Saturday, November 29, 2014

salome reproached

white sapphire do re mi to you i
pray

rain rain rain milky heartwarm all
over the human race i

bunch my hair and pull up my tights
christened in the name of

multi-faceted spinning shine vault

brutalize
in the depths of space

stars learn they are on fire

i had to tell them
i had to in order to stretch longer.

i bared proof of phoenixes and reincarnations  


rubies began to spring red-eyes in the sky-an

alphabet of desire.

it hurt to look up after that. i began to shift back into my familiar body.
breath of neon
metallic taste
in tune with earth-dna

if i feel it, i am it
donate my belongings to this book burning

plums and nectarines are not of
this time of year must
i stay awake? you may

experiment on my body
if you let me slumber.
i'll pretend.
i'll pretend my dreams aren't
trying to tell me things.

between you and me.
and later on
i wont even believe me
when i tell myself

this was happening.
because it was just you and me.
how would i know if i'm
just making up a memory

if it was just you and me.
lose it.
lose it to history.

Thursday, November 27, 2014

life during the present
trial. murder of a man
to the guillotine before '77

do you know the king?
do you know it was the king who you murdered?

brother don't bother apologizing we
hated him damn the man and
his ermines

death toll meant everything until
we tired of it and

you weren't potty trained properly so you
shit on the streets and call it an act
of punk rock anarchism crimethinc. hacktivism
cherry born when it comes down to
it god-component can we

talk about something easier- a subject
far less sensitive than capital punishment

idiotgaz,

law enforcement. doctor handwriting
i prescribe you
blooming multiverse i made an animal noise

growl woof caw meow rattle peck blah blah

those are chills
those are chills between my orgasms

i didn't like having them
because i tried to make that face
in the mirror before

and a boy couldn't possibly like it
it's not pretty
therefore it doesn't offer me security

 and that time
we were about to fuck that one guy

which is always exciting

but i blacked out for the rest of the night
except these few times
where he said all concerned:

"are you okay?"

no idea what i said to him. probably "yeah".

the next morning i awoke and
i saw unborn teenagers that

could've been other version of
me by now
hum bum buzzz guzzle nuzzle foot rub

now they're coming out
out of their mothers
out of the hospitals

out of the parkways
house, woods
university

job
apartment building
all the people separated to

spend money believing in below
in below, a greatness- an unfinished sentence

mall rats terrorists hoodlums soccer moms
religion fanatics and if they're

separate from my own culture
let the unfinished sentences get taken care
of by someone else,

they're their problems now- weeds.
i've got

other awkward silences to do better at.

Wednesday, November 26, 2014

the meat-packing district

giving myself street cred, these hotel
knick-knacks are all mine.
that bible doesn't hide itself well.
that bible is mine.

a screeching halt, squirrell

on the road- you fair well
in trees, fences to trees

beach chairs in the backyard
to trees.
it is the summer and i think.

i'm doing everything i can
to see past the thinking.
furtively learning how to cook,
one tablespoon of flax seeds

in my experimental shakes,
helping

myself to loosen up.
i see it through the telescope next
door.
i see you shaking in your boots.

look at you, obsessing over
the garden only half-yours,
piecemeal-weeding,

take a chill pill.
go camping.

you're at that waterfall
cool mistiness spritzing

all over your willing
fit
healthy
athletic
body.

look at that fake-meditation.
look at you wondering

what your third eye is
supposed to look like, anyway.

look at you slurping at your
own soul
fast as you can

confusing the meat with the god.
sat nam! sat nam!

if it doesn't work out by the time
you're thirty.
if it doesn't by twenty seven.
if it doesn't by sunday.

closer and closer to god.

all your gestures of dwindling
hopefulness
going into

kissing a bullfrog,

praying to the shower-head.

even closer.

slice up

that stomach
you've a tummy ache, no?

somatic pain
is a big warning sign.

worms or meat or
both at once,
pots and pans for atmosphere

press the distress signal.
stop the conveyor belt.

horse voice and hat hair.

shut down the factory.

there are other ways to make money.

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

songbird's full names
tv guide listings, things i want
for christmas. coffee number

three. sleeping pill. part the vitreous wave,
allow me a poetry.

pizza and ren and stimpy? can do.

violated
young lady

i dream of new york city
because of its filled up space
-a depth-plunge
sitting on my body
except its outline

once a stroke
from fingers in sand
of a bay

the body cannot move, save
toes wiggling, trying to get
god's attention.

now i don't know what i want to
be when i grow up

grandmother and family-friends looked at you
fondly. people find innocence
rather adorable.

keep it. revive it. honor it.
remember these homemakers.

grandmother and grand-aunt sibling
rivalry, instilled

in sister and i
my memory is unwanted
all alone
balloon in outer-space

i'm on the world's tallest ferris wheel
meaning well
it moves so slow
and i move with the clouds

i've got something in my hand
to float to the balloon
and tell it to find its own space

hold it and force it to fly
my ancestors ache to dismiss
belief in history

let us sleep endlessly
tuck us in, daughter

your blankets are nice

bedtime story
don't let the bedbugs bite
my hunger is daunting, julienne
those two sticks

must rub one another
play the violin
sadly
over our romantic table

with the candle
that's black
and shaped like a woman

i'll kill your heartbreak
with my glue gun

nobody fucks with
a woman with opinions

inside i'm in a car
looking out the window

lost in the midwest
driving past meadows
worried about possessed children

not dressed appropriately
for the weather.
so i've got a lot of time to think.
hopefully i can pluck at your
little malnourished strings

light
light

peak a boo
reality show in the living room with mom and brother. fuck. i was really disappointed last week there wasn't a second episode of "too many cooks".
next tuesday will be my test-drive of leadership at my volunteership. i do not want to think about it. i do not want to print out the employee application nor do i want to fill out and sign papers.

as much as everything seems to be falling into place, and i'm happy, things are a little off. i'm not as strict on myself as i have been for years. too strict. wouldn't eat strict. and coping with the change is tricky. i have to meander around the admonishing voice that tells me "i'm lazy", or that it's my fault i can't seem to keep this one plant of mine alive. i try not to think about this plant that just seems like it's self destructive. does this mean i don't care? i hope not. i did make a few attempts to figure it out.
my psychiatrist says welcome to winter, it's time for seasonal effective to kick in. i need to absorb as much D3 as i can but like, when i go outside the sun isn't around. the sky is petrified puke. my leo heart is way irritated over this.
however, i can walk around my backyard in my underwear openly because nobody is outside, and i just don't care what the neighbors think so i ought to take advantage of that. i'm paranoid about other things all right, but like, there's so much sex screaming at me from the magazines when i wait in line at the grocery store that i wonder if i'm schizophrenic and fixated on a notion that society is obsessed with sex. me in my jessica simpson underwear and my lover's hoodie baggin' up doggie ca-ca or trimming my perennials can't possibly give a boner. i'm an acquired taste.
although now that i think about that wee-bit of factotum when chinaski masturbates to a stranger who's vagina he can barely see across the street, there's a chance.

i don't travel anymore. my jack kerouac days are over. i don't know where to go, and i'm afraid of having a terrible time. even more, i'm afraid of dissociating, because that happens every damn time. but i do miss the aliens i've observed, as they don't bother with my location. really, i can't blame them. the air is tense here, it's ridiculously expensive, and everyone judges each other.

alaska is full of aliens. i totally swear. when me and my girl sat in a big comfy barnes &nobles on one of our daily strip-mall outings, we spoke of aliens. than she said, "wouldn't it be funny if as we're talking about aliens it turns out there are aliens right next to us?" and the two aliens sitting near us looked at us, looked at each other, than got up and walked away.

and i heard today, it's possible that that UFO i saw in 2008 might've been a sophisticated government blimp thing. possible. but i'm suggestible enough when not defiant. that UFO! i was smoking on our patio, when i saw it, kind of like a crystalline squid orb. huge. nearby, i presume. it sat there and glittered, than kind of hovered. i crept back inside to grab the phone to exclaim the news to my then boyfriend. when i went back out, it was gone. dammit kanamit! oh, you really did mean something to me.

Monday, November 24, 2014

twig- perch quiver
up and down it wobbles

the one sparrow. winter
causes forest scenes
to appear gray

sound this way too but
taste and smell tree-burn

the sky wants them
to be miserable

o pandora, widened

heart-face, cross-armed because
freezing, do
make me wonder,

great- grandmother
from shattered egg

at this point glass was eaten
on birthdays

so we could be happy
the rest of the year

make me wonder if i stare closer
even right before
the edge

if i would break because

i know deep down
that it's not me to change it

things can change themselves but
nobody else

efforts to prove this wrong
futile

of course it
offends you

soothe-song
lling lling lling lui ling lling lui,
it makes me happy

uncovering the reality given
by children's books

turns out
they were always about us
and that's, perhaps

why i started thinking about sex
real early

it knew i knew what it was

when we speak of rape
we're talking about lord licorice

and you better learn about that

we've all been there
god has paid me to go there

my body rejected the feeling
that i was pond scum

i'm sorry, i didn't mean

to make you so shy
frostine said, on one hand

i meant to teach
you kung-fu, on the other
vulcan, airplanes
it's safer in the air

than among the camels
thirsty, thirsty.

dragging my sunburns
clawing at
my belongings

then wait a minute
allow me to file
my nails

trimmed evenly
i have the time-

that's a calm distortion.
its other name

is collective unconscious

we all have it
saying it's on its own wavelength

i check on it
when starting the day

no longer do i follow
how we all have it.

maybe the insomniacs.

jets

rained on, bed

miles away calls
me

strobe lights bat and blink
officer

i'm epileptic

this could be survival
or a convulsion

but my glasses are now broken

rose colored gas station
people get their gas as they would

but are now staring too

release my friend
she wouldn't do this
to you

officer he is forty-three
i do older

than you
to reach higher places

achievements.
you call me queen

but is it not you
searching the vehicle

as
if a cure

for cancer?
is north amityville not right there?

helter skelter. he is
my daddy.
i like my residence
the rent is due

interfacing cold X
apollo-shrine

o, it would be mean to
forget you

my face is bare and peach-fuzzed
you find me soft-skinned

i call to you- reserve
baby-voice

forest nymph developing wings
alter-egos
new dreams

trumpets
and slaves in
pompeii.
i am in the corner
sent

trouble
grounded

never been grounded before

i'm as pretty as marilyn monroe.

everyone wears a mask.

marilyn monroe
especially

she would've gone bankrupt

think she was already

when the expenses wear off,
and the war fades from the news,
and the neighbors fall in love,
and i memorize the names of all

the major players,
and the so-called islamic state
finds something new to jerk off to,

and i begin to see why the beetles
are supposed to be cool,
and my friends can be happy
because they are permitted use of
their own money,

and my teeth stop aching,
and the lice stop squirming,
and the fleas stop biting,
and the ticks stop happening,

the bombs stop dropping.

by then it is dull.

daddy used to say
we all have a need for wealth.

oh daddy.
i think we just see ourselves
in everything we look at

and that's why we're so mean!

cry for ferguson

you have the sorrow
it is your gift
get over it

get a real-sick

climb over that barbed wire
unless

of course
you are able only
to inhale the air

from your reality.
can you not trust we
mean well?

must i, i say?

threat. simple. stay back

human, i
hide

yes my fur is warm
in it, i somnambulant

my morning song i do send
i do i do

a window a little opened.
must we trust one another
it says
i should say this

lethargy-
crawling into a new home.
i am that ice inert. erased

of liberation. yoked to

the vehicles and
leaking
from the clouds

they changing shapes
without a shame

flattening, tightening
loosening.

seagulls
have been beautiful-

they get older
and know the ocean well

for every voice it has
released.
i've known only it as me.

the iron

not resistant
we chased

the backward, only to raise

an embrace
of buried bones.

it was an order

beheld

clasp of bittersweet
lower

lower
to the keep-of-the-conscious.

once on a ship.

one baby step
land to sea

many countries
in one swift movement

chipped away core.

empty-handed.
swans and sun-down, ripples

singing
making calls out to

vodun,

he he he he he he!

tread politely tip-toe
mostly by soul

here the law
a stretched plane

give into the dirt,

the dirt
is where i find

i'm searching
an us inside the body.

heaven knew.
she said this through the lagoon:

it's all on you
as i

do not count on you
one week precisely

quickly as molecular structures
diffuse into something more

i was the planet
that is cold and stunning,

moved
as if a figure skater

circles are what i knew,
an around-journey

around blank space- ice
to smooth. it,

dark and punctured
with blind-white beams

my face rested

continuing to stalk.

"you are
the little sister
weightlessly

bearing no thing,
"

closer to the sun
the muses of zeus

watched over me
fearing where dreaming

would take me.

now on a boat.
it is wooden and splintered
pointed frame.

lay steady,

follow branches in the sky.
with them i am i,

time taking
reaching
viruses simply will not do.
the body i sold to put-

who's there?-

into
an hourglass
where we plot

slipping through.

touch touch touch. do not
disturb flowers

at night, we are in it together,
except

the ones who cannot sleep,
petals blanched

holding them desperately
i seek a smell.

scent is what shrivels first
and is the first memory as well

which is why we don't remember
being born.

someday i will find you.

than i will save the world,

at
the
final breath i get it,

the first anniversary.
silver worms
toes

enter cunning mate
waterfalls.

at first it a cold
olympian exit

into spatial curves

carving
matter and more

blueprints spotted
clink eternal

out pour
into the fog,

where what's left
for man to do.

sinuous are we
today

noting time or no

grasshoppers. dew.
peeling off
paper mache from

my circumstances

evidences
report

i am blistered by the rain
faint

feel at sea
feel up for re-aligning

zippers
end up giving

froth over land

helium and happy

Sunday, November 23, 2014

little heart's desire- being
you- gathering

of all my favorite animals

together i
find ourselves fascinating.
can we miracle?

i stay still so float;
first, pulled past
the canopy as i imagine it-

unrestrained
sprinkling
i bring you nearer.
pulled we are toward
arches
aching to sync

inviting body parts
one two three symmetry,

in this poem
the moon will be likened to us.

perigee i stick to my tongue,
walk back to my given place.

later

all night
i love make-believe terrorists

evading
stress dreams of domestication-

from these i wake sighing relief
the plants haven't given out-

indeed i nurture away.
it is allowed.

oh the church bells twinkle again?
let them remind me they are
my friends.

it's raining out.

a loveletter


Saturday, November 22, 2014

to the effect of how i feel in flying dreams, i was running in the new york marathon last night. i had no idea i had so much stamina. but it seemed to be dystopian out, post-apocalyptic. the sky was grey, after all, and the river kept washing up beautifully blue styrofoam. there weren't many of us racing. the general population might've been more concerned with survival than running in marathons.
from alongside the east river, i spotted the others gathered along the bridge where the race started, looking over the railing at the turbulent waters.
they were gathered together there because hamas was present. i'm not sure where or how or why. than, a "hamas number two" was present. evz! i continued running. i looked over my shoulder, spotting yassir arafat on my tail, running gracelessly, out of breath.

my father ran past me. i know why this happened.

my sixteenth summer during this current life i had spent mostly at my father's place- on an island where, should the opportunity happen where i have a choice to move, i would love to go. dad was between women, so he was doing what he could to discover what his own identity was. everyday we did something new and fun, as awful as i felt- i tried to pretend i didn't feel badly, but i wasn't a good actor yet.
he and my freshly ex-stepmother had just separated, and dad, in his time of crisis, talked to me in that fashion which people who ought to see a therapist that refuse to see a therapist talk to their friends in. in other words, dad told me EVERYTHING, and everything all at once, i learned, was not something i could not handle- as much as i felt up for handling it. it was too much not as a failure for a daughter, as i was beginning to consider myself, but as someone that doesn't have an objective view that's also not trained properly in mental health counseling. i laugh at old news easily these days, and smile when talking about bad memories, trying to get everyone else to smile, really i'm so damned willing and it's probably a little sad. but they never do smile. in the back of my mind, i know it's because a lot of what i've experienced is not funny.

if i were to meditate on this particular chunk of my life- sweet sixteen-putting myself in my old goth maryjanes for a minute-

01: i began taking psychiatric medications as my multitudinous issues began getting a little weird on me, and i barely slept for the entire summer, and derealization was MUCH TOO MUCH FOR ME.
02: i didn't have friends or anything normal like that, and people who did want to be my friends (i was popular for some reason, probably because of my, i'll give myself credit for this, uncompromisingly fucking cool personal style) i was just too painfully shy to form relations with. and i wanted to keep that a secret.
03: my heart had just been crushed by the divorce of my father and my stepmother, which i felt unable to talk about and still do, kind of- because, as i was reminded over and over until i just gave up, it's not like my MOM and dad were divorcing. (i've always been a little sensitive to invalidation.) immediately after the separation, and upon discovering the type of human being my stepmother really was, and like, we had just bonded very closely the few months prior to the divorce (manipulation?) after my whole life being treated unkindly by her, i was told i'm never allowed to talk to her again. that was upsetting.
04: i was basically raising my little sister who i have now not seen in years, which was fun, but also an imposition and a tough job.
05: above all, my dad was unabashedly unloading everything he ever bottled up to me not excluding information a daughter never wants to hear about her father and it's not like i could just cover my ears and say "la la la". the man let me see him cry for peter's sake. i was touched by his trust.

-truly, if a sixteen year old girl told me these things about herself, this really isn't funny at all. the circumstances were heavily unusual were for me, and the change was sudden thus brutal. indeed, it's very upsetting to put myself back in the shoes i wore then.

dad did try to help me feel better with my festering and uncomfortable mental health issues by trying to get me to become a runner like him. at the time i had recently developed the precarious habit of social smoking, and nevertheless hated running. but dad meant well. oh how he would run, way ahead of me, exhilarated, as i would lag way behind wondering if my lungs were going to explode. i love exercise these days and no longer smoke, but if i was experiencing a masochistic-fix, there are other ways i'd rather go about handling that.
he'd run miles ahead of me, and tell me he'd meet me back home. i'd promise i'd run the whole time, knowing ahead of time this promise was meant to be broken. little sporadic sprints, at most, which was cute of me. when i'd finally arrive home, feigning, he'd be so pleased with me.

ooooooooooooh i felt so guilty every damned time.

yassir arafat running like a toddler, two different hamas groups, dystopia, and dad.
and me, losing my direction- starting at the beginning point again. i continued to run anyway, trying to find my way. my way out of "lost-land". never-look-back-land. never-land. whatever-the-fuck-all-that-was land.

Friday, November 21, 2014

in my breast bone i cradle and you shall
be blessed with a mother.

do you know the canyons?
one to ten, face off the wind

that strays past the canyons.

i count on you as i sing
what my mother had sung to me.

the lights are immaculate.
perhaps our eyes aren't used to
seeing things clearly.

come. press your kissed cheek
into me for warmth.

tell all. little lanterns
align for you.

sing terribly afar in the lost lands

i am an artist. therefore, if it does turn out after all that i am the worst excuse for a human being that has ever been, as well as a mistake, than it doesn't matter. i am an artist. art. art has nothing to do with morals. exploit the fuck out of what you find in between- break the law.

buffalo.
my ceiling caves into gravity.
i've got to shovel.
i've got to rake.
i've got to lose weight.

oh, it's the anti-psychotic. weight gain is fate.

what medication does- and i'm experienced-
it suppresses symptoms. contrary to popular belief, no masking is involved.

the mask part is up to you.

i've a mask. a mask, and a confused brain.

i do not have bipolar disorder, panic disorder, or any of the others.
those are inconclusive- therefore, passing feelings.

i have overbearing problems
that have taken over my life.

right now i'm scared my dog is going to die
and if he dies, it is his time,
but i don't like leaving the house alone.

and if i don't leave the house, i'll gain weight.
and if i don't leave the house and if i gain weight, that means i'm lazy and i'm not trying at life.

suppressed symptoms are all which is apparent to me
but nobody else.

i cannot explain my thinking to you. it's not meant to be.

three facts:

i accuse myself of being a worse speller than i actually am. i tend to fuck up COMPLICATED, VERY multisyllabic words. and i only capitalize letters for emphasis.
we grew up piss poor because they grew up piss poor and their parents grew up during the depression and our family trees can always be traced back to flushing, queens where everyone held hands and called one another "brother" or "sister".
today i saw my first offensive "headline" on the BBC. just HOW did this make it to the BBC? check this out. my schizophrenia radar can be pretty dead on sometimes and this guy whose story was being covered had those very recognizable distant unaware eyes that float in your dreams from your memories of psychiatric wards. he's homeless. he's an (maybe) ex-junky (ooooooooooh burroughs comin' at ya!), but has since found christ. he walks around dressed like a modernized christ, carrying a giant cross like that preacher that travelled the world carrying a cross his whole life. he's kind of like the naked cowboy, except horrifically sad and unaware he's being exploited and capitalized on.
philadelphia, pennsylvania. he goes by the moniker "philly christ", or p.j for short.

but like, i think the peppy background music is the most offensive part:

http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-30140370
oh you who break the sound barrier
i don't know how your feet move
down the aisle

but i see,
your highness. so i rise and stare.

lily pads in the pink bath
presenteth her faults,

she bows her head down to them,
dendritic electric flutter

ticklish i giggle

forth the pond frozen
this too is hers. you agree?

she births it a little life- a prayer
come through.
the fountain calls for you, our lady sappho.

it is us, the choir
of women you choose to speak to.

we hoot-hoot your language and
string garlands for your daughter's hair.

we release tea candles how they pant!
dripping from the meridians opening

silk worms
opening her veil which pierce
that noble skin,

i am beside myself.

Thursday, November 20, 2014

someone needs to dissociate rejection from being an atom bomb. is the atom bomb thing because i always feel like someone is going to sneak up on me and attack me, or that people are thinking things about me that are negative, but pity me too much because i'm too pathetic for them to be upfront about it, until they just can't fucking take it anyone so they drop me? that's overthinking, that recurrent thought. whatever it is that i'm wrapping my head around really isn't a big deal.

i reiterate- this really isn't a big deal, i have goals, and that's a big deal. goals are something to direct energy toward- a purpose. my type b personality steps aside when i'm truly dedicated. when someone tells me to be dedicated.

message to the world.
i do not want my voice to disappoint. i want it to be seismic, strong, unheard of, and expressive of everything i could possibly pull out of my life during the present. it is important you hear my voice- because i will make you your damned money, and people want to hear a voice that is aggressive and violent as well as heartbroken. screw daydreaming. daydreaming is betrayal of making myself important.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

pressure. pushing down. you. me. me, especially. because i know my experience, so it must be the biggest experience ever. therefore, you have no idea what it's like. you dick. whoever i'm not talking to. made up person! go eff ya-selves! how dare you say you fucking empathize!

the name of my lipstick on today is "please me", by MAC. no joke. actually, yes- long running joke between my older sister and i, over the names of different colors of makeup products. it started when i was little in our dysfunctional family, and i turned to playing pretend with mom's nail polish bottles. for like a year. they'd put on musical plays regularly, based on the ridiculous names of their colors. i grew attached to them.

yesterday i got a job offer. the people i've been volunteering for want me to be a director of one of their programs. um, wtf lol? i haven't had a "real job" since late 2010. after that, i did paperwork at mom's office before i said screw it to that noise, and i worked at a chinese place for one hour and ten minutes exactly.

a real job offer!
and a head's up from the vet that my dog might be in danger but might not be. see how his new injection effects him. his new injection hasn't done shit. and the pills are big.

if you've ever had a dog, you ought know a dog poo-poos pills. layer a pill in peanut butter and chicken skin and the dog will work their way around the pill.
i don't know. everything with him feels like a last hope- like i'm clenching all of my muscles in pretend-prayer, my eyes also clenched shut, "dear god, pleasssse, pretty please, pretty please, i don't know what i'd do without my doggie."

i always thought i was really good at dealing with death, until my dog. my dog is alive, and suddenly i fear death. he's finally past his puppy phase. skipped adolescence, adulthood- now lives in retirement.

okay, at least people-death i thought i was good at dealing with. death is like totally a part of life! then, i think about my two guinea pigs- p.j and penny. they were my older sister's and my older brother's, respectively. i saw both of them die! penny was six, and she was flipping a shit all day in my mother's lap before she croaked at last. p.j. died two weeks later of what i presume to be grief, as penny was her everything. we buried them in shoeboxes. i put two small stuffed animals of mine in their little makeshift caskets with them, for company, for love. my sister and her BFF bought a dozen roses for i forget which guinea pig, angering my mother. she put her anger aside. i cried for days. all the kids made fun of me. it's not like a PERSON died, or anything.

those shoeboxes are in the backyard. when we adopted hugo- i was eighteen, he was my birthday present of choice that both my mother and brother disagreed with me over- i worried he'd dig them up. whatever they are at this point, that is, considering they were each packed in air-tight ziploc bags at the request of us kids.
hugo may have destroyed two couches, my old box-spring, windowsill, scratched and chewed up all the doors and walls by doors, ripped a baby possum in half, ate a frog (whose leg i tossed into the neighbor's backyard in a panic), tried to play with baby birds, fought with countless other dogs, but never went after the graves of p.j and penny. never went after his family, and pretty much loved receiving attention from anyone as long as he wasn't being shy.

damn dog is alive, and i feel as if i'm preparing for this to change. o! what is wrong with me? i challenge myself with pressure. pressure to put together the perfect manuscript, give myself deadlines for paintings, idealize everyone- onto a pedestal far higher than i'd ever deserve to be on you go. it takes me weeks to read books. i sometimes go a day without gorging on the BBC. there are three charities i want to donate to this year, and i'm procrastinating- after all, it's so cold out i don't feel like leaving my room, and i don't have a car. i'm traumatized, and it's not a matter of time healing my human experience. it's a matter of me not trying hard enough to move past it.


oh, to be in love with a silly goose.

Monday, November 17, 2014

can you paint with all the colors of the wind?

this body is heavily lopsided. i don't even bother trying to explain what it is that troubles me the most. i know what it is, but there aren't any words for it. it evades logic. if i spoke of it, my mouth would turn into a giant novocaine shot.

so, everything is a potential trigger. this further triggers. i seem to pay attention only to my anxieties and my desire to numb out. (my therapist says numbing out is indeed a coping skill, whether i try to prove with all my might i don't try to cope at all or not.)

bastard-child! if i could draw a picture of you, you'd look like a piece of black lint that nobody can see except myself. you're too far out of reach for me to understand, or for the doctors to grasp. you are capricious, all right. i wish i could describe you so i could feel clean. who was it i fucked to birth you?

in the back of my head, you microcosm, you flip me the bird.

sprout. sprout. i need to pop you, than proceed to smear you across the bathroom mirror. it's been five days since i've picked at my face. three and a half years since i've had a drink. two years and two months since i've had a cigarette. long enough of noting anniversaries.

it was one year and eleven months since i had gotten laid. like a typical american, i've always had askew trust issues- easygoing with corrupt resources, and disruptively mistrusting of those who mean well. at this point, i had lost contact with any of my friends or acquaintances, let alone dudes. while i took pride in being alone, i secretly spent a lot of time on the internet.
it was on the internet that i signed up for a free dating website that sucks. an onslaught of guys that belong with the guys over at craig's list harassed me.
one did not. we talked about books. he was stupid and lame so he thought capitalism was really great and that the internet is really inspiring. as it goes, he was very attracted to my "strangeness". i've had that word slapped on my ass so many times in my life i don't even know what it means anymore. STRANGE. WEIRD. ECCENTRIC. FUNNY.

a week into talking to him we met.
we made out and fondled one another in his car. it was a paranoid, and maddeningly animal experience. i believe if we allow ourselves into denial of being animals, than we can certainly separate ourselves from our humanity. leopard spots cascaded from the part of my hair, than across our bodies until the interior of his car was fully covered in them.
in the back of my mind when this was happening, i dreaded going to therapy later that day.

a week later i fooled myself into believing i was in love.
about a month later i was infuriated because he was treating me like shit,
after a few attempts of reaching out to him, one night i didn't sleep. i was breaking the fuck down, after all. he texted me the same weird text that just screamed "i'm hiding something"- only i wasn't upfront with him until this time. upfront, as in via text, but still.

eventually he said the worst thing i've ever been texted and hope to never hear/see/imagine/taste/dance/laugh at/cry over again: "you're too needy." although i frantically made attempts at winning him back, or at least trying to convince him that he was wrong, i don't have needs at all, that was the end on his part. snip.

not that those words are nice- in fact, they are admonishing, judgemental, and cruel. but it is the impact of them that i don't believe i will ever forget. it was a reckless abandon this young man demonstrated, when i chronically feared abandonment in the first place.
i want to say "he's a dick because he made me do things" but that's not the case. he's not a dick because i exercised my own right to choose. he's a dick because he shrugged me off so after proclaiming love for me as well as becoming friends with me. it was the deliberateness that makes him a dick in this equation.

yes. it was the impact that led me to disintegrate, than become so sick i couldn't sit up or talk, than rise again.

rise again, learn to remove my memories of this guy completely. this i had to do secretly, as i had to pretend he didn't ever happen from this point on in order for me to believe i could move forward this way. i felt so mortified, being upset enough over obsessing over a guy that i was willing to do anything to get him to admit he remembered who i was, than i'd feel better. i'd stop obsessing. he seemed like the messenger of death enough. die, needy bitch. die.

or rise again realistically. learn how to fall asleep again on the same bed i passed out on, initially, after my attempt. learn how to wrap my head around the whole of what happened- that what i did was a very serious, disastrous, and morbid impulse. even worse, it hurt everyone i loved. it turned out people loved me. this is how i found out they did.

but it did turn out the boy did, indeed, have a lot to do with it. this took six months for me to admit to myself. it might be my favorite accomplishment of mine. because it's completely repulsive and disgraceful that we would try to kill ourselves over boys- it's petty, it's "high school". no, i disagree. it's a matter of pushing your fucking pride to the side in order to take care of yourself. let's be upfront, indeed.

life will not be a plateau anymore. in life there are things i can write about and paint again. while i work on figuring out the use of looking forward to things, i do what i want in the present.


*
this afternoon i found myself shaking a teeny-tiny container of nutmeg. it started off as a metronome than turned into a maraca. i sang around my kitchen while being interviewed by journalists as a famous musician in my imagination. i wanted to stroke the horse hair somewhere among the strings of this quartet, but my hand got slapped. it turns out i was a mere little bitch.

Friday, November 14, 2014

this past spring a friend of mine who i still can't seem to bring myself to "be myself" around gave me a card. i will always, always keep this card, because it means more to me than other things tend to. it meant to me she cares.

"let me know if i can lend a paw... [picture of a bulldog]

...or an ear. ["ear" underlined by her.]

"

it took me days after receiving it for the card to hit me. she cares! not only does she care, but she KNOWS. i care, too, but i don't know how to be. we've been friends since february 2010 and i still don't know how to be around her. we've been through a lot since then and remained friends since then. we've both grown and tarnished. i know she thinks that if someone has something to say, that they should just say it. i find that very reasonable and i often agree. unfortunately i don't find a lot of what i have to say permissible. usually when i'm around people i don't know what to fucking say.

letter to that friend: i will always be grateful to you for being my friend. you have been my only consistent friend during circumstances that i could forgive people that wouldn't stick around. shit gets heavy. heavy shit repulses people. you saw deeper and never equated me to the heavy shit itself.
you brought me back a piece of the berlin wall and a van gogh pocket mirror and other cool things from europe. at times when i have nothing to say, which persists, you don't care about that. you don't even know how much of an asshole i am.
actually, if you did, you still might not care.
i don't know what the fuck you see in me, but thanks.

Thursday, November 13, 2014

i am devastated. i experienced so many beautiful thoughts before, when i was laying in the dark for hours, telling myself i'll write them down when i was to get up. and never did, because i was afraid that if i'd go to write them down, they'd disappear.

there are layers and layers of trains of thoughts, all the time. it seems stupid to not just bulldoze over them by going the instinctive route. i say, if it's going to be like this, don't take the scenic route because it wins pain. ultimately decide to agree with the least rational one of all. end it. put your foot down. if it's going to be as confusing as this, reject everything you know can be rejected.

but in my heart of hearts, i don't want to. and i feel a little relieved when it comes back to me- understanding that i do love him. you are in a safe place, a safe place, safe place. i do what i can to convince myself all day that i'm not.

of course, because we are consciously separated, you have no idea what i feel. it would scare you away if you knew how much every aspect of my conscious brain is focused in hundreds of different directions at once without telling me that that's what's happening. i try to do stuff to override it and it doesn't work.

that last paragraph, that, THAT's my life.

my mask is bland. it doesn't come off. if this is what being together is, than i don't want it. it's not that i'm fake- i'm starting to disagree with the voice that says terribly self flagellating things such as "i'm so fake". that's all trauma i heard during childhood, which never ended. the mask stays on by way of pure automatism. it's not going to come off as i warm up to things. it's there.

before i remembered him. HIM. that sick dude. my ex-boyfriend. stalker. terribly sick human being. after i broke up with him he was very, very upset. some things he told me were things you should never say to an eighteen year old girl. or another person. you should never tell another person you're going to overdose on heroin because of them, for instance. another thing.

when i was dating him, travelling to and fro chicago with my part-time manager money, i wasn't allowed to stay with him at his grandfather's house. why? because, i find out after i broke up with him, he had told his grandfather very early in our relationship about my self-mutilation. so to his grandfather, i was disgusting. (which is a bit hypocritical from the aspect i look from, because this boyfriend openly abused heroin and other drugs, stole the grandfather's money and car...you know...)

four years of battling, everyday, the urges, and i'm right back where i left off. it feels good, better than it ever had. it comes with me wherever i go. it feels like reality- like i can feel. it feels like i can do something.
say-have i mentioned that nothing is more terrifying than "normal conversations", and that's why i'd prefer to write about whatever pleases me, to a silent audience?

oh, but i need to go out there and socialize, do normal stuff? I'LL DIE.
i swear, all my attempts to go out there and do normal stuff are the saddest things i've ever experienced. i don't quite cherish the memories. i can sit there and seem like i'm really invested in normal stuff, but here's what i'm thinking: i'm ignorant. i'm sheltered because i can't have conversations as easily as this other person can. that's so unfair this other person is so much better than me. i should be the best. they're forming an opinion on me. it's not a well-formed opinion. their opinions are better than mine. my opinions suck. i don't have any opinions. i'm selfish is why. i only care about myself. i think i'm god. i'm a closet-solopsist.

facing the world isn't enough to make me happy, it's not even enough to distract me. and it seems sheepish anyway. i don't even know when i'm being mean or not because i don't feel out the world like that. all i know is i'm overwhelmed with emotions that i've decided are valid but i can't reason them and you keep fucking pecking at me and i want you to stop.

i apologize, on one hand. it's not nice to be mean. on the other hand, i still feel the same way i did, so i'm not sorry.

the second half of my day was comprised of trying to read, which i do more than actually read, and at least once or twice daily. all i could think about was things that are not helpful to think about. i let myself think that way. like i'm letting myself do other things. i guess this is a case of the fuck-its, but i feel better. i'm tired of my feelings. i'm tired of my feelings moods thoughts opinions fears dreams ambitions shifting like crazy. i'm exhausted. i'm exhausted. i'm exhausted. i'm exhausted.

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

many BAMS
neglects to BAM BAM BAM OW MY HEART

wait, i know how to feel. the relay to dad route. that ol' trigger. dad. relationships, as they go, are chronically at risk of becoming half-assed. it reminds of that guy dad. we did fire each other, but i held onto the bumper for some time, trying. starbucks fired me. lol. bunch of different dudes fired me.

but listen, these stories are old, and here's what i think about the people involved in them. they're lost. i realize i'm not lost, because i always think about how i'm lost- counting a negativity is mathematically incorrect. therefore, i must be a goddess, a sophisticated one, if i can force myself to say so. i'll go active imagination on this. goddess drizzled in honey and fudge which burns my soul. angry that america is a modernized wrap-up of that ancient society ruled by a dickhead fart-tard that raped countless women. (salute it: mass production of 4.OZ yogurt cups.) am i not carved from marble? don't these money hungry marxists wish their lives were different?

new one i forgot to mention. my nutritional therapist! oh, overcoming an eating disorder is hard!

the whole time you ignore the voice that's telling you not to trust your nutritional therapist, she's that popular girl at school that has all you vulnerable wannabes wrapped around her finger because you want to be cool like her and you'll pay her to teach you, you believed it was your ED tricking you, that there was no reason for me to check out in her office the way i did, check out on the phone- phone sessions twice a week. but no. it was your intuition being shy again. god, fucking speak up. you do know what goes on in this head all day, right?
or do you just sleep, wake and bake and mumble my fortune here and there?

i hate you, ex nutritional therapist. i wish i believed in hate, because i would hate you, you bitch. BAM in your cold-blooded, aristocratic, NYU-alumni heart.

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

a tactile human being

today the bee-sting on my left thumb
the single point i can focus on
and it keeps me "grounded" to reality.

Sunday, November 2, 2014

the pale blue bird felt unsure of himself. only he understood what words he chirped. the other songbirds only understood what he had chirped was many syllables. he opened his beak for his mother to regurgitate chewed up earthworm bits onto his tongue, although he was older now and knew how to hunt on his own. a part of him that was not a pale blue was reversing through his memories, back into infancy. chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp. he bobbed up and down with a minimal amount of down on his scrawny body. than he was being born. than he was in an egg again. he was soon sucked into a catatonic state. from this point, i don't know what it is that he cared about. he was left behind on his little branch in the big bad winter. the little branch creaked so softly i could hardly hear it myself as i shovelled the snow right beneath. i felt both sorrow and inspiration, often wondering what he thought about. i experienced both intense fright and curiosity. his wings froze. the twig broke off my little dogwood tree. my dog ate him. we all died.

stupid shoplifting karma

i identify disdain. there is this monster towering over my brothel. he's not a monster that came in me, not ever. this monster wouldn't come anywhere near me. he lights my brain on fire as i glare into a space i cannot identify with beautiful words at present. i'd like to be personal, but i don't relate to you because you're better than me. i worry incessantly that my language is not beautiful and that i'm terrible at poetry and painting. i worry i don't nurture my genius, that i don't care enough. i feel like i rip off everyone, even their personalities, their mannerisms. i am bad at all there is except writing no-nonsense craig's list ads offering my services and imagining things. my brain is on fire. i'm still wearing the bra i shoplifted before with its little tags bothering my skin. i'm trying to write a little story about a songbird with cancer and catatonia but i feel like i'm ripping off kathy acker. stupid shoplifting karma.