{funk.}

how can the word "funk" have two polar-opposite definitions. to be in a funk, as in, down in the mouth. or funk, as in music stuffs, which can be associated with feelings of merriment (and, not to mention when something has a bad funk, like it smells real stinky.)

last night i saw jamie lidell. he had a band. it was amazing. i cut a rug. it was expensive. and persian.

{liars.}

i always loved this song. and now, the song i adore is accompanied by a killer video. oh yeah.

{the power & the glory.}

friday.

this is a time and a place to focus.

can you hear me?


a drunken place and the smallest drink ever.
filled with bad sounds and old smells. the kind of place you feel an intruder. all the speech is loud and slurred. the scent of vomit lingers in a boxed-in cancer factory. separate from the world. part of the world.
i just saw the handsome bike shop man. careening up the avenue. glazed like a delicious ham. i see him sometimes, around this part of town. he's a boyish manly. tall and deep-voiced. makes me want to spend too much money on bike parts and accessories. and how many women in this city have mentioned these same words? about a bike shop boy. a lot...

"you must feel real outta place here. yer waytoo fine to be in this here establishment."
"never been here."
"well, i don't come here often (lie) but yer way too fine fer here."
"i prefer this any day.."

it's true. give me the dive. sad old drunken men, playing the part of boys. drinkindrinkindrinkin. the bar's no place to meet people of merit, i say. i'm in and out. ghostly. a breath. don't sit and talk at me. i've got nothin to say. i'm just pondering the glorious wilderness. and that bike boy. so leave me be. there's no loneliness within me. just some maker's mark. i'm a tough ol broad, just doin my business. and this bar was someone's dream once. now they all run around screaming.


they beg me for my poise. my blessings are many. beg yer pardon? pardon? pardon. sweet smells have entered the scene. it's a friday. let's let our hair down. dangling. my face is at your feet, stranger. i would take your hand, and gladly. let's forget these lives. find us some new ones. be righteous. i can say. for a fact. that i will. make a wonderful wife. if you'd have me.


fireworks & freeblood.
"is this the end of the line?"
in this hipster haven....? no answer. just a cold stare, through the mascara jungle.

smells so sweetly. like something used to. some memory. i can feel it in my bones. standing in line for the bathroom. some man growls verbal howlings into a microphone. full bladders. doin the dance. no one wonders. why i jot. i can't even say that i know. it just happens sometimes. like now. all the cool kids. all the cool kids in town. save us. save us. we're so young. somehow this became a free ride. the men. the hugging. the pheromones. oh God. my young lust. it kills me slowly. but not very often. and only sometimes.

and tell me this, my friends. in your clothes. with your skin and your cigarettes. tell me this, i want to know, when you are drinking with your hair done in that specific way where it doesn't move, and is constantly over your eyes. when your boots are so in. and your breast are so full. and you don't give a fuck, and you're eyeballing the crowd of men, and could do anything you please. you're a powerhouse of sexy and the way you stand against the wall is so specific. with your body, and you're laughing and you're laughing all the time, with these fucking hot friends of yours. and you all look so good together when you go out. i mean come on come on come on. i want to smell the answer as it passes by your white white molars. tell me this: what do the young bloods become?

{she looks like she knows how to have fun.}

whisky will help me focus. i'm stripping down. making myself endless. mastering.

{mistah toad.}

apparently, i'm mildly dyslexic. i don't know exactly how true that is, but it's what my mom told me. i always "earned" B's in reading, all throughout elementary school. spelling was about the same. but when a student managed all A's at the end of each quarter, they were bestowed a gold star sticker on their quarterly completion certificate, or whatever the hell that waste of paper was. hundreds, i tell you, were received each year as a child, for my education, sports, essay contests, spelling bees, you name it. today i possess none of these. i remember the instant in which i realized they were of absolutely no worth to me. trash can.

so i could never make the (proverbial or literal? either/or?) A in reading. and at the end of every term, i sat, in my row, while (most) everyone else floated gleefully to the front of the sanctuary. to be admired for their hard and honest work, and rewarded with delicious candies to boot. there were always a few other kids with me. the ADHD kid, the obviously stupid one, the rebel. we sat. and i remember trying to keep my eyes as wide open as i possibly could. attempting to make space for the tears that were beginning to flood my vision, causing the rest of the world bleed together. until it became a simple smear of colour, partnered by the ever monotone voice of a principal, slowly trailing off, becoming muted. as my thoughts take over.

the other day at school, i was reading Fables, which, mind you, i totally should not have been doing, as it is not appropriate school reading material. but i couldn't put it down. and as i was on the last comic, about Old King Cole, a kindergartner came over and asked me to read to him. i told him i had to finish the book first before i could read it to anyone. he asked what it was about. "what do you think it's about? look at the pictures. who do you see?" "well, there's the dish and the spoon, three blind mice, the cat and in the fiddle..." "and mr.toad and badger..." so we talked about The Wind in the Willows for some time. then yesterday, he came to me with a copy of The Wind in the Willows, which he had rented from the library, and told me that every since i had told him about mr.toad, he couldn't wait to rent The Wind in the Willow- and now i had to read it to him. so i got to read it to the kids during aftercare. i love to read to children. it is one of the most entertaining aspects of my job. i love doing funny voices (which usually entail burly, cockney accents, or absolute nerdery.) for everyone and gesturing with my hands and making crazy expressions. it's the most fun. and i've become such an excellect oral reader. so in your face gold star. i didn't want you anyway.

{what it takes to remember all that work to forget.}

"how are you?"
"i'm good- i'm well- rather..."

correction: nausea. my eyes are filled with steam. as though they might fully solidify like a couple of hard-boiled eggs. thick yolky retinas. i eat clouds. i bake cakes. endlessly. it's no use. you are not welcome here. don't .

i've set my mind to something. i'm upset. my thoughts are eating me alive. but i ain't licked yet. establish the works of my hands. hear my cry. with pockets fulla sticks. thoughts filled with dreaming. days are a dangerous reality. i am in avoidance. the ability to balance a waking life. feels hard to come by. the blessing called sleep. i need a moment.. last night bore tremendous nightmares. you were there. an amalgamation of thoughts and prayers. of life and love and dreaming about everything. in that place. i was just as much your child. as when you were thirty-three. today my fingers paw at paper cups. seeking warmth blindly. so similar to nightly gnawings. anymore. i can't stay awake long enough to wonder. but please. take me with you. i want to stay in that place. it's much more magical than mine. here. it feels that way. although, they're very much the same.

i want to tell stories. somehow. get ready / i'm preparing / for another adventure / these days / craving wilderness / the land / i will prepare / i am preparing / my body will be ripe / my spirit / i've been granted life / now i'm going to succeed / be righteous oh! traveller / take on yourself / take on the world and flesh and death / they cannot have me / they are not welcome / they are not worthy / as i am not worthy / here in this place / and these days scream / God and soil / an ancient self / there is much to prove / and i have a lot to do with these days / and everything is dreaming.

{all the world is flat.}

i have nightmares of getting flat tires on my bike.



everything deflates.



presently. i am sitting in an office, with a seven year old kindergartner. she's been screaming at the top of her lungs for about ten minutes. then she cries and moans loudly for a time. until she peters out, and asks to play with beeswax. a third grader pops into the room to ask if we're coming to the third grade play. and the screaming starts anew. "i don't wanna miss the play!" she says it fifty-six times, until my head is throbbing. i shoot the third grader a death glare and bellow, "you may shut the door now!" there's this trick about the word "may," it completely obliterates the option of not doing what i've asked. i ignore this little girl for about ten minutes, as she cries. she's the kind of kid who craves any kind of attention, good or bad. finally she quits. we start making dragons out of the beeswax. hers is named Crystal Fireball: the Magic Dragon. mine is called Sir Duke Dudley Drachemeister. DQ or 3D for short. (hence, D to the third power, cubed, three D's, yeah...)

last night, in my dreams, i recalled the dreams from the night before. in a boat, i looked up at the sky and said, "this sky looks exactly like it did in my dreams last night." and it did. but i was dreaming about dreams. and that's where black holes come from. the best part being, the sky i was observing was wonderfully foreboding and beautiful. i didn't want to wake up it was so beautiful, apocalyptic, as though the heavens were about to burst. i also dreamt of ghosts and haunted rooms. in beautiful antique houses. worn down and dusty. old boyfriends were there. and excessive amounts of water.

this air mattress i've been using, is providing me not only with horrid sleep, but subsequently with crazy dreams as well. presently there is beeswax in my armpit, because i have to finish my dragon, but the wax is too hard. warmin' it up. he's gonna be sweet.

today the kids asked my why i wear the same outfit everyday, which is not true! because i'm broke, kids! that's why. i'm a super hero. it's my uniform. whatever. garden party at my place this weekend. if ya wanna come.

{surprise & water.}

time warp dementia. days andays andays andays. i need a bed. someone send me a bed. i can't sleep... it turns my days to mush.

like right now.

sometimes i really think i have borderline personality disorder. then i think, probably not, i'm just figuring life out. but my thoughts are continually paradoxical. i feel like one person, with two separately stable, and consistently contradictory thought patterns. or, possibly even three people. one self, being very country. the second, very city. and the third, very childlike. the first two are most prominent. but the third is somehow the actual self, caught between desires.

i have no real faith in astrology. but at times, i find it interesting that i'm a sagittarius, a double-headed sign, represented by the centaur, half beast, half man. i feel that is a great representation for me. this day rings like a dream. so here's a poem i wrote whilst in cleveland, it's the namesake of this blog, and is directly related to what i was just talking about:

{Gewölk. Geister.}

clouds. ghosts.

in the air coasting
like a jet engine sometimes
crashing like a jet engine smoking
there is a constant mechanical failure
noticed and disregarded
circling amongst the clouds
and always over the thick ocean
which is continually calling
sitting pretty and deadly desirable
sometimes she comes down
but rarely. anymore.
only when she allows herself the plummet.
most days surrounding smoking clouds
floating passionately and misunderstood
she looks upon her loved ones
down and always over wanting.
grieved that they might be so distant.
accepting painful satisfaction
that at least they are there.
in some ways.
but never all.
nor could they be.

ocean. ghosts.

in the water treading
like drift wood sometimes
sinking silently so water logged
there are the every day attempts to stay afloat
going limp and giving up.
letting the gulls have their fill
or falling deep into muffled quiet water
turning into seafoam or salt
being devoured by the beasts
sometimes she goes down
but rarely. anymore.
only she controls the darkest dives
and most days being drift wood
choosing battles and where her heart goes
she reaches for her loved ones
eyes up with arms and desperation
mourning the faces she cannot touch
with her hands weeping
into water daily
she gives the sea its salt
a body
and a name

trees. ghosts.

in the bark basking
while gentle breezes from the sea
sweetly blow into these little leaves
made for gathering the salts
to crystallize for consumption and sustenance
planted firmly in the land
overlooking the ocean
and the vast sky above
taking care and bringing back
sometimes she calls to them
more often. than before.
there is a righteousness in her roots
and the rich soil sustains her
so she can stabilize the rest
but without the water there is no growth
and with no sky no messenger
she turns patiently towards her loved ones
and kisses them softly
on the eyelids
she gives them rest
watches them sleep
lets them go.

{cyclones.}

what is the difference between a tornado and a cyclone? is there any. i've been dwelling upon tornadoes all day. they excite me. when i was a child, i would close my ears during the radio weather update. if i heard the word "thunderstorm," my heart would race against fear. and were a tornado watch or warning to occur, you could find me, under the air hockey table in the basement. possibly crying.

but now, all i want in the whole world is a ginormous thunderstorm. all i can do is look at pictures. or dream. i want to go on another adventure. the ones where you're driving to nowhere in particular, and the clouds shift across an open sky, covering the endlessly crop-covered earth. a foreboding sensation creeps up your stomach, all the way to your gullet. and you're all alone in the whole wide world.

here is a picture i found! i really want to lay on a couch all day eating tuna sandwiches and watching documentaries on tornadoes. that's what i want. since i can't be there to see it.



now i feel like a dork. but tornadoes are sweet!

{dodge.}

this weekend was grounding. or maybe it was releasing. i don't know. either way, it was astonishing and altogether necessary. we had to abort this city. the girl and i. cut it out of our stomachs like a malignancy. we drove that car to the coast. sought rest. out west. in a tiny town.

southern/british motel. brian the elderly clerk. takes care. kindergarten cop and cork screws. we bundle up our best, like a couple of red velvet cakes, without the red or the velvet, walking to the waterline. to bask. to meditate. to look like hobos. to listen to erik satie and get stoned on a cold beach, tucked away in a pile of driftwood. this is what dreams are made of kids: the escape. the getting out. life is a series of perfect moments. it is the transition from one to the other that screws us all up. we burnt sage and blessed ourselves by the bonfire. carried the holy stick with us, back to our beds. covered in sand. my lips tasting of salt.

{cusp.}

shannon and i are skipping town. i need to forget humanity for a few days. get smelly. crouch on the edge of a large rock overlooking the endless ocean, and get my head on straight. i'm beginning to know how to do that. before now, if i lost myself, i was really hard to find again. and i'm coming to know the necessary steps to get myself together. so we're gonna go. we're gonna take this thing off. and we're gonna go.

i should maybe be in the first grade right now. helping with the hyper kids. making money. but i don't feel like rushing myself. i took some laxative this morning because my insides are a mess. we'll see how that goes...

{drunk like me.}

i'm running this train into the river tonight
it's been a long time comin'.

it was there. and you took it.
one giant step back.
allowing the heart to work its way
past the breastplate
handling it softy
and holding it to teeth
you ate. every last bite.
with the consistency of gravel
scraping down your gullet
and dropping heavy
it splintered through innards.

what's a girl like me to do
with these contented days.

i start to miss the bygone grief
and crave it's complexities.
life can't be this simple, i say
over analyzing its ease
make myself some problems
stop filtering thoughts
let the clouds roll in.
smarter darlings wake up.
don't play the part of stupid.

i'm running this train into the river.
rollings up my sleeves.
kissing me goodbye.



i'm listening to animal collective, and as delightfully happy as these songs are, i'm wrecked with sadness. i think it's one of those "too many memories" moments. where i miss people, despite the fact that i'm better off without them. or at least fine. i need a friend. to do interpretive dances with. and play baseball in the park with. and sing songs by the river with. there has forever been this huge hole in my heart. i want it to go away. but i'm pretty sure that's impossible. here on earth. this house is sad.

i think a large part of all these emotions involves my moving. again. and this strange inability to get close to people. i want to leave again, and just travel around the world talking to no one. just being alone. but i know that will be lonely, after the initial excitement. i want lots of love right now. where i don't have to worry about shit or complications, because there's people love. that feeling i just described is impossible to textualize. i did my best. days are strange. i love them, despite their lonelinesses. feelings. feelings. feelings. leave me alone.