{also this.}

i've never seen footloose. but i saw both of these scenes within a few weeks of one another. and they made me laugh a lot. and i like to laugh, turns out.





the fall strikes me as stupid. and the movie kind of blows too, but the dance is great.

{bowie.}

so this made me happy. in addition to the fact that i already love david bowie.







you get the idea. it's hilarious!!!

i don't remember where i was, probably in cleveland working at the coffee shop, where we often spat on and on about music and crazy music desert island scenarios and ridiculously minute facts about bands and really that was all we talked about, music, which was totally great and i miss it, (because from what i can tell, most people i work with/know in general presently, with the exception of my boss, listen to horrible music all the time.) but someone, when asked whether or not they would have david bowie's babies, responded with a resounding "no." i thought it was crazy talk. i would totally have his kids. and i don't typically say that outright. ICE CREAM TRUCK!!!

{ oscar wilde. }

i didn't edit this post. so it's all garbled. but this story made me cry when i read it to a four year old. it's very well written. i love it.


She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses,' cried the young Student; 'but in all my garden there is no red rose.'
From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered.
'No red rose in all my garden!' he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. 'Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched.'
'Here at last is a true lover,' said the Nightingale. 'Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his lace like pale Ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow.'
'The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night,' murmured the young Student, 'and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break.'
'Here indeed is the true lover,' said the Nightingale. 'What I sing of he suffers: what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the market-place. it may not be purchased of the merchants, 'or can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.'
'The musicians will sit in their gallery,' said the young Student, 'and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her;' and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept.
< 2 >

'Why is he weeping?' asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air.
'Why, indeed?' said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam.
'Why, indeed?' whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice.
'He is weeping for a red rose,' said the Nightingale.
'For a red rose!' they cried; 'how very ridiculous!' and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.
But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student's sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.
Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.
In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it, she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.
'Give me a red rose,' she cried, 'and I will sing you my sweetest song.'
But the Tree shook its head.
'My roses are white,' it answered; 'as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want.'
So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial.
'Give me a red rose,' she cried, 'and I will sing you my sweetest song.'
But the Tree shook its head.
'My roses are yellow,' it answered; 'as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student's window, and perhaps he will give you what you want.'
So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student's window.
'Give me a red rose,' she cried, 'and I will sing you my sweetest song.'
But the Tree shook its head.
'My roses are red,' it answered, 'as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year.'
< 3 >

'One red rose is all I want,' cried the Nightingale, 'only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?'
'There is a way,' answered the Tree; 'but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you.'
'Tell it to me,' said the Nightingale, 'I am not afraid.'
'If you want a red rose,' said the Tree, 'you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's-blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine.'
'Death is a great price to pay for a red rose,' cried the Nightingale, 'and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?'
So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.
The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.
'Be happy,' cried the Nightingale, 'be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame-coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense.'
The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books.
< 4 >

But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.
'Sing me one last song,' he whispered; 'I shall feel very lonely when you are gone.'
So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.
When she had finished her song the Student got lip, and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.
'She has form,' he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove - 'that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good.' And he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep.
And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.
She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the topmost spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Yale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river - pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree.
But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. 'Press closer, little Nightingale,' cried the Tree, 'or the Day will come before the rose is finished.'
< 5 >

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.
And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose's heart remained white, for only a Nightingale's heart's-blood can crimson the heart of a rose.
And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. 'Press closer, little Nightingale,' cried the Tree, 'or the Day will come before the rose is finished.'
So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.
And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart.
But the Nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.
Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.
'Look, look!' cried the Tree, 'the rose is finished now;' but the Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.
And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.
'Why, what a wonderful piece of luck! he cried; 'here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name;' and he leaned down and plucked it.
< 6 >

Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor's house with the rose in his hand.
The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.
'You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose,' cried the Student. Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you.'
But the girl frowned.
'I am afraid it will not go with my dress,' she answered; 'and, besides, the Chamberlain's nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers.'
'Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful,' said the Student angrily; and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter, and a cart-wheel went over it.
'Ungrateful!' said the girl. 'I tell you what, you are very rude; and, after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I don't believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain's nephew has;' and she got up from her chair and went into the house.
'What a silly thing Love is,' said the Student as he walked away. 'It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics.'
So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.

{sit pretty}

... i am in love and trying.

{out of control.}

my head feels like it weighs 30 lbs. and evertime i move it, it's as though it's full of liquid metal that's sloshing around. i feel horrid. make it go away.

{celebrate everything.}

school's over. i want people to share drinks and laughter with me. and celebrate! but everyone is too busy or boring. call me a hedonist. i probably am. but i like to celebrate. i like ceremonies. and congratulating the beginnings and the ends of things. and school is over! so i'm gonna go drink at the bar. probably alone. i feel this is a rite. and i want to bask in the pageantry of an appropriate ritual i am creating now. my first teaching year finished. let's drink. i'm a bit sauced now.

{fin.}

life is so weird. today is the last day of school! huzzah. they've offered me benefits and a retirement fund at work. i'll be making a very decent amount of money. i have a bed. i have a bike. i have two hands, two legs, lungs, fingernails. it's all very exciting, you see. glory be.

also, "we" watched The Protector last night. it was amazing. you should see it.

the only thing i need now is a little sunshine. please. and even if it doesn't come quite yet, i'll still be happy.

{eeky bagina.}

last week these kindergarten girls were playing a game called "eeky bagina." i'm pretty sure they meant "vagina." when i asked what the game was all about, they said it involved pretending to be mice and saying lots of gross words. fair enough.

i then had this conversation with a three year old:

kid: i saw felix.
me: oh yeah? who's felix. is he a cat?
kid: i saw him at laurelfirst park. he had a huge crazy hat. he's a giant pie.
a pumpkin pie.

{the interaction made me so happy. i giggled often.}

{sister sally.}

we love you. the good ones. it is true, as they say, that we killed off all spiritual debilitaters. they had been coming to bed with us. drinking our sanguine blood as we slept. in morning, we awoke to our own weepings. until soon, the mornings no longer bore the fresh fruits of good dreaming and glad tidings. we began to lay like paralyzed insects, wrapped in webs of deceit. no one knows to move on days such as these. and so we took to drinking. hard and heavy with the indecisive days. the prank phone calls of love and laughter. lowly subjects to our own feelings. debating, we'd say, "love! oh love and longing! at home you found me on my own two feet. you took me away. and i went. because i wanted so badly, a glutenous mouthful of what you were selling. but it was i! i'm the one who gave the giving of a dreamer. like a lonely ghost. seeing myself a saviour. seeing you, my saviour. but now this lamb is bleeding on the altar in your backyard, while you read the paper. a burnt offering to love. i smolder for naught." ...and we realize the wastings. the brain seizes. and the heart splinters like old, dry wood. so neatly in the ashes.

thanks be to you, my true and loyal friend. passing through the ages. the noisy downtown veil of night met us at the fire escape. we crept on kitten's feet, and slit the throats of empty lovers. admiring the carbon spill from their silver necks.

draw me a bucket of water.

{tgif.}

there is something so inherently hilarious about that grouping of letters. they cause me to stir with ludicrous giddiness and laughter every time i hear them. they're so stupid! and yet, every friday, i find myself internally voicing them to myself throughout the day... my deepest secret.

it makes me think of shows like Family Matters, Step by Step, and Full House. none of which i watched. during their initial airing anyway, but i remember so many sixth grade girls who couldn't get enough. i will say however, that over the years i have watched many a re-run of Full House. and it is so bad. no regrets. tgif also makes me think of middle-aged white men, saying "tgif!" which is just as amusing. oh man. it's funny.

{doom.}

today my alarm didn't go off. i had to be here at 7am, and woke at 6:36am. it takes ten minutes to bike to school. i hate my outfit. it makes me feel dumpy. or at least frumpy. mostly chubby. i didn't have a key to get into the building either. so this kinndy named Zach and i had to bust in, which was easy, because one of the doors was unlocked. we tripped the alarm and ran down the halls. it was funny, but also stupid, because they haven't given me a damn key yet. i'm making it through each day. slowly. if i can make it through this week? oh God. that will be a feat. twelve hour days with ADHD kids are not fun. i can't imagine having one of those. or teaching them. this kid. one on one he's alright, pretty sweet actually, but in class he is literally taking years away from my life, in a span of minutes. i can feel it happening. so that lasts until friday. saturday i spend the entire day "babysitting". from about 9am - probably after midnight. i have overextended myself, like an moron. then sunday i work at the waffle box. why do waffles continuously work their way into my life. maybe it's a calling... monday and tuesday are the last two days of school, sans psychokid. they'll be a breeze. then. we drink. heavily. jeff will be back from his hiking trip, also done with his school kids, and his birthday would have been on monday. so i think we'll have a good ol fashion blow out.

why am i telling you all this? because i have a few minutes to kill, and i have to tell someone, and if i write it all out it won't seem so overwhelming. just gotta make it through the weekend... pray for mojo. now i have to go hang in recess, where the boys will require i play freeze-tag with them. which is usually sweet, but today sucks, so i'm not entirely down.

(edit) later...

okay. so i had a breakdown in the teacher's lounge. now i'm over it.
I'M OVER IT ALL DAMMIT!

{ offerings. }

some days i feel i have nothing to offer anyone. i am boring. there is nothing special about me. i am not neat. or creative. or gifted. or intelligent. i see so many people and things that are so wonderful and beautiful all the time and everywhere i turn with love in me. and then i think about myself and the lack-lack-lacking. it's a weird day. i am still grateful. but something's gotta give and i want to be front row center. get these thoughts out of my head space.

{funk.}

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

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

{liars.}

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

{the power & the glory.}

friday.

this is a time and a place to focus.

can you hear me?


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

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

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


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


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

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

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

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

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

{mistah toad.}

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

{all the world is flat.}

i have nightmares of getting flat tires on my bike.



everything deflates.



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

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

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

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

{surprise & water.}

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

like right now.

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

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

{Gewölk. Geister.}

clouds. ghosts.

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

ocean. ghosts.

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

trees. ghosts.

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

{cyclones.}

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

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

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



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

{dodge.}

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

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

{cusp.}

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

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

{drunk like me.}

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

{the morals of a monday.}

a day's final swell
just before the ebb of sleep
distinction of days waxing
melting into memories
burning up inside me
boiling down to a thick brackish paste
that resides in my left breast
and renders me useless

this speaks like a dream
wandering back and forth
between sobriety and drunkenness
loneliness and laughter

is there any way to be
so continually happy
an altruistic pattern of thought
which will lead me into life
and out of such a longing

these days like an egg shell
fragile and broken into pieces
filled with sticky hope
and delicious centers

we know nothing of the world
wanting only to be filled
ever since i was so tiny
understanding only what was seeming

when i watched those centaurs looming
over bodies by the pinkest flowers
looking for their loving.
i saw my incompletion.

speak to me now
of double-headed signs
the optimists within
the whimsical values
of a traveller

because i'm listening
intentively
with my dress undone
and my shoes untied
these giant hands.

i want to know the meaning
of fingers
and the presence
of chamber cells swelling
like a symphony

i know you'd keep me if i kept you
and you'd love me if i let you
but this life was meant for leaving
and i deserve no blessings

i have something to tell you.
i'm looking for that place
to lay my pretty burdens down.

{over-under stimulation?}

today i realized my ass is huge. i always knew it was big, but me from the backside... good god... from the front everything seems okay. i'm a doughy lady, but wow. i guess i had no idea.

anyway. so this week was crazy. how was yours? sundays always exhaust my brains emotional department. it's like a surreal come down from the entire week in one day. i don't usually talk to anyone; i just sit and watch the world go by mostly. i tend to feel lonely, lost, and at odds with humanity. like a stupid sinner i guess. probably because i'm hung over. and my body has chemical qualms with booze. i want to go on an adventure. or take a nap.

also i resemble a hobo right now. and there are so many people on this beautiful day, walking about with each other, holding hands and smelling good. i am quite the antithesis. also i am financially retarded. word to the wise, if you don't have any money, don't buy booze. unless you really want to hate yourself.

i wish i had a pizza. and some movies. that's exactly what i want right now. someone send me these things. i require them. i also wish i had my bike, which is in the southeast right now. i need that as well. and a new tattoo. and some sandwiches. if i hadn't spent this weekend busting my ass and then drinking a lot, right now would be a great time to have a drink. but all that alcohol has left a sour taste in my mouth. all i ate today was cheesecake. lots and lots of cheesecake. for which to add to my already huge ass. it smells like cooking meats out here. i want five cheeseburgers. and a hot dog.

{chilled out entertainer.}

stuff yer face. my brains is currently making this noise: "wauw-wauw-wauw". so many things to do. so little time. crazy. but the day before yesterday was "book giving day" i guess. this day involves a woman choosing a man for which to give a book, and in return, he gives her a rose. it was initiated in spain. now it's all "international" and shit. some handsome firey, redhead named jeremy told me that out of nowhere, which was nice. we shook hands. i wish i'd had a book to give jeremy... i smell weird right now. but not unpleasant. i painted faces for three plays today. also i am tired. and eating much food. and want the sun to come out, so i can ride my bike home in its rays of glory. now this isn't to say things aren't great. because they are. great. i may have found a summer job. everything is falling into place nicely. and there are a few people to call and say, "will you hang out with me?" so there yah go. huzzah!

here's a teacherly conversation from yesterday:

me: i know you're having a hard time, but right now you just have to go with the flow.
kid: even when people are throwing squids at you?
me: weeell... yeah, because if you were a squid salesman, attempting to sell squids door to door, but no one wanted any squids, so they keep throwing squids at your face... you'd still have to go with the flow. because that's what you do. you're a squid salesman. you know?
kid: yeah.

(much laughter ensued.)

she then explained to me that she was feeling "woody" [pronounced like 'moody'}. that's what they say at home anyway. when her mom came to pick her up i explained that the day was a bit "woody". and the mom said, "on no... not woody-woo." it was great. that particular mother/daughter combo are amazing. the bring us dress-ups...!

and then today i thought to myself:

"you'll never get another teacher like me. someone who's basically a chilled out entertainer..."

i'm going to call a boy tonight.

that just made me think, "i'm going to kill myself tomorrow..." {royal tenenbaums.}

{fast.}

okay spring time. i need you to progress. i will be moving in about a week and a half. in with two fine gentlemen named jeff and scott. jeff is 35, whereas scott is 33. jeff is from northern california, and scott is from cleveland. he has a tattoo of ohio on his arm. it makes me so happy. i spoke with jeff yesterday about painting my room, and after our conversation, i felt contented. i think these guys and i are going to have tons of fun. camping. grilling. gardening. bike riding. all summer long. it's gonna be great.

also i'm fasting today. i rode to work and arrived all wet and dirty. i had to wash my skirt in the bathroom sink. so yeah. summer needs to arrive. i'm chilly. ber.

{the precipice.}

separate the wheat
from the chaff.
what makes sense
what is good
the days i enjoy
leaking away
into a heated drunkenness.
bad smells.
direct me towards
the light. the everlasting.
having proof and showing worth.
these are the steps
forwards
the steps back.
onwards and upwards we say.

and the day after merriment
i feel nothing
will ever be okay again
knowing all the fallacies

reeling back from my own disappointments.

(+)

save me by the blossoms
by bike rides and clean laundry
the fresh fruits eaten by morning
the sweat of my brow.
and the sweet words of night.

pray for me. as a father.
as the farmer
sifting hands
through the parched soil of my spirit
on the hottest days of the year
pressing taught and tanned
face and fingers
into the corroded earth within me.
your breath is minerals.
breathing out and into dirt
taking in malignancies
sleep there.
rest your head upon my heart.
hum to its beatings.
and beneath everything
the folds of my thoughts
the darkest parts
cause the sweet sting of love
to infiltrate my dreamings.
lacing your hands with my nerves
squeezing through the sinew
scratching at the pit of my stomach
where all the old blood lies

every rib is yours
that you could break
if you wanted.
be my synapses
flushing through the arteries

build a new house
where the old stood

i am reminded
constantly.
and made new by the sun.

{full.}

these i would like to see:

(this one looks so freakin good.)



(oh. my. gourd.)



(amazing trailer:)




chris and i ate at Genoa last night. it was amazing... eleven courses. tons of wine.

{ailment accumulation.}

some of the kids at school are so wonderful, i get teary when i talk to them. the ones with extra vivid imaginations. i can't even put into words how they are, or make me feel. they're just great.

also, i'm pretty sure i have head lice. and athlete's foot. and a canker sore. bruises a kimbo.

and i may have found a place to live with two guys in their thirties.

everything is GREAT!

{baby's got the bends.}

we don't have any real friends.

hey. hey... come hang out with me. i have all these funny stories to tell. music to share. bikes to ride. bees to scream at. comics to make. i like you. make me laugh so hard i pee my pants. i don't care.

m.
henry.

{sometimes i write things.}

i can see them as old
tell that i'm tired
bells are ringing
feet shuffle
to the back of the bus

once, phone calls were made
from such a transfer
and the ins and outs of love
left us still wanting
at arms length

we watch the transitions
over the river traveling
through the definitions of life
pleasurable moments
of relational quality.
the excitement of personhood
the delight of fondness

{forgetting how much you love things.}

comics are wonderful. daily i am bombarded by things i enjoy. often, things i have forgotten the amount of which i enjoy, and i think to myself, "i love { }!!! it's so great! i want to continue my pursuits in this field of thing. and make lots of said thing." but then i forget. because it seems that this occurs so often, with such a multitude of subjects, i have a hard time laying them out. i'm getting better at it. if by better you mean worse. what i'm trying to say is, i'm narrowing down what it is i love. that is also not true. there are also items i wish to not love so much. like drinking. and cigarettes. and boys. and cuddly naps. rarely do i forget these things. how does that work?

i got new glasses kids. also a canker sore on the roof of my mouth. remember when i was really afraid of having cancer all the time. these days have gone into remission. i think of aids sometimes though. {the next sentence was "it's funny". i sat there for a few seconds a deleted this sentence, thinking, no, it is not funny.} i've been reading lots of Grimm's fairy tales to kids. tails. tales. t. t.. these are the times i should be getting more things done. but i'm so tired. it's taxing enough to be writing this right now. even more so knowing that what i'm writing bears (rar!) no merit to the human world. hey humans. hey. there are so many of you. come be my friend. i need people talk time. and some cuddlin. good ol fashion snuggle time. but all of you bad ones, stay away. i don't like you already. BRAIN TUMOR!!!

{tings.}

i really want to play rugby. or soccer. and for some reason, arnold schwarzenegger makes me really happy. i just like that guy. i think it's because i grew up watching him cover himself in mud, blow up aliens, or turn into a robot. all whilst making the weirdest faces and most horribly dramatic screams. what a weirdo.

{johnny on the spot.}

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

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

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

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

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

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

{ mysteries. }

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

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

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

{letters to lynn. vol. one.}

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

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

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

megan.

{having a moment.

{free your skin.}

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

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

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

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

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

{ghost hustler.}

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

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

{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.