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pottery [11 Apr 2011|02:00am]
drunk on the porch, staring at the sea
it’s so loud
audibly loud and visually loud too
just noise
i stand up to go inside and your
cherry falls from your cigarette
falls right beneath my foot
you were innocent
i screamed and told you that you owed me bigtime
you took my foot in your hands and kissed it and now
i owe you bigtime


[11 Apr 2011|02:00am]
what kind of world is this? a world in which shy people everywhere are expected to stand up for themselves and speak out amongst people who are saying things just so that they can be saying things. why should anyone be asked to abandon their timidity, shed their farouche, shirk sweet silence?
don't do it. don't you dare.


i surround myself with people who hold me in high esteem. [09 Nov 2010|04:51am]
i was singing a favorite sweetstrongsong in my car, driving fast (but not TOO fast) and feeling gratified, high off of good conversation, and all of a sudden i thought of you. i choked on my words; my voice was stifled; i was weakened and my moxie was diminished. the driving force was gone. in retrospect this was more stunning than it should have been. i was happy. i was singing. and then it all stopped. big deal @_@
but. um. what i mean to say is. your appearance in my mind should be inspiring and stimulating, not constricting and suffocating. so there's that. now i don't know how i feel. i don't even know how it happened. shocking revelation!! MY LOVE FOR YOU has been so uplifting and electrifying, but when i start to doubt you (and myself) things backfire. i'm so young (somuchyoungerthanyou,mydear). i don't know what i want. i've changed so much, even just in the past few months, and my awareness of my naïveté is growing, which is scary because i already feel totally lost in its abyss. how will anything ever work out? i feel like a child, wide eyed with wonder, when i look at you. reciprocation is terrifying. you are perfect and articulate and loyal and i feel like a bumbling brat in comparison. i know it ain't right to idolize the way i do, but it can't be helped. usually i meet someone intriguing and learn more about them and they shatter and disappoint, but gosh. everything you do and say just fits perfectly. everything works, except for me. i don't quite fit, but i still feel like i belong. the anniversary of the day we met is creeping on up. i think i will make a song.

i have an aching desire for cozy familiarity as of late. i think it's the weather.


[24 Jun 2010|07:59pm]
sexy, fat sky thighs
weather-wise and other-wise
life is such a smarty pants and nature really has it going on!
in fact,
i'm in a committed relationship with a huge masculine/feminine energy who's name is
eternal attraction and eternal devotion
we're engaged to be engaged.
3 messes | PUKE


blues bus [19 Aug 2009|05:54am]
erin woke up and almost immediately began laughing. she had awoken because there were cooing doves on the windowsill, and the sound of their cooing was akin to a cat's purring but less hair and more flight. flight implies something is fleeting, fleeing, and birds do that. let's just say it was a more enjoyable experience than waking up to a stupid cat on a windowsill.
yes, there was no screen. yes, there was bird poop on the windowsill. yes, the tile was curling up at the edges of the room. this was not a conventional home. this was a dilapidated building which would soon be cleared away for purposes of gentrification. on that day, erin's home decor included spiders and obscene graffiti.
erin's friend randolph was in the apartment across the hall. some called him ralph, which she refrained from doing because it made her think of vomit, and others called him randy, which she refrained from doing because it's a stupid name. she called him randolph, and tried not to think of william randolph hearst. usually this worked.
the night previous had found erin and randolph tired with no place to stay. they were traveling east in a 1979 burgundy volvo 240 station wagon. what a mouth full. erin's parents had thoughtfully offered to allow her use of their ford explorer, but erin trusted her volvo and she opted to use it instead. that choice may have not been made entirely on the basis of trust for her vehicle, but maybe a little because ford explorers are ugly, and volvo 240s are not. call it vanity, but she relied upon sanity. and one might argue that one cannot remain sane whilst in the bowels of a hideous beast.
so, they were tired. they didn't BELIEVE in hotel rooms. how they found this building is not important, and the building itself is not important, either, for that matter. the fact remains that we have found our friends in the morning with smiles on their faces.
randolph was, indeed, smiling. the tiny studio he had chosen as a base for last evening had transformed overnight. all he remembered from last night was darkness. now, a vast and beautiful wasteland lay before him. there were five 30-gallon bags of clothing thrown into the corner. two were open with a colorful assortment of clothing climbing out of them.
randolph and erin had both slept on the floor of their respective apartments, but they had left their doors open, and randolph cried out to erin, "i found clothes."
"clothes? do they smell bad?" was erin's reply. she hastily discarded her blanket from home and joined randolph in his apartment. it is to be noted that immediately as she stood up, the doves took flight and were never seen by erin again.
"i don't know," randolph said. erin squatted down and sniffed the air above the garbage bags. then she buried her face into one of the piles of clothing and smelled them.
"they're laundered," she said once she had resurfaced. "they smell good!"
"i want that. that is mine," randolph said, pointing to a dark green sweatshirt with skinny black stripes on it.
"as long as i can have this," erin said to him, holding up a black bra with navy blue polka dots on it.
"that sounds fair to me," randolph agreed, snatching the sweater.
erin was caressing the bra. "this has to be real silk. silkworms made this while you were sleeping. it's softer than your hair. i'm going to try it on. it must fit."
erin rejoined her blanky in her own apartment, which was a 1 bedroom, not a studio, and found herself to be overendowed when it came to fitting the bra.
she sighed. "my cups runneth over."
2 messes | PUKE


something my dad wrote [12 Aug 2009|09:23pm]
brothers and sisters, I do not even know what day of the week it is, nor do I care. if only the midwife had been a little more sloppy or less careful (how do you prefer it?) with the knife I'd be happily fragrantly mulching some garden, growing gorgeous, purple eggplants, green sprigs of basil and red ripe tomatoes...


humdrum [15 Jul 2009|04:32am]
heart's got wings,
sweet little things.
it'd like to fly right out of my chest
but if you did that, dear heart, how do you propose i'd rebuild my nest?


rocks don't need water unless they have dreams of becoming crystals [25 Jun 2009|12:49am]
in the backyard there was a house on stilts which we called our "Treehouse" but in reality was just a clubhouse because there was no tree, only stilts. up in the treehouse we'd color and draw with crayons. summer came and so did heat, and our crayon tin got hot, and our crayons melted. wax. hot wax. crayon wax. nothing like the smell of candles... i think the little paper label had a lot to do with it. construction paper and melted crayon wax. crayons. a first and favorite scent. i liked it when the crayons would half-melt and maintain enveloped in their label, then dry and be flat & rectangular rather than cylindrical and round. pink flamingo, charcoal, white. i often wondered why there was even a white crayon, always the last man standing, we never used it. white on white isn't vivid or engaging, or aesthetically pleasing like purple or blue. black was stark, and we all liked that.


i have a feeling i'm going to edit this a lot in the future [13 May 2009|02:40am]
EngagedCollapse )
3 messes | PUKE


my last microfiction (thank the baby jesus) [13 May 2009|02:39am]
it's a character study, not really a story.
saturday's warriorCollapse )
4 messes | PUKE


to & fro [06 Oct 2008|01:24am]
Read more...Collapse )
12 messes | PUKE


[28 Sep 2008|01:27pm]
calamity jane met able and cain and the three went out merrily drinking.
said able to cain "if i'm able to aim, i'll steer this ship without sinking,"
when what they did was scare the kids,
"but it's the end after all," they were thinking.


[15 Sep 2008|08:41am]
since i've gone away
all i've got to say
i've said behind my back
i heard it anyways
it's ringing in my ears
day after every day
until your voice appears
it's been like years and years
can we split a beer
a can of cold brown piss
it's always hit and miss
i'll get the money fast
you'll get your grandma's house
we'll be a family
and move from town to town
you your grandma and me
spreading jelly around
and then we'll settle down
in the deep blue sea
and all we'll have to say
is aren't we lucky
5 messes | PUKE


[13 Sep 2008|03:23pm]
she slid out of bed like a cactus. 3 million tiny hairs reaching for the stars in the night sky! she who lives by the razor dies by it. but then again... hair today, gone tomorrow. an eye for an eye, two wrongs don't make a right; mother knows best, don't talk to strangers; etc., etc., etc..
her eyes were rusted shut. with narrow and blurred vision, she made out for the bathroom door, stepping on something. it was hardly affected. wryly, wrangly tom cat. instead of mumbling, she yelped.
in the bathroom she rolled the crap out of her eyes as she looked at herself through fingers and old toothpaste. a dirty mirror loses it's magic. at that though, she got in the shower.
the radio had been on. if music is good company, the radio is the best. unpredictable, but not too unpredictable.
bells toll. saturday she marries the radio.
something old (sony, circa 1987), something new (off switch), something borrowed (treasure map), something blue (smart little motor bike.) and the tom cat plays homeowner.
6 messes | PUKE


worst headache of my entire existence [10 Sep 2008|05:14am]
going round going round going round in circles
falling up falling down 'til our knees are purple
never thought for a change i could use some help
sittin' pretty standin' still at the gates of hell
so i'll be the mom and i'll nest on our eggs
while you dig and you claw and you howl at the rain
it won't help, we both know, but it stifles the pain
so we give it a try and try not to complain
see i don't think that pain will ever go away
find myself in pieces on the highway
asking nice for you to see it my way
but maybe this is too high a price to pay
but maybe it's not
maybe i'm just a total nutcase
thinking things are getting better
even when they're not
but it doesn't really matter in the end
cuz i think we'll find a way to fall in love again
or i hope to find a way to fall in love again
cuz if i let him have a chance with my heart again
you know he'll find a way to break my heart again
and there's nothing in this world that can stop me faster
than a song about my hands or that new york catcher
it's a pity to waste such a beautiful thing
on a boy who doesn't care and some painful memory
but we've got a plan and it's gotta be good
cuz we're tearing down walls and we're splintering wood
you don't have to love me, i'm not saying you should
bt you told me you do and i wish that i could
say i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you

and or you could listen
not so secret


[03 Sep 2008|11:48am]
little bird scared only by scarecrow
scareseagull, scaresparrow
not a competition, but a race to win
little bird vs. shadows
verses for little birds picked for the gallows

what's a bruised wing
right lobe, left lobe
every born girl or son
(sing song sung wrong
drove birdie into farmer's gun
farmer got another one
run, birdie,run)?


[03 Sep 2008|11:44am]
everytime i play solitair i expect to win. it's not a scientific assumption, but morally i think it's the right thing to do. it does no good to stifle ones imagination. maybe in times of delirium, but never in matters of the heart. or club, or diamond, or (especially) the spade.
1 mess | PUKE


[03 Sep 2008|11:42am]
i'm wearing my heart on my leg
strapped to my thigh, between movement and rest
hips are the shoulders
knees are the chest
ticking a tune
july until june
stabbing the fork
scooping the spoon
just doing it's best
and it's the best it can do


it's time i PARTICIPATE. partici pate [03 Sep 2008|11:26am]

it was a warm humid night when chubby little sandy didn't sleep
she untangled the eyes that she wore over dark circles, gliding unsteadily onto the tile floor.
i watched her hurry away with someone jammed so tight into her head that he was on her face.
i took five or six steps into the pale yellow wall
i followed both of them just above a whisper.
sandy and he were wiping raindrops from the onions crying and laughing very much.
i uttered a bitter sigh.
i could taste everyone in the room
i could see blood on my tongue.
my teeth were ready to pour out of my mouth
roll slowly down from my lips, from one of us to the next.
i had to swallow them, to hold them in.
and then something terrible trickled from sandy's mouth,
another onion.
sandy went white
rain pattered on the edge of an armchair.
she tugged at the floor, as she pulled open the door.
we swayed with her like a high ocean wave that fluttered out hair and our sweaters.
help? i asked, thinking about the traffic of rain and onions in my little room
but now we were at her house.
the living room was filled with thick red carpet and rows of red and yellow tulips
the smell of lilies.
and the smell of the lilies.
i glanced at the clock as i ran to the couch
and smoked it in front of her long silver throat.
i held my breath.
she glared across the room, her eyes didn't move
the bright green african american turned the corner
in the center of the living room he lumbered up to my fists
he was wearing a t-shirt and an open red eye
his whole body appeared to be a jar of his face!
his hands shot up.
it made me stop and raise my hand
my sandwich fell apart.
his big body stopped walking and grabbed the sleeve of the green couch.
puff puff puff.
sandy rubbed her stomach
her normally pale skin had become an instant window.
i gasped and turned to the window.
i turned in time to see her fall to her knees.
she has dark brown hair like i do.
i held my breath.
i was hearing the snap of her jaw even when he swallowed hard.
i told him her could have bitten her dangling orange ear until her ears turned red again.
she sat erect one hand toying with her long bronze head gently in the flower bed
we all perched around the sky outside the window
the wind greeted us as we tossed softly walnuts and other junk into her stomach.
she stuck her tongue out through gritted teeth to catch her breath.
"hey-!" i cried out as i returned to the living room,
what's this about?
about eleven o'clock


recollect me darling, raise me to your lips [27 Jul 2008|04:15pm]
i bark don't bite slow soft still
climb up trees and coast downhill
drink soft quick touch swallow pill
now and then you get your fill

i think that i will roll it up
lick my lips drink from my cup
move so slowly to my door
i don't want you coming around anymore
"protect me," he said so sad
reminded me of hearts we had
light as a rock, that's what she said
came in the night and left a dent in my bed
planning words before they're spoken
smile so sweet with a heart so broken
boys and girls they take their time
drinking beer, tequila lime
drop your thoughts and join me
you and i make the royal we
things always seem to be getting better
if not now, why not then, or never?

everything is a fraction
will the WHOLE
be complete
when will the hole be deep


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