{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

{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?...

{don't speak ill of the dead.}

the death came on a thursday. or friday, it's hard to be sure, despite the recency. of course i went to the bar right away. there were still hearts in the head of my beer, but i sucked at them like so many sinful suppers. until they formed what looked like wild animals, or birds in flight. blew smoke in my eyes, because i felt no urge to cry. at least with smoke tears i would fit the part of a mourner. unbeknown to anyone around, having no idea what had happened within me. "i'm just passing the time," i would say. "let me take that back," adding, "clearly, i am drunk." as the words left my lips, the situational reality resonated, and rang true. like all the alcohol running through my body, it suddenly clicked, and i felt the dizzy actuality take hold. my head spinning. not to say the words were necessarily true, but simply that i had said them. and even through verbalizing them, the futility of the whole ordeal was revealed. beyond this death remained the false intimacy that i had grown so accustomed to. which before now, i hadn't been able to recognize. the lie that was love, and why had i wanted so badly. pleading with a dead heart. it didn't matter now. what's been said, has been said. and i was not a mourner. i had been once, but that sense of identity was lost. once i realized its wastefulness. days came and went like dandelions on a grassy field. time stood still for two seconds, but in the way of delight. before a beautiful song. before sudden salvation. i did as i pleased. and thought maybe there was a catch. isn't there always some hook. but drawing near to grace, as i stood up on tender heels, and my skin began to clear, i realized no such thing existed in my heart. there will be temptations. but the wilderness is painful. and these are the firstfruits.

{grease.}

this day is spinning. or at least i am within it. i made fried chicken. and ate it. i think that's what did me in. because i washed it down with a beer. which seemed to make sense. i had portioned off this day for drinking, because there is a staff/teacher party thing tonight. i figured it would be nice to drink with the people i work with, break the ice a bit, see what we're really made of. i have to recuperate somehow. from all that grease. a bath is in order.

it's really dark and rainy outside today, which is nice, in a way. spacing out.

{old days. new days.}

apparently, i've reached a new summit of adulthood. the days where i could drink endless amounts of coffee and crash out as soon as the ol' noggin hit the pillow are over. one cup and i'm starring at the ceiling until 5am. so i've been spending this time with music, and reading my old blog subject to change. from when i was 17! it's funny. and wonderfully cute. such an adolescent emotional roller coaster. seriously, one day i'm loving life and in love and excited, and the next i want to off myself. but can't quite ever figure out why i'm so upset. funny how that works. silly megan. i'm pretty sure most everyone felt that way. most of the entries are ramble-jamble, similar to now, but i sound very articulate and thoughtful. i would have a crush on me if i were in high school. but really, God forbid THAT ever happen again. no thanks.

i'm listening to turning dragon again. can't stop. i am also naughtily drinking a beer. namely so i can fall asleep after that coffee. but i've been abstaining. don't tell. i love booze somethin' awful.

i've also realized in my inner monologue i refer to myself as "meg". which is weird, because no one really calls me meg. except my dad, who calls me "megzy". and my brother blake, who calls me "megwah". but he hasn't done that for years.

i should try bed soon. before i start to think about cancer. i can feel it comin' on. tomorrow is going to be awesome.

{gush.}

there is a place that exists in the heart specifically constructed for the love of music. some of us spend a lifetime forming this area, while others neglect it, allowing dilapidation to reign supreme. right now, i want to curl up in that location and take a lucid nap. particularly in the heart of chris clark. i imagine it feeling like the warmest, fluffiest down comforter ever of all time. how i'd love to live there. generally, that's my developed attraction to anyone. some people say it's pheromones and shoes, i've hypothesized these notions myself, however, what it truly comes down to is music. even if you love horrendous music, i suppose it's all a matter of how you react towards it. for example, my roommate, has some of the worst taste in music. but she loves it. and she dances without a care. it's pretty wonderful, once you get past the tunes. but the reaction is priceless.


so kurt vonnegut said,

THE ONLY PROOF [I] NEEDED
FOR THE EXISTENCE OF GOD
WAS MUSIC

which i think is great. music is incredibly spiritual. some will say the brain is capable of making you think, feel, believe anything. which is true. but i can't put a name on any of it. so i'll just leave it at that. i love music. also i can't think straight right now. because this is so wonderful.



also this from vonnegut, just because.

artists use frauds to make human beings seem more wonderful than they really are. dancers show us human beings who move much more gracefully than human beings really move. films and books and plays show us people talking much more entertainingly than people really talk, make paltry human enterprises seem important. singers and musicians show us human beings making sounds far more lovely than human beings really make. architects give us temples in which something marvelous is obviously going on. actually, practically nothing is going on.

but man. tracks eight and nine on turning dragon are blowing my mind.

{whatever it is... it ain't human...}

i've just finished second bath, or "half-bath" as i like to call it. it's when you bathe three times in one day. because it's so damn cold. and your tub is huge.

at school, some kid told me she "only drank water from upstate new york. because that's the freshest water. portland water is good, but the pipes are old." this came to me through articulate speech, only two seconds after she had been screaming about "Buttman" pooping all over some other kid.

i saw four blue jays today.

in other news, i recieved the new chris clark, or just clark rather, today. many thanks to john. and to mr. clark. thank you for making my brain throb with delight and more emotion than i know what to do with. this memory is mine.

{two blue jays.}

last night i dreamt i was in an old, rotten house. tons of people from my home town were there, even the ones i never knew well. it was raining outside and in. at one point i was twirling around in a portion of the room where the rain was most heavy. i think we were trying to restore the home. my friend leo was there. he said something to me, which was startling for some reason. bug-eyed i looked at him and repeated frantically what i thought he had said. "no no no, i said, '____'." and for some reason, i went into hysterics, the good kind. i couldn't stop laughing. a woman standing next to me, a friend in black i've never known, was laughing too. we both doubled-over onto the moldy carpet. i laughed so hard that i drooled on the floor and wiped it up with my sleeve. strange dreams these days. i think it's the cold.

i like to think that people visit you in dreams, like leo. but i'm pretty sure it's just the retained memory of them. but there are people i've known forever who i never dream of. people i've been so close to or fond of. and others who have upset me, i rarely dream of them. sometimes i do, and it's soft and nice. but most times it's very unpleasant.

{tonsil hockey house.}

overdraft fees blow. but not as much as i do apparently. financially speaking. also i can't sleep. which isn't fun. getting paid once a month is vicious. at least i have strawberry jam. as in the album, which i haven't listened to in a while. good girl/carrots still incinerates my brain heart. but not as much as spaghetti sauce destroys my digestive system. word to the wise, i don't care how hungry you are, or how much you love processed tomatoes, don't eat spaghetti sauce like it's soup. because it's not. i tried to convince myself otherwise. my mom called it "dynamite" when i was a kid... i think you know what i mean.

anyway. damn my addictions! they have foiled my financial state once again. but i've made this bed, so i'm going to sleep in it. unlike my literal bed, which is allowing no sleep whatsoever. life is still good. wish me luck.

{the letters you get after you're dead.}

dear sir or ma'am,

we have been trying to get a hold of you for some time. you're lack of response is simply unacceptable. if this behavior persists, we will have to take matters into our own hands. beginning with, but not limited to, subjecting you to the plague. now we don't know if your familiar with the plague, aka "black death," but it is simply no fun at all. so if you like your flesh, and would prefer it didn't rot off, we suggest you comply. we are also aware of the fact that you have quite an extensive fortune cookie collection, and have no reservations towards taking said collection, and hiding it in a top secret location where you can't ever find it. even if you tried. it really is a super top secret place. we are also prepared to egg the front most portion of your home and shave your dog. if you fail to respond to this reasonable request within, and no later than, absolutely not, the next 72 hours, consider your dog shaved. thank you.

with conservative malice,

us.

{don't bring me back. i brought myself.}

i can't make the sounds of my heart.
i'm trying
listen.

{-}

accidents ate the life blood
out of commission
muddied patience wears thin
hungry cats clawing at the doorstep of actuality
politeness lies lazy on the floor
and hopes hinge on supposed promises i made for myself
of ethereal laughter
it comes and goes. good and bad moments equally passing
just like they were known to be
even before they happened
an idea i can't quit masticating
and choking on.


how i adore
now comes the figuring
break after break after break
the math of brass tacks
hearts in the head of beer
bad dreams on sour beds.
better at quitting, safer
more rational moves.
talking in the tub to no one
but my bad skin and sense of security.
catch phrase: i'm trying.
given statement: figure it out.
so i am
alone. is best.
leave no traces. love no faces.


killing feelings with time
killing time with feelings
livers and whiskey.
legs fast asleep from waiting
makes it hard to move with any sense
of efficiency. let's try again
on wobbly legs for the fifth time
deny myself.
tell me i'm ridiculous.
that word has been resonating
pushed onto me like the two ton brick of inability.
baby boy your bad being buries me
but i'm digging up this grave
and baking pies out of myself.

{+}

you cut your hair and made a drink.
cried wolf.
moved away.
felt sorry, stood still, and gathered.
there isn't time for lonely.
and far less time for love.
dance softly on the balls of your feet
before you leave and death finds you
muttering in hotter water
wearing raincoats.
which one spoke sweeter.
it hurts me.
what child will grow to never know disdain.
them's the rules,
you said,
and pointed to a pin that read,
"use your words."
with white letters, it was red.
delivered like an obituary.
breathed into them like the eleventh commandment.
a lifeblood.
a werewolf.
you are the tailor to the five year olds.
a friend.
and they'll forget you.
before you know it.
speak well, be a dream.
don't let the young die so.
we lose ourselves so quickly.
no one can tell at seven
and a half.

{+}

don't go home or sleep in bed.
please, answer phones with caution.
drink in secret. make your music.
i can hear it and it's beautiful.

they're crooked. the whole lot.
old ladies play video poker to the left.
their faces falling.
find him. not here. go
the way you came but better and alone.
you want you only.
the rest fend for themselves.
but how i wished to love you
soft and skin and bone
it was beautiful to me and worthless.


go back to sleep
and look a little harder.
this time.
it's there.
i swear it.

{+}

BFF. we never talk.
and only spoke in simple tones. forgot the middle. i said i'm sure you'll be okay. and you were. so there. give me an A plus. at least a B for trying to help. for being- there when i was, after considering a possible mistake. my favourite thus far. true story. and i mean it. i enjoyed most every second. new boy, what's your name? i told you everything i know. preached to the choir. so i thought a hundred times until i realized no one can actually save you. not at all. don't even try. i swear. they're all liars.


and one more hour. we all bleed dry.
i'm just the one who sees it.


speak a secret lazy
i spent this much
with a lisp. and it's almost over.
please be tired of this by now.
move eastward with conviction.
finish your drinks quickly.
tell the same story twenty-one more times
until their ears are bleeding.
eyeball the crowd.

wait for the applause, your hands hot and steaming.
your mouth was simple as you waited trying to be sober.
start over, a new breath.
i was stronger then.
the life abounding before the fall.
the car was on fire, hands began the clap.
while too many of us fell onto the tracks
elated. whisked away by pirates and guitar strings.
fell through the cracks.
drank ourselves a saviour.
senior members of the drunk elite.
i won't be one no more.


don't do this here. not now. save yourselves. and let me tell you the story of drowning. my mother would insist with a shame in her heart. don't be like my daughter. this isn't what i saw when she was once the ancient form of self she carries now. she took after our bad habits.

message sent to mom:
i love you.

message hidden:
i am at the bar drinking and smoking. pray. i'm still a child. and don't trust myself. some old man named "carl" just gave me his number. i'm still hung up, like you wish i wasn't. for five years. i am weak sometimes. and seem to be doing the wrong things. all the time.

{+}

too many people to shit on. she's so sorry through words and empty promises. to say the phrase "iloveyou" means mostly nothing. wrestling in the baby pool. we both live in expired relationships. we long. and drink to stupid. use the cue and smoke to keep ourselves busy. make mistakes and laugh like lovers. maintain identities. while disliking who we are. i can still smell your fragrance. i can still taste the eggs you made with love. the beer we drank for life.


the next try. i've been bound


the one's that didn't love
couldn't help them to be better
people made of paper

old men won't stop talking
young men playing games
wearing the wrong shoes

lonely women at the bar
telling cat stories
recently broken women
explain their plight
every night.
to the same people
heads throbbing
being christian. being children.
falling over failing everyday.
not doing what's been asked
and counting the places they've slept.

{+}

i was heaven. i am stupid lonely wanting
on the heals of now and nevermore
an end to a craving, the burn so senseless
we were life and loving
now i am living eternal and separate
you can't come with me.
when you don't want to.
you are not my idea. of a good time.
smell the blood in the water.


my mind is a pasture.


goodnight.

{fourteen hours.}

it has been too cold in this house to function like a normal human being. it's not even that cold really. but somehow this building retains frigidness. i took a bath and slipped into bed last night around about 8pm. wondering if i was going to fall asleep, or just rest. i woke up many times. while it was still dark. and after the sun had come up. but with the windows frosted over and my own breath very evident, i just couldn't get out of the covers. my feet were finally warm, and i wasn't about to change that. finally, and very carefully, i stretched my arm out from the covers to check was time it was. quarter to ten am. really? what is my life? also there's a huge spider bite on my leg now. my knee. huge and itchy. my least favourite emotion.

i dreamt i was pregnant a lot. it was really exciting for some reason. my stomach was gigantic, and i was climbing up grassy hills holding it. i was elated. i ended up having puppies, seven or so, and kept them in my apron. while i played tennis.

{dance for me.}

making memories. drinking for tomorrow's apocalypse. it seems like it will happen. i've looked at all the old pictures, and recalled every nuance. who took them. where we were. look, i say, this was this time and that was the person they were. before it all went sour. i'd like to make it sweeter. now we're blasting barry white and kate bush. pounding all the hard liquor. all the beer. and i'm trying not to think about my bad dreams. misunderstanding life. and blah blah blah. everyone has issues with their mother. that's why everyone is crazy. i love my mother. just wrote her a long letter. we whispered in the bathroom. this woman and i making amends towards every little piece of shit that everyone talks. STOP talking about people, you idiots! stop trying to figure all these simple things out with all these sectioned phrases and separated words. make an egg sandwich. this is stupid. you're all stupid children trying to figure out lives. you're all foolish gossipers trying to spell it out for the masses to read, when in reality, you're as plain as a stained glass window. figure it out. what time is it? five thirty? it's later than that...

{letters.}

i babysat Devlin today, the kid i like from school, who had to go to a new school, because he was constantly misbehaving. it was tons of fun. last night his mom Kasha and i went to see Juno, that teen pregnancy movie. it was cute. and since we both only had checks, she paid for my ticket and popcorn, totaling probably $15, tops. so today, when i'm dropping Devlin off, after taking him for lunch with John and Nokomis, after playing with him for at least 4 hours, she pays me with a brownie. A BRownie! i thought at first that she may have forgotten to pay me, as busy moms often do. so finally, after reading Where's Waldo (which i still love) with him for about fifteen, and waiting for her to remember, i finally say, "so, do you want to take last nights movie ticket and stuff out of my pay...?" there was confusion, so i clarified, "for the pay..?" and she said something about how the movie "treat" was for babysitting blah blah. confused and awkward (because i hate talking about pay, which i shouldn't i know, but it's a weird transaction to me...) i stand with hands in pockets feeling flushed, as she walks into the other room, comes back with a little plastic bag and asks how much the lunch was, "oh just four dollars, but it's no big deal..." and Devlin says, "THAT'S my MONEY!" and grabs the bag. super awkward, so i say, "OH it's FINE! no big deal..." and leave, riding my bike home, really irritated. there was no pre-arranged notion that the movie, which was in no way ENOUGH for 4 hours of kid time, was payment. and the brownie was burnt anyway. what is with people. i don't pay my bills with burnt chocolaty treats. weird.

{rework.}

taking back ground.

{mystery.}

i can't sleep. thoughts and thoughts and thoughts. i have them. a lot. my dog is pregnant. filled with pups. it's funny. and going to be cute. i'm about to make a drastic change in my life. new years aside. it just strikes me as a good time to get the ball rolling. you know. fresh and what not. also, i'm a person of timing. or at least i try to be. in the sense of doing things, that is. i'm late everywhere i go. but it's about that time. to quit and such. to get rid of all the ickyness that's been looming around my life for about the past two (plus) years. and all the reasoning has changed. it's an absolute measurement of my humility.

does anyone want a puppy.
preferably in the 419 area code. takers?

{common.}

drinking lackadaisically. they said, this what we do. this is why we're here. and music played beneath the bathroom tiles. and little mice silently scurried past the feet of dreaming damsels in supposed distress. but it was real. i was real and who knew. i've hurt many different feelings time and again. unintentional. opening doors and screaming, where is the music. why can't i hear it? i want it more than the sun. but i've spent so many hours talking pointless garble. to people i don't care. making plans for nothing. saying sorry. and, how do you like it? telling stories i shouldn't speak aloud. in an attempt for them to know me. this is silly. the rains came down. and the floods came up. and god wants me. i wanted them to find me.
on the kitchen floor
chiming bird calls.
i have always wanted them to find me here.
but never realized that i don't exist in any present moment.
i made my bed back then
and am now just starting to find for myself
what here is really like.

take me
back
to being
where
i was
when i was
born.
and just
began
breathing.
for the
first
time.

baby Boy was born a deer.
we walked down
city streets with
heavy feet and
mutual friends.
brushed each
other's hair.
painted our eyes
with gold leaf.
fell asleep
in wet clothes.
danced at the
disco. drank.
and kept each
other sane.
trying to remember
where we started. on that day
too many years ago
when and where we both
started smoking cigarettes.
and allowing ourselves
to love someone special.

baby Girl was
born a bird.
we walked down
city streets in
fancy shoes. and
mutual friends.
painted our nails
together. did our
hair up nice.
fell asleep
with faces
for too long.
danced in the
car. drank.
kept each other mostly sane.
trying to remember how we ended
up where we were.
from that day too many years ago.
when and where we'd placed our disregarded cigarettes.
and allowing ourselves to love
someone we shouldn't.




my mother can't
find me through
the phone calls
and the letters.
she cries.
my daughter.
baby girl.
i love you.




the last.

save yourself.
gather what you can.
it's a dog eat dog world.
and this ship has already hit
the briny deep..

these are the shoes we wear in secret.
and the ones we show everyone else.

keeps me
from floating away.

i'd still like to touch
your belly.
bleeding for touch and attention.
firm and smooth.
like love should be.
but it's always dysfunctional you said.
while we smoked.

i would love to touch you.
your belly full of faults.
your face full of pity.
your heart full of lust.
but never for me.

{crack dreams.}

preface: i keep reading these little ads at the edge of the internet page that read "charles bukowski ring tones" and i don't understand. it's raining.

let's regress.

it's falling too fast to be snow. and some day. someone. will read all these books. and i'll know i love them. for the act, i'll give myself. i will be all theirs. all the kids will stop drinking. all the dogs will be set free. no one will care either way about how the world began. we'll know what to do.

one of the longer days. called mother. need a stiff drink. "only one," she says over the phone. brought by satellite. okay. and five later. at the gay bar to see some DJ. i don't care. and i don't like gay bars. i feel totally unneeded. not because i have a vagina. but because, and for reasons i've accumulated, gay boy bars seem more to me like meat markets than regular bars. all the guys know each other and are consistently and constantly preoccupied by the prospect of fucking. so any conversation or personal interest i have is impeded upon by this occurrence. also, i generally like men, so going to a gay bar makes me feel stupid. because of my overall attraction to so many different types, i feel foolish. especially at this point in my life. earlier in the night, i had devised a code word to verbalize at the moment i decided it was time to leave said bar and go home. the friend i was with informed me that i should just tell her when i was ready to go, however, i wanted a secret code. the word of choice was "jumanji." i had already said the word, and was waiting for fifteen minutes to go home, so that i might take a bath while beating my head across the wall. because i have no self-control, and these instances that strike me tend to resonate for hours. or until i go to sleep, if i'm lucky. waiting at the table until i've just about had it. i seek her out, towards the bathroom. seeing her. handing a sweater. we leave. accompanied by some man named Jeff. he talks a lot. and gradually i am informed that we are taking him somewhere. his care, home, i'm not sure. i drive my friend's care after having 5 or 6 vodkas on the rocks with lemon. which isn't too much. vodka leaves me very coherent somehow. but the three of us are talking as we drive. rather Jeff is talking very much, as i give little bits of information or advice. but the conversation is confusing. he's telling me all about his life. so many details. very. quickly.


automatic teller machine.
a time to kill. boom.
fix your ears. we're leaving. now.
get in the car.
wrap up your conversation
with the fabricated people of thought.
dreams make bad scenarios.
i don't understand. i saved my money.
mixtape. for myself to remember
all the instances of life.
they were all there. was i alone then?
with van morrison? steve reich? daedelus?
maybe. i can't tell at this point.
possibly ever. but i can tell you
who wasn't invited. alice in chains.
stop eating. save yourself. run.
there was that imaginary guy drunk
at that made-up bar in the south
who splashed a glass of beer on my leg
while i played love songs on guitar.
the teacher in cleveland.
who followed me home from the bar.
and saved me from those drunk dudes.
we had sex in my apartment.
made our love a secret. jeff mangum.
my dog artax. my cat falcor.
so now i have to stop dreaming in my wake.
and quit the words i know i'll never say.
to save myself.
live in reality.
come down. from the clouds.
next to the megatouch. here we are.

waiting for me means getting drunk. can i wait that long..
this is my plan:

1)we will see no wine before its time.

2)up up and away

3)for the long run

there you have it.
help yourself.
save. get out. make new.


i love you because...
i didn't want you to be a mistake.

too tired to go on.

{grow up.}

stop dreaming. get your head out of the clouds. you're ridiculous.

{ growl. }

would i have felt this way when i was younger? am i so old now. it's constantly hard to tell. i've consumed myself, and am now stuck in this rutt. no longer learning as easily as i would have. had none of this ever happened.

fat lip.

{wrong pipe.}

a little more light hearted. soon all the secrets of the universe will be unfolded to me. i'll be reborn from dust. lanterns lit and lifted towards the memory of what was a constant attempt. the star-crossed love affairs sink down the dingy drain of forgotten lust. the seventh sun shall be dressed in pink and purity. a safer face next to a lighter tunnel. and a solitary beckoning for solitary confinement finally seals the proverbial deal. say what you will with accusations abounding. the supposed conclusions you've drawn about my presence. my childlike frenzies. the slamming of doors and constant requests for kisses on the mouth. your world was not made for the likes of me. thank god and hallelujah. i'll get fucked up on my own account. alone and so sweetly. like a lamb to the slaughter that it made for itself. the rain comes down as it ever did. and what i'm getting used to i cannot abide. the nights need lonely customers. and beds were made for sleeping. heated bodies have breathed heavy within me. none of which my own. and when these ghostly evenings come, i'll be waiting, gun in hand in mouth. for that moment when it becomes painfully apparent that i want none of this. your frequencies are deafening. your bodily fluids worthless. i can dive down in myself and pull out a soggy liver. make beautiful babies to breastfeed in the sun. and the fragrance you're emitting passes by and makes me wonder, right before it makes me heave. i barely see any worth in me, and i'm trying very hard to make my life work.

{wrong pipe.}

it took two months for the fog to clear. which turned into an even thicker fog.

{i'm done.}

people are ridiculous. especially the ones i care for most. i'm trying to quit smoking and drinking, and failing at both. so i guess if i were trying to quit not failing, i'd be winning. there's my silver lining.

beyond the silver lining, i'm at work, trying to kill time before i have to deal with seven 5 year-olds. and then a fire drill. we'll see how that goes. on top of it all, i really have to crap. it's brewing inside me in that way where you think your phone is vibrating, but it's just your insides.

also, a staff member just walked into this room to make copies. i clicked away from my blog page, and onto my "sign out sheet for PVS aftercare" spread sheet, which i finished ten minutes ago. i tried to act busy, by deleting words and re-typing them. for some reason it seemed like a big deal. but thinking about it now, i don't know why i felt so deviant.

even now, as people walk in, i click away from this page, as though i were looking at porn.

{savannah.}

back south. no mothers came tonight. there was no quitting, only premonitions. what can be within the absence of letting go. when you speak supposed truths about how all is so well. here no one can tell. because no one is listening. and i only see myself reaching. my hand was over your mouth in anticipation. just to feel the vibrations of thought reaching its way to the throat. the lack of satisfaction swayed me, as though i might turn to dust, were i not to move. then rubbing pathetic, bitten legs. if i can just keep moving. if i can make myself live in a constant state of newness. i sang along. and softly felt a face i wished to be my own. there's a dream some of us share. and a way of being which seems to please. let us not be too hasty. i want to do my dreams. and all the things i thought i knew once. in a time where nothing seemed too far from reality. despite intensity.

the area codes i've memorized in passing times. soot from my lungs has crept up and gathered me secretly. although i always told everyone. in an attempt to show a sense of intimacy. the tar and poisoning of love, an actuality. i'd say, that if you only knew my heart, you'd hate me, knowing how often i contemplated everything that's already happened. a great fault.

the streets grew narrow and so soon they where long trodden. i knew. i was not meant for such a world. i knew. but kept along a path so sedating, i could hardly remember a point in which my life lacked such a fog. fog that breaks the breathing of a young woman. well, if world is what you make of it then i am lost and dreaming. tell me i am lonely child and wanting life too real. a wrong and wriggling soul suspended by my own disbelief. and there is no succumbing to the state in which i've placed myself.

there will be.

an additional epoch
gathered.

it is good to be enchanted. to go away.

i can't help but see the night.
when we lie together.

{buckle down.}

it's time to drink. we've bunkered down with beer. burnt by the cold. i've got an agenda. it's the friday night cuddle-up. with me and my booze. we're fanning away all the lost thoughts that seem to rise up. this drunk kid keeps telling me how beautiful i am.

{my kid.}

[9.24.07]

never in my wildest dreams. speak easy. calm down. don't take a nap. in the hot heat bath water. daydreaming about today and tomorrow. and all the finer things. separating the mother and the father. keeping them close. and calling out. surrounded by strangers, feeding them dinner, letting them talk. to you and the time. having a midnight stroke, face half swollen, ears popping. spider bites and full-blown aids. everyone speaks of loosing love. everyone has theirs. i have mine. it's gone. let's forget about it. i don't want to hear it. there is far too much talk of things that don't matter. don't make it worse. you are making it worse. when i am doing the dishes in the morning. making recommendations. being playful and disregarded. by hangovers and unbathed babies. be so gentle as to not care. there are no men anymore. just the remnants of this idea i concocted when i was thirteen. it resonates sometimes when i watch films. when my eyes wander across the street. there is no one. anywhere.

{so who is this again?}

cleaning tirades. the focus keeps shifting onto the less important things. like the cupboards. and what's in them. and how. the rices goes in between the beans and the flour. tea on the bottom shelf, as it is most often used. easy access is key. initially i was hungry. and searching for food somehow translated into tearing the kitchen apart. finding cake mix. i should bake a cake. and make some pies. not for my own consumption, but for the sake of productivity. i had an agenda once. a list of things to do. i lost it somewhere along the line.

today is overcast and cold. my roommate is stoned and giggling. i glance at her, and she tells me to shut up.

i keep daydreaming. mostly about sex. but only with imaginary people. who don't exist. i didn't take my vitamins today. i should do that.

not that i want to have sex at all. the level of intimacy i might be able to conjure would be equivalent to shaking hands. and i don't want to fuck. or be fucked. the notion disgusts me.

{looking good for nothing.}

wearing high heals around the house for hours. while doing the dishes, dancing and singing with too much conviction for silverware to stand. sporting clip-on pearls and a strapless black dress laden with cigarette burns. done up like a novelty dude ranch in alaska. these hands were made for dangling fake wedding bands. and at night, after a few cocktails and enough cigarettes to make your grandmother jealous, crawling into bed to write down the momentary notions you have about love. the nothings you never had about love. you could write letters with a quill and the wet mascara bleeding from the underneath of eyes. it so so sad. so you write it down. do your nails. and go to sleep dreaming about some russian man you made up. falsely wandering through the fabricated world, the one seen in the second-hand copies of national geographic, and getting attacked by wolves. you fell to pieces. and now search the closets, cabinets and cupboard drawers, scour the pots and pans, for someone to really love you. with such an equivalent love. enough to drive you into a madness. someone who understands, and finds your neurosis to be endearing.

{...}

i am very tired. this feeling keeps taking over.

{teach you how to drink.}

the night always slows down
to an internal rumble
between every thought

i am slowly ceasing
with every cigarette
and the bottle bleeds within me now
around four o'clock

it seems
i want it so badly
to continue making efforts
towards not existing

forget to weep
sleep in silence

but before the inevitable crumble into dreams
i make a bed of booze
and write down little saying
wonder where the phrases come from

the men try to take my things
i walk away disappointed
wanting them to have bloodied me up
leave me as less than i was before we met
give me something to suffer for
i make the best things when i am sad

we speak
and i always say too much
as i've been drinking
been downing the bottles again
even when in poverty i cling
to the stink
and think to myself
i haven't had enough tonight
to please my sorry heart
there is much to be done

and as i said
i loved you still
even when you woke
to the differences within yourself
i loved each one
and every thought
all the sadness that you uttered
in your moments
next to me in bed and drunk
you taught me how to drink
but only after absence

{so.}

i live in portland now. how about that. or at least, this is where i am right now. we don't have a home yet, but we hopefully will by thursday or friday. i've been smoking like a chimney. and trying to be more confident, a department of mine that has been lacking. usually i don't care too much, but being in a new place, and my propensity to space out leave me completely confused upon the arrival of any foreign human contact.

i was about to go into a list of my hopes and dreams, but i don't think i'll be doing that right now. i'm ALMOST done with my journal. the one i've had for a year and a half now. i hate it. i want it out of my sight. someone send me a new journal to fill. a plain one. of any colour besides red or black or blue. yellow would be nice. also green. and let me press again that it should be absolutely plain! send me an email, and i'll give you an address. thanks in advance.

also, i am afraid of buses. a lot. but i rode one today all by myself.

additionally, i don't have my headphones, and it's really sad. i want them so badly.

{forget it.}

i have more music than i know what to do with. i've tried to dedicate this night to organizing it. but no. there's just no way on earth that can happen. it's very frustrating. i'm on absolute overload.

{it's awfully quiet around here.}

i sold my car today. for five hundred fifty dollars. many things have happened in that car. i'm kicking nostalgia. i've been really angry lately. violent mood swings. from feeling terribly hurt for no reason, to having a sudden intense impulse to ram my car into the guy who just cut me off in traffic. thank god i sold my car, i guess. my blood is boiling. it's just sad. it's a sad time still. to feel you've spent time cultivating friendships, only to find out it was for naught. or that clearly, people don't give enough of a shit to take care of their end of the friendship. i want nothing to do with this. i could explain my feelings until my fingertips bleed, but that would be just as pointless. my vagina is a ticking cancer time bomb. the sickening self-righteous are making their beds to sleep in. i care for them, but will inevitably despise them. it doesn't matter how you say it, no one will listen. and me, all i want to be is alone. my next move on the board will be to disappear completely. that's what i'm getting ready for. i used to think i had some potential. now i just hope i can have kids. and somehow get by.

{max out.}

everything i hate about myself comes to an oily head. the things that don't get done. and the things to fear the most. resting in my lap. like the child i never wanted. a steaming pile of my own shit.

i've been drinking these cure-all elixirs. taking hand fulls of pills and vitamins. supplements. to counteract a home brewed madness. there's a lot to be said for the friends that make you better.

i'm an empty bombshell. the remnants of epiphany after epiphany gone wrong. so all that's left is the casing of a great idea disregarded, broken and soaking into the carpet. let's get it right this time please.

you have to understand i'm getting very tired of all this. and my body is revolting. this is a cave-in, the last stand of a sorry self that didn't last nearly as long as i thought she would. so we're folding. dying differently than we have before. and for real this time. the brink of death has metaphorically always been so close. and we longed for it. but when it catches to your skins for real you come to know what life could be. and everything you're doing wrong. over and over again. our problems don't define us. they should re-define us. everytime they boil up and over the edge of my thoughts. we can't block this one out forever. i'm only human you know.

{larvae.}

some days i feel like i'm full of alien larvae. today is one of those days. here is a pictorial representation.

{ghosts and ghosts.}

{bad lands.}

you can dream. you can do whatever you want and who's to say you're ever wrong there's nothing wrong with you pace yourself don't just jump the gun this time it should be contemplated take it easy relax we're in a hurry here ohio and that's okay too and when the dogs are lying around the house looking bored and less than desperate you'll know it's time to go it's time to go and that's okay because you're okay and things are not okay but whatever. it's time to stop and it's time you realized you know yourself better than anyone else that's truth and it's bringing you to tears but hey sometimes it takes a little while to solve the problems you've accumulated get the fuck out of my way i'm walking here can't you see this is my side of the street and the kids'll never listen when you're screaming in their ears and the kids will never listen when you stay quiet all the time because honestly, the kids don't really give a shit about anything but the kids and you shouldn't bat an eye over anything but yourself i'm gonna be better i'm gonna be better and do right and right now bad habits are the hardest to kick and let me tell you that i've got a few too many of those and the worst ones are up in my head so you can't see them but i know they're there. it's true. this can be the fine line of life the one you step over to get somewhere else away from all your sentimentalities because honestly and you already know this that those are for the birds let's just drive let's just get out of here i'm gonna drink this whiskey until i have an out of body experience and then i'm gonna come back like a perverted resurrection because sometimes you really have to hit the ground before you can get back up.

{bad dreams.}

pouring out the skylight on the third floor of the house, was a large house plant. i had placed it there assuming it might manifest sort of organic aesthetic value, it's leaves and giant orange blossoms pushing their way out of the house, as though the house were filled with such exotic vegetation. i took the two girls outside, so they might judge my attempt at exterior decorating. they told me it looked really stupid.

the house belonged to my aunt, and for as far back as i can gather memories, that house has terrified me. at any age, if i found myself alone in any room, my chest would swell with terror. this happened most predominantly in the studio, which was positioned above the garage. in order to get to the studio, you had to use the raised walkway, which passed above, and separated, the living and dining rooms. it's difficult to explain. the house was put together in the strangest of ways. but the studio was mostly isolated from the rest of the living quarters. it's also hard to explain why the house was so petrifying. i wasn't used to being in the woods, which may have been part of it. in the day time it was an amazingly beautiful space, so full of character and light. the sun shone through the trees, into the large windows, creating a warm sense of comfort. but at night, as it tends to be the case, the entire mood of the house changed. even thinking of it now, i am brought to cold sweats imagining the times i watched the house while aunt and cousins were out of town. the structure was filled with peculiar angles and rooms, giving one no real sense of escape, if the cause were to arise. there was no real way to be aware of your surroundings. anything could enter the room from a dozen different places. it was a large, open house, but very complicated. the nights in that house were filled with quickly shifting eyes and perked ears.


it was day, so the house didn't seem so intense. the girls told me it was a dumb idea to put the plant half way out the window on the third floor, which happened to be the loft, my oldest cousin's room. i told them i would show them were the plant was in the house, as though it would somehow sway their opinion. "it's on the third floor," i said, "i mean the fourth. no- the third." we began to walk up the steps, into the loft.


we are outside again. the day has instantly shifted to night, and the house, not looking like its normal self, has taken on a foreboding state. from the lawn, we look to the third floor.

in the loft we find my brother at a giant security system. the monitors display all the different rooms of the house. he tells us we have to go. we can't stay here. he's been living here for years. ever room in the loft is filled with boxes of untouched, but spoiled food. i feel no sense of safety outside this room. there are horrid things looming on the property. my brother goes on to tell us about how he's been living here monitoring the zombies. but they've multiplied, and are completely out of hand. we have to make out way out of the house. the zombies on the screens are reminiscent of apes. they are slow and aloof.

we find ourselves in an underground room. despite the fact that we are underground, we are also outside. it is a gigantic room, made to look like farm land, and it is littered with zombies. they are kept from us by a giant gate. the gate beings to open. i look at my brother and we agree that it would be absolutely unfortunate to be caught in the midst of this "room".



the dog barks now and i am dreaming lucidly. i fall back.



i am in the house alone. as in, by myself, but the presence of the house is becoming clearer, more centalized. i live in the house now. me and an evil spirit. this specter is overwhelming. i feel him constantly. he is a weight on my life, it's difficult to breath. i know he's with me all the time. eventually i begin to speak to him, with a steady confidence. he can't hurt me, although he would like to. i have fear, but a great strength to contend with him, to question and break him. when i turn corners, his shadow is there. he carries knives across the kitchen. he watches me while i sleep. i say to him, "you have just as much choice to be evil as you do to be good. why don't you show yourself to me. i want to see you." i am filled with great compassion.

he says his name is Skeet. we are in the dining room. in the corner by the window, where once when i was very young, i drank wine alone. we argue, and i rebuke his presence. his face is made of fire. and we are screaming. there is compassion and great anger. the point of his existence escapes me. i am stronger. his face is made of fire, lacking features. and his body is white and shapeless. i am frightened but unwavering. i am tossing in my sleep. megan, megan, are you awake? it takes me a few seconds to feel my body. to connect with myself. yes, i am awake.

{bye.}

{it's time i came back from outer space.
and face the mirror i still have to face.}

{ridiculous.}

{chips.}

presently, i'm very out of sorts. frustrated by my laziness. maybe it's just this place. but i think it's about time i stopped blaming the places, and started realizing that i'm the one who sucks. so i got all pissed with myself for lacking the ability to manage my money. or at least save it. i needed a new toothbrush and some double-sided tape. but the more time i spent outside my house, the more pissed i became. so i bought some chips and salsa, to eat while being pissed. so that's what i'm doing. it's delicious. why not have a drink you might ask. well, i did make a drink a while ago. note to self: don't used random knives lying on the counter to cut lemons for your gin and tonic. sometimes people have recently used them to cut onions. onions + gin/tonic/lemons = not so good. maybe it was an omen, because i definitely prepared the drink around 11 am. anyway. it's my day off, and there's much to be done. i'm gonna go be too chubby for summer in my room. and wonder how any hospital would let a 13 year-old boy perform any kind of surgery. fuck you doogie howser. you don't make any sense.

{gyno-gyno.}

she told me i should see a neurologist. what the fuck is that supposed to mean. was it intended as some snide remark? or did she not know what she was talking about. maybe she meant psychologist. why didn't i ask why then? i guess i was confused. because when you go somewhere to have someone look at your vagina, and they say, "you should see a neurologist," it just doesn't make sense. honestly. now i'm wondering if i should see a neurologist. thanks lady. my vagina may be fine, especially fine if you don't call me back with abnormal pap test results. but now i'm wondering about my nervous system. back to square one.

{what is sad.}

questioning quietly in times
where burdens have been buried
dug up in the dark, laid to rest again.
in truth,
i am the last.

what can be said.
i am the lost,
confronting myself in mirrors
dismissing or accepting truth and fortitude.
the day breaks and i am the same

as i ever was

words write themselves these days.
wine drinks itself
these days there is nothing
but the act of waiting
and saying life is too short

if this were my last moment
would i be satisfied in it,

i think not.

love lingers in the hearts of men
and where i stand is not stable
the bed i sleep in
is not my own

the ground i walk on
was not meant for me

my breasts silently swell
and i anticipate
the quietness.

{finding the gin. on boys and cancer.}

i would have stayed up later, but i ran out of smoke. and would have written better, had i not been so tempted as to see who else had simpler things to say. this place is a riot. this town is a joke. like most. i'm lying. we stayed up late. read Calvin and Hobbes, felt much better about everything. is it so bad to be a dreamer. i'm honing my contemplations. if i thought about my dreams as much as i think about boys and cancer, i'd probably be a happy woman. the key is to keep writing. everyone always says there isn't anything to talk about. to update. but therein lies the fatal flaw, you just keep writing. even when there's nothing to say. even when you're dying of cancer. even when the boys have hurt you, but you keep on loving. i'd give you my last meal. i'd give you my blankets in the cold. there are certain people who do this to us. and those who don't. yet again, it's late at night, and i am running out of cigarettes. my new pact with myself is to think about writing, instead of boys and cancer. there is a dream in this world that keeps me going. i couldn't tell you what it is. it's not the one i go to sleep to. it's the fantasy of living. it's the sudden suppositions. the endless whimsical places. the problem being, we get older, and so easily forget about the places that we so unknowingly left behind. in a fit of independence. a hasty self-sufficiency. the parts of us we gave to love. or when we spent all our money on solidarity. existence can be such a joker. we've lost. we lose ourselves in the vastness of reality. the supposition of tranquility. and love. watched the movies as children. and felt the way we wanted. don't fool yourself. justification is a joke. who are you kidding.

{reading this won't be worth your time.}

due to this subtle state of desperation. it seems i'll be writing my way through the night. or just sitting staring into space. drinking wine and smoking cigarettes through supposed sickness. in the darkness of the dining room. or on the porch. where i live right now. for a month. i am a space cadet. i would like to keep from sleeping. i need a solid plan. i need an idea.

{stereo song.}

this is the edge and walking
over coals
used to be all there was to do
in the marshlands
in that valley.
you would think it hurts
but it's just a matter
of fine lines
and how hard you scream.
a fake pain face.

and in that valley
the warnings sing
with all its alarms
one might think the twisters
would come and eat you up
but they never do

this is the song that will be playing
while i'm waiting
always doing the right things
at the wrong time.
when i think it won't affect me

how much wine does it take
to keep a soul from sadness
what constitutes adulthood
or the opposite

everywhere ended displays
the unanticipated outcome
nothing is ever
what i had dreamed it would be
on innumerable nights
where i lie in bed
and made up stories
before sleep
just the little something
to keep me from truth

{two things..}

and..



viewing them now, i recognize that the animators of the last unicorn also animated the other movie i watched all the time, which was this:



once my brothers and i put on a play of the hobbit for my parents. it was pretty awesome. i can even express how amazing these movies are to me, even now. i should watch them soon. everyone's invited.

additionally. how could i for get this:



and in that version, the actual, true interpretation of the story by hans christian anderson, she kills herself in the end. she turns to sea foam. because that's how the story goes. way to ruin everything you touch Disney..

so for good measure:



i used to watch these movies non-stop. and by that i mean, at least once a day for years. i think in some ways they have shaped who i am today.

{idea..}

fall in the best of ways
instant humility can be the greatest remedy
for all acquired cynicisms
there's nothing quite like hitting the ground
to wake you right up

be friends
for now and later
make me eggs
and we can climb mountains
recollect over and under
all the tall tales of love
and laughter will resonate
through bodies
breathing side by side
asleep or not
in the night
when it turns out
all we needed was perspective.

{still smoking.}

it's been said that all anyone ever has to talk about is themselves, because that's all anyone ever really knows. i am going to die. i said it aloud in my car at a stop light on the way to the grocery store. it seemed i needed to verbalize, so that i would come to terms with its factualness. i have been freakishly gripped by the all too common fear of dying. this plague consumed me very suddenly about a year ago. i was sitting in my car reading in the dark, and rubbing my left hand across my neck. as my fingers grazed the lateral tendons holding my head on place, i came across an ill-placed lump. panic swelled. i grew cold, chest burned and my throat closed up. there's nothing quite like discovering body malformations, while being a thousand miles from home and living in a car. thinking about it now, the ironic part of that story revolves around what i happened to be reading, No Exit, by sarte. but since that specific moment, i have been in a constant state of terror over the act of dying. i say "act of dying" because i'm not afraid of no longer existing, rather the timely progression towards death. the wilting of my body, eventual weakness, and the inevitable pity that i'm sure most people who know they are dying receive from the healthy, who are really thinking how glad they are that it isn't happening to them.

i've spent innumerable late nights finding and questioning many kinds of supposed abnormalities all over my body. in order to figure out what the problem might be, i would go online and look images depicting some similarity to my flaw. which turned out to be an absolutely terrible and accordingly, horrifying idea. there are so many pictures of mouth cancer on the internet. and i'm sure they only use the most grotesque cases to characterize cancer.

i believe the scientific term for these actions i exhibit is "hypochondria", however, using such a terminology makes me feel right cheap about the whole affliction. as though, my entire person can be simply written off in some respect. it's like calling someone an alcoholic. one can use the term, but have no real idea what it's like to be an alcoholic, like any other psychoneurosis. they just assume it means you drink too much. just like being a hypochondriac means you are afraid of illness too much. i'm sure no one really wants to know what it's like to be either, but it still strikes me as an easy oversimplification for such a considerably displeasureable state of mind.

it isn't that i'm necessarily afraid of dying alone either. this can be handled. and anyway, i'd be the one dying, so i would assume that the only individuals who might feel alone are the one's "left behind" following my death. i once told my father that if i died i hoped he wouldn't be too upset over the whole ordeal, because i would be dead, and being alive is pretty fucking hard anyway, so really, it would all be for the better. which isn't to say i don't enjoy the act of living. a good beer, fat and friendly chickadees on the sidewalk eyeing me for food, a quality climbing tree, hot days and cool grass, sticking my feet into the water while lying in the sweltering sun, all of these things please me to an infinite extent. daily i profess my gratitude for something worthy i witness. but lately the days seem long with work, and time doesn't seem to ever be mine. i wonder where the hours go. why i don't have the opportunities to bask in the natural richness of the day. co-workers invite me to the bar, where we go on and on about some caddishness that i don't care about and is in no way profitable to the life i would like to lead. then there are the obligations to the ones who have come to care for me greatly. more and more i feel completely detached from everything going on around me, and consequently can't seem to simply find myself in the mess of life i live in. what am i doing wrong. all i want is water. and the earth to speak to me in a place where pettiness is absent. where my car won't get towed. and i don't decide to drink myself to some state of artificial solidarity.

i guess the point of all of this is to tell myself that i am going to die, in order to realize that i am alive. and in all the instants where i find myself dissatisfied, there is actually an achievable graceful exit from that into something else. which, when chosen wisely, will decidedly bring me closer to where i should be. i'm not under the assumption that there is any sort of solid fulfillment, however, i would like to try and work my way towards that abstraction. and through such a venture, i might not feel so bad about dying. death will simply be what it is, for everyone who ever lived once.

{give me something better three beers later.}

a little less elastic

{first}

the binding has broken again.
what's left to say
after we've started talking.
telling all the thoughts we knew
we wouldn't say.
let's wrap this one up
place it in the back
it's tired and time for bed.
if i don't sleep now
all thoughts will escape
swarm and consume me.
like a bunch of bats.
there is no second wind. third or fourth.
and sick from speaking
the nights are slippery slopes
the days are dastardly. as mentioned
eyes heavy against the absence of light
hands tired from all the touching
chapped by winter.
who says i can't keep myself from dreaming
supposing i might just as well fall in.
don't depict charms
or manifest your mannerisms.
please.
i have to be somewhere
and it's getting late.
go have whatever's yours
i'll be here humming to myself.


{second}

baby takes a deep breath and delivers
times are too convenient
kids keep fighting pulling hair
the bar is our new playground
and lonely

there was the only love ever liked
flaws and all
eventually we're all fools
the dumbfounded

friends stop calling
absorbed into little sacred lives
get used to the lonely lover
work in a dog pile of pettiness
most days it's hard to stay in touch
with any sort of self

i'd like to make great promises
but when it boils down the the sticky tar of feeling
it's just wanting you here
it seems we've lived many lives together
that's how i feel
but let's be serious for some seconds
i'm distracted again.


{third}

a fine time
to sober up and wait
lust and longing linger somewhere
suppressed and unadulterated
these new things. to have.
count the costs and say what i'm thinking.
of closeness and the surreality therein
the newness, i mean.
found fondness stumbled upon
while drunk and driving home.
ran you over on accident
three times. and you kept calling out
faking nonchalantness acting up to par
poorly made.
but after you dance naked at night
and stepped back
trying to make sense of the simple things
being beautiful to me
wondering where actuality lies
body next to mine maybe
where are the lines of living
i am captivated.
i am calling quietly through smoke.
passive and greatly pleased together.


{the fourth makes me a liar.}

i didn't mean any of that.
the house collapsed upon me.

{what would mr. rogers do?}

okay. it's going to work this time. there are two gnats buzzing around my hands. i just caught the scent of what a friend of mine smelled like on any given day. i'm tired and optimistic. the glare of the computer screen on my hands makes them look enormous. like cinder blocks. why can't i be good. like mr. rogers. loving and saintly. just doing what it is i do, and avoiding all distractions and sadness. let's make this work and try harder. i feel ill. let's fix this. i'd like to be more sound, and remain so.

{why people blow:}

VS.






yeah, nice job jerk-face. maybe you should get your own ideas instead of ripping other people off. and i think you owe mr. gondry some sort of an apology.

{liquidation sale.}

everything must go.
it will be better
in this drink sleep drink world
man eat man
where love only lies within me half asleep
and no one's really listening.
the clockstopped
i could sink into the sea okay
strip strip strip
everything must go.

{drunken psalm.}

the days are lined immaculate
we speak of the dead
and the traditions there in
having wounded all the love there is
made a bed of straw
made a house of sticks

there were ones for which to bask
to lie in front of vast oceans
bleeding we never knew existed
not at all afraid
no lies were ever spoken
no breath ever distilled

to say so calmly things
that don't matter
i know the ways of your workings
like little clocks
your clever machinery
but we are all a memory eventually
and then forgotten.
don't kid yourself anyway
keep singing
and i'll keep drinking
to the tune
and dreaming.

{too many naps.}

the way we smoke
to excess, and fester
falling short of deliverance faster than ever.


there's nobody here but us ghosts.

go home.
managing monsters,
tagging them like endangered animals
standing at the front door disguised
as small children
selling candy.

{never feel that way again.}

sticky seas of sickly drunks
and the ears are getting hotter
from an illness
with the fevers
that will eat the world alive
dropping dollars like loose letters
when the words won't stay together
when a slimy swollen tongue gets too thick for speaking

and anonymity only still exists
because no one knows the sober
and we are rarely sober.
sometimes somber,
which instances make strangers smell the melancholy odors
so they avoid you like the plague.
similarly to the sun,
everyone eventually gets sick of the rain.

at night, tasting too much,
saying the sentences of shouldn't
these buildings are fake friends
they only want your money
and i liked you better
when i didn't know you
and isn't that always the case

so save the vodka soaked olives for last
because that's all the love you're getting
sodium and sugars
be careful
there's a body burning
for some satisfaction of living
as the lights begin to dim

{sleeping dogs lie.}

crawl into the dark
deep woods far from the pack these
dogs will die alone.

{the ways of was.}

everything will be okay. a stranger to myself. afraid all the time. heaping the coals on top of me every time i fuck up. every time i am afraid. let this day deal with its own worries. i am trying so hard. constantly consuming. i need to sleep now. let me be okay. no. i can't deal.

the terrified and lonely
ones-
like last autumn's rotten
leaves
that cling to now naked
trees
and the ways of
was.

{the blood sucking thought patterns.}

it doesn't matter how i sing it. only i can hear my fearfulness. only i can hear my peace. and i suppose i could maybe say it is such a specific enough way, that the muffled melody i'm playing might be picked up. vaguely. very faintly. but it's all within me. and it drives me to drinking. and it makes me to sleeping for hours. every emotion creeps up on padded feet. sometimes softly touching me. mostly stabbing in the back. but i rarely turn to confront it. i might face it, but its eyes are more intimidating than mine. and its teeth are always gnashing. it is a vampiric. and makes my skin feel restless. i'm sure it wouldn't be so bad. if i could rebuke it. but when one is in a fearful state, it's hard enough to breath. to do anything to save yourself. and this is ridiculous. and where do these thoughts come from. they are spoken to me, from behind me left ear, i have to you a few times before. they come to me again and again. i am not strong enough. they reinvent themselves. they are silvery shape shifters, and they know how to pull me under. and they know that they are good at it. i am stupid human. i am susceptible to the secret lies that pour into me. i'm begging you for help. i am debilitated. catatonic. immobilized. all there is is sleeping and intoxication. my eyes are heavy. i am not meant for this world. desperately i try to avoid it, and am even bad at that. i've fallen right into lukewarm water. i create my own death daily. i am bruised and beaten down by my own thoughts and actions. how can one live freely when it seems that what they are is what is killing them. i am being melodramatic, but serious. i cannot live like this. i am tired. and hungry. and in need of refuge.

{startling starling.}

{mzunga.}

we sat in a large but mostly empty apartment on the west side. the fourth story. there were seven of us. and half were visitors from out of town. i smoked out the window, while biz markie played for the room of white folks behind me. to the right of me. apart from the music it was mostly quiet. soft spoken, slurred speech. everyone seemed considerably more intoxicated than myself. glassy-eyed and lackadaisical. but i was a bit tottied up myself. i probably should not have driven. but i did so there's no excuses now. just luck. i wore a black dress with little polka dots. once again not in the mood for much of anything except my own thoughts. or maybe dealing with this social interaction in a different way than the rest. maybe just tired. still wearing my apron and work shirt.

in my left ear are disintegration loops. in the right is a voice that i had saved about a week ago in order to listen to later. because i thought it might be nice to hear again. if i felt so inclined. which i do. this make me feel silly, and kind of stupid. i worry. i worry about these thoughts that i have. and those distractions. i've been told it's alright to be distracted, to focus attention of other things. otherwise, what would life be, without these distractions. we would probably just think we were dying all the time. (as my tongue shifts in my mouth, presenting me with some strange obtrusion, which is probably just my jaw bone, but of course i have to look at it in the mirror and see if i can determine whether or not it has tumoristic [not a word] properties. as though i would know.) but i worry. it's what i do. and i would like to quit. be careful. full of care.

i am sitting in the coffee shop, which i enjoy. they give me apples, oranges, cookies, and dried mango bits for free every time i leave. i don't talk with anyone. they must just like me for some reason. or they are simply kind. i come here almost everyday. the man behind the counter must be cooking onions, because my eyes are beginning to burn a little. the windows are fogged. i look forward to sitting here in summer time. when the windows are open and the air is more substantial. thick and humid. in a sundress, i will be glazed in pleasant sweat. and enjoy the cool, nightly showers before bed. falling asleep with the windows open. waking to the ruckus of the bright day. riding my bike.

sometimes people have loud personal conversations in quiet public places. i always wonder why they do that. lately i've been especially quiet during day and night. i don't much feel like talking. i don't have much to say. it's hard for me to tell whether or not this is a wise venture. i tend to become so consumed by my own thoughts. i get very unnerved. for as long as i can remember my mother has said to me, "you think too much." before, i had thought that this was a good thing. that it made me more an intellectual. more a thinker and therefor more inclined to make great things and be interesting. i don't think like that anymore. and anyway, i am far more a feeler than a thinker anyway. and for as long as i can remember my dad would say to me, "get a hold of your emotions. don't let them drag you all around." and i would think to myself that being emotional was good because it made me aware of myself and where i stood in certain situations. it helped make life more definitive, in a sense. i was a more passionate person if i became very emotional about things. i don't think like that anymore. i'm all caught up. i've snagged so many parts of myself on everything, to the point were i am pretty tattered. there's no elastic in me. i am one hundred percent cotton. but i was given a sewing machine for christmas. and have been doing quite a bit of mending. sometimes the pockets still fall out, from me shoving my fists into them, when it gets too cold out here in ohio.

i sat outside again. in the soft grey, muted light and evening air, smoking a cigarette. listening to william basinski. a young, asian man walks down the sidewalk toward me. he is wearing a grey t-shirt, and walks briskly. his coat is draped across his left arm, and the right arm waves gracefully to-and-fro as he approaches, as though he is playing the violin. his fingers pinched, gripping an imaginary bow. his head tilted slightly back. maybe he is practicing, i think. but his dancing arm glides perfectly in tune with what i hear in my headphones. the woman across the street, parallel to him, stares at his aloof gestures. i stare at him. and as he passes, i smile at him kindly, in a state of gratitude. he doesn't see me. he shouldn't see me.

{disintigration loops.}

indulgence brigs a fog. the days are better. and thoughts are more cohesive. like old friendships. i want to be a righteous woman. a good person. how many times have i sat in certain places having thoughts. nice ideas, whimsical notions, pleasant daydreams, or simply subtly muffled emotions that make my eyes glass over. and my heart heated with some kind of greater sense of self. not even solitary self, more like i'm seeping out and taking in the different shades of divinity. whatever that means to you. infectious days and personal compulsions. we have set ourselves aside. in recognition that everyone experiences pretty much the same things. but how you deal with it defines you.