{the ways of was.}

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

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

{the blood sucking thought patterns.}

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

{startling starling.}

{mzunga.}

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

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

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

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

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

{disintigration loops.}

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

{the world just screams and falls apart.}

i had a dream you were still alive.
playing Mozart records in the basement
and you whistle like you always did
when it hit your favourite part.

i had a dream you were still alive.
like i could feel your stubble on
my face when you kiss me
and we do our special signals together.

i had a dream you were still alive.
wearing your brown plaid shirts.
wearing your brown plaid shirts.
wearing your brown plaid shirts.

cloud destruction experiments.
orgone energy. yeah.
Ether, God and Devil.
Charles R. Kelley.

+

at any rate. that image as a whole is visually gratifying to me. i don't know about all this "orgone energy" or "life force", but it's all pretty interesting to read about if you have nothing better to do than waste time and not drink.

what to do.. treat my days well. and use them wisely. i have a hard time being productive at my house. and writing about it now, as in, the simple act of writing about my inactivity or inabilities, makes me feel right lame. i'm not a fan of excuses, and i feel like i'm making them. justification is a joke. a joke. but seriously. i don't like being at home. except for when it's time to sleep. someday i will live alone. it will be best that way. but what do i do now? every time i have asked someone where i should go to college, they always say "how about Puppy University?" or "Dog College." who are these people? and why is it that every time i ask that question there is an canine around, stealing attention, to such an extent, that people make up fake colleges somehow affiliated with puppies/dogs. am i hungry or sick. i can't tell anymore. i feel discomfort. let's lay down my needs:

megan elizabeth henry needs:

- save money.
- to live alone.
- to finish college.
- to decide.

i don't even know what i want to do. film? or writing? or both... yeah. cigarette. d dddd. hello. my name is megan. i am the embodiment of distraction. where am i going. what am i doing. in case you haven't noticed. i very rarely am one for question marks. i love boards of canada. orange. ok. there's a lot to see. and i'm still young enough to contain within myself the sense that i can do anything. and i would like to retain that mentality. bitterness is for bastards. and cynicism for suckers. feed me with a fork and fold me forty times over. the brick roads are begging. and my car is dying. christ is calling on his royal telephone. burl ives. bogdan raczynski. bangladesh. (there goes anton on his bicycle.. i just saw him in a red hat. there he go. "there it go".) what it all boils down to is where i am going. denver it seems. fake cancer. i just have to maintain my focus. i tend to not do that.. and what the hell kind of a name is "burl"?

{just another shitty day in paradise.}

whatever happened to my coffee mug. i stole this picture from lisa. but it was so nice to see a picture of the Grill. the g-rill. i was brought back to so many instances. like closing on sundays, and hiding my bottle of gin in booth one. or playing biscuit baseball. or larry being a drunken asshole who made me cry. i miss it. i think it was probably my favourite job. larry aside. when leo was there, and traviss, who i rarely got to see, but was always happy to see, because i never saw him ever, and lisa, who at this point i don't even recall whether she was working there when i worked there, or was, or just hung out all the time, and cooked. and helped me wrap tatter boys. mmm. i'm getting intestinal cramps just thinking about home fries. with green peppers. and onions. and spiciness. and dan-o. and e-bar. that was short lived. peter. lauren?! i almost forgot. that bitch. her grama made her cool waitress dresses. and she didn't even ask me. i suppose we weren't talking a lot at the time. that's definitely the place that got me to drankin. i only had one beer tonight.


i just drank milk. because i'm stupid. also. i can't sleep. because i ate a lot of chocolate covered espresso beans. because i'm still stupid.

{is it an android you are? or are you a quasar?}

preface: these words are nothing of consequence. or are they....


i have a serious bone to pick when individuals make beautiful things and are themselves beautiful. in the face. that is. mileece, is an example of this phenomena. i just got a lot of titillating music. my mouth waters. also, i think i may need to be medicated. what's the cure for hypochondria? were i ever to make an album, i might call it "mouth sore", but probably not. maybe i'd call it "fake cancer". hah. that's funny to me. does anyone remember "fake carl the cat"? probably not. i had forgotten until about fifteen minutes ago that green tea is awesome. Automaton.

"once upon a midnight, in the planet land of X, a young boy being lay dreaming."

i've taken my things, and come to the algebra tea house. there is something very specifically different about writing outside your own home. and despite the fact that i have nothing dire to say, this feels very pleasant, and i needed to do it.

"an electric blue glow seemed to fill his heart like star light. not moving. not wanting to destroy the moment."

when i was in mississippi, i did this every day for months. i feel like i used to have something to say. presently, i feel very cluttered. like a junk drawer. i'm sure there's some really useful or at least interesting things inside me, but i can't find them. they're hidden under lots of confusion and fear probably. i never saw myself as a fearful person before, but i do now. that's kind of sad. we will have to do something about that, shan't we. cigarette. the amazing sound of orgy. i love it when that bass hits.

"nothing made any sense. what did it mean? it's important. it has a meaning!"

tiredness creeps on masculine feet. and grabs a hold with heavy hands. of course i might think to myself that lethargy and death might be the same thing. of course. there will always be a day of reckoning. eventually if not today. it seems that on another hand i sleep in order to avoid thought, and therein ignore death and reckoning. my penance. my self-imposed earthly purgatory. the days are days are days. and it is always what it is, nothing more, only speculation. i am fine. and if not, will be.

"for that was the young boys name. end."

it's time for a thunderstorm, children.

{approaching anniversaries.}

mostly when i have to go i do. but not now yet. it kills me slightly. and draws me to my limits. listlessly listening. i have reached a fickle Fahrenheit. the desire to collect the ways in which i gauge my own illnesses is obsolete it seems. as i gather my worldly treasures in my lap, my heart. and wait to die alone with them. there is always the voice i come crawling back to. with all the best pitiful pleas. that's just like me. i can tell you that i don't wish to sleep tonight or ever. but inevitably, i will.

{fear is in the chest.}

i've been really good. especially good. for the past few months i haven't even thought about disease or cancer. i may have made a comment or two about terminal illnesses. but i know that within myself i haven't been afraid. rather, i haven't obsessed about infirmities to the point where i become nauseated, dizzy and consumed by fear.

last night at five in the morning i was brought back. i have two lesions on the hard palate of my mouth. it began on saturday as one lump, which gradually became two parallel lumps. they grew slightly, felt hot, and now are two small, warm, open wounds. nothing too painful. i'm assuming they're fever blisters or canker sores. but why leave it at that. so last night i decided to read numerous medical documents, definitions, and articles, as well as look at all sorts of unearthly, horrific, bloodcurdling cancer images. of all the great ideas. i seriously convinced myself that i have oral cancer. and had to call my mom at five am and have her talk me down. i woke up and felt much better, fine even. but why let the issue rest. about an hour ago i looked up more pictures, and read about more symptoms of mouth cancer, and have convinced myself yet again that i am going to die a slow and painful, cancerous death at the young age of twenty-two. because, you know, it can happen. there are so many things you can die from. i called my mom again, she talked me down again, and i ask her "how to you know that i don't have cancer? how does any doctor know if all he or she does is knead my breasts or poke my lymph nodes?" at any rate. the moral of the story is that i am ridiculous and exhausted now from all this fear. and i really wanted to have a vodka/o.j. and a smoke, but one article specifically pointed out the fact that smoking and drinking simultaneously makes it incredibly more likely for someone to get cancer. thanks science. thanks for taking the things that make me happy and peaceful and turning them into demons. thanks for ruining my fun.. and my life.

{the clubbed left foot.}

i was born with a clubbed left foot. which is funny because i don't remember having one at all. but i have seen pictures of an infant megan with a cast on her leg. i went on a walk today for the first time in weeks. when i walk, i lead with my right foot. i've been paying a great deal of attention to this lately. when attempting to lead with my left foot, i tend to limp, or hobble, which probably isn't as noticeable as it seems to me. when i try to lead with both feet, i strut. but strutting exhausts me. so eventually i just fall back into my usual steps. but it was a wonderful walk. i've felt so lethargic lately, very anxious and manic. but two days ago it was almost as if i consumed some sort of toxic elixir. i feel myself mutating, becoming more energetic, and less hoe-hum. the music i listened to on said walk made me happy. for the first time in a long while i felt the need to dance while walking. i didn't, and never do, but the thought of it always amuses me. so the walk was peaceful and pleasant, and stomping through the half-icy snow with my boots felt like how i'd imagine it feels like to eat cap'n crunch with plastic teeth. (i thought that at the time.. although i don't much care for the cap'n.) needless to say, i enjoyed myself. after a while however, on account of my left foot, my left knee and hip began to hurt. and gradually my left foot turned inwards to alleviate this discomfort, which it always does. in addition to that pain, my left shoulder is killing me. right now i am drinking cheap red wine. and really wish i had some green olives to eat. the ones with pits.

{i should have prefaced this writing with a warning. everything i'm going to say tonight contains no actual reading value. i'm just talking, because i need to right now. i really with i had some olives..}

guess who just found olives.. that's right. it's me. they are the called "green pearls" and are the pitted, pre-sliced ones. but it's good enough for now. mm, luxurious. while walking tonight, i almost stepped in a large pile of dog poop. in my head i comprised an open letter to the person who let their dog shit on the sidewalk. it went something like this:

An open letter to the person who let their dog take a crap on the sidewalk and just left it there:

Seriously guy. What the fuck. Asshole.

that's about it. i mean, what else is there to say really. i feel very pleasant right now. maybe five hours ago my brain was a paradoxical mess. i sometimes think two completely contrary things simultaneously, and believe in both. it pains me. and on that note, i'd like to add that i am making a pact with myself to live alone from here on out. i think that is the only way to do it. i can't function when there's someone else in the house. and i dread coming home, because my privacy is depleted by at least 53 points. i don't know what that means. additionally, i really like vinegar lately, but it makes me lips feel swollen. tomorrow i am going to swim laps for the first time in maybe four years. which is very exciting. i like the smell of chlorine pools. i keep having dreams with specific songs in them. on saturday i had a dream with the song vogue by madonna. probably because it played on the radio at work, and sonny was singing along to it, which was very funny to me at the time. but either last night or today, i had a dream with the, oh yeah, it was today, with the song moondance by van morrison in it. and later, whilst walking, i put my music on shuffle, and it played at least four van morrison tracks. maybe my dream was prophetic. pointlessly prophetic. but in the dream this afternoon, i remember singing the words to moondance while leo deboe sat in the bottom of a kitchen sink, and rob keys' omnipresent voice suggested things that i don't remember. and my chest was on fire because of these little confetti crabs that you put into water so that they dance for you. they danced like a spirograph. it was completely awesome. i thought that maybe i'd gotten these little guys, reminiscent of sea monkeys, on my skin, which was why my chest was burning. also, you can't put a mermaid in the water with these crab things because the crabs will swarm and kill it. that's the information leo read from the packaging the crabs came in. and i said, "leo, are they alive?" and he said, "well, for now they are." and then looked at the neon drawing of a mermaid on the package and said, "you can't go in there." and i swear to god, in the dream it was his exact intonation. there were also wicker chairs around a wicker table in this room. (which was an underground apartment, don't ask me how i know that, i just do.) but all the furniture was lined with white wire hangers. which i imagined was the keep the from getting all banged up. i also recall an instance in the dream where leo, rob and i, needed to call opie, because no one knew where we lived. maybe because it was underground. and all the while, moondance was playing. so that's the dream i had while sleeping on the floor in front of my space heater in my bedroom. wow- my right leg just fell asleep and i really thought i was about to lose it.

and by the way, these olives suck. i'm gonna have a cigarette.

{a song.}

oh i'm just a little black rain cloud
hovering under the honey tree
oh i'm just a little black rain cloud
pay no attention to little me
oh everyone know that a rain cloud
never eats honey no not a nip
i'm just floating around
over the ground
wondering where i will drip

{the wolves won't make us better.}

she warms up and laughs hollow alone in a room on the east side of a town growing fonder. shadow-boxing herself into a corner. where the computer is. where the wine is. where the words are. there's no smoking this one out. not ever. she's making secret plans and counting money. taking things too seriously and always considering who the fool might be. if only they knew how much i didn't want to love them. she thinks in silence. they will eat you alive and not even know it. you'll throw yourself into their breakfasts. and they will blindly swallow without glancing. this is the new dimension of self. where ideas aren't solidified. every coin is double-headed. there are no erasers. and all the pages have to be filled before the sun is allowed to come up. but it's never under control. she thinks of secrets that can't be kept. and now says .:memories remember me:. wishing that she didn't and knowing full well of the desires. if only i were better. for now my house is mine. and i must keep quiet. i'm sorry for that. but it will make me better. if only i'd recognized fear when it came to my door with all that alcohol in hand. i would have called that man a liar. not that he was a man. i don't remember.

{le côte devoire.}

there's ink on the sheets.
and my jaw is shifting to the right.
so i know i've had too much.


dear eli,
i'm in the middle of the ocean.
i haven't left my room in four days.
i've never been so lonely in my life.
and i think i'm in love with margot.

new paragraph..

{no.}

the way your mouth folds
when you say no
is so secretly enticing

the drunks meander
they plod down town
up the street stumbling.
i can't tell if it's endearing
but i know i like it.

i remember names.
and i have visions.
alcohol eventually makes you
lean across the bar
{in subconscious desperations maybe}
or slide under.

i love the handsome men.
i'd like to be their friends
and see their naked backs.
but i'm too shy to whistle
and too afraid to strip.

when they're drunk
their lips are swollen
necks hang
sophistication is a constant challenge.

the way a face is put together,
all the facets gathering
never ceases to enchant me.

let's be ghosts together
because of my mind supposedly
i seek in soulmates
and i'd like you to know who i am
and all that i stand for.
you won't meet anyone
who loves like me.

i'm a drunk when i can't love.
because i need something
to be dedicated to.

and for some strange reason
that brings me hope.

{dastard.}

i'm the man who looks in the mirror
and forgets what he has seen
maintaining the heavy task of daily redefinition
but there is the undertone
of a certain single self surviving
like the dwindling embers of specific existence
most days i don't feel much like making things matter
especially that and after
spending so much time trying for nothing
my realizations are just passing thoughts
epiphanies, petty.
the truth of the matter always escapes me
or eludes me
samething.
eitherway
if i could grab a hold of it
i'd probably just let go anyway
these are the heavy days
these are dastardly days
and lately i'm just another sucker for them

{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.