{johnny on the spot.}

windows see the world,
and my glasses are always
falling from my face.

the night beats loudly.
silent howling at the moon,
city streets below.

lovers, shut your blinds.
this intimate solitude,
incomparable.

up the spinal base
thoughts cannot stop their creeping,
and i am lonely,

constantly counting
to quiet nightly stirrings.
we are only sheep.

cattle cannot see
the world keeping them captured.
they never escape.

{ mysteries. }

jacked up on coffee. i was sitting outside having a cigarette. when a group of women past me by, and one of them said softly, "hello miss megan..." i exhaled a mouthful of smoke, looking startled. she was wearing a red wind-breaker, telling me her daughter attends kindergarten at the school where i work. my brain skimmed through a list of the kindergarten/parent faces i could remember. nothing came up. she could tell i didn't know who she was, and asked how my break was going. hiding my cigarette i politely said, "it's been very lazy, and nice." we wished each other a good night. she seemed understanding of my smoking, or at least absent of judgments. it was strange. i thought, "i'm like a kindergarten celebrity..." because i had no idea who this lady was, or who her kid is.

i've become increasingly paranoid about parents or their kids witnessing my bad habits. i can't smoke on the street in north portland anymore. i hide constantly. but in this neighborhood, i feel far enough removed from school grounds to have as many public smoke breaks as i like. in a way, this was a nightmare. in another, she didn't really seem to care. and if anything, was making an effort to put me at ease.
encounters

i've been sitting in the coffee shop for at least five hours, for the past three days. "getting things done". but my computer is so slow, i end up in this crazy coffee computer time warp, where nothing real gets done. only kind of. whatever. it's spring break... whoo. "well, somebody had to say it..." shakey.

{letters to lynn. vol. one.}

i had "gaim" at one point, but no longer. my computer couldn’t take it. what’s funny is, i was just thinking about calling you. i have been for a few days, because i’m on spring break and have been alone a lot. but i too, am bad at phone calls. just as you are. i can try to get "gaim" again, but honestly, this computer is just so damn slow. it’s painful, and shuts off for no reason sometimes. this year i intend on gettin me a new compute. i just want to call them computes anymore, and skip the "r" altogether.

i hope all is going well. things are a-ok here. been a bit lonely, but nothing serious. (p.s. i really have to pee right now, but there’s some hobo in the bathroom, probably dropping a huge bomb, which is disheartening...) i figure, you’re only as lonely as you let yourself be. someday, i will have friends here, and that will be a great time, but i additionally figure it takes a little while before that happens. and i don’t want to throw myself into a "group" of friends, that i don’t even really care for. i need good, solid company. my only real social contact has been nick. and shannon, but we live together, so that’s a technicality. john, who i brought to ohio, has since moved to new orleans with our other roommate nokomis, who have since been dating. so that happened.

i just remembered that i dreamt about pi last night. that is SO crazy. wild and crazy (kids). i don’t even like math. i mean, i know it’s necessary for the world, but we never got along. wow. it was like some math riddle that involved pi. also, all i did yeasterday (yeasterday...) was take two 4 hour naps and eat soup. one of my nap dreams involved winking at the Predator. yeah, like the movie killer alien. it was like Predator 3, or something. (i just got to use the w.c. and it was glorious.) anyway, i haven’t had too much human contact lately, which has been strange. i made several soups and filmed myself sitting in lots of different places in the apartment drinking wine. i will be back in june for a wedding. i’m making an immaculate itinerary. you are in it. i like to call it the "ohitinerary." i’ve been compounding words lately, and decidedly, it’s very fun. for instance, i have to mail this action figure alien from the movie Alien to my brother (it’s sweet, and a foot tall, and it’s mouth opens and stuff!) and have labeled this endeavor "mailien". which i think is amazing, and typing it just now made me laugh out loud. take care!!!

megan.

{having a moment.

{free your skin.}

enter the bar. in a new setting it's hard to tell where to place yourself at first. glance at the bar, too small. not crowded, but interspersed with old men. it seems the possibility that one of them will talk to me is too high for comfort. can't risk it. a deuce at the far end of the "dining area" looks safely secluded. i smell of coconuts. and my breasts keep inching out the top of my dress every move i make. my mom calls this "spill-over." it is a navy blue dress, buttoning down the front, with tiny, white polka dots. it would make me look like a schoolmarm, where it not so very tight and short. i am forced to wear both an undershirt and additional skirt underneath. the shirt, which is somehow assisting in the undesirable amount of cleavage, is black. the skirt, reminiscent of swimsuit material, is a ridiculously bright floral design. my tights are black, overlapped by olive green knee socks, portraying two small penguins, a mama and babe, hugging the tops of my calves. black sneakers with a silver stripe down the side bear one black lace, the other, kelly green. my hair is down and mostly over my face. a long, knitted maroon scarf falls from my neck. and the usual pseudo-hounds tooth coat lies lazy on the chair. dangling chain earrings are more than i am used to. my giant tweed bag sits on the floor by my side. as i sit at the table, and the band horns cheer on the televised sports team, i stare at the life sized papermache person standing before me.

it strikes a pose, as though it's leaning against an invisible ledge. asymmetrical nipples blatantly stab under the stiff wife-beater clinging to the cardboard body, making the fabric look wet and sticky. a puffy, plastic heart broach adorns the left breast, as a string of immobile clam shells comes to rest in the valley of the chest. a watch is worn on each thick wrist, while plaster hands sag, looking as though they were poured into yellow dish gloves. daisy dukes, with the waist line of a five-year-old, rise high on the long, boyish legs, leading to bulky, white cotton socks. small, orange, off-brand converse with black laces awkwardly fit the dwarfish disproportionate feet. the being stands on a tanned box, with bits of sand and sea shells glued to its surface.

additional black sneakers hang from the left shoulder, the left arm akimbo. what appears to be a scarf, separates the neck from the chin. much like an old woman might carry her cranium. the face is an entity all it's own. a jaw line is basically nonexistent. and the caterpillar puffed mouth protrudes haphazardly below the gargantuan nose with its gaping nostrils. the nose is so large in fact, that the sunglasses resting upon the bridge stand out several inches, the frames resembling drinking straws. i am grateful for the presence of sunglasses, for fear of looking into the eyes of such a mongoloid concoction. a crisp, plaid cap sets clumsily on the head, while, what i assume are spiral metal shavings, play the part of "hair." there are no ears.

the entire body looks wet, as though it were just wrought from some unfortunate hobo underworld. the creation of someone desiring something to love. for what was attempted to be the youth of this it, it appears very old. bent thick and wrinkled in all the wrong places. i imagine the human hands forming a once freshly sticky wet paper body. smoothing out the paper skin. the nonexistent genitalia. trying so hard to make it look so real. working to mimic the soft immaculate intricacies of the human body.

they serve no whiskey here. but apparently have good cheeseburger. i am not hungry. i order a stella artois. and the old man waiter, who seemed so cordial at the door, is now stern and unresponsive. the drink is $4.28. seriously? "are you fucking kidding me?" i whisper to myself. i had better get to keep the glass. with it's gold rim. it begins to smell like an old woman.

{ghost hustler.}

days of dust since past
the new age has arrived
sun heats my calves
and the day breaks in half

cloud cover
eating when it's right to eat
sleeping when it's right to sleep
make this face a womans
keep me warm and breathing
the softest of speech
floating puerilely
and being with the evenings
lying with the Feys
drowsing off in mirth
and eloquent prayers
these are the firstfruits
the future awakened
shunning the inklings