called from Florida.
My friend from school called from downtown.
Bermuda is as corrupt as downtown. That's how it is.
I have countries battling in my head.
I see hip hop lyricists battling on a video stream sitting on my lap.
The white box tells me everything I need to know.
I wonder if I will lose my social skills. I wonder where I will be living one year from today.
.....It will be a place with a courtyard or at least a yard with a table and chairs.
There will be a flowering tree there nearby.
There will be cats outside. There won't be too many children around.
( I be the star child. You be the sun. )
I will be able to walk to work or ride my bike if I want.
I will feel safe when I walk around the block and it will be warm weather almost all the time.
The rooms at my house will not feel confining......
That's boring stuff, though.
He cleaned my house, but he wasn't around.
Everything was in order except my feet and my thoughts because I was looking for him in the basement again, but he was on the highway.
I watched current events on the internet and I was scared.
My friend from Bermuda called from Florida.
My friend from school called from downtown.
Bermuda is as corrupt as downtown. That's how it is.
I have countries battling in my head.
I see hip hop lyricists battling on a video stream sitting on my lap.
The white box tells me everything I need to know.
I wonder if I will lose my social skills. I wonder where I will be living one year from today.
.....It will be a place with a courtyard or at least a yard with a table and chairs.
There will be a flowering tree there nearby.
There will be cats outside. There won't be too many children around.
( I be the star child. You be the sun. )
I will be able to walk to work or ride my bike if I want.
I will feel safe when I walk around the block and it will be warm weather almost all the time.
The rooms at my house will not feel confining......
That's boring stuff, though.
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