lovely specimens

a ha! when i die, this blog will live on! hooo yeah! up yours!

while my bone-powder cools in a pauper's vault somewhere on the outskirts of the city, these illuminated holes will glow merrily, still. joy! ode to!

bravest, dumbest, most emotional, least obediant girl no more! at least i leave something to the non-existent forensic team who'll refuse funding towards my mysterious disappearance anyway. there ain't enough tax dollars in the world to see it through.

i have wasted my time and your time and will continue to do so! up yours!

the thought of my mortality is a great relief, i want to draw a thousand cartoons of my dead body, a skeleton wearing ear-plugs, the fashion of celebrating the ghouls that came before me, et.al, The Scream that was my grandfather, el dia de los muertos, somebody's serious samhain, a ridiculous poke in our slimy little eyeballs, you cannot find the answer outside of yourself so you might as well keep studying the world around you while you can touch it, while you can respond to it and while you are aware of your flesh-boat that glides you around in the big aquarium.

have a beer with the other kids and stare at lovely specimens, reach for them with your butterfly net. meanwhile stars explode and gasses do their thing and people dance dance dance in the cities and in the forest, which burns.

the general springs a leak

i wish i didn't have to talk.

singing would be ok, of course. and being with a lover...well, no. i'd rather not anymore. talk, that is. don't want to say "love," or "i love," or "i love you," since it's kind of sullied for a lot of people, including me.

instead, i wish a more colorful destiny for my tongue: tasting wonderful foods from around the globe, sipping precious water and slurpees, toking on a cigarette, making occasional raspberries at situations that make me angry, not saying "fuck" and "shit" so much anymore (how did they become so inherent in my vocabulary?). whistling at a bird. making animal noises. *pop* goes the weasel, and the lollipop song.

i don't wanna holler. i want to understand what it is to use my voice, what it really means. i know it's important, and i know i can make it sound educated, immature, ethnic, sexy, ignorant, siren-like (when i'm angry), and even a little sally kellerman-esque, when the time is right. i can do accents, i can do natalie merchant and even a bit of stipean vowels. i wanna sing work-songs, i would enjoy ridiculous vocal exercises. i can sometimes do eric cartman or butters.

perhaps this is my calling, not unlike sheila levine in Sheila Levine Is Dead and Living in New York. She gets to do voice-overs for children's records at one point, while looking for husbands.

but the most important time for me right now is silence. which is strange since i spent many months chanting "Nam myoho renge kyo". this was a great release, but i feel my next lesson is stillness, silence, finding wholeness from within and perhaps NOT using my voice, not so much.

wet t-shirt contest

check it out: boyfriend and i were sitting outside of 7-11 a couple nights ago when this tall weird dude leaves the store. i had my window open. the dude heads towards the car and proceeds to squirt his bottle of cold water all over my tits.

now, mind you, some girls really get into wet t-shirts, but i was so stunned and so furious that someone would have the audacity to just come up and do that to someone minding her own business. i got out of the car and shrieked at him from the top of my lungs, "What the fuck? WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?" he made one more squirt at my head and began to jog away from my disturbingly obnoxious screaming.

i slammed back into the car and we proceeded to follow the jerk, who had that water bottle cocked and ready to smash bf's windshield. (not serious damage). the thug disappeared.

the best part of this whole story though, is that there was a cop right there, who told us he couldn't help us b/c there was a big accident on Rt. 1, and left. the state troopers showed up about an hour later.

i guess we were lucky. he could've had a gun when i leaped out of the car. boyfriend could've gotten in trouble for beating him up or something. sucks about the windshield.

i left that night feeling pretty strong though. strong of character. as though i were able to look out for myself.