St. Francis

I lost everything we were just talking about, but it was all brilliant and geniusy, I know it.
I was scared the other evening when I saw police lights that I would have a seizure, real fear.
I'm supposed to be watching myself for 'funny feelings,' that's what the doctor said.  And my hands have been shaking like, well, a gutter drunk, so that's no bueno, but like I used to say in my early twenties, something's------ got------ to --------- GIVE.

Little J. is on the phone talking about staying up all night, I picture him rocking back and forth, even though he wasn't.  He was up all night just thinking of what text message to send.  Like----WHAT words can he type on his phone that will represent the plethora of feelings he's been having.

It's during a time when we are discussing a lot of ownership stuff.  What's mine?  What's yours?  What dead weight am I carrying and why can't I decifer for the love of god WHERE I belong?

I'm already frowned upon because I smoke, so, that's NOT MINE but I feel like I have to deal with it, respectively for legal reasons if for nothing else and wanting to be around people and not standing outside in the cold.  So, I decided to quit.  I know there's no such thing as weening and I almost don't care about the nicotine I just don't want to start shaking and hallucinating when I don't have a cigarette for seven hours.
Yes I just fucking said that.  I see demons like my father did when he was first quitting drinking.
I saw some suits looking in my direction the other day and thought for sure they were mocking me and someone pressed a button on a computer somewhere that said, "make her quake".
Yeah, like that exists.
In truth I felt so shaky at lunch that I couldn't carry my own lemonade.  And no one is really looking at me for any other reason than perhaps that I am pretty and it's human nature to look at other people.
High blood pressure can do strange things to the already uptight.

( Mocking Jay )
Very much like William S. Burroughs.  It's like that.

And I realized that quitting smoking and quitting seizure medicine simultaneously is "un comfort able".

It's more than uncomfortable.  Surprisingly enough, I am sleeping just fine.  I know Valerian root like it's my best friend in the world.  Insomniac since age three.
It's just the days that make me wiggy.

And so my other best friend, coffee?  I had to put that down for a while.  I made myself a weak pot today and took a few sips and poured it down the drain.  I never DRANK IT FOR THE TASTE.  I drank it for the wakefulness.

Without all of my securities, I feel ULTRA insecure.


"Yeah, you're a chainer."  Rae, Mj.  She's always quitting too.  She talks about it constantly.  She tells me everything in relation to how much it made her want to smoke.
And then she tells me what it's like to start again.

It makes me never want to quit when someone goes on and on about how terrible it is.

My other dear friend said that he honestly didn't leave the house for a few days and when he did, he genuinely felt invisible.  Genuinely.  Felt like people couldn't see him at all, walking around the city and it scared the shit out of him when someone said 'Hello' to him.  And he tried to get away as soon as possible.

But, more about Little Joe.  This cigarette talk is boring.  Except for the invisible story ( we'll always have that ).

So, what he sat up all night to communicate was :" I NEED TO GIVE YOU YOUR BOOK BACK"
Dead air.
Separation anxiety.  Coming on too strong.

Then two months later, he said " HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! emoticon, emoticon, fire works, celebratory emoticons."
Dead air.
And then the last text: I HATE YOU.
Dead air.

Of course.   Of course.
Sometimes I am a genius.  Other times I am just dangerously curious.  I ask too many questions.  It's like a Robert Frost poem when it really needs to be the Tao Te Ching.  Could I pivot on that?

The only reason my friends call to tell me their stories is because they know I'll remember almost every detail.  I'll tell them their own stories years later, like an elephant.

So, I am here aiming for wisdom.  And there isn't anything left but the prayer of St. Francis of Assisi.
"Seek to comfort rather than to be comforted."

It's always good to start your day

In Baltimore
With
A nice, genuine smile
and a "Stop Fucking Snitching."

It's your mantra.  
Say it three times.

Totally Dysfunctional Free Form with a side of brains

Mars was wicked this season,  I am sure.
Since I am Venus, it's been a real sober push.
Fighting to disallow.
Fighting nature.
You found me in the rainforest canopy on salt air and dirt.
You climbed over corpses to get to me.

And on the flip, I would have gone to the ends of the world if she requested it whole heartedly.  I am gentle and expect it all to be kind.   My friends with rough edges.   My friends try not to damage each other.

It's lonely with all these friends who have all these fears expecting me
To be the strong one, but even I have gotten choked up.
I have been beaten up, but that's a different story.   I have been screamed at.  I have been held accountable for things that were not mine.
Like children.   They're not mine, and I say it like a man.
 The paternity test told you so.  You could be tricked for love and it's like that dmx song.  It's funny until you see it in real life.
Death is also slap stick humor in the movies until you see it in real life.
It's not sad, they're dead.  They aren't aware of any of this stuff.  The ugliness is gone for them


You get these suicide calls and try to ignore them.  You hear about blood on the sheets and brains on the wall.  They didn't clean it up very well.

Someone has that job.  I actually know the guy that has that job.
How can you be tactful in that situation?  How do you ever look at people the same way?

So there it is, birth to death.
You're just in between.
And you haven't heard the one two box theorem yet.

I need to be taken seriously. And I also need for you to laugh at my jokes.

Chaos and pajamas, with a side of perverts looking at your socks
From the yuppie bar, of course, where else?

"Your sweater says, I'm sexy, but no grabby grabby."
That's exactly what I was trying to say with this sweater.
I mean, only grab me if you love me.
I'm also wearing a ski cap that gets me mad props.
The girl from Spain said it was the BEST kind of hat.

Both of us furrow our brows when she tells me the story of how hers was stolen right before Christmas.
I imagine hers was coral or tangerine.
She was grieving her ski cap.  It's true.
The theme of the day was grief.

My old friend shot himself a few weeks ago.
I obviously remember the last time I saw him, selling DVDs at the Mt. Royal Tavern.

I remember his pet ferret.  I remember when he stole a golden cross necklace from the house where I was house-sitting.  I remember he was always slinky like a cat burglar with everything from women's hearts to regular larceny.

Back to this weekend;
I was too tired and I had been out all day watching the break dance competition.
This was the after party.

My ski cap says that I am pretty much a teenage boy and you should leave me alone.
Unless you love me, of course.

But my mind is always drifting toward what Little Joe calls a
Hollywood Kiss.

Lay down.

C'mere.

Get away from me.

We laugh about this shit.  Give nicknames to people, but, it's not a joke.
Like, MRSA, lolz.

I need to be taken seriously.  And I also need for you to laugh at my jokes.

No wonder your grandfather said you were sexy, he said.  I can just see you with your hand on your hip, looking, how old were you?.... Eight years old.  

We really laughed hysterically when he said that.  Like a fashion show no matter what you wear.

It was a compliment.

You could wear a burlap sack and look good.  Stuff like that from amputees always comforts me.  
I know why and it would just take way too long to explain.  It's not as much of a bummer as it is weird and awkward.

Growing up with the Munsters.  

It's muscle beach when someone can tell you to grab onto their elbow
and then they make a muscle and you fly up in the air like a monkey on a tree branch.
It's like Popeye.  Spinach.  It's childhood.  

Adolescence.
C'mere.  I wanna tell you a secret.
I need you to steal your mother's car tonight.  At 2am.

The phone was tapped.  It was the very early nineties.  My friend's father had his own phones tapped.
It's hilarious now.  It was NOT funny at the time.

Stream of consciousness.
I have to do something terribly adult tomorrow.
A memorial gathering.  None of this was what I intended to write.