{the menfolk.}

there they are. on the sidewalks. with their suits. with their skin. in their hats. on bikes. nice shoes, walking with feet, attached to firm, hairy legs. wearing glasses. crossing the street. eating food. drinking drinks. grizzly and attractive. mouths full of wet teeth. funny hair. flannel shirts. smoking. in the car. staring blankly. looking around. touching things with their larger hands, filled with joints and trimmed fingernails. arms and legs and necks and backs. cheek bones and jaw lines. eyes from here to tuesday. i'll be there with bells on. just let me lay a hand on you. everywhere i turn, there they are. what's a girl to do. it's enough to drive me into madness.

{maybe i'm an idiot.}

i've been making a valiant effort towards avoiding situations that are upsetting, petty, or dramatic. i may have just placed myself in one of these moments. however, it's the last show, and i think a final hurrah would be nice. let's just pray nothing bad happens. Lord have mercy..

{this is the part where}

today is a funny day. kids are hilarious. yesterday a conversation went something like this:

kid: "miss megan, i lost a tooth last night!"
me: "that's awesome! we should have a tooth party."
otherkid: "but we don't have any balloons!"
me: "we don't need balloons to have a party."
olderkid: "parties without planning always end up boring.."
me: "whatever! all we need are each other, and some sweet jams to bust out!"
bestkidever: "speaking of sweet jams, my mom makes a delicious fig jam."
me: "maybe we can bring in your mom's sweet fig jam and have a jam party!"
bestkidever: "YEAH!"
me: "YEAH!!!"


i've been thinking about that conversation for the past few days. every time i laugh out loud.

in other news, today is also funny. i woke up today and hopped the bus to work at 6am, and listened to clark, because i just found turning dragon again, after losing it for a few weeks.. i rode my bike all around and listened to os mutantes. which is my present favourite. i can't stop laughing stupidly at everything all day. for instance, i am incapable of riding my bike without hands. when i was in the sixth grade i could. like a hit. but one day, during our bike-a-thon, whilst impressing my fellow classmates with my mad skills, swerving left and right and singing the mission impossible theme song, i totally bit it hard. actually, i don't even remember falling, just waking up on the ground and hurting a lot, while jim bailey stood over me saying, "megan, are you okay?" jim bailey was a twin, his brother was aaron. they had big lips, and were very different, as identical twins tend to be. but they always got in trouble for reading during class. even if it was the bible. one day in seveth grade math class the teacher pointed out that jim bailey had something on his lip. he inquisitively picked it off and ate it, thought for a moment and said, "it's ham. it's still good." my mom always regales me that story, whenever we talk about junior high.

well i smell really bad from all that bike riding. and it's about time to read to the fourth graders, then eat nuts with the kindergarteners.

{on the farm}

each day has its taste. early in the morning the sun shines pink and lavender over the horizon line. the edge of the earth, and into a space that is far beyond my comprehension makes such a seemingly tangible and mysterious beauty. the air is moist with dew, my mind clears the fog of sleep, and eyes open. similar, the sky does daily. a secret love blossoming in my chest, swelling like the tide and just as often. resounding like the hushed, frequent coos of mourning doves. here we will grow the most delicious vegetation. i will think so. our cattle graze. in the east. near the water. my body, my thoughts and will are practiced and uniform. this labour is all i ever wanted, through all the days i spent in inconsolable sorrow. a solitude so satisfying. gathering the dirt in my hands, echoing the internal quietness of love. a sole witness to its flavours and aroma. the crops are solid but fragile, like children; like my body, taught and tanned by the sun that also soothes the soil into development. as this pasture, i will grow old here. i will bare nakedness and love; harvest them and prove their delicate sincerity. the soft, affectionate caress planted across the lips of life. such a simple small existence. it is mine. one can hardly feel it, but its subtlety is overpowering. my children, conceived through such a love. someday they too will work the earth with strong and tiny hands. blond and bashful, becoming themselves through hot, introspective summer days. where they look out upon the land, and take in its still and solemn beauty. each day a bountiful yielding of thought and reflection. i will die on this land, which such a peaceful gratitude. a husband at my side, and family looking on. as this woman leaves her body forever. this was all i asked for.

{american darling valve.}

the days are delightfully long. but never full enough. without a friend in the world, i went. we go to the bar after work to see a fellow teacher spin some records. meet up with the boyfriend, not mine, and both are saying this bar is so fantastic. to me it is just another bar. maybe i don't see it. i drink a nice red wine at five dollars a glass. but i know the bottle goes for ten dollars at the supermarket. you can't fool me, but i'll drink nonetheless. i am the third wheel. then the fourth. then fifth. don't listen to me. i'm just not interesting enough to quantify. my true desire is to simply talk and laugh. not necessarily be interesting. going on and on about my life and the things that i do is not my main goal. don't try and "hook me up" with anyone. if that much effort goes into making someone like me, save it. blah blah blah, again! they leave me drunk and practically alone, at a table, at the bar with strangers. my tolerance has dwindled. absolutely drunk, as in, red alert drunk, although i am very aware of it per usual. i feel like i'm gonna be sick. like i might barf in the bar, as in, right now, but i'm keeping it together. standing in the corner, staring at the ceiling, i am praying, directly to God, "please don't let me barf in this bar, in front of all these people." the teachers walk past asking where i'm going, "oh, i'm gonna go home now. i haveta go home now. ok. bye." yeah sure, we'll do this again sometime.. whoever is in the bathroom is taking way too long. forget it. composer regained. i leave and some bum asks for change. find my bike, only to ride it ever so poorly to the train stop. talking to myself. alone and once again don't have the money to pay fare, roll the dice. listen to cat power, i want another lady drunk; i have to feel connected to someone. and all this motion is making me sick again. old town/china town get off the train. there are so many people here. waiting for my transfer. fuck it, i'll just ride my bike a few stops up. alone in a lonely world. drunk and abandoned. my bike tire gets caught in the train tracks and i fly forward, crashing onto my face. get up, some man who is kind asks me if i'm okay. yeah, thanks for asking. he says it's happened to him before too. really, the slightest concern for my well-being means a lot right now. ride the train home, feeling defeated. PGE park. my bike chain hanging. try to fix it, covered in grease and oil. taco bell with bloody knees, eating like a desperate drunk. home and to bed.

the only things i truly did today were bathe three times, eat twice, and either nap, or lie in bed dreaming of love and killing bears on the appalachian trail with a knife and my future dog artax. called mom and dad. and others who didn't answer. now i'm out. drink drink drink. my poor left knee has only suffered since moving to portland, oregon. with spider bites and bike accidents. my shoulder aches. and my face is bruised. where were you then world? when i was alone and without any friends. i stare out the window at night and pray for someone to come and find me. i am always praying they come and find me. please, prove me wrong. send someone. i'm sick of hearing about people's sex lives. or verbally mulling over why someone is so neurotic, why they are the way they are. we are on this adventure together, yet everyone only has themselves to spit out about at every turn. i call my mother. i call my mother. she is my saviour in such a dry time. because she is hilariously off. she reminds me of myself when she speaks, so i know i'm not alone. the apples don't fall far. did you study me as i aged? discover my foibles before i did? when i was nine. when i was eighteen. when i was twenty-one. did you see who i was trying to be? did you see you in me?

i know that i am ill. and i feel that i am dying away like these times. take care of me. as if it made a difference. i wonder daily why i write things down, as though they are these magnanimous thoughts of life. i am lonely tonight. in this day and age. sitting at the table. listening to cars. missing my brothers. feelings alone. in a lonely world.

{gernal.}

another journal just about finished.
anyone care to send me a new one?
i'll write about you..

{dark night.}

perched on the window ledge
at night i am the antihero
to the drunks on streets below
because i too am a drunk
and wish not to be
life's ridiculous lot
always an option.

but i am mysteries within!
only God knows
to unearth,
guided by cold spiral coils
of an electric stove,
metal emergency fire escapes,
and the rattling steal radiator.
tonight i am lonely.

there is no one in the world to call.
memorizing at old photographs
and typing aimless postcards
my heart burns a bleak red
the wilderness is painful

this vacancy unending
but leave me be
the world offers stale bread
to a mouth already dry

are we not children always
and beautiful?

{ hank. }

i hadn't entirely realized how much of an asshole Charles Bukowski was. watching born into this amplified his assholedness to such a degree it became undismissable. i've been doing a good job of simply ignoring the masogynist side of Chuck. so, witnessing the reality of his personality established itself heavily in my mind, causing me to like him less, despite his writing, which i love. it was a mistake in the sense that, had i not watched "born into this" i wouldn't have known he was such a prick. but at the same time, i didn't have the whole picture of Chuck.

i guess what i'm trying to say is, i want to like him, but can't anymore, as a man, because his true colours were demonstrated to me, via the film. and that can't be altered. even though i kind of wish it could be. hence, a "mistake." but i guess i never met the guys, so who am i to judge.

did that make any sense at all?...