nocturne in plush hyperbole

pressure of one-two-many
tender tapeworm

riveted, screwed
makes your brains jostled junk metal

no more saloon with late afternoon
foothill light
no more irridescent elxir in a lemonade pitcher
if i believed in the devil

if i believed, i'd say

he's here just in time for the holiday


*kiss*

who is bought and sold?

i know i should be trying to sleep now but my chest is pretty tight right now, and i think i may just hang the white flag up on my bedroom door.

"let me go, let me go, let me go" was one of the weird things said by my mother the other night, half sleeping. i know, let me go, too.

my head really feels like it might explode. why are they giving me a hard time? why am i letting it get to me? why are people so fickle and why do some of them harvest your weakeness for their own sense of power?

what it really is is that i am not a freak. i am a gentle person, and i am meant for different environments, and different types of people. and the rage should be used to empower life and fight for what's real to me.

fuck retail. fuck this corporate double-speak horse-shit up the ass with a pair of hot tongs.

kicking ass

i revel in what a selfish, inconsiderate jerk i'm becoming. truly, truly the easy-chair-with-a-martini.

i stink up the entire building. i'm full of humanoid, hairless ape stink and i can't wash it off.

they're the ones who stink, though, if you think about it. so many of them, like big bugs with big smelly jackets on that smell like the last greasy restaurant they ate at, or cigarette smoke from 1975, or the child-vomit smell.

i think about the punk-rock existence, about the one i tried out, about the one coconut refers to with rhonda. i feel lucky to have experienced it, but like ryan says, that can only happen once. nothing else will ever be that *blammo* because abruptness begets abruptness, i guess.

dead tony used to say to me, "i have a lot of associates, but very few friends." and it was true. tony was a very popular guy. people loved him for his craziness, and he loved when they laughed at him. we had that in common, i guess. court jesters.

i believe in friendship being more solid than romance.

apollo and dionysus

wowee. well, i did get some sleep and am ok, albeit a little shaky. no thanks to mega-catharsis i had last night. lots of shit hitting me directly between the eyes right now.

meanwhile, i feel i must run my psyche through an egg separator until out plops cupid in his yolky yellowness, ready to toss down the drain for some raw emotional egg-whites. it's a very visceral experience. cold and slimy, but extremely gratifying. and that drain is pretty dirty too.

my soul's riding the freeway and my ego needs to catch up.

i guess i know so much of my own mind, but am truly clueless in this flesh. it's a fun, anticipatory kind of clueless though.

it was real.

i just took a dive into "gravyboat." omg.

there was nothing to lose. there was a big, Bleeding Me (excellent metallica tune), there were little hints at major illness, abuse, jealous ex'es, and a cross-country meeting.

what a relic! what a mere fraction of our courtship! but as fractions go...*sighing heavily*

i ran away with somebody, with a guy. on a train. i was crazy. we were crazy. we were the epilogue to "the graduate" after they get on the bus, and she's in the wedding dress, and then they start to look very uncomfortable.

i would do it again! i would recommend that anybody and everybody run away, with a stranger or alone! (using wise, street-smart judgment of course.)

i used to think it was theo that saved me. i think he had a huge hand in it, which makes it even harder for me not to wonder about him and where the hell he is. probably conferring with other lost souls? who knows. but it was sacramento, it was everybody i met there, it was shakyamuni buddha....well, it was faith...it was just fucking amazing.

theo, wherever you are: you WERE everything i wished for, and the universe brought you right to my doorstep. (or to trenton, anyway.) you are a miracle, and even if i don't see you for a long, long time, i know i will see you again, and we will be great friends. you will always be the best teacher i have ever had, and you and your mom and alex are my heroes.

i'm beginning to cry. fucking hindsight. how does one straddle the worlds? how did he know that he wasn't what i needed? why couldn't i stay?? can i go back?

what about these fuckers now? i mean, what about my friends? WHO are my friends? just because somebody is nice to you doesn't mean...just because i've lost my mind before doesn't mean i won't again...just because i've given up before doesn't mean i can't try again.

and by try i'm not talking about love-gunk-mashed-corn-beet-juice-yam-shit, either. i mean to ascertain a purpose and a function in the universe, my immediate surroundings being the united states of america--but not being not a statistic, not a calamity.

fuck ego. fuck wishing on a star and getting exactly what you want. i'll never have him back again, he'll never be the same boy. he's KPAX. he was the greatest love of my life and i don't know where he is or what he was or why. that's the thing--he ISN'T. but he was so real, and he will always be the only one.

fuck.

my best friend! why didn't i go back to Ione with you? where ARE you? are you medicated and drooling somewhere? are you limping? did they shoot you up with something?? you can throw cups of water at me anytime you want! you saved me from myself and let me blame you instead. i remember.

and this is why, folks. dear homeboys and homegirls in philly, yo. this is why i am not dead. because i had a friend come and rescue me and introduce me to what i was capable of. because he gave up so much for me, for us, because he was younger than me and didn't know about the world, because he was crazier and smarter than me, and didn't know about how the world makes young crazy brilliant people crazier if you don't believe in the illusion of authority.

the country is such a huge, huge place. this country is so big, and so beautiful. i dunno about "under god" but do, do travel, friends. "and crown thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea."

so that's it. i need a rescue mission. progressive, solid and real. i'll do whatever it takes. i'll do time here. i will go back to school if i can. i will sustain and i will go back, when i can.

i don't care what i have to do. auction myself off, have "colleagues," cry and cry and cry!!!!....tell my secrets to parrots and then have them shit on me. in bitches we trust? ok. i'm not a bitch. but i will defend myself.


i'll get back there. but i need to tell you how much i loved him, and how much he believed in me, and how NO, i'm NOT over it.

and how our friends believed in us, and how they still talk about us (me?) in sacramento. and how we trusted each other with poetry and art and song, and oh god, i need every bit of help to find my way back home. i truly left my heart there, and it didn't burn up in the fire like the rest of our remaining belongings.


"some velvet morning when i'm straight,
i'm gonna open up your gate
and maybe tell you about Phaedra
and how she gave me life
and how she made it in..."

autopilot engaged

i've been keeping the strangest hours lately. not sure if i like or dislike it, necessarily--it's just a completely different pattern than i've ever seen. if i were to be studying my habits, that is.

anyway, i feel powerless and drained. i feel like a lot of those i love or care about are suffering, and there's nothing i can do. and even if there were anything, i feel so inert to fight for anybody or anything but my own dwindling sanity at the moment. i guess all of this is typical holiday behavior, but i really don't buy the fact (literally) that we are supposed to get totally manic at the end of the year, as a nation.

seriously, this is a state-endorsed mania--people not sleeping, over-consuming, eating crap, having magical thinking, cramming so-called creativity into a compact period of time--and then the big crash comes when our family is not like the one in the Old Navy commercial, and our non-existent fiancee is not giving us a "Forever Diamond Pendant," and that you may just slit your wrists next time you see the rapping groundhog or any anthropomorphic, mascot-ish, talking animal sending you post-hypnotic suggestions to BUY, BUY, BUY!

anyway, it's no wonder so many of us feel the way we do right now. in sickness and in health.

i'm sorry i haven't been there in the right way. i'm sorry if you've needed me and i've been acting like a child, or half-baked, or klonopized, or seemingly numb. i'm sorry i've been living for pretty childish things, and i've been leaning on the wrong people for support myself. but i've become strong(er) because i have absolutely no choice. do you?

i've had people really reach out to me lately...i've also had people yelling in my face lately too, but that's another story that's not quite worth it. (i feel more deserving of the latter.) i find myself completely mute when somebody tells me good things about myself. it's like the closeness that i long for has become so twisted by desire and selfish crap that when it actually bears fruit, i wind up stepping on the fucking fruit itself.

jesus, wherever you are, i hope you are happy with what your birthday has become. i hope this is what you'd intended. if not, i don't really blame you, nor have i ever given you much thought anyway, other than the fact that you're always depicted as a handsome white man with long hair and a beard, but a little drawn and tired-looking...essentially your basic stoner.
so dude--it's not your fault, i guess. it's not YOU i should blame anything on, even though so much fucked-up shit goes on in your name. i couldn't bear that! i mean, if all kinds of crazy, hideous bloodshed and meaningless mumbo-jumbo existed in MY name (and i were dead), i would totally find a way to relay the message to knock it the fuck OFF! wouldn't you? J.C.?

ok, that's all the christ-talk i have for you now. as for me, i feel like somebody's just come and taken my personal bodhi tree out with a chainsaw.

my little corner of the world

some thoughts:

1. it's 6:30am and i've been awake for 4 hours or so. oh well, at least it's been time to spend the way i want to spend it.

2. i got some pretty decent hanukkah presents.

3. i got my period.

4. i must quit smoking very soon. i'm sick as a dog from it.

5. i got my PSU transcript in the mail already! not too great, but it's something.

6. i don't wanna go to work today. really, really, really.

7. i need some money.

8. i'm lonely.

9. i'm not that happy.

10. i want to get back to where i once belonged.

on retail in december

i am not very logical or shrewd, but am very lucky and resourceful. that's why i was always decent at chess, even though i had no idea what i was really doing. one of the few things my father taught me. you can plan ahead and plan ahead until a million scenarios are flashing before your eyelids, but there's something else you need, too.

we wear our workboots
with steel toes
but when we take them off
we are men and women.

we have passion and curiosity
we may have plans
we may have venomous rage our hearts.



the boots are weight enough. let it go.

count your blessings while they're still around.

let the steel drop and remember that we're all sensitive fucking human beings.

congratulations

this blog is nothing like me.

i'm a creep in real life. i don't seem that bad at all most of the time, but i guess i get pretty vindictive. and you know i can't stop thinking about why "i" am giving so much personal fucking information out about my character. i could be anybody.

these words don't a woman make.

i used to write on thse things for hours, just about crazy theories and thoughts and ideas i had, sort of hoping to send a weird little morse code, contribute a little to this crazy space-ship shit.

now i just think about gossip. what everyone else thinks of me. how punk rawk i am. but how nasty.

maybe i'm feelin' this way because i just smoked weed with my mother. and we agreed that NO one should ever watch sylvester stallone, stoned.

but my mother is so sick. she didn't even fall asleep right. her muscles are so rigid and her brain is so fucked up. she talked about all kinds of people i don't know.

they always go with the glammier side of the story. and when there's "mental imbalance" involved. i feel like that bright eyes song, "going for the gold." how the jury was formed and the liquor was poured. i totally feel like i'm on trial now. i feel like i could just drop dead and everyone around me would just watch and do nothing.

i know part of that is an attest to the trickery of my brain so i am trying not to give it much credit. however, things are looking very dark tonight. it's almost day.

i can't stop thinking about death. death embodied. death with a capital "d." but he keeps appearing to look like Grimm on that "Grimm, Bobby and Mandy" show on nickelodeon. and i guess he'd have a jamaican accent, too.

i am nothing. please make me nothing.

will the imperial shoe of judgment please splat me upon the pavement like gum!

would the royal turd of the lord be launched in my direction!

may i burn in your male-dominant, judeo-christian domains!

may i be jezebel and expect to meet any other road?

fuck you, mr. goodbar.

it's too quiet and cold and weird. i am eating little chocolate bars, the "fun size" ones probably.

i'm TIRED of trying to make sense out of the universe! i'm so tired and i just wanna be held!!
(this is why people don't think god is a woman...b/c she'd need someone else up there to hold her.)

i feel like the biggest dipshit ever. i know this will pass.

cue

i was a frame
silver-gelatin on plastic
fed through spools
and into a machine

i'd get one simple chance
for illumination
that everything should be
blindingly revealed
of me

how could i be recognized
from the others
through the hot lamps?
i am only part of an ongoing narrative;
i am less than one second of information
and not so crucial.

it's hard not to think of myself this way
especially after being cut--
edited by the money,
of less use than those before or after.

who knows,
maybe i'm the moment where the lady
blinks her eyes
or the man begins
to look toward the door--
certainly not crucial.

less than a second.

oh, but i plan for other eyes
and a cooler light
so silver now into lead,
alchemy dictates my own light

form and function co-annihilate

because some days it passes through you,
searing your only meaning

but at other times, you must be
the only mystery.

Island on The Tip of My Tongue

back in the days when i used "blog" for self-reflection. it frees me to think of myself as the only audience, but i know that may not be true. then again, if what the Real Ones say is true, then we are all one anyway, and the opinions of others are simply facets of my own reflections, my own experience.

i am battling with sarcastic urges. i am battling with female cycles. i am fighting to make even a slight bit of sense of the world. the war is everywhere. some dude says, "LET THE EVIL CONSUME ITSELF." i hope it does.

i am at odds with friends, or they are at odds with me. i don't see eye-to-eye with that many people right now. the things i write have pissed people off, sometimes on purpose, but sometimes completely out of my own suffering and blindness. i don't believe in sustaining conflict. i feel i may have to reach for my machete like jason schwartzmann in "i heart huckabees."

people criticize neil young for saying he's "living with war" because he's canadian. it doesn't matter where you are these days, i think. people's initiatives have definitely changed. perhaps even in california.

california is a part of me, and it hasn't forgotten me, i hope. i just think that the next time i go back, i shouldn't be filled with sorrow, or mixed emotions, or a feeling of loss. maybe it's waiting for me to figure it out, fight the good fight, like king arthur before he went into exile on that island.

can't sleep can't sleep can't sleep.

in my wildest dreams, i am a professional, making my own rules and travelling where i please without worry for money or shelter. i get to be a healer, and die a good death instead of a cowardly, shitty suicide. i get to cultivate love and be self-sufficient. i get to share my life. i get to trust people. i get to be adored and made love to, instead of demeaned and fucked.
and i get to have lots of parakeets.

grace

at the end of the year,
we have all the answers
but never the
interrogation,
no arena for the beans to roll.

we are able to take stock of the
love we've crippled
the dreams we've pushed aside
the straw men we've constructed
all in the interest of fake honor

at the end of the year
there is death inside and out.
capitalist ferocity parboils and blanches,
a lobster pot heating gradually
and steady now, there is only

the wet, rolling fire.

this is december
and i am an old woman huddling
my squirmy children close.

when i was a girl
i stumbled upon my first
self-activated apocalypse:
omniscience,
within a locked room.

destroyer,
stomper of worlds

love, i pray
keep me tight as a drum so
that i may feed you
meet you pure and
properly harvested

love, i've betrayed
i've strayed from what you are

the gridded days
fail to suggest
that there is so much more
than these 5 fragile antennae
we tout along

the other day a woman told me,
"there are no strangers."

she was mezmerized by purchasing
the ten copies of a book
about flying creatures
that watched over her
and me
and everybody, apparently
playing lutes and oh,
making sure everything
was just great.