{i hate this.}

that pretty much sums it up.





{drawing from:explodingdog.com}

{yerr-ah girl-drink-drunk.}

i understand that everyone is crazy in their own respect. and i appreciate that for what it is. pause. i should really just leave it at that. but i'd like to add that there are some things people do that completely leave me speechless. just. speechless. and i'm sure i elicit the same emotion in others. but man. MAN. i don't get so many things. seriously. there are so many things i don't get. how many different ways can i write that. in order to get the point across better. oh boy. like marriage. say it in your head once. now say it aloud. marriage. people love getting married, thinking about getting married. planning weddings. buying dresses. how many ladies do i know who peruse the wedding magazines in the check out isle. and i know there's nothing wrong with that... i'm excited to see all the people i grew up with getting married. i'd like to thank them all in advance. for providing me with massive quantities of alcohol. you can bet your bottom dollar i will be at the most spectacular day of your life. to shake your hand. and take over the bar. one of my most satisfying memories involves a wedding i attended two summers ago. at that point in my life i was looking really good. i'd been sad a while, and on account of it was very slim. so i went to this wedding on a hot july day, and found the bar was serving wine. a decent wine at that. except they were handing it out in these shot sized plastic cups. i had three or four, and then decided the portions were ridiculous, so i asked to be upped to the pint glass. three or four of those later. i felt the need to simply ask for the bottle. in the midst of casually snatching it, while the bartender wasn't looking (or maybe he just let this happen) a wonderful thing occurred. the dj, who had been sucking it up all night, as they tend to do, made a marvelous decision, possible sparked by some cosmic... thing, to put the song "danging queen" on. at thing point, a large portion of the crowd had left. and the dance floor was empty. with the exception of myself. dancing the night away. clinging closely to my bottle. it was one of the most glorious things that have ever happened. the end.


also:

au revoir, les enfants. do yourself a favour and watch it. it's good. and i'm a sucker for anything french.

{Eiszapfen.}

the rats get cold and come inside. i sleep in my coat. and there's ice on the sheets, frozen to the wall. we are all waiting. for summer. sleeping naked, i don't care to put on clothes and venture out into the wilderness. so smoking out my window, leaning out as far as possible in a bathrobe, i watch the cold from comfort. attaining just enough of its bitterness, so that i'm filled with thoughts. the chain link fence in front of me is frozen, laden with murderous icicles. the kind that kill. and trees crack, brittle in the breezes. seemingly intentionally. i blow smoke hard away. to not let it enter my house. i smoke furiously and emotionally. closing window i collapse on sheets and pillow. thinking i'll fall right into dreaming. the negative image of a metal fence is ingrained behind my eyelids. gradually abstracting and sinking in on itself, i slide right in. like living in a kaleidoscope. folding in while duplicating. i softly chew my tongue. and open my eyes. i know i won't sleep yet.

{drivel.}

i'm hungry. don't feel like eating. cheese sandwich. most nights i sit in my car and listen to good songs i like that make me lonely. i'm lonely. and hungry. not the kind of lonely i used to be. different this time. i think too much. i'm just a person being human. driving down that hill making myself cry. listening to old love songs. swooning. i don't think i'll eat for several days. it's just something i have to do. don't tell me anything about it. i don't want to hear it. and i won't take any heed. time is standing still for us. the things you say always captivate me. but i try to grow new skins. harder steel and armor. let nothing pass through me. let nothing take me over. except sleep and death. not even sleep. i can deny anything i want. i can control anything i like. because i am so weak, and my compulsions are all i have. my addictions are all i have here. at this time.

it's exciting when separated from the context of my own life. it's part of the memoir i have yet to write. it's already being written. but i still try to absorb the moments i find myself living. knowing i'll miss them later. i always do.

{willow trees and codeine.}

i like the truth. i like it when it's hard to take. the truth i know presently, and have know for some time, is that cheap red wine will fuck anyone up. i laugh at people who drink wine like juice. like it's kool-aid. wine will hand your ass to you at night, and your brains come morning. and cheap red wine will make you realize that because of your poverty, tomorrow isn't just another day, it's the day of your crucifixion. it's the poor man's burden. you can't bounce back.

i just ate some pasta, about eighteen green olives, and a teaspoon of codeine "elixir". i'm forcing myself into sleep. and if i die tonight, let it be known, i want no funeral. just to be buried underneath that willow tree on conneaut avenue. i know it's someone's front yard, but that tree and i had a moment once. it was four in the morning and raining, and i'd lost both my shoes somehow. we held each other and wept. i couldn't begin to tell you the circumstances that led to that point. i just know that we'd loved each other, as i've taken to loving inanimate objects. finding it to be emotionally safer.

this is some life to be living. i've been told to live it like a cancer patient. there are many people i have loved. who don't call. or who i've never told i love them. all the things we'd like to say, "so what oh well," to. but as far as i can tell, this is fucking all there is. so i'd better make the best of it.

{acidophilus.}

pulling my glasses off to rub my eyes in frustration. i remember i put makeup on today. i don't know why. i just feel like it sometimes. like painting my face. the notion is so strange to me that i enjoy it. and often wonder who's idea it was to add colour to particular places.

how many times have i walked down that hill and taken my clothes off in sub zero weather. calling out to no one and crying to myself i'm asking for help. not to anyone in particular. and had someone walked past and offered to lend a hand or call the police, i would probably freak out and start running. apologizing profusely as i sped off. the whiskey has found me again. and on my walk home, listening to music that i know pleases, i wrote your name in the untouched snow with my shuffling feet. i stepped back to admire my handiwork. later down the street i spelled an abbreviation of my own name. which also pleased me. and the entire way back i drew curly-ques in at least fifteen stranger's front yards. it was delightful. but now i'm home, and have recently eaten another tuna melt and some acidophilus. which is good for your intestines. i've been perpetually nauseated. which makes me think i am terminally ill. and have been attempting to take my thoughts captive a bit better. sometimes when i go to sleep i dream about how i might kill myself, and how beautiful it would be, aesthetically speaking. or i think of the day i'll end up in the state home, and wonder who will visit me. i don't know why i dwell on such things. but i do believe these thoughts depress me, so i'm trying to avoid them. i'm going to take a bath now. as this is part of my pre-sleep routine. tomorrow i'll wake and forget that i drank the night before. but will remember that a handsome man referred to me as "cool." and i don't see why i should care. just leave me alone.

{anything you say, baby.}

okay. this is what it all boils down to. i feel anxious. and very. very. cold. someone come visit me. but let me warn you, it's relentlessly frigid here, however, my warm heart and spirits will compensate. that and all the booze.

while driving dangerously down a snow covered road the other day, lacking the ability to see clearly out my windshield, and almost running over some strange man who thought it was a smart idea to walk in the middle of the road instead of on the sidewalk, i made a pact with myself to avoid public whiskey drinking at all cost. you see, whiskey and i are like abusive lovers. i get angry sometimes and start pounding down shots, and before you know it i'm drawing pictures of accordions and giving them to people i think might become my friends. this is why i don't make friends.

so i'm walking home and singing whatever song is playing on my headphones, thinking about how all the expensive yards i'm passing look nice when covered in lots of fresh snow. they look good enough to take a nap in. so i lie down in someone's well groomed lawn, and watch the clouds overhead gently float past the tops of trees. it's the loveliest thing i've seen in a long time. i hum along to the music, and puff away at my cigarette, which is starting to make me nauseated. standing up, i toss the smoke, and head home.

the next day i experience no hang over. i am never ever hung over, which is nice, but it also enables me to be a drunk more often than i could ever want. oh well. the moral of the story is that whiskey and i beat the shit out of each other, and in the end whiskey always wins. when i go to the bar, whiskey always seems to whisper in my left ear, "baby, you know i only hit you cuz i love you." and i inevitably drink more of it. more accordions are drawn. less friends made. i know that vodka really loves me. much more than whiskey ever could. but when we were together, vodka and i, it got old after a while. the relationship became bland, and i was always spending so much money on it, and vodka never even batted one beautiful green olive. but i know that it loves me more than words could ever explain. even more than red wine. who's bitter, cynical, yet warm qualities, always brought out the most romantic side of me. but after a time it was all just about sex, and i began felt so cheap. i don't know. and don't even get me started on beer. talk about sloppy disasters. and it made me feel bloated for days.

i'm going to the bar now, with my heart set on telling vodka that i want to get back together. but i know the moment i enter the door whiskey will be there eyeballing me. offering to warm my insides. and i will inevitably give in to its sharp, biting passion.

{yeah. i'm watching. and you don't know my name.}

is that unfortunate
will i ever find the ones to live with.
why am i talking to myself.
all the time. and writing
things about how i'm
fucked up or something.
silly. that's stupid.
i don't play games.
and i don't
mingle.

{weird among the weird. drunk among the drunk.}

you just ain't right.
and you can't stop drinking.
why do you say that

like it's a bad thing.

they almost made me cry today.
almost broke down.
but right now i'm thinking about boys and booze.
efficient alcoholic.

i love my life
stop kidding yourself.
at the bar
i sit in front
of my own beautiful ocean
it beckons in Burgundy
it calls to me in thick copper coloured liquids.
and the blood in these veins flows clear
and inebriates those who drink it.
no one ever has.

along this sweet shoreline
find me bobbing on the surface
some times drowning
on dry land
but always basking.

even when it pulls me under
and kicks me in the teeth
until i'm screaming.

{you know who you are.}

you had better keep writing.
or i'm going to find you.
and beat your ass...

{truly.}

at night i lie in a grey scale room looking to the left, out a window. on my back, i listen to headphones. eyes open i imagine my beautiful brothers dancing under aphotic, murky water laughing. while milky streams of light course across their taut young bodies. so full of little fleshy facets.

i fall asleep and dream. i am watching a family of whales swim across the sky, subtly aglow with shades of orange and pink and turquoise. i am lying in an endless marshland, very sparsely vegetated. somnolently floating on my back. and the whales moan a mournful harmonious tune as they drift towards the west with the seagulls. several stars present themselves in the great expanse.

sometimes i go home and rub my father's feet. he is a tired man. i clip his nails and sooth his calloused hands with lotion. with fingertips i massage his temples. my palms lie flat against the parietal bones of his skull. and my fingers gradually make their way along the temporal plates. soon enough he is sleeping, and i admire the manner in which the sun has broken down his face. his eyelids puffy, wrinkled. and underneath them remains the china blue.

i imagine myself older. going grey, my skin losing hold of the bones. i lie down with my mother. put my right arm around her, and say nonsensical, whimsical things to her, until she says that she is tired. we are wrapped in down blankets. she smells like her own skin, and i remember being very small, smelling her slips when i missed her. the shade of her lipstick.

i picture my parents underwater dancing and kissing each other. their bodies are old, scarred, and filled out. they are dancing underwater.


at night sometimes i pray for myself. not to be so disenchanted. not to be so sour. i begin to understand the biology behind family. the desire for it. and why not create something that loves you back. beyond biology. when they are gone. when i leave them. and every day will be like having hands in boiling water. i'd like not to be so disillusioned. don't let me stop writing. because during the dissatisfaction of days a fool sometimes sits outside embarking on specific delinquent thought patterns. sparked by unsubstantiated feelings of loss. and allowing the presumed bad deck of dirty cards to be taken in gusts gradually. timely winds devour. one by one, or handfuls, all the same. and the witness stares passively ungratified. at times, frustrations well up right behind the eyes, as they dance like unaffected leaves down the red brick roads. and pining, i do nothing. seeking the still and quiet voice, i do nothing. and so at night i lie in the bed i've made for begging saying please. don't let me die of nothing.

{family ties.}

I made
you
and I
can destroy
you

{drinking harder in our own personal dimensions.}

self placement
there you go.
skinny somewhere town.
you've got that grin again
a snide sideways smirk.
like you know something i don't
like the ghost of true alcoholism
has transcended up on you.
your cranium tilts forward
and you look at me
from the tops of your eyeballs.
i can almost see a sliver
of your off-white set of teeth
slipping though your upturned lips
when you smile like that
i know that you could watch me die
and get over it.
i know
that really
we are strangers.

and in the dismal dingy here
i can smell your breath
in my left ear
come crashing down
on the tender kidneys within.


i start to think-
on average-
how unfortunate are we really-
as individuals.
and how does time impact decisions.
or desire.
trying. swaying hips and pointing fingers
to and at the rhythm of the world

i fold.


(+)


{good form.}

the beauty of secrets is silence.
but i
can't ever
seem to keep mine.
they form delightful fortitude
in the
forefront of my
brain
lying comfortably shallow for a time.
gradually they force their
way up
into the crust
of my mind.
make a home of my eye sockets
i see nothing else.
and my tongue
becomes their doormat.

{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.

forever i have only had an audience of one
in mind
who is ever changing, but always and only one
who i'm aloud to pick, and do so choosing
and often times i do so foolishly
either way, i scream in cryptic phraseologies
and if you pick it up, you'll know what i mean
like some kind of cheap shot at my own emotions
always changing
like myself, but always never really
we all have our bags of tricks we wish
to put away from us
sometimes they are given
come as presents
and always unwanted
impossibly unacceptable
so maybe that's why i'm writing this to you
i'm always straight up
cat's feet don't tip toe around
and i will bust up those egg shells
but when it comes to speaking loving
i can't help but try you out
and wonder if you're hearing

now the world is run
on gasoline, blasphemy
and hooded sweatshirts.

everybody out.
i'm warning you.
a halfhearted stickup.
blood flows out like strawberry molasses.
i should be so melted down.
my ashes mixed with rubber
to make bicycle tires.
sprinkled into pancake batter.
i am a holistic remidy
turned into tablets.
take twice daily
before a meal.
or with glass of milk.
call me in two weeks.
we'll see how you're feeling.


+


i've been staring for a while now
at this plastic skeleton of a reindeer
adorned with christmas lights
the mechanical gears in its neck click away
and make its head flop jarringly back and forth
back and forth backandforth
as though it were alive and moving
it almost topples eveytime
i can't think of something more eerie
and recognize myself mimicking the motions
moving my hand to my drink. to my mouth.
sipping. as the ice chimes in a heavy glass.
placing back.
my hand quickly and clumsily falls to lap.
while the other holding cigarette is lifted. to my lips.
and puffs. then ash.
back into the lap.

we aren't much different
this plastic reindeer and i
and how disturbing.
plug me in.
let me go.

it goes. and it goes. always all the time. and i couldn't begin to explain to you what that means. my mother says to me, maybe you're just venting, but you don't seem to like anybody. ohidontknow. i've done it again. that's something i can agree on. and sick of self. every action ever made has led up to this point. where i am right now. all the choices. ever sense of determination. ever passive limp-wristed gesture. and here. drinking up all afraid like fine wine. that's not a metaphor. and it doesn't work. but seems like consuming fears. for an hour. maybe two. thinking about different things. i'm going places. in my head. back to where i was once. or forward to where i'd like to be. one of my biggest secrets is the amount of time i spend pretending. no that's not you, because i said so, you will decidedly be this person, because i said so. you hear. no not lonely. i'm a secret agent. and this is the life i chose. it's cold and hard. but when i was young. and those gypsies came and killed my parents. took away the family farm. i knew, even then, that this would be a solitary life. bad hand those fuckin cards. the only things that cling to me are time and death. i have no control. i lack it completely. don't laugh itsnotsofunny. seriously. i can't. i can't do it. my face is caving in, while i bloat and cringe at the present deterioration of my self, who i once knew so well. when people say, what you see is what you get. i don't think they really mean it. i said it about a month ago (i've been gone about a week) and the moment the words left my lips i knew they weren't true. and i am not a liar. the veins under my tongue have swelled. there are abscesses forming in my sinuses leading through the roof of my mouth. soon i won't be able to talk. my trachea is just a honey comb. easily crushed. ripped out and apart. ulcer. ulcer. ulcer. come on. give it to me. come on come on. i want it now. i don't want it now. that was a lie. i am a liar.

baby's always cryin to be better than she is
reachin out to online fortune tellers
spendin time alone
watchin the weather and waiting
always wanting
seeking out distractions
prayin for them to come callin

she leans out winter's window half naked
wrapped in a blanket

in the snow smokin
she says
we should do this more often
but with someone else
with a pretty mouth
oh my how i'd like that

instead she keeps to crying
barging through the days like maple syrup
that don't stick
she'll just keep thinkin through the hours
about stuff that ain't hers to be havin

i want to live alone
and be consumed
by every one of my self-loathing
self-indulgent whims
secretly succumb to my silent vulnerabilities
become skin and bone
transcend even myself
and not know where to go
no one knowing
but wondering if they do
while i sit in the closet
in the dark
drunk and telling myself i'm beautiful
everyone cares sort of
drink bottle after bottle
until i'm gripping the carpet
trembling with my own deep frustration
and curiosity
making the neighbors wonder
folded over in the bathroom
for hours on end staring into the mirror
watching my hair grow long and unkempt
thinking of everyone i've ever met or loved in my life
and how i don't know them now
and don't know myself
and don't particularly care to
despondent and catatonic
getting dressed
stepping out
into day
and pretending like none of that ever really happened