Friday, November 29, 2013

people only want me for the element of spectacle. I am eager to give and entertain and draw them out but it drains. sometimes I'm not getting anything back.

Sunday, November 17, 2013

i need to relax and listen to more groovy music and old boogie and i think that will help. i want to shave half my head and wear a cap and pants. jean jacket style. calm it down but still fun. to entertain and boggle. CAN I BE A CLOWN YET?

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

a vivid morning dream, when you almost feel awake and present in the floating. 

I'm being punished or maybe otherwise institutionalized. I'm locked into one of the cat cages from work and I can't sleep all night on the cold metal floor. 

i don't have words to explain this: a woman wants to ride around on a giant steamroller. it's luxurious and she's 30 feet off the ground. not driving, just sitting in the open air and waving and being on top. 

I'm escorted back into the cattery and someone is being pinned to the floor, getting a giant needle stabbed into their ass. the guard tells me I'm next. up to this point, I've been uncooperative but here I see my chance. I tell him I'll take the drugs without fighting, so they give me painkillers and the pills dissolve in my mouth before I can swallow them down with water. 

Since I've "decided to be good" they're gonna move me to a different cell. I'm marched through a sinister and deeply rich maze of strange objects like a carnival. huge images hang from the ceiling: a massive burger and fries, a Maurice Sendak style king's face. The colors are pale and dark and I say nothing. 

As we weave between the disheveled buildings and the shanty shacks, I am able to get away from my escort for brief moments. I'm opening every door I can find without making a scene. Filthy hairy prisoners quietly creep free and disappear into the darkness. 

I'm moved into a bigger enclosure. Is this jail for cats and humans? From my cell I can see a kitten (again in a group room from the cattery) and a woman asking questions about him. She's afraid he will be "uncontrollable" since he isn't neutered yet. (are we cats or people?)

Morgan comes to visit. She has lost a tooth and in its place, a whole new set of tiny teeth is growing in. It looks like a kitten's teeth inside her normal mouth. I tell her something isn't right. 

I'm plotting my escape. 


Monday, November 11, 2013

i read your letter

and i felt only emptiness. you can't get back what you broke. i've tried, but i don't know how to make you understand that. i'm glad that you are happy, but i have nothing for you. sometimes i miss you but i know i'm missing something that doesn't exist anymore. some days i can smile at those memories; others i'm just hurt and heartbroken. i can't forgive you if you can't understand what happened. you threw out our friendship and you don't deserve it back. i am more than you ever knew, than you will ever know.

Thursday, November 07, 2013

the last few days have been some of the most intense ups and downs in the history of my life, no joke.

thursday morning (halloween) was minerva's tail amputation and spay surgery, which they decided to do even though she'd been sneezing a bit. normally, sick babies don't get surgery, but they said her tail just had to come off, and we couldn't wait any longer. holly kept catching me peeking through the window of the operating room, trying to catch a glimpse of my baby on my way to the coffee machine. finally i asked her to let me know how it went, and holly promised she'd let me know. back in the cattery, trish showed up to pick up kittens for brodie petco, and luckily she was not in a rush, so she held cats and we talked while i checked everybody's med records and tried to figure out who to send. holly popped in to tell me that they were about to start minerva's surgery, and i literally dropped everything and ran to the OR window to watch. holly let me come into the room and told me not to touch or breathe on or even look at the stand of surgical instruments at the foot of the operating table. i was so anxious and upset to see my baby gone under - her tongue hanging out and pinched by tongs, her eyes half open and glossy, breath slow and soft. she should always be talking, hopping, purring, so as excited as i was for her, it was hard not to feel upset seeing her like that. the doctor was not someone i've ever met before. maybe it was dr jefferson, the head of APA, who i am always hearing about but never seeing. at any rate, she didn't say hi to me or make eye contact, so i'm afraid my presence bothered her. i walked down to wendy's office to ask her a quick question and then let mer know that the surgery was about to start, so she ran back to watch through the window with me. since minerva's tail was broken in several places, they started by just cutting off the bulk of it with scissors. wendy was horrified, and i was fascinated, and so happy that she'd finally be rid of that dead thing. we were kinda squealing, and holly had to tell us to shut up, which i now feel terrible about... i didn't know they could really hear us through the glass! holly brought out the severed tail and let me hold it. it didn't feel how i expected - it was like a furry finger, stiff, but the fur was like a case that could be slid up and down around the hard bone. i freaked out, loving it, getting minerva's blood on my hands, immediately wishing i'd taken a picture.

the day proceeded to turn into a giant mass of sickness, with 20 cats needing medicine, in addition to the already sick guys, the possible calicivirus cats, and three or four babies needing to be force fed. sandy started puking up orange foam and i freaked out that he had eaten a toy and moved him to a single and took away his food. i was running back to the clinic for the zillionth time that afternoon when i finally asked how minerva was doing -- anthony told me she was awake and doing well, just really drunk from all the painkillers and tranquilizers. i asked if i could bring her back to cattery, and they said sure. she was probably tripping hard when i took her out of the clinic kennel; she kept scooting away when i tried to pick her up. but when i got her back in her regular bluebox, she let me pet her and purred away. she was mostly her usual ridiculous self, although she was stumbling around and her eyes looked wet and weepy. i set her up with her snuggiedisc and a warm bowl of fancy feast, which she devoured while perching on the warm disc. when the transport person showed up to take her to foster, it was so hard for me to let her go. i got steve to take our picture before kissing her head and saying goodbye.

i ended up working till almost midnight, with all the sick babies and force feeding. i was so exhausted, i involuntarily stopped at a taco bell on my way home. for real, my body just took over and pulled into the drive-thru. at home, i made a list but was too tired to pack and just passed out on top of my laundry.

on friday. i woke up at 8:30 to pack, but i'm a slow-poke and i didn't have time to take a shower or eat or buy coffee for amy like i said i would, especially because she convinced me i needed to be there an hour before my plane took off. she drove me in my own car to the airport because i didn't know how to get there. watching her drive away in my car was like going through a portal - my regular life had left me behind.

after going through security, i found a coffee stand and bought a bagel and latte. why can't i seem to remember that i HATE lattes?!?! never again. over breakfast, i typed some hurried notes for laylee about the cats - i usually try to do this the night before, but i was just too exhausted and there were too many. so i'm hunched over my bagel and phone, and who should walk up but DAN who had actually told me he was flying to his hometown in mexico today for a wedding. of course! i never imagined i'd see him here, and it was pretty awkward. i didn't stand up and he didn't sit down. what do you say to someone who you haven't seen since your drunken cuddle party sleepover two weeks ago? "have fun at the wedding." he isn't so attractive in the harsh airport light, and he looks exhausted and ill. almost grey. i know he's gotta be thinking the same thing about me.

i boarded the plane next to last, and before we took off, i remembered laylee's family tradition: before traveling, take a moment to sit and close your eyes and think of all the people you love and visualize a safe journey. laylee said, "i guess it's like praying, but not."

on the plane, i sat next to a 60-something-year-old woman from Indianapolis who had been in austin for her friend's daughter's wedding. it was Downtown Abbey / Edgar Allen Poe themed, and this lady thought it was gonna be a joke, but it was actually one of the most beautiful, "impressive" weddings she had ever been to. "I'm conservative, and I was expecting it to be a joke, but this was just impressive." so old people can still be surprised, can still change their minds. another instance of me relating more to old people than to people my age, these days. and how weird it is that old people are just as confused and stumbling as me -- it doesn't get better, it doesn't make more sense with age. as the plane lands, she weasels it out of me that i'm going home for the film fest. "Be proud of yourself! This is a huge accomplishment!" okay, i'll try. "No, do! Like Yoda said, "Don't try. Do!" this makes me smile and i think she might be right.

brett has agreed to pick me up from the airport, but for some reason we can't find each other. i forget which way is out -- this airport is so weirdly small and dinky, but none of the signage makes sense and i can't figure out where i'm going, and i'm so anxious to get out of there, i just keep turning around and around. i go down the escalator, and he isn't there, so i go back up, and finally find him. the moment is a little odd, as moments in way stations often are. he seems excited to see me, but also surprised (do i look different?) and a little unsure of himself. in true brett fashion, the first thing he does is take a stop at the wiz palace. of course. on the way out, i see the Flyer in its little dispenser and i have to stop and get a copy. even though i already knew we had the cover, it's still mindblowing and surreal to see it right in front of me, in the box with a hundred other copies, sitting here in the memphis international airport. no fucking way.

so we decide to go to lunch, but first brett has to check the blu-ray of the movie at morgan fox's house, and while we're at it, i'll charge my phone for a few minutes. declan opens the door and is certainly surprised to see us, but seems happy nonetheless. we give and get big hugs, and hang out on the couch with delvy. eileen has just gotten dressed and says hello for a minute before cole wheeler shows up and they disappear. mfox gets home too and it's a real memphis reunion. it comes out that craig brewer's "secret screening" is at the same time as Concrete, and this really pisses me off. there are so few hometowner features this year -- why would they put two of them at the same time?? morgan says that craig was pissed about it too, and asked the festival director to change the times, but he said it was too late and the schedule had already been published. i'm really annoyed, but morgan assures me that the audiences are different, that it won't hurt our screening, that we're gonna sell out anyway. i'm especially upset because the movie actually looks interesting, since it's a documentary about the memphis chapter of the black panthers and actually has nothing to do with nasty ole craig brewer.

brett and i piddle for a hundred years before we finally decide to go to kwik check for sandwiches. the stoner MCA student forgets my order and only makes us one sandwich, which i convince brett to split. leila stops by our table and says hi, hello, congratulations on the movie, etc. unfortunately she can't come because she's already told one of the Invaders folks that she'd be their date. we eat our sad cheese sandwich until morgan calls and says she's just gotten off work, and she needs to do some things at home, but she'll meet us in midtown soon. me and b make our way to playhouse, where we find free beer, friends, and film freaks milling around being awkward. we make sure we've strewn our postcards all over creation, and someone maybe even asks us about the film. we sit on weird chairs made out of tires. i kind of love them even though there's metal poking into your back if you lean at all. chris has a hug for us, and craig brewer even has kind things to say about the film. he promises to give me something (a shirt or dvd, perhaps?) but we never see it. when he asks what we're up to, i make sure to get brett going on his movie, which he immediately regrets, although i think he has the speech pretty down by now. even if the elevator pitch is still 100 words strung together -- it's the truth.

we head to my parents' house to pick up morgan and make the rounds. as usual, the dogs are freaking out and so happy to see us, and willikers makes something of an appearance, as well. we end up sitting in the den for way longer than brett is clearly comfortable, and eventually he drags morgan and me to a movie that's almost over, just to get us out of there. but it was so nice to sit at home and feel so cozy and chat with the rents about who knows what. goodbye to my kitty, goodbye to everyone.

we arrive for the third act of the movie -- a heartfelt comedy about gamer nerds -- and it's not half bad. it gets some chucks from our little corner of the theater, where ben siler has joined us after we come in way late. after the film, we stand around on the street corner while morgan stresses out about bekka and how to get her to find us. i am really looking forward to seeing her and trying to get morgan to give directions that make sense. she's so anxious that bekka won't be able to get into the filmmaker VIP party at the local, but i assure her that it will be a piece of cake. why so anxious, morgan??? what can i do for her??

Sunday, October 27, 2013

every day i nearly die, and so do you, and so do you.

when i got to work, the whole APA parking lot was full because of all the games going on. saturday sucks. i shot death glares at every man, woman, and child on the stupid soccer field, plus the baseball diamond. i sure do hate children a lot these days.... but so does everyone i work with, so that's awesome.


[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[finish this later]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

sometimes, in the distance, I see beasts. 

Monday, October 21, 2013

i tried to go to sleep at 12:30 tonight and haven't had any luck. last night i got home from work at 12:30, ate a piece of alfredo pizza from papa john's, had a glass of wine, took a benadryl, and went to bed around 2. i woke up at 3:30 in the afternoon then went to a potluck party on a farm. i had yummy veggies and macaroni and lots of good beer. i got too much food and had to throw it in the woods because they had taken away the trash can by the time we left. i am sad that i didn't get to eat my hardboiled egg, but i hope a possum finds it. i wish i could sleep. i took a half a bendadryl around 5 so hopefully it will kick in soon. i wonder if my pills are keeping me awake or if it's caffeine or anxiety or what. i've just been thinking about the cats all night. and itching itching itching. i need to find out if kelly got itchy when she was staying here. i just keep thinking that it's somehow self-contained and as usual my body is a mutiny and maybe it has to do with being a mutant. next week i have an appointment to find out whether i am eligible for sliding scale health services and then maybe i can afford to go to a dermatologist. my body feels like it's breaking down entirely. i hate doctors but i don't know what else to do. i feel guilty that i haven't taken my cat to the doctor in so long. i should make him a doctor appointment while i'm in memphis for the film festival. i feel like the worst cat mama ever. i wonder if i can bring him back with me on the plane. i miss him but i still don't know where i'll be living next month. everything feels so up in the air and impermanent and sliding and i don't like it. not that things are bad in general. i do like my job, but i need to learn not to work too much. i might have a date with a lady tomorrow. i have never been on a date, so i don't know if this is one. i might be too scared to show up. i might go to a show with a band from memphis and get drunk instead. i might go get the kitten with the broken tail and bring her to my room. i wanted to bring home jekyll but i couldn't when kelly and dill were staying here. i was going to bring her home on wednesday but laylee gave her to another foster and i will never see her again. i'm sad but i shouldn't be. story of my life. tomorrow maybe i'll get minerva and maybe won't be so lonely. maybe soon i'll fall asleep.

Monday, September 30, 2013

i hope my thoughts don't pierce your dreams

just saw Walt play and felt all the feelings. i didn't get to talk with him much, but the set really overwhelmed me. the music lost and found me and took me back to new orleans days and made me think of so many friends, so far or so gone. and here i am, tied up by my own lonesome leash.


listening to: 

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

"Forgive yourself for not being at peace. The moment you completely accept your non-peace, your non-peace is transmuted into peace. Anything you accept fully will get you there, will take you into peace. This is the miracle of surrender."
tonight, walking back with the groceries, i thought of this quote, in the parking lot between the car and the door. i was thinking, “i cannot be happy. i have tried and failed too many times, it hurts too much, i give up on happiness,” and the resignation was such sweet relief, and it was so familiar, having thought this so many times, and i want to just feel nothing but that feeling, that empty low that owes nothing, that hollow in between the trying. and i thought of this quote, and i felt so calm, and of course reading it here now, it seemed better in my mind, though i couldn’t quite say just what is missing. and that rather neatly drives the whole thing home, doesnt it, though i hate to point it out.
remembered this quote tonight, walking from my car to the apartment, desperately hoping that the grocery bag wouldn't break. that would have just been the last straw. (i wonder what really would be the last straw, at this point.) thinking: i want to go home, but there is no home. i want to be somewhere else, do something else, but it won't help. i want to be happy, but i don't know how. i'm not capable. i have known this for a long time, but remembering my resignation tonight with the groceries, i felt such a burden lifted, and i remembered this quote. i don't want to jinx it, but so far it seems to help. or maybe it's just really late. today was terrible. this week was terrible. every time i see a bit of silver lining, or have a little moment to smile, it all goes black again. i am overwhelmed and undone by everything. it's leaking out now, without my choosing. laylee had to see me cry tonight and i felt like such a pathetic baby; i didn't want her to know. coffee, brett phone call, egg in a basket, car phone calls, craigslist, nothingness, shower, getting off x3, hash stash chills, look for place to live, couch on the car, hit the other car, crying, grocery, beer, tv, sleep. why i cling to other people: i have nothing to live for on my own. why i stay up so late: i'm allowed to be in my own world, a nothing place.

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Thursday, August 15, 2013

death night. puddles, beer, tears. i don't know that i'm qualified to take care of cats. or much of anything else. feeling more useless and alone than ever and could really use a hello.
of course there's plenty else to say but no time at all to say it. 2am!!! how are you here again. i have to go to bed to dream about cats to wake up to take care of cats. repeat. circle.

Monday, July 29, 2013

sun forms shadows inside me

dreamt of walking in the woods, in groups and alone, hiding and searching, walking the stream, not just wading across. wrapped three black musket balls in leaves and hid them in the river cane. peering through the trees at the far-off crowd.

the alarm and the snooze button brought me hazy texts from charlotte and made me think of amy's song "walking in the woods" and i inserted them into the dream as well, though i forget just how, now hours later. it all feels like some omen against austin, though that could just be my anxiety talking. in the dream, i responded to charlotte and it somehow felt positive, but in life, i'm too sad to write back, real dreams of north carolina and poetry and goats all fading to nothing.

i've got to get this shit on track. austin has to be better than this paralysis.

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Something about shuffle tonight has me spinning in circles of you. Or something about being here in georgia again, almost a full year since i last saw you. Or because of the mind numbing deadness of bejeweled pushes all this unfinished business to the surface. I dont know how to be done. The number of times ive thought of writing, even planned to, but where would that get me? Would it really be closure? How could it. And how could co mmunicating make things any better? Youre happy now. I know that and im glad you found what you were looking for. Theres no reason to disrupt that. (not that i could really have much effect there anyway.) your last letter suggested you were failing at your relationship, thhat you were "damaged goods." that was one of the most infuriating and frustrating lines-- as if saying that absolves you, as if there were any such thing. And the subtext seemed to say, "i cant do this, and im telling you because it isnt working and im moving back." and my heart couldve broken again but it hardened again that you assumed id take you back. So what was i supposed to say? I had plans, grand plans, to get you on my side and pull you down and really make you see... But i had tried that once (twice? Twenty times?) before to no avail. What good would it to and why should i waste my time? And still im planning the letter, thinking what i would have said. Sometimes its mostly nice-- i really do miss telling you about my life, miss having you to talk with. But i try to stay resolved: you have to know that youve done wrong, you fucked me over, and now you dont get to know. Youve lost the privilege. Anyway you wouldnt have cared to hear about my depression (because you never did) or about my granny's last months (i cant picture you taking care of anyone) or any of the mundane stupid things ive wanted to share with you.

I wouldve told you that when i moved back to memphis i found a beautiful card, with the start of a letter from my mom. "it was great to see you but i wish you would think about what you weere doing and stop wasting aysour time." something to that affect. Se hads said it to my face before we left town but i was offended and not really paying atttention. (good god i was riding so high on the dream of you.) but damn it ehat a huge waste of time and energy. Maybe you feel the same somehow. But i was reacng out and out, feeling so little in return and just rideing that dream, putting so much energy into the idea, hangiong so much on your occasional sweet line.

Unlearning that love has been a great lesson, an experiment. Ive had more sex this year than in the past three combined, albeit mostly bad. I thoug i couldnt do it but appparentlyi i too am capable of random drunk hookups and even sustained flings. Ive got my mind wrapped up around this one guy, he's older, a drummer, and a comiplete mystery to me. So i mabe overanalyze our intewractions out of curiosity, and a need to be solving puzzles, of which i hhave no otherw at the moment (sexual or otherwise). But at the end of the day i know it doesnt mean anything and i find these thoughts on repeat: this may br th last time. i sr ysour face. You have never said my name. Do you like me or not? not that it matters. But it is interesting and odd to spend time with (and devote thoughts to) a human whom i do not love, romantically or otherwise.

So when i miss you, i think i miss loving you, the act of devotion, the dream of what you were and what we couldve been. It was all speculative afer all, which makes it feel all the more stolen. But no, you had the right idea. Cut it off and dont look back.

I dont really beliee that. I believed you respected me too much to take that route. And i resent you for that. And i still miss your sense of humor and our little talks and jokes and our whole history and your ice blue eyes. And didnt they say it all, shouldent i have known? That ice spread thin and far, covered up everything and froze us in the end.

Monday, July 22, 2013

last night again you were in my dream

but thank god i don't remember it. somehow you floated into my mind while i was brushing my teeth, and i remembered you had been there. even asleep, i ignored you. two rows over in the theatre, and not a word. but you just followed us around and didn't say anything, so it was easy. and saying it like that sounds like the living you, but the dream you pulled and twisted, and glowed and hummed. brushing my teeth, i laughed at how the reality is flat and cold and easy to ignore. (and yet this dream.)

"the days go by like butterflies...." the days move abruptly from coffee to beer. my head aches with a constant tender worry, my skin feels thin and useless over imagined/probable ills. i can't shake this damned cough, after being sick ever since the vagina overkill/amy oelsner show (almost two weeks ago now) and then chainsmoking at bobby's going away party (though he isn't yet gone away). it's a wonder i haven't infected anyone. mostly i just want to know what the hell is going on, and why i can't choose, and how i ever fell this stagnant. who is driving this contraption, who calls the shots, and what do they want?

maybe it's not all bad. there's drinking an appropriate amount of beer, the bartender saying that you have the best laugh -- the bar folk don't bite every night. tipping off your stool, leaning and laughing, canoodling all night, a dozen poses, and tiptoeing home at dawn before the long drive to see your grandparents in georgia. the audiobook narrator's voice makes your head reel, but it's almost puss in boots, and you will live through this. it has often been worse.

your goals fluctuate wildly, from grand and wild to status quo to suicide, depending on the time of day and how much art you're absorbing. versus how much media. some nights it's okay to watch bad movies with your parents, play unblock me, and believe that having a 9 to 5 job would be the greatest thing that could happen. (from there, imagine the range of other possibilities -- it feels like sacrilege to write them down.) mostly, obsession is the thing, whether fleeting, ongoing, or recurring. you will consider every relationship, exhaust yourself over a moment or a text message, wonder and analyze and reconsider, all while knowing what a goddamn waste of time. but when you're not alone, how the time trips on and the thing takes over and you don't know who you are anymore- how much you change depending on whose company. how you seem so unsure of what you really want. how well you can pretend. how you never can stick to the plan. or the designated curfew, the number of drinks, the amount of money. you are sickened by your privilege and indecision, this rotting, waste. you don't know how to change.

like clockwork, your grandma wakes up between 2 and 3 every night to let the cat out (or in, apparently). "you're still awake? are you working on your.....?" she doesn't know what she is trying to ask, but no, of course you're not. you really don't deserve any of this; you're too lucky to have fucked up this bad. you should have done so much more.


listening to: joanna newsom - go long

Friday, July 12, 2013

it is dark here

i dreamed i manned a pirate ship, carrying my sister, our three dogs, and my cat. i don't remember much now that the nap is done, but it was an adventure and a struggle, and had very little to do with any ocean or other body of water. i remember sailing into a tree. and i remember that by the end, my main objective was to make it home safely with all the animals alive. (morgan could mostly fend for herself, and help out with the rest.)

i thought sylvie could make it, that it was the dogs i had to worry about. at one point, i set her down in a bathroom stall, needing the use of my hands for some other purpose. (were we sailing through the toilet?) she instantly tried to run away, jumping into a small square indention in the floor. at first glance, i thought she was safe there, but then i saw that the space lead to a greater tunnel, a sewer, and was actually filling with water (more water) and i had to scramble to reach in and barely grabbed her by the scruff of her neck before she was pulled away by the current. and why didn't she seem happy to be back?

at some point in the dream, i lost her. or at some point, i remembered she had died, and she wasn't my charge anymore. but at some point, maybe in between, i woke up thinking, "oh god i haven't fed her in days, how could i forget?" before i remembered.

why does the empty bed creak? when have i ever been so alone?

tonight i talked to laylee for the first time in months -- it's always awful how that happens, and now the time has really gotten away from me. she wants the whole story, and i still cry telling it, although it's maybe easier to hide now that it's been a week. the call is too brief and i mentally firm up my plans to move to austin. i just wish i'd hear back from the folks at duke one way or the other so i'd know where to start.


listening to: a cackle or a coughing fit - tunnel

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

a single firefly. this is summer.

i miss and miss and miss and miss

i've missed.

am i missed?


once i thought i had magic, or at least that it had me.




i understand that you don't miss me. you have your own way to be happy.

it feels good to not be waiting on you for once.

meanwhile i do a horrible job of taking care of myself / functioning.

somebody must be fucking with me

had one of those feelings, so checked my "serious" email inbox that i never look at. this message from the center for documentary studies was delivered only 8 minutes ago:
Hello. Hope this finds you well.
Please excuse the brief iPhone email--I'm traveling this week so base of operations is a little sketchy, catch as catch can.
Your letter and resume have risen to top of the pile. We would very much like to interview you for the position.
Are you available for a phone interview in the next week? If the next week, indeed, works. Let me know when you have a chance.
Looking forward to hearing from you.

i've been waiting for weeks to hear back, and now that i have, i'm freaking the fuck out.
is there any possible way i can give a good interview in the state i'm in? how do i explain being unemployed for six months? could it possibly make sense that i've been holding out hope for this, or is the let down gonna be that much worse if i don't get the job? how many other people are at the "top of the pile"? how do i even respond to this email? this is too much for me right now. forever. i don't know how to have anything.

listening to: liz phair - (fire up the) batmobile

Sunday, June 23, 2013

it's not wrong, it's just a feeling

apparently this weekend's midsummer SUPERMOON has some downward pull so i guess maybe i'm not so alone after all. although it doesn't really feel that way. where did everybody go? it seems like i used to always have someone to talk to, even if it wasn't necessarily the right person... i miss that. i got to skype with brock for a little while tonight, but the last few years, whenever we talk, i just really miss our old days of talking for hours and hours on end, breaking down every gesture of every social situation and attempting to untangle our confused psyches... the way we pulled each other out.

i hate being nostalgic for high school shit. i hate remembering how long ago that really was. it's not like i can't have interactions like that anymore, i just... don't. 


listening to: tiny vipers - slow motion

Saturday, June 22, 2013

the season will destroy you

on the longest day, i did not see the sun. i meant to plant a tree, take a walk, make a plan, clean up a bit... i barely managed to make a call. could not take any. 

even doing this is impossibly difficult. 

half an hour later... (longer? time doesn't move right anymore. what have i even done?)

another half hour. music finally chosen, the cat sick and restless in my lap.

where did it go? the last solstice still seems so close, maybe even the freshest thing. because i wrote it down? or because i was full of fire, more inspired and empowered than i had been in months, before or since? because i had a plan, or because i didn't? because i thought i would inevitably die on the highway? OR BECAUSE I HAD GOTTEN TWO HOURS OF SLEEP AND WAS CRAZY FULL OF COFFEE AND FELT LIKE A GOD FOR GETTING OUT OF A SPEEDING TICKET? what a bunch of shit, what a fucking farce. everything has gone wrong since then, and i'm sick of pretending otherwise. i don't understand how everyone can float through all these strange social labyrinths and somehow know all the rules and make it look so pretty and beautiful and boring at the same time. why am i bothering to try?

today i decided to give up. again. maybe it'll stick this time, now that it's words.
stay inside. don't wonder what you did wrong. the dance won't be worth it. the mess is too much. they don't actually like _you_ it's just beer. they won't call. no one will choose you except your cat who will die. get some kind of desk tech job and quit kissing and pining and puking.

what did i ever think i was doing, all these years? why did i never plan? somehow it never seemed necessary. i didn't believe in anything involving goals or plans. why bother? probably won't live that long, and if i do, i guess i'll have done something right. i guess not.

boy is this ever hard to write tonight. i just wanna spit. what a fucking disaster. although it doesn't matter since no one will read this.

i've fallen into a trap of cycles, a bunch of really meaningless stupid short time-disappearing ones. probably it's gotten a bit obsessive.. not too sure how to get out of there. because i'm always "about to" do something else, then three hours later... i get up and do the dishes and then get sucked back in. how?! oh misery, so embarrassing.

now this low, i saw this one coming on, but i didn't know it would be such a hard fall. now, from the bottom looking up, i see that i've just come out of probably the longest manic period of my life, and it's taking its toll with a vengeance. it was fairly steady with only bursts of total crazy - a month of panicked online booking, three weeks of lunatic touring traveling nonstop communicating and floating and attempting to entertain (another story entirely), and the whole next month riding it out, mostly solitary mellow with spurts of restless social energy and the urgent need to be out out out. how much i needed people! and why? the whole time i kind of can't stand them (mostly) and i don't know even know what the purpose is, why am i there. just to use them? for distraction, or....? add in my newly recovered (discovered?) libido and jesus what a mess. just to be on the pulse, to ask the questions, to be wanted, enjoyed. still, they never do catch me. (haha what am i saying, they never try.)

maybe i am getting somewhere to be able to at least remember that charged place so clearly, even from all the way down here. have i pegged this before? morgan seemed incredulous when i told her my theory, but after i explained, she said, "yeah you do go through this barhopping phase a lot." and i could feel the switch starting, when i sat in the corner at the p&h drinking straight from the bottle and trying not to make eye contact, and when i showed up at lauren's cookout not knowing why i had come except to bring the charcoal. clinging to each little mission. the next drink. the next smoke. the next person through the dark of the door.

maybe i should go work at a bar, that's what i was thinking. why not? and then there's this spiral, and i can't stand anyone, and i can't do anything, and that's all there is. even typing that feels so useless and stupid i can't believe i even did it. but this whole thing has been a struggle, so no point in stopping now, three hours later.
this is where 4pm coffee gets me.

really it's not as bad as it could be.... so probably will get worse before it gets better. this could be the slow buildup after such a long decline. a blank staticky expanse stretching on and on and on... potentially toward some much more tumultuous oceanic death-ridden thing, i'm sure. i don't see another option.

lord how does it ever get so late (and where indeed does the time go) and why am i even writing this here. TOO LATE NOW HAHA and dont bother editjng


listening to: matson jones - spring fever

Thursday, June 20, 2013

​being on facebook has made me more depressed than ever.

my cat being so sick has me thinking about how i constantly feel ill.. is that why i didnt notice right away? i am used to dealing -- so is sylvie, it seems like. always a little ill. and i've always felt tied to her in that way -- how will it be when she's gone? i hope i haven't killed her.

unconvinced of myself

HE DOWSNT LIKE THE STUFF I PUT ON FAKEBOOK punk song

a blank staticky depression as opposed to suicidal or oceanic -
maybe coming on slow or strange after such a long manic streak ?


Sunday, June 16, 2013

that all the clay of you might yield to the fire of you

the prickly itch of shaved skin, the hot buzz of the clippers burning your ear. 

the point at which the laundry stops coming out clean.  

the cat won't eat. every day she lightens in your lap.

the same list stares back. every day the same danced to-do. 

realizing that the voice in the void was your own echo.

forget forget forget forget forget forget

pack up the car and go. the waiting isn't working.


listening to:  noel'le longhaul - spoon river

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

two lives lived in distant lands

ugh this sonnggggg



listening to: the magnetic fields - strange eyes

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

first lucid dream?

dachshund mix colony - the middle of the woods, i'm in the middle of the circle, there are little tunnels around me where i can see them running circles around me. a few come out and actually let me pet them, but one growls. slowly i become his friend.

the other two show up and try to load off some free range dogs. i'm trying to explain that we cant just leave them there, they're not the right kind, these are people dogs not wild dogs. they don't listen, just leave. they say "why dont you take them, then" and soon i realize the dogs will follow us no matter what. we make our way through the forest, back across the bridge, up to a wooden house on stilts with a gazillion stairs. some of the dogs have followed but a storm is coming, a huge flood. i'm standing on the porch calling them, panicking, not knowing which are in and which are out. a few run in and i think we've got them.... but at the last possible second another batch runs in -- cosmo and junebug and more! the number of dogs is overwhelming, far beyond what the woman had dropped off. maybe some are from the colony but they can't all be. magic dogs?

now too there are more people in the house, our fortress, headquarters. magic people. a woman with colorful hair, same age as me. there is an electric feeling that something is about to happen.

a stadium. our troops? of course they're scattered and scraggled and they're mostly just people. the back seats are full of children. they start a step routine and soon the entire stadium has joined in. we are really a team now. i look for bobby, expecting him to be sulking and sitting it out, but he's in there trying to keep up with the step moves. he can't do it, which surprises me since he's such a great drummer. he catches my eye and smiles.  he's here with us too, part of the team.

why am i thinking about a wizard for this part. or wizards. or having to get something from one.

the battle. of course we're totally outnumbered, they're militant and strong and evil. they have huge monsters on their side, freaking space ships and shit. the leader is a severe man with grey hair, but he doesn't look very old. (think gene elliot but skinnier and creepier.) we're getting slaughtered, they're pushing us across the bridge to the edge of a platform... are we on some sort of huge deck? over what? me and the pink haired lady are pushed to the edge and we turn to each other. there must be something we can do. she thinks maybe she can zap some things with her telepathic powers... she's trying and i suggest that we focus our energy together. i pick a point, zero in on it, concentrate my mind toward it, and see it explode with a blue zap. i am ecstatic, we can do this together! she says she wasn't really even doing anything but i dismiss her and continue the strategy. i'm zapping spaceships and heads of monsters (and i really feel like i am physically doing this, pushing my brain into a focused point like i would do to stop a headache. am i doing this in the dream and in life, really?) 

i'm running all around zapping when i am attacked by a huge man, all bronze and muscle, terrifying. what do we say? am i trying to logic him out of killing me? do i try to zap his head? i think i'm somehow putting him in a headlock when i say, "well this is my dream after all" and he laughs uproariously before i kill him....?

i am biting into flesh, tearing into it with my fingers, and i can feel it all. it's all too easy. i remember thinking that this is impossibly easy, shouldnt i have to try harder? i'm barely putting forth any effort, shouldnt this be harder? i think i am asking the dream? my subconscious? maybe i have jinxed myself.

in the end we win the day and go back to home base to celebrate and rest. this is a good feeling. too good because the other leaders and i stay up all night (apparently) and to our dismay, we're being attacked again. they're rolling into town now, their forces replinished, even doubled. we get into some sort of sky car and zoom down to meet their leader in his procession towards our camp. i dont know if i've climbed into his car or we're just flying alongside, but i'm trying to talk him out of this, trying to tell him that it isn't worth the wasted life and the destruction. he won't have it, this is a sport or some stupid act of honor. (WHAT ARE WE EVEN FIGHTING OVER, i have no idea. for some reason that doesn't come up in the dream, so maybe i knew then and have since forgotten. or my own mission was so strong in the heat of the dream-moment that i didn't care either way.)



something here spurs a flashback... something about remembering when they met when he was 9. my dream cuts to a flashback of a couple kids, "we had just gotten back to town after the summer and we were ecstatic to see each other again" style voiceover. i see these two kids stepping off side by side planes and running toward each other. i'm thinking, "these kids aren't 9!" and the whole thing stops and rewrites. ALL IN A FLASH. now for some reason it's harry potter, i feel like i may even see a page in my mind, and hear "chapter 10, diagon alley." or something. this is so over the top, i'm thinking. then the voiceover/narration gets really weird, a little poetic and nonsensical. (something about a puddle?) i'm so aware of it, "what is going on?" i think i even wonder if i am writing it and thats why it doesnt make sense. then back to "all these had been carefully placed to obscure the entrance to diagon alley and make it look like every other alley in london." this is too much, and i wake up. as usual i've already forgotten a lot, but i didn't forget the feeling of choosing. is this really my first lucid dream???? i think maybe i actually have done it before but i just didn't so blatantly recognize it. the fact that i called out the dream during the dream.... or perhaps i wasn't asleep at all during this nap, and actually i was just making it all up??? a daydream??? then why couldnt i stop the general from attacking us again? i wasnt actually thinking this up, it was just happening. 

Monday, May 20, 2013

i will go with you to houma
though you have never said my name

Thursday, March 14, 2013

dream story

i checked myself into the asylum. i don't remember why. 

you'd be surprised how many names you'd recognize from the roster there. kids from high school, a couple famous artists: one refused to talk about his old work, and the other lived in it. 

the women's ward was a long corridor of open doors, almost felt like a public restroom in that way. our rooms were small little cubbies but i didn't mind that. i didn't bring anything much with me and i don't take up too much space. we all got dressed with the doors open, leaning out into the corridor to gossip and glance. you start to feel almost normal in a place like that. 

my room was at the end of the hall and the girl sam across from me was the sweetest one there. she took me under her wing a bit, looked out for me, and made sure the men steered clear. 

 the days do go by. mom calls, worried sick, but i tell her this is really for the best. i have time to focus now, maybe i'll even write something.

sometimes i forget why we're all here. the danger under the surface. sometimes it's just like being off at school.

so and so displays his drawings, flashes that grin, show off. some of the girls are giddy from swooning, but these aren't my friends so i don't bother with it. i couldn't care less. instead i try to get the other to talk, the poet that was. he's dizzy with anxiety, won't remember, won't forget. i'm sorry to see him in such a state but i secretly promise not to give up on him. i'm sure he has some scribbles up his sleeve.

an outing. a drag race. three drowned, dead in a car in the river. we're all in various states of shock, depending on our remaining faculties. those of us with an appropriate power of empathy (neither hauled off wailing, nor nothing in the eyes) set out to organize a little something to commemorate these tragic young people, "not so unlike ourselves, mister director." we get an evening out.

somehow it's all too much, i have to slip away. find myself at a gazebo by the shore, find myself wanting, needing to flow underneath like the tide, to writhe and curl into the sand and let it out. now i feel it all: belly big with child, how he still hit, how he pricked, the getting it out, the whole thing happening to my body again forever here in this sand. i gave her to the sea. 

they find me with my teeth loose, my clothes gone but for this wrecked slip. the pearl green streaked with blood. sam knows everything, i don't know how long she's been standing there. they carry me off to the theatre, everyone is there, but why are we here when they can't help. i can't go in here like this, clutching bits of my teeth to my chest through the rip in my dress. what will they do with me now that they know?

the hospital upstairs tells us that the dentist is out. i'm still bleeding, clutching, i can't wait. put my teeth back in and make me well, and i'll be on my way. the handsome young man in the butcher's apron claims to know a thing or two about teeth. then he sees who i am with, "say, everything i know, i learned from you! why can't you do it?" she scowls and shows again my mouth, full of metal and blood and broken bones, all exposed. the wires scare him off.

a woman in the basement knows a thing or two. she has her own shop, it's astounding to a group of well-dressed male customers who try to tell her she's selling too cheap. she puts on a wonderful show with a spinning cat that multiplies and tiny pigs that really fly. she just grins at the men, takes their money, and shoos them on their way. she's smiling till they turn their backs. she's tough and terrifying but i like her. sam holds my hand.

she is going to drill out my teeth but somehow i know we'll be alright. 

Friday, March 08, 2013

lessons learned from being sick

  • can't sing
  • can't yell
  • can't make silly voices
  • can't talk back or instantly criticize everything/anything
  • restlessness. as soon as i begin to feel well, i'm ready to hit the streets. this is where the cycle starts.
so there's time to analyze. why am i not doing doing doing.

listening to: molly nilsson -- hey moon

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

you don't even own your own violence

​when i spill a full glass of water across my antique dresser and remember that nothing is mine, or good, i find your clover, dry and intact, until i try to touch it and its leaves disappear, crumble useless in my fingers. ​​
there will be no nonsense.
​how many times i tried to make you feel this. how even now i am slipping, how hard i am missing. i tried pouring it out for you, a silver stream from the cup -- how even then you missed it. not again. how my stomach still sings, toes tingle. it is all glamour, the imagined beauty of it all. ​​
it's been long enough that i can smile when i think of the park, the beach, the wedding. but at the thought of your face, my teeth clench, the truth of it makes the vision go sour.
But you don't even own your own violence
Run away from home-- your beard is still blue

Thursday, February 21, 2013

we all kill butterflies

​No animals were not harmed in the making of this film, or any other. there is not a one we can name, there is not a vegan film.
from the successful slap deaths of mosquitoes on our own sweaty bodies to the crickets we accidentally crushed in the moss, from the birds on skewers that nourished our bodies to the bird in the box that arrived frozen at our door, there was never no harm. ​​

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

nothing like a birthday to remind you to be cooler than your friends

Thursday, January 03, 2013

fragments for the new year

on the shortest day, i rose to greet the dawn, drove east to meet the sun. i had not planned it, but i rose in the pitch dark before morning and drove with nothing in the rearview but black. anything is possible when you're in motion. for the first time, i'm pulled over for speeding but escape with a warning. i'm not sure how to take this sign. which side of luck am i on?

on the day after the shortest day, i woke to the sound of a pig grinding her teeth and pawing at the gate. the world was supposed to have ended but we knew it wouldnt and we passed through unchanged (though we hoped that we and it were all better and new).

on the pizza place patio, i watch a white bristle hair terrier sidestep its owners, who try to corner it back into the fenced yard behind the house. i laugh at the show, their dance, and forget after the shouting stops. an hour later, i'm leaving little rock and in the center of the four lane 430 is a white terrier, dead.

on the day after the day after the shortest day, i have been home less than 24 hours and already, everything has settled exactly as it was. i'm falling into the rut where the house is and i see no way out.

on christmas eve, i'm crying in bed for hours, wondering why i bothered to make it this far. i've already stagnated and my greatest fear comes true. i lay heavy on the curses and make plans never to see my friends again. everything i've ever done is useless.

christmas is the usual pile of books and wrapping paper and everything you'd expect. chocolate coffee. stockings full of soap. fruit and cheese plate. the appropriate fir needle coating over almost everything. why do my cats prefer the tree's water? eventually i force myself out of the house for wine and friends and spin a yarn so long it nearly swallows me. this is the only night i will see them before they shove off for nashville, new york, japan. the small set of hours disappears in an instant and i'm shocked to find the outside world turning white, soft snow floating in the air. sometimes the earth will glitter and the bed will be warm and not too big for you and your cats.

on the day after christmas, i wake up puking. this seems unfair since i really didn't overdo it and played it safe with fruit, cheese, and only a little wine. they will always trip me: every time i find some good, it goes. any time i think i'm finding footing, it slips.

on the day after the day after christmas, it's time to go again. my mama and i trade off for the drive to her parents' in south georgia, and we don't even have to talk with the audio book playing.

these days are a pleasant stretch in the limbo of family. we busy ourselves with the business of being agreeable and intervening when the grandparents try to do anything beyond their chairs. we challenge the cousins in scores of smart phone games; we watch most of 3/8 of the harry potter films; we just barely drink to excess but generally we contain ourselves.

on new year's eve we discover there is no bonfire planned. the female cousins rally our forces to gather every scrap of torn wrapping paper and decently dry pine logs, and we feel proud of the growing burn pile till we get luke's truck stuck in a mud patch where grass becomes field. it's my fault for mentioning the time we ran into this tall grass unsuspecting, and sank from house slippers to pajamas. the fire is not the finest, but our effort is the thing, and i'm glad to drink cider topped with the ash of christmas present turning past. 

on the first day, we are in transit. i can't remember a new year that i didn't greet from the highway, rushing away from and towards the old and new, praying to every dead thing. 
on the first night, i come and curl around myself three times, receiving and giving back, giving back. 

on the day after the first day, i scour and purge, determined to make a temporary space comfortable for perhaps the first time ever. i shock myself by staying up all night here, not unusual but for the words and the recollection of hours lost typing. there is comfort and the dark is more than half done.