how terrible orange is and life

so i did neither of those things. maybe things would be different if i had.
ended up talking to laylee on the phone, which was wonderful. then, morgan, aimee, and laura miess showed up in my room begging for liquor. i fed them jack and cokes, and we danced to gravy train!!!! while a couple of dudes tripped in the common room (didn't find that out till later). they dragged me to the post-vagina monologues party at eco-dorm. even though i missed the monologues and i feel very guilty about the whole thing. this party was by far, hands down, the best one i've been to all semester. there was a goddess transformation station where you picked a card from a stack and got face paint to become her. i drew Lady of Beasts and i got a bunch of orange on my face, which... you all know how i feel about orange. but i made up for it by spraying glitter in my hair and some other girls threw glitter all over me. GLITTER is my favorite. i dance dance danced with the ladies and with friends. the music selection was not perfect, but they played a lot of good songs to balance out the crap. the dj told morgan that she really didn't want to play "baby got back" but someone requested it.. she didn't MEAN to have that kind of dance party! heather poured a third of her king cobra into my go-cup for which i am eternally grateful. i loosened up enough to scream/sing "deceptacon" (got a couple of positive comments so i probably shouldnt feel so embarrassed) but not enough to grind with co-worker emily (had to tell her that i was uncomfortable, then worried that i had embarrassed her). i stayed for the entire party, partly because my jacket was missing and it was too cold to walk all the way back to the circle without it. turned out to be squished into the couch cushions, along with half the contents of my purse. all in all, it was a really good time and i'm glad i went. i think i made some friends? we'll see.

what would you do if a cute, intoxicated girl at a party was asking someone for a cigarette burn? if you had one in your hand, and no one else stepped up, would you do it?

i could not embrace the day

THE THERMALS ARE COMING TO MEMPHIS!!!
perfect timing, it's only a few days after i get out of school. a great way to start the summer! this summer will be very busy, of course, again. i will be shooting/editing concrete (yes, still), attending the radical queer convergence in chicago, and there's some talk of SV going on tour, but i dont know if that's still happening. i have been looking at the idapalooza website and getting lovesick for it, but i might be too busy to go... i will have to wait and see what the lineup is, because what if it is too good to miss? then again, there is SO much to do, especially with the movie.... and we really need to get as much done this summer as we can. or else, we will never finish.

this week was one of those ones where you are never sure what day it is, even when the day is half-over. i kept getting confused about which classes i had next, and i would be walking somewhere and not remembering where i was going. maybe i can blame these feelings on the very large bump i took to the head on saturday night, but i don't really feel like placing blame there, it is bad enough already.
it was one of those weeks where each night, you go to bed miserable, realizing you will only get three to five hours of sleep, knowing you will never catch up, and wondering where you went wrong. everything is in a hazy daze and it's all that you can do to even realize that you are tired, because you're just so busy. there is always somewhere to be, something to read or write, something else to be thinking about next. on wednesday someone gave me the advice to "slow down and take some time for yourself" to which i responded "I WILL IF I HAVE TIME!" i usually try to chill out for a little while after dinner but then i end up getting mad at myself for not working, and not finishing what i have to do.
this was one of those weeks where you don't finish any of the things you are supposed to be doing, despite all the planning and time-budgeting and trying to do everything right... nothing goes right. when you finally try to talk to people, thinking you have time for meaningful conversation, you give out bad advice. the conversation you've been needing to have for weeks spirals out of control, leaving you depressed, frustrated, and ultimately too tired to do your homework. i had a take-home exam due on monday that i didn't turn in until wednesday... my professor was so nice, he didn't take off any points for it being late, which is so amazingly lucky. i hope i did a good job on it so that he doesnt feel like it was undeserved. then i had a paper due on friday which i really didn't mean to put off until the night before, but somehow that happened, and i thought it would be easy to do, but everything got away from me, and i ended up writing a really stupid email to my professor at 4:30 in the morning explaining why i couldn't turn the paper in that day. no good reasons, of course.
it was a week for fighting and making up. for unsteadiness and unsureness how to ask for help. for sickness and possible roads to recovery. for conversations left incomplete, and the fear of pressing forward. was i ever able to communicate? it doesn't seem that way. maybe part of the problem is that all these things are going on, leaving me unable to really process what i'm thinking, so when i try to talk, my thoughts are jumbled and i don't know how to get where i need to go. does this change? am i stuck this way forever?
i think i'm gonna clean my room. this seems like a step in the right direction. or maybe i will take a nap.

listening to: hope for agoldensummer - midwest

who shall measure the heat and violence of the poet's heart when caught and tangled in a woman's body?

virginia woolf has been renewed as one of my heroes. how did i forget that she is so amazing? i just read this excerpt from a room of one's own and i am blown. away. completely. wow.

that is all.


listening to: my own sniffles

realizations of social flaws:
-double w
-names
-your friends need space
-i dont know
-youre so my best friend
-whats (going on upstairs)
-wheres (the dance party)
-nice to meet you
-they said she thinks she's going crazy
-same goddamn bass beat



tonight has been crazy. i'm also pretty sleep deprived. each week just gets stranger. does this calm down, i have to wonder? thats that happened tonight:
-worked late, ecologist speaker guy
-practically fell asleep a million times
-gross dinner at gladfelter with the advancement office kids
-internet... talked to aj?!
-erotic cliterature contest at sage, with only ten entries
-double w at schafer c plus dance party
-trek to ballfield, lost julie
-arrival, lose everyone else
-wandering in circles
-somehow i am back here again and staring at this screen and all i really need is sleep good night.

big birds have been known to dive

i've decided that instead of rambling to certain ghost-town im boxes, i should start blogging more. i've also decided to start collecting more quotes and word artifacts. especially, i want to make a big list of good things about birds and wings. i think that would help. on monday i got a package from katherine with a movie called "jump cut" and 2 very sweet letters, and one from brett containing simply toenails in electrical tape and a swan figurine, which is now preparing for flight on top of my external hardrive. my desk is getting to be a ridiculous mess, not unlike the rest of my room.

things that are currently on my desk:
--laptop
--harddrive featuring swan friend
--lamp
--southern comfort flavored coffee
--a jar of buttons and thread
--fake willy kitty "furreal" companion
--64 box of crayons (the one with the sharpener and the maze)
--natural deodorant stick (lavender scent)
--one daily multi-vitamins
--microgestin fe 1/20
--purple nalgene
--plastic cup of jungle juice from saturday's funk party
--red washcloth
--rit dyed feather
--framed photo of boy in spaceship by tom
--half of a rollie
--59 cents
--the master letters of emily dickinson
--journal with the nyc subway cover
--dead ladybugs from the window hole
--the aforementioned packages and all their contents
--completely bizarre birthday postcard from tom
--blue felt
--grimm's bad girls and bold boys: the moral and social vision of the tales
--black gloves
--shoe insert gel things
--happy birthday signs and a card
--sailor mooooon
--unhatched egg plant from katherine
--envelope note from dr. bradshaw
--a little frog
--fork
--hilary's bandana
--trash of course.

i was thinking that might inspire me to clean up, but it's sort of just fascinating knowing that all of that is here. and my drawers are so empty! i guess i am a Piler. the faeries will never visit me if i don't tidy up...

have i mentioned that monday was freaking gorgeous? i could have sworn it was spring. it was the first time i've really been able to smell anything since i got here, so walking around campus was pleasantly surprising... everything felt new and refreshed. i knew that my office building overlooks the farm, but i didn't realize you could smell it so strongly from way up the hill! you could feel the air getting heavy with heat, and when i walked to the post office in a tshirt, my hands swinging against the clicking pressures of the wind i forced apart, charging up the hill. what a beautiful day!

ben just came over to compare our human sex maps and share stories.. he was here for almost 3 hours and i had no idea how much time had gone by! now it's totally late and i can't remember what else i was planning to write, so i'm just gonna leave it and crash. (let me know if you wanna compare sex maps. ho HO!)

listening to: hop along, queen ansleis - sirens

today all the snow melted.
i have a miserable headache.
i am going to laura miess's birthday dinner at thai basil because i deserve it.
it has been a loooooooong week.
i had some really good conversations, though, in which i was told that i was good to talk to, good with advice, and good at mothering. who knew?
it sounds cheesy, but it's really nice to have these sorts of conversations where someone tells you that you've made htem feel better. i sort of miss those.
must run off to this restaurant.... and probably spend the rest of the night cooped up in schafer c.
we'll seeeee

listening to: the jackson 5 - i'll be there

i'm finding i can fly so high above with you

it's a fucking winter wonderland outside and i didn't get any classes cancelled!!!! what is this!? not my life, i assure you.
yesterday at work, i glanced up from my meaningless existence and saw the freaking bundles of snow pouring around like some kind of explosion at the soap flakes factory. jon said "you can't see the mountain, that means it's snowing!" sure enough, you couldnt see the mountain. it was just whiteness, and some pigs. by the time i left work at 5, there was a nice fat coat of snow on everything. i met up with morgan to eat dinner at gladfelter, where i had salad, corn on the cob, and apple jacks. i tried to do some homework in her room, because my suite is rowdy and never quiet, and i had to read the first half of "in memoriam." but ben came over pretty soon and said "let's go play in the snow!!" and how could we refuse? we had a little snowball fight and saw some other kids running around and even witnessed a few bursts of fireworks. i stuffed so much snow into my face... i had a snow beard, or three.
spent the rest of the night trying to read tennyson, but with very little success. finally trudged back to my dorm around 1am... i actually had a sort of difficult time getting to the right path, since everything was so completely transformed in all the snow. all the lightposts looked the same and my usual landmarks were mostly absent. i wasnt even really bothered by the cold that night because everything was so beautiful and moony. although i was worried i was gonna slip on the hill after the bridge, and i had to hold on to the railing, and i was glad that no one else was awake to see me being so nervosous. tried to read some more in bed but was too tired to get much done. when brett called, i mumbled some incoherent babbles, and since i couldn't make conversation, simply professed my love over and over. so, that's going well.
where is morgan??? i am sitting in her room and i can't find her scissors to open my birthday package and i'm fucking starving and i want to eat some dindin!

do the astro

here's the longass horoscope i got today, for a period supposedly lasting from march last year (when i left new orleans) until this coming december. it's no wonder my life is so fucked!

"Valid during many months: The logical and rational faculties of your mind are likely to be scrambled by this influence, so that you are no longer quite sure what you think about anything. Or you may come under the influence of ideas that you would not have held previously. You are likely to make the worst mess of this period if you try to organize and restructure your life now. Consequently this is a bad time for making important decisions that will affect the direction of your life. It is also a bad time for most business decisions, because there is a danger that you are poorly informed about what is going on.

This influence always raises the issue of self-deceit, being deceived by others or your deceit toward others. Be extremely careful of these hazards in any kind of negotiations. Deceit may be inadvertent. For example, you may find that you are unable to clearly express what is on your mind because the thoughts seem so complex and disorganized, and when you do say something, others misunderstand you completely. Be very sure that people really understand your meaning when they say they do.

On the plus side of this influence, you will be much more receptive to subtle forces around you. Your rational mind may be confused, but your intuition is likely to be very sharp. The only difficulty you might have is in making others understand the basis of your understandings.

You may become interested in psychic matters and in mysticism under this influence. You will arrive at a profound and direct knowledge of the inadequacies of unaided logic, and you may seek to expand your understanding of the more hidden aspects of the mind. You may even encounter hidden abilities in your own mind."


it's sort of horrifyingly accurate... i get accused of being irrational all the time, and people don't seem to know what i'm talking about ever, and the stuff i have understood/realized seems way too difficult to talk about. does this seem accurate to anybody else that knows me? does anybody else believe in these sorts of things?

ask me about my birthday, i suppose. it was pretty bizarre. some VERY weird moments, some good points, but didn't feel much like a birthday overall. honestly, i don't mind. but man, it's weird to realize that i've been buying alcohol for a whole year. what! new orleans feels farther and farther away... also weird was that i spent almost a whole year at home, obsessing over the fucking movie, which STILL isn't finished of course. 2 more years!!! ............... aopwiehgasd

i need this in order to complete college successfully.

i go to warren wilson.
today was my first real day of work, and i was cleaning the windows of my office building. well, i was trying... it was going well until the end, when the glass cleaner froze on the glass before i could wipe it off. froze into ice!!! i gave up and went inside just before it started snowing again... after work, i walked to morgan's dorm to pick her up for dinner, and there were geese flying above me honking and the snow fluttering into my coat, and the sun setting behind the mountains and everything all orangey and light and perfect. and then dinner at cowpie was lentil soup, falafel, couscous, baba ghannouj, and homemade pita bread.
now i am reading "hard times" by chickens (c. dickens). i stayed up past my bedtime reading it last night because i am DORKASAURUS and also because i have 100 pages due tomorrow.
good night.

of course, everything i planned to say is lost. i do it on purpose these days. driving home i gripped the wheel to steer the words, all this sort of thought i have avoided.
the real time felt so short but leaves me pondering, questioning, yearning.... for days, weeks, all this wonder.
when i saw you off, the sting of finality sung from the deep engine of the double decker. at one time i was embarrassed to kiss you over and over in that line, but oh how i’ve changed. would that we had stuck together, our lips an irreversible tangle. what a way to go, my face twisting into misery as i turn away, couldn’t i have waited till you couldn’t see? but you call me back, now you’re just a face, framed by door and windshield. and even then, “love you,” i believe it. i go from crushed to grinning, i should have blown a kiss. it’s easy in retrospect, my love is lousy. usually i take off right away, leave you in the belly of the beast and be gone. but the well inside me sinks, since when are we so serious? i sit and stare until i can’t take it and ease myself out of the parking lot, slowly pushing against our steady solid distance. even now you have your claws in me and you don’t even know. even now i’m on pins and needles, prickling, a pincushion. (i still feel stuck, that the sharps stayed in. i guess it’s the lack of food and slight delirium and all this wanting)
at this sort of moment i don’t even know if i know you. body takes over and sleeps sets in.

you offer your version of apology
my anger dissolves into sadness at
our unstoppable divorce. i can’t stop
falling deeper down, you’ve got me.
where do you want me? like this?
and now? my fear, always
underneath, pulses under your cold
hands, my heat bleeding fuel
for regeneration, over and over
the answer and question. then again,
i’m never ready, i was always
left undone, half-baked and
out of breath. later you’ll
admit it, we go so fast, quick:
question -- is it my fault?
of course, he can’t stand it, how
bad i want it. you’ve got me,
unspun and squirming,
not sure of how to love. am i
doing it right? my feelings in a fight

the taste of my motor oil still fresh on your tongue,
you ran long off the charge and sang as you sunk
into the feeble fate of the secret kiss
that fell your fingers, that blew off our bliss

my dashing comrade

this was taken in the new orleans audoban park golf course in april 2007. note the missing hand, containing beer, and the shoeless feet, with flailing totes... tom never ceases to impress us.

a wish your heart makes

I don’t normally remember anything from my dreams, and then when I do, it’s just snippets and a couple of images. Everything is blurry and far away and impossible to explain despite my efforts. For the past four nights, I’ve been attempting sleep on the beds and couches of my Georgia family. As comfortable as they’ve tried to make me, I can’t seem to get a good night’s sleep. Whether it’s because of the pills I’ve started taking regularly, or my subconscious missing my regular bed, or the pleasantly unusual weather, every night I find myself awake at 4am to hear the first crows of the roosters... and plenty more after that.
The only good thing that’s come from my wrecked sleep schedule is the dreaming. If I only sleep for a couple hours at a time, it’s a lot easier for me to remember my dreams, so I’ve been enjoying the experience. Of course, as each night passes and the fresh shadow of a dream is impressed upon my memory, the visions from previous nights start to fade and in the end, I’m left with nothing.
So before I forget any more than I already have, I wanted to tell about some things I remember from last night and this morning, because these seemed particularly relevant. I’ve already forgotten so much of it, but I’ll begin when I ask a girl if I can bum a cigarette. She gives it to me and we start walking and talking. It’s like the bell just rang on Friday afternoon and we’re part of the after school crowd, with the nearly palpable excitement and kids running everywhere. We turn right and I realize that my cigarette is unravelling, although it still retains its shape. Instead of tobacco inside, it’s this reddish-purple gauze that may have had some glitter in it. As we approach a group of kids, much younger than us, I ask her if my cigarette is alright. She says of course it is, and I watch her light a cigarette-shaped piece of purple gauze and start to smoke it. She’s sitting on a ledge next to a young boy, who promptly pulls out a long, skinny joint and lights it. I’m surprised because he’s so young and we’re right in front of the school, but I start wondering how I can get these kids to pass it to me. I turn forwards, toward the school, where an enormous mud and rock ledge rises before me. I try to start climbing it so that I can sit up there with the other kids, but I can barely lift my legs. It’s like my body refuses to listen to what I tell it, and my legs are nearly impossible to move. I can’t make it onto the ledge, so I suppose I leave.
Now one of my friends from Loyola has shown up and we’re off to find the philosophy department or something in this enormous school where everything is white marble. No one else is around. We start to walk up the stairs but my legs give up again, so we decide to take the elevator. It’s taking a long time to get to the floor we want, so my friend suggests that we go to the floor above it first, and then go down, as if this makes totally logical sense, and of course I agree. The ride up to the fourth floor is normal, if I recall correctly. We get off there and then get on another elevator to go down to the floor we need. I suppose it’s still taking a long time to get there because we both sit down against the back wall. Suddenly I’m on my belly, rapidly rolling over and over and over, unable to stop myself, my body out of control. Me and him hadn’t been sitting very far apart, but it feels like it takes forever for me to finally roll into him. My body and mind are completely disconnected, so my mind feels like it’s spinning and turning out of control, and my body seems to be doing the same, although I can’t be sure. I am not totally sure of what my body is doing, despite what it feels like, which is an unstoppable tumble that only ends when he grabs my wrists. I’m looking at the bottom of the elevator, and through holes in the floor, at some bright colors far below. I’m seeing multiples of everything and I still feel like I’m turning, even though I now know for sure that I’m not. I lie on my belly, breathing hard and my head still spinning. My friend leans onto my back and puts his arm around me, holding me steady so that I know everything is alright. I relax into his arms, staring into the elevator hole until the colors begin to sort themselves out, and I slide my hand into his. Then I wake up.

landscape of wire

i become more and more fascinated with the ways nature must adapt to technology and the human invasion of the environment. as terrified as i am by powerlines and any sort of giant metal structures, i have to admit the eerie beauty i see in them. even electricity (one of comrade tom's sworn enemies) can be scarily pretty, and there's really no natural equivalent to it, that i've ever seen. but what's even more beautiful than a lamp glowing white in the middle of a park at night is a lamp straining to glow under the crush of twisting ivy vines and kudzu. as horrified as i often am by humankind's additions to the landscape, i'm always impressed by what she throws back. there's nothing like birds on a wire, all crowded along the same stretch of cable in a long long row. watching them all flock there, scooting along to make room for others, they almost seem to realize the surging power they're gripping in their tiny talons. i wonder, if they knew what it was doing to them and their true homes, what would they do? would a great sacrificial flock be brought in to bite through all the wires, despite certain death? or would they continue, in a one-minded mass, to carry on exactly as they have been? that story sounds familiar...
another many-bodied, one-minded mass passes by these same power lines every day. we know their strength, their capabilities, and their effect on our surroundings. we continue to ignore them, opting to focus on the benefits of this system, which ties in to every other system, except the natural one. i don't believe it should be necessary to destroy in order to create, but that seems to be just about all we can do at this point: continue on a path which is slowly killing the world around us, or destroy this system to create something new.
i think you know where i stand here.

a night on the town

here's a story i'm working on for my intro writing class.... it's not done and it's not perfect, so please let me know what you think, etc!



           The heat made him restless. Summer was Tom’s least favorite season – the sickening humidity, all the fucking sunshine, and, dear lord, the boredom. Today, not unlike other days, he had spent cooped up in his fortress bedroom in the safety of his low-lit comic book collection, sipping sweet tea and occasionally napping. He liked to sleep as much as possible during the daylight hours; he awaited sunset like a prince. Even now, under the full moon light, the heat was almost unbearable, and he was getting restless. Adjusting his Yankees cap above his eyes, Tom prepared to give it that good ole college try, one last time before going it alone. He rubbed the small rock between his hands and blew on it for extra luck. He gears up his pitcher’s arm and makes the throw.... Hell yeah! he smirked to himself with pride. The rock had reached its destination, had flown through the broken windowpane of Janet’s second story bedroom, making a satisfying smashing sound upon landing.
           Now all he had to do was wait. Tom was not fond of waiting, especially not on a night like this. The air was electric. Tom’s bones seemed to be pushing outward, onward whether or not his body was willing. He paced, turned cartwheels, and veritably jigged around Janet’s entire backyard before he finally heard the slow creak of the attic window opening. Tom jumps in anticipation as he sees first Janet’s long legs and then her hand waving greetings emerging from the silent shanty. Janet shimmied slowly and gracefully out onto the roof of her home with the practice of seventeen summers. She was no amateur. She scooted to the roof’s edge, held her breath, and launched herself into the giant oak towering over her home. The motions were as familiar to her as breathing, but to Tom, they were an eternity. As Janet climbed, he rolled across the yard, gnawing on grass, silently containing his frustration.
           Janet paused to stand on a small crow’s nest built at least ten years before her family had come into this place. She kept a series of secret treasures stored in a ziploc, hidden here in the tree. Most nights, she would take her time carefully selecting the object that felt most appropriate to the moment, the one that seemed to sing when she held it. These things could come in handy on a long night of adventures. Once, she and Tom had been cornered in a back alley by a rather vicious dog, but it ran away when Janet threw a bouncy ball far down the little street. And another time, Tom had lucked out in a gamble with a hobo, thanks to Janet’s randomly compiled deck of fifty-three playing cards. Tonight, she ran her hands over the cards, the marbles, the bells and whistles. The air, the trees, everything was electric. Janet felt this was an interference. She glanced down at Tom, writhing in a ring of mushrooms, and gave a short sigh. “Oh fuck it,” she muttered to herself, and stuffed the whole blasted thing into her backpack.
           As Janet hopped down from the oak, before her feet even touched the ground, “It’s about time!” Tom exploded, forgetting to stay quiet in his exasperation. “I was like to poison myself on these mushrooms any minute now! I can’t believe you let such horrible things grow in your yard. Haven’t you thought about all the birds you’re probably killing, with this kind of menace vegetation? I swear, it’s like garden warfare from the environment..... like bugs! No decent person lets bugs in their yard, no sirree.”
           As he spoke, Janet’s soft smile had spread across her whole face, until her eyes were squinting with glee and her bright cheeks looked fit to burst. “Haven’t you heard of faery rings? They’re for dancing... and they’re not mine to manage.” At her words Tom began to calm, his breathing turning slow and his irritation fleeting. That smile could stop an army, he thought, as he often did, and decided not to tease her about these kinds of eccentricities she was always spouting.
           “Yeah, okay, I guess I see your point. I still wouldn’t allow anything of that caliber in my yard.” Tom and Jane were both remembering the same incident -- how a couple years back, one little toadstool had crept up from beneath the carpet in Janet’s bedroom and for some reason could not be gotten rid of. A brief moment of awkwardness stretches between them, as Janet’s face grows hot with embarrassment and Tom’s lip curls slightly in disgust.
           The silence is broken by a pitiful mew.
           “Mab! How long have you been out here?” Janet begs of the small white cat, grinning again, and lifts the creature into a cradle of her arms, where Mab instantly falls into a trance of purring, practically comatose in mere seconds. Tom can’t help but chuckle as he watches Janet tickling her kitten’s soft belly, and he reaches out to scratch under her chin.
           “Where are we going tonight, Tom?” Janet knows he has no answer and Tom knows what she will ask next. He frowns, worried about any and all hindrances to this night of absolute freedom. “Well, I’m not absolutely sure yet...” Tom stuffs his hands into his pockets, fidgeting and wishing he could lie. Night was supposed to belong to him, and he chose to invite Janet along.
           “Can I bring Mab along?”
           He had not chosen to invite fuzzy dead weight.
           “Please? I have a feeling we need to be well-prepared tonight.”
           Tom didn’t see how this involved the pet, but he couldn’t say now to these two sets of golden eyes, imploring to him as sweet as honey. He sweeps his red sneakers across the tips of the long grass, and moves his hands to his hat. “I suppose we can manage it...” Janet suppresses a delighted holler, and throws her arms around Tom, inadvertently dropping the startled Mab unhappily into the soft grass. Janet is not sorry; this cat can land on her feet. Tom felt the static air pressing in on him, signaling finally the moment to depart. He decided the cat could present no problems, not tonight, and he let himself go to the bliss of adventure blossoming within all their bones.
           Soon enough, their bicycles were gliding along familiar streets, seeking unfamiliar twists and turns, which they hoped would lead to something unusual. Many of their nights began in this fashion, and very rarely did they end in disappointment. Janet and Tom figured that with odds like these, they had a pretty good system going. Even Mab enjoyed the occasional bicycle outing, although she generally spent them curled up asleep in Janet’s backpack. Janet reached around to unzip the smaller pocket of her bag and managed, although swerving treacherously all over the road, to pull out a bottle of red wine.
           “I brought us a present,” she declares, shoving the drink into Tom’s field of vision. He giggles, knowing that Janet’s parents never realize when these things go missing. Of course, this was still a special occasion; one had to remain cautious when appropriating the belongings of others. Tom kept a number of useful tools in his satchel, and while he may not have had a proper bottle opener, he had his own makeshift one. Janet and Tom float along serenely, Janet holding out the bottle in her left hand and Tom stabbing into the cork with his right. Eventually the cork is pushed in with a plop, and Janet can take the first swig. The bottle is passed between bicycles as the two try to lose themselves in a too-familiar town.
           “Shit, look where we are. I hate this neighborhood,” says Janet, nervously rubbing her short-cropped hair. She is thinking of years ago, finding bottle caps in her long tangled hair, a constant flurry of menacing laughter, the accusations of ‘freak’ and ‘satanist.’ By now, Mab is now fully conscious and aware of her surroundings, but only her gleaming eyes are visible inside Janet’s pack. Tom glances around and realizes they have entered what in daylight is their No Man’s Land – Joe Figeroa’s neighborhood. His house was only two blocks from here.
           They’ve been through this before, and Tom knows what to say: “Don’t worry, Janet. It’s so late, I’m sure Joey is out getting wasted in the ‘burbs. We’ll be fine just passing through.” Janet nods, picking up speed to make the experience as short as possible. Tom believes he has comforted her, failing to notice her tightening lips and darting, nervous eyes. She has not forgotten what they did to her. She kisses the bottle and passes it, gripping her handlebars tighter. The wind rides over them with the force of a train, seeming to cling to every inch of skin with the hug of humidity. The bikes hook right; the main road is now in sight.
           “See? I told you everything would be fine,” Tom declares with pride, but of course he has spoken too soon. The words have barely escaped his lips when the shadows of five bicycled figures emerge from several driveways, seeming to be aimlessly circling a manhole in the street. Tom, not wanting to admit his own defeat, continues riding towards them.
           “Tom… I don’t like this.” Janet hangs back, and the stone in her stomach becomes a boulder. Her backpack begins to softly rumble as Mab senses unease floating in waves down the little road.
           “Oh, come on! We’ll be fine,” Tom insists, waving for Janet to hurry up. Against her and her kitten’s better judgment, Janet began to inch forward carefully on her bicycle. No sooner had she caught up to Tom that the tiny gang was flying towards them; in no time, they were stuck stationary inside a tight circling of bicycles being orchestrated by none other than Joe Figeroa. Tom tried to manuever in between two moving bikes but was pushed back and thrown off his bike.
           “What do you want?!” demanded Janet, sounding far more fierce than she would have believed possible, considering how she actually felt. The cyclists were undaunted, and only continued their snickering. Joe snuck up behind Tom and snatched the wine bottle from his hands. He chugged what was left of it and threw the bottle to the ground, laughing when Tom jumped in surprise. Janet was almost beside herself; this boy had been a bully to her ever since she moved to town. Thinking she might have something useful in her bag, Janet let her bike fall and began to rummage through her belongings on the ground. The sound of clinking bells and Mab’s chirps were hysterical to the cronies.
           “Look, she’s gonna make a potion! Scaaaaarrryyy!” Joe exclaimed. Janet fought back the tears forming behind her eyes, infuriated at these menaces and at Tom’s apparent inability to act. Her poor friend stood there frozen, staring at his feet, without any notion of what to do. He felt that he had failed Janet; she had trusted him and now they were trapped. He was trying his damnedest to think of a plan, but he was no good in these situations, and his nervousness prevented him from thinking as quickly as he was accustomed to. Janet was practically tearing through her bag, cursing herself for not carrying around a set of butcher knives. “Ooooooooh, she’s gonna cast a spell on us! What ever will we doooo?” Joey cooed. Janet shook her bag in desperation and Mab slipped out, unnoticed, while Joey was busy high-fiving each of his cruel friends in turn.
           “Good one, Figeroa,” one oaf managed to mumble. Now Joe had to take it up a step to impress his friends again. Turning back to Janet, Joe picked up her backpack and turned it upside down, letting its contents spill out over the street. Bouncy balls flew everywhere, rolling into gutters and landing in trash cans. The wannabe gang stamped gleefully on Janet’s collection of seashells, congratulating each other for being so badass. They laughed at her book of pressed flowers and her rubber band ball. Janet looked on in despair for only moments before the rage took over.
           “STOP IT! LEAVE US THE FUCK ALONE!” she bellowed, her voice echoing back from the empty neighborhood. The cronies were startled, but Joe’s comeback (“Ohhh, we’re soooo scared!”) seemed to return their bravery and had them sniggering again in no time. Janet’s anger was rising steadily, her hands becoming white fists and eyes narrowing with hatred. Tom was just sure she was about to get herself hurt. He began to step toward her, his hand outreached, to tell her to calm down, they could find more violets to press, they could go back to the beach soon, when he noticed that she held the neck of the broken wine bottle in a hand behind her back. He wanted more than anything to keep her safe, but she seemed almost to be in a trance, and in fact, at this moment, Tom was not totally sure that even he was safe from Janet’s wrath. He held back, scared as hell, with no clear concept of what he should do.
           “LISTEN!” Janet demanded so suddenly that one of the terrorists actually stopped his boot midair, rather than completing the destruction of a small ceramic frog. She withdrew the broken bottle from behind her back. “If you don’t get out of here right now, you are really going to regret it. And I mean it.” She waited for their response. She knew that deep down, they were terrified of her. She just had to show them that she was no force to be reckoned with. “Go back where you belong!” Joe’s cronies were looking from this raging girl to their leader and back again, almost as if they were completely devoid of thought.
           Finally Joe cleared his throat and spoke, “This is our territory! And we won’t allow a WITCH like you to come anywhere near it!” The cronies grunted in agreement and shifted their feet to show their possession of this ground. Janet closed her eyes and unclenched her teeth; had she really thought that would work? She let out a tremendous roar and threw the bottle straight at Joey Figeroa. He had seen it coming. The bottle landed with a terrific smash on the pavement, adding shards of green glass to the wreckage of Janet’s most precious belongings. The boys displayed their genuine fear as apathy, praying that Janet couldn’t tell the difference between their truths and lies. Instead of dealing with her outburst, they turned to Tom, who was shocked and terrified, not only by this seemingly one-brained mass of teenage masculinity, but by his dear friend, who he had never seen so upset.
           “How come you hang around this weak-ass girl, Thomas? I thought you were supposed to be a real man... you’re a pitcher after all, right? Oh wait, did I say pitcher? I meant ‘pussy.’ Yeah, that’s right, you’re a pussy. Let’s see that pitch.” Joe tried to encourage Tom to throw Janet’s fallen objects as a demonstration of his throwing arm. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t even speak. All he seemed to be able to do was shake his head and stare at his feet. As the boys prodded Tom for a show, a low sound began to rise out of the darkness. It sounded like some foreign language, but something ancient, the likes of which none of these boys had ever heard before. It took them a moment to realize the source -- it was Janet. She appeared to be in a trance, with her eyes rolled back in her head, and her arms pulsing in front of her, as if they were trying to hold within them a small ocean which insists on constantly rocking back and forth. Her words grew louder and she slowly began to step towards the group before her. Joe and his followers skeptically looked to Tom’s face for a sign of amusement, but his eyes were as wide as sanddollars, his jaw loose and stunned. At this, the cronies really began to panic, although they stayed frozen where they stood. Even Tom could not budge an inch.
           Suddenly, out of the blackness, Mab seemed to fly down from the heavens, letting out a yowl that surely woke up every cat in a three-mile radius. She landed right on Joey Figeroa’s shoulder and dug her claws in so far that when he turned to shake her off, her back legs swung wildly while the front paws kept their position. “GET IT OFF GET IT OFF!!” yelled Joe to his staff, who pulled off the hissing cat in a tangle of fur and claws, not one of them able to get away without having blood drawn. Falling all over themselves, they clambered onto their bicycles and pedalled away rapidly into the safety of their neighborhood, shouting to each other about “witchcraft,” “devil’s work,” and “Satan’s little helpers!”
           Tom opened his eyes. The bright, black sky stretched above him; the full moon almost seeemd to smile. Tom realized that he was lying on the grass in somebody’s front yard, although he could not recollect why. The last thing he remembered was a blur of primordial sounds and a flash of claws and white fur. “I must have fainted,” he muttered to himself, although he had never fainted before so he was not quite sure how this could have happened to him.
           “You did,” Janet replied simply. Tom sat up quickly, turning his head left and right trying to match her voice to her body. She smiled to herself and tapped him on the shoulder from behind. She was sitting there looking perfectly normal, like the girl Tom knew and loved.... mostly. Her smell was the same, her smile was the same, her eyes were..... well, they looked the same enough for Tom. He threw his arms around her, glad to see that she was safe.

           .....to be continued

deceased myers-briggs

INFP - "Questor". High capacity for caring. Emotional face to the world. High sense of honor derived from internal values. 4.4% of total population.

Free Jung Word Test (similar to Myers-Briggs)
personality tests by similarminds.com

i had to go to the wayback machine to find this

house not home

all doors closed
all thoughts unlocked
we sit and breathe in
the living room, sticky
with spills and poison
sickly lights and sounds
of sirens spill
into our rabbit hole
we let ourselves get trapped
in here, despite
all doors no locks
we say we don't believe in fences
so who's to blame
when the puppy keeps, cat-like,
squeezing himself through
the balcony's white picket posts?
we lay ourselves down like dogs
and kick until we fall asleep
can i take you home with me?
on second thought
perhaps not
it seems i've lost the way
and our back door
(left open before)
it seems to have gone astray
listen
there's ghosts inside the walls
cockroaches in the compost
a layer of ash over everything
we tell ourselves we'll one day sing
instead we oil rusty heads
and drink until we cannot think
again and fall down dead
again and somehow stumble to a bed

train

when I catch that smell I smile instantly
I remember that I am breathing
layers of dried sweat, sex, acrylic, liquor, dirt
tell the story of these last few train hops
open, the wind and rain and elements
kick at your frame, jammed into a train
the whistle blows and I think of your face
(and they've got a warrant out for your arrest,
you can't go back to Texass)
smiles and smell and stories to tell
me about these days' journey home
is where you are
laying your head in my lap
burying my face in your overalls
realizing my fullness, swoon
to the moon and sing sweet
like the ground herbs you take in your tea
so adventure stained all your clothes
but not me
was left there at the yard
as it emptied, smoke coloring my hair,
the hungry black monsters pulled you away
I smell my self to conjure you
but it's just not the same
I am too sweet and small,
you are gone too many trains away
sometimes I think I smell you in the wind,
or in the heaving crowd at punk shows
when I catch that smell I smile instantly
I can only breathe