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 at his place, 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

Friday, April 12, 2013

Genius House (a list rediscovered from 2013???)

  • goats + cats
  • writing center
  • variety show
  • alternative children's programming
  • lending library
  • yellow light
  • Southern Queer Archives
  • venue
  • art gallery

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. 

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

break

after hours flailing on the screaming windy highway, the i-10 rest stop is eerily quiet. everyone stands beside their cars smoking, unspeaking. a sign outside the squat brown building warns, WATCH FOR SNAKES. another, LOOK TWICE FOR BIKES, depicts a four-eyed cartoon head, bodiless at the wheel. i barely pee anything; i'm thinking of the narrative of my life and whether i could make it as a any kind of artist, or anything at all. somehow i'm thinking of maine in august last year in lawly's tent where bowen courted and sported us both. how she kissed me with just lips, how his mouth found its way under my shirt, the hot bright orange tent heat, their red and yellow hair. how all i could think was: this must be something that people do. no one asked any questions.

now, a woman interrupts my careful handwashing: "what do they do when it's pouring?" i hadnt even noticed the open sky, blue with thin wisps of white clouds. texas winter is summer hot at 80 and rising. "Yeah!" i agree too loudly in this quiet place and all my jokes fail. in the mirror my face looks back worried, lonely, and pale except for the fierce red bumps covering my chin. at 25 i still look 13, hormones angry and unbalanced after recently quitting nine years of HBC. i have always hated mirrors and today is no different except that i've really fallen now, all dreams dashed down on the brown ceramic tiles in the open air rest stop, ready to be snake bait.

Friday, December 14, 2012

i started driving on the new moon. i wanted to say i left full of duck eggs and stolen goods but no i left empty and opening undone. it's never done, always moving.

Tuesday, December 04, 2012

you never really tried

phew. finally finally finally sent the last email to TM. thank goodness i got that off my chest!

NOW. i am moving back to the south in a week and three days. all this must happen before then:
  • finish color correcting the movie
  • laundry
  • return library books
  • order new glasses
  • renew driver license
  • get car serviced
  • PACK UP EVERYTHING
  • become unaddicted to coffee and smokes
  • last chance photo copies
  • goodbye party
  • record new vocals for the chase song???
  • go camping???
  • cut my hair dammit
  • chill out.... hahaha

listening to: kate bush - the big sky


Friday, November 30, 2012

the wind it blows (the door closed)

so, my long-term horoscopes from astrodienst are usually really accurate. just read this one, projected to continue from last thursday until september of next year, and not totally sure how to take it:


During this time you are able to achieve a most unusual balance between your material and your spiritual needs, and you see the relationship between them so that you can build your life upon both of them equally. This influence helps you bring your spiritual ideals into focus in the material world so that you can see precisely what role they play in your life. Consequently this is a time of sober reflection and deep understanding about your life on several planes. 
This is a time of serious thought. Your mood will not be especially light-hearted, but you will be in a position to make great breakthroughs in understanding. You will be able to deny yourself rewards that you have wanted in the past, because now you can see that if you wait a bit, your daily life will come closer to your ideals. You are in the right frame of mind for disciplined self-denial and sacrifice without being a martyr. In other words, you are realistic about what you are doing. 
Now you can work to further your ideals, such as working for religious or charitable organizations, spiritual groups or whatever. In general you will be attracted to groups of people who share your views, and you will be able to express your philosophy better in a group than by yourself. This influence has the effect of making your ego subservient to higher needs, so that if you believe strongly in what you are doing, you will be able to work hard even if given very little credit or positive reinforcement. 
With this influence there is the danger of taking your own actions too seriously. This can be a very covert form of egotism in the name of spiritual awareness and devotion, and no form of egotism, even if it goes by another name, is compatible with this influence.

so.... i guess it's time to join a cult?!


listening to: kate bush - king of the mountain

Monday, November 26, 2012

every time i drive to the bay, no matter how many times
every time i hear an accordion
every time i see your name, whether or not it's you.
every time i think of leaving.
every time i start to move. every time

i cant believe i'm making this trip alone. i cant believe that was ten months ago. i cant believe we'll never be that good again. i cant believe you own my memory. i cant believe how selfish you turned out to be.


at the end of the day, it's just sex. it's all there is and thats it. the distance killed what was already dying. you couldnt hold my small blue flame, my soft shell. i couldnt feel you hold me there, i couldnt open more than this.


i thought i'd hear from you, i thought you'd care enough to write.
i was wrong.
now i know better.

in my life, i'm not looking for love. what i crave is connection, fire, brilliance, and madness. anger and hate can have a place. love is nothing without a this. your love means nothing without respect. your love of self will break the rest.

remember how you were always running away in my dreams? the one where your songs are playing on the radio, you sang so sweetly "if you really loved me, you would be here with me." it was all true.


i imagine you floating, nothing but your love. how easy i was to lose and forget.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

gonna have my fun

i can't believe i've lived in this cloud for almost a year. i can't believe it's winter where you are. i can't believe i'm about to be completely free for the first time EVER with no plans and nothing. no more job, no school, and no movie to work on. i can't believe all i have to do to get there is three more weeks at the duck house and then 3000 miles back to the south. home. free.
honestly i have no clue what i'm gonna do with myself.... but i have some ideas.


anybody know anyone i can stay with? 
or anything cool to see along the way?
or some reason i shouldn't take this route?


listening to: the white stripes - going back to memphis

Friday, November 16, 2012

by the lake with the days of rum

if, in dreams, water represents the unconscious, as well as change and renewal, what about a swimming pool? what about the biggest ever interconnected network of swimming pools, filled with giant octopi and forgotten 70s music stars, and i'm swimming through the murky 70s water the entire time, the whole dream world is this pool? WHAT THEN???

i almost always dream of water, but this is unprecedented.


listening to: marissa nadler - old love haunts me in the morning (on phoning it in)

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

found poem (gchat)


he said he thought he should be more patient 
and listen to him when i ask 
pointed questions about his love life, 
because they might be helpful

but i don't know 
if i'm sure 
he really thinks that

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

no letters in the mailbox

wrote an email to KSB tonight explaining that i am going home for xmas and not coming back. she responded ten minutes later with a very diplomatic note that everything is fine and she's not worried about training the new staff and interns but that probably they can't pay me to work remotely. it sorta sucks to be out of a job, but it's kind of a relief to be starting fresh and not being obligated to this campaign anymore.

back to the south!! perhaps the movie really will be done by christmas and then katherine and i will tour with it in the spring and then maybe i'll go to folklore school or be a witch in the woods for real.

i have exactly ten more minutes of the movie that i have to color. then i just need to get katherine to review it, make whatever changes we need, and then it'll be DONE. really done. it's hard to believe.... better get back to work.


listening to: leonard cohen - diamonds in the mine

Monday, November 05, 2012

at the dark dark dark show, i expected to be so devastated, crying all over myself. instead i dance like this: swaying, loving the moment, and the buzz of the sound. just gazing up, basking in the presence of this talent. ​ ​



i loved you too carefully; i thought i had time. i moved through the days with a love song in my heart and mirah on my lips.

i think what you meant when you said you were bad at distance:
the time and care i put into every word slipped past you.
you were waiting (not for me)
you weren't prepared to see it through
you don't know how to be patient

AND IF YOU WEREN'T SURE:
why didn't you ask?

Saturday, November 03, 2012

lament for lost autumn

for a chilly moment in the Mills dorm bathroom, i'm blown back to the fresh weeks of fall in the golden blue ridge mountains: bright, full, expectant.

california has made us small, our dreams lost ever since our open hands closed around degrees into tiny fists, into a world for forgetting. the price of the status. the cost of responsibility, the rewards that never come. what did we trade for those days of dreaming? a hot november afternoon, the sun and the geese on thr lake, sober as saints, counting bugs on our muddy legs and laughing deep for the first time in weeks.

tonight will be dancing, women, and wine; we will try to remember how to love, not forget.

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

i need to erase the whole system.

it's sick to realize there is only one reason to mindlessly peruse the internet. i am cutting it out. it is not easy. my skills are sharp. i was born to research librarians. i find a way.

Sunday, October 28, 2012

then, again:
two dead doe.
all things die.
blood will flow.



the energy of the orgasm flows out into my hand to be reabsorbed. i'm sinking in but my guts are tying up in knots. the songs on shuffle distract and dismay, but still it comes.

Friday, October 26, 2012

BECAUSE I COULD SEE THAT YOU DIDN'T NEED ME
BECAUSE YOU MADE A CHOICE THAT YOU DENY
BECAUSE I SAW IT COMING
BECAUSE THIS WAS THE ONLY WAY IT COULD GO
 BECAUSE IT WAS THE ONLY GOOD THING
BECAUSE YOU LET ME BELIEVE

because i don't deserve good things
because unbelievable joy is never real

 i couldn't believe you loved me.
i shouldn't have.

because i never felt special to you
because i could have been anyone
because i was the last one standing
because you get what you want
because you mold the world to fit your desire
because you act for yourself and revise later
between ten moons i could not give you what you wanted.

ten moons
nine lives ???
eight women, the ones you call girls, the notches in your belt
seven years since the livejournal posts
six years since our band's first performance
five more days of sun on earth (six technically)
four a.m. and i hate myself for writing
three - the men who once loved me
two it only takes two. i thought we made a pair but we were never alone in here.
one chance. one choice.

OR three is a crowd. count me out.
two men, cancers. the only loves i've known.

in some ways i blame our familiarity, our set patrerns of communication. i had learned cautiousness, distance: dont ask too many questions, never expect direct or detailed answers. i looked forward to drawing you out but i saw no rush. i fretted over not being able to ask even the simple stuff: are you seeing other people? you never helped, you never said anything first. you never asked me for more. you never even made me come. you threw it away before we had begun.

i'm sorry i was not so easy. not simple. that it was taking time to rub down these callouses and that i was enjoying taking that time. i'm sorry i was not worth the wait.

when you flew me to your parents' house for the wedding, i thought your family was rude, i was hurt by how they didnt make an effort. now i see it was you that was rude - why should they have to bother again with another one-time girl? they knew your ways better than me, they were smart and stayed detached. why didnt anyone warn me? god i loved you so hard those nights, so unapologetically open wide. it was not enough, my love fell flat, you took yours back. i cant believe i was going to write a letter to your parents singing your praises, showering them with thanks. now i'm tempted to do the opposite. you didnt tell your parents about my love, but i told mine. i always believed.


i move through these memories and letters, replacing each swoon and vow with its opposite.
this is your way, it's only fair.

I dreamed you were so sorry.


the love doesn't go away.
the love dies at the wall of lies.
all these words unravel off your forked tongue.
do you even believe yourself?
this last letter tries so hard to be convincing, but i don't buy it any more than you do.
what a fool



i'm trying to unlearn your love
after realizing you meant
nothing you said.

if everything is true, then
what's left?



i've been running over all these words trying to find one thought
one phrase that might be a clue
it's killer
i can't find anything
it kills
you said you really loved me
that i didn't need to be worried or scared
that you just wanted to give life a shot
with me at your side
you made me believe
you told me to trust
to let go of what i held so tight
to breathe and open my tight fists
unwind in your arms and heart
i did it and i lost it all
why should i ever have believed
someone like you?
every small disagreement we had
rooted in this:
you only care about yourself
you live in the moment of your desire
you place yourself above the rest
you see yourself as better, deserving
you won't agree with any of this because
that's part of the game.
you can talk about the universe and
love all you want, but when's the
last time you put someone else first?

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

take me back to the river of dirt

go back to possum country. the house must be bigger on the inside. breathe into it, let the wind blow in. the woods will be waiting. let the sun be the light.

whats the hurry? you're not going anywhere and they're still waiting.

seek them out.

Saturday, October 20, 2012

the cicadas in a song near made me cry
it's been so long since i've been home
(it's not a place i've ever known)
i dont remember going home

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

however

however happiness is never. the time it comes is the same that it goes.


the restless feeling makes me run to the bars, to the people, to the substance something. 
there is nothing there. that is not where i needed to be.

instead i'm trying this old tack: jam jar gin and tonics, a rollie on the porch out back. 

this isn't it. 
it isn't anywhere.
the only thing is the cat in the drawer.
the only thing is never, more.


i pretend this isn't right, that there's another place for me.

it's nowhere. 
it's nothing. 

cant even complete these sentences. all i hear is wrong.

Thursday, October 04, 2012


how i see myself: fetal, constant screams and tears, gouged, heart hanging out, hanging on by a blood thread, all exposed, undone, over.

the reality: the bright monitor blurring through misted eyes, hoodie pulled up all the way, burning through queries, mark as unread mark it undone


how does the heart break? how does it all still seem the same?

this is how the heart breaks: silent and still.
try to keep pumping, working, breathing.
try to pretend there is still a living thing in here.
pretend there is a purpose.
try to pretend you will make it.
pretend to try to get better.

Saturday, September 29, 2012

say, honey i am not sorry

every time you look, you get sick to your stomach, feel nauseous and dizzy, the cavern cracked in your chest, gouged. you need to lock up all the offenses in a box and get it out of sight, burn it if necessary.

don't forget: last night you felt nothing. thirty minutes on the phone, and nothing. the drop in your gut at the predictable typical "hello?" multi-tasking at the party, the ugly silence. how flippant to your low note, how ungrateful and spoiled for a charmed life.

you drink, and dream of women: cale's birthday a circus of pierced nipples, rooms full of bathtubs, and balancing acts on floating balloons. waking up is not real life, but you have a better memory of what it could be. you just want a 19th-century romance with a woman in a field.

GOALS:
--acrobalance
--herb garden
--sublet/house-sit cabin
--animate with morgan


You are Eeyore. 


listening to: joanna newsom - kingfisher

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

good things for today

  • hot cuppa tea
  • popcorn with yeast and garlic salt
  • writing letters
  • tearing paper
  • dandelions
  • baby bowl before bed
  • not looking at the computer
  • not giving a fuck

NEW PLANS:
--run away with morgan and be secret princesses in caves
--find some awesome artist who needs a personal assistant
--move into a roadside attraction
--don't worry about any of these fuckhead fakeys
--don't bother talking to anyone who doesn't bother talking to you
--cultivate ugliness
--every letter a suicide note
--cut it out
--love the cut

Sunday, September 23, 2012

envelope words

it's the last thing i would've wanted him to say. don't ever say anything is pretty ever again.
you tell me you're working on words but if that's possible, how are you so far? do you understand i'm falling apart, crushed? NO. you couldn't. every letter a suicide note why do i bother? every dark patch bristling card calling me. i feel like i'm going so much crazier than everyone else -- of course we all are, so why? we're all running ragged on our fears and insecurities and stress of every kind. all i want to do forever is cry and creak and die and cry but i can't ever.
i was trying to think of the response i would want. i could only think of the one i wouldn't: this was that one. this was the one that killed me. i can't do this. there's nothing to change that could fix it. i just have to move on and find someone who can begin to understand. is there a person like that? is there anyone, anywhere for me? why am i so far? what can i do to find my place? i feel so sad and stupid for asking but there's nothing to cry and nowhere to go and i need to take care of everyone, i need them all to stay and live and love and make everything good, i know they can make it. i try to make them see all their good and find each other. if only we could really build it.... i wish i could believe. all i see is the razors in the drawer + the stains on the floor.

Saturday, September 22, 2012

​olisten, don't worry, it's fine. i've said this before,
but i mean it this time:
i can't do this anymore.


you will not wonder what could have been. you will continue to believe i could have tried harder, when you never tried at all.
you never even said what happened.
you never even explained that the pledge was done. you broke it and you pretended you hadnt.
i can't begin to say my disappointment.

​​ i will make this because i am the only one who will. i will do my damnedest because it's all that i can do. these things are fleeting, this is what they are. i will make every letter a suicide note, a ship of leaves set to sail down a trickling gutter stream. i am the moss at the bottom of the street.

WHAT FUCKING EMAIL DO YOU EVEN KEEP REFERENCING IN WHICH YOU DECLARE YOUR LOVE OR SMOE SHIT

i was afraid to let go and give my love freely. when i did, it was given back.
​it's pretty HIGHLARIOUS that i predicted everything in this poem, by lumping you in with the rest before it was even true.
you should understand that i'm disappointed and hurt that you left me for someone new. or rather, placed me on the backburner (yes i've been there before.)
but i'm really hurt and really angry and disgusted that you didn't tell me first, that instead of checking in, you checked the fuck out. really did you care for me so little? after pulling out all my love and trust, after you told me over and over that it was okay and you were here and full of love, after we pledged ourselves to each other. why didn't you tell me that plans had changed? why didn't you tell me there was at least the possibility?
and as far as not "understanding upset or hurt" or whatever garbage, i don't fucking believe you for a second and i really wish you'd drop this holier than thou shit and get back in the dirt with the rest of us. saying that crap (and actually believing it?!) just makes you seem all the more selfish, naive, and oblivious. which i guess is what you really are, and congratulations on finding someone who buys into that.
what does "sorta" mean?
how angry should i be?
do you know how i pined? do you know what i risked?
it kills me how defensive you were. how you float away to your intellectual land where nothing matters and there's no point to anything. do you really believe that? how did we ever love if that's true? how can you throw this all away?
do you know how it feels to have your heart jumping out of you, your chest always an aching cavern, open to everything? how is it that i can feel this much?
it's constant pain. i know you don't believe.
of course i could never make it with someone who doesn't believe in anything. of course he sees my sadness rules me.

you didn't miss me. you don't need me. i should've known.... i think i did which is where the test came in. i saw this coming before you did. i saw it all. i was never your style, i could never be your girl.
just don't pretend this was something that happened to you. you are making the choice every step that you take. fate led you to the water but you didn't have to drink.
i am the desert, the place where men sink.

how could you be so naive, so selfish, so ENTITLED????
why did i believe that you respected me
why did i believe when you said about getting rejected, being hurt, the one that was left
why didn't i notice that long line of girls stretched out before me all along
why didn't i call to them
how did i not see how much you worship yourself, your disdain for human relations, your carelessness

fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you
i thought you knew me better. i thought i could believe that you'd grown. but you are still the same immature boy who loves the lie and the pit.
i'm too embarrassed to tell my friends what happened between us. i was so fucking excited.
you tried to get in touch in the weakest ways, so fucking polite. one text a week and a couple one-line emails. no calls, no letters; it was clear you didn't need me, miss me, didn't feel like i feel.
you wanted to silence to give you the go.
i asked what do you want, and you say you want to talk it out. what i hear is you want to make yourself feel better before you move on and leave me to my silence. i will not give you that.
you are a fucking coward. do not blame me that we never settled on a label or a name; you never tried to have the conversation. it was easy on you, you could slip out at any time. you did, i knew you would.
i feel so stupid for letting myself fall. i saw this coming from the start. but i do put my heart before my head, whatever you think. i believed in our power, the magic of us. i thought we could overcome our fears and failures.
of course i love you, that's why i am so broken. what did you think? i warned you what would happen.

ten moons. write it about how i feel, not what he did. he will not understand the blaming language. you have to make him understand through confessions and truth.

filling and refilling the bucket with water. filling up and pouring out. a branch cat​​ches my arm and leaves a cool drop of morning dew, the last one left at high noon hiding in the dark bush. a cobweb catches my hair, surrounds and tangles, a new nest.
the bucket will never be clean. the water will come out clear and pure and will muddy instantly in the stained white plastic.
​how how how how how how h​​ow do i feel so much

Friday, September 21, 2012

crumb + crime

some lines tapped out drunk on my phone and high in my room, in a
matter of minutes over a handful of days--

(i'm sorry, you asked.)


carrying you
the broken doubloon
pockets of deception
full and heavy with treasures
cherished or forgotten

funny how we came together as it fell apart
broken from the start, but now scattered
at least a fourth gone forever
and the other smooth slivers tried to lose
but somehow i never do manage to

how much was i holding in?
how long will it take to wash away
near nine years of constant chemicals?
no one warned me:
waves of unchecked estrogens, enzymes wreak havoc on every piece
of my system and knock me off what little stability i rocky rode,
cysts crunch tight ovaries twisting, wrecked
weeks of white knuckles, eight days of thick black blood
birthmarks bleeding and browner than ever
so sore, so much, so tired, so sad
so so done
get me gone

shedding it all
getting rid
the sticky slickness of newly opened fruit
it pains and pours
cant keep anymore
i feell down

couldnt contain it and split my sense
on the pavement spilt my whisky and my mess
but not a drop for you
and fingers that beckon but do not ask
split sick open wide
spilt self all over
cant contain--
i didnt want to
i disjt mean to
he did not ask to take the fruit

they usually dont


and where did i lose you?
between the unealked streets of our interchange
without negotiating the borders of this new land
under a haze of confusion in the cloud of uncertain substance
so how could i find you?
why shouldnt you float
in and out
to and fro
up and down
i coukdnt ever hope to stay
a mess of indecision
a cobweb tangle heartsore

that heart was whole
in my pocket all along
it missed the chance to sing our song

and now my fruit is rancid, rotten
under wilted odor of noxious lovers
who sucked on my spirits and promptly forgot them
greedy plundered all sweet offers

tasting and taking the higher they climbed
entwined in the dance called the rape of the vine

they took as they tasted the best of my wine
they took me down dancing the rape of the vine


why did i assume it was all in the mix?
that the music would speak where the silence kicks?
that they'd stay to sleep when the fruit was picked?
why i’d rather not ask than take the risk
when at every end i’m trapped and tricked

how hungry did you have to get
to try a night with me?
look past the sagging sacks and
maneuver the tangles to get the fruit
this is no courtly quest
there was no love story


and so pulled out the clot and held in my hands
nine years of clear caught love, spent seed
everything i tried to keep
a ball of blood and mucus down the drain
sent off without ceremony
now what do i do with all this feel?
without a stopper or a net
and now, not even any eyes
dumb and blind and come and cry

and what we saw on the deep dark highway
were roads of stars through layers of heavy trees
all that hanging life and sweetness
and there, ahead, still and silent in the middle of the road
the fawn, the wandering grazer, small shy and calm
not the deer in headlights
not a thing but trust
we slow to let her finish, turn and cross back towards us in the dark
not running
not away

the beauty leaves a bitter taste
i want to scream, to get her gone
don't look at us, don't believe
you can't stay here girl
you won't have time to learn

then
two dead doe
and there it is:
every sister, mother
splayed in center
the white lines
straight through
legs broken
necks cracked
i try, but i cant take it back


now the cat in my lap and the wine in my hand
hurting and working without a plan
i won’t tell you how it really ends
you’ll do your best to understand
but wonder why it’s back again


mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,mmmmmm
^this is lucha's contribution
can't say i don't agree
you asked
i'm sorry

Wednesday, September 05, 2012

​why can't i give myself the right to ask? am i afraid of my partners? am i too afraid that i'll upset them by being straight forward and end up hurting myself in the long run? what is this ridiculous dance?​​

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

words to keep for Better Critter


drowning in wonder and hunger of several varieites

i have a fever
let's sleep in a freezer

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

abandoned alphabet

​a is for aquarius there are no words
b is for blue fire eyes dear god i'm falling
c is for catastrophe, the only kind i need
d is for danger, disaster, delirium, deliquency, deranged, dirigible
e is for ecstatic my love
f is for face your face its shining its beauty and f my friend we'll always be and f my fool and for FURRRRR let me live in there in your forest and let's f
g is for gigantic a big big love
h is for your head, i want ot hold it forever. holding your heart in my hands. please let me.
i am working on feeling alright
j is for my jester, my joy, filling it all with laughter and spark
k
l


(edit and finish this thing and turn it into a letter/book/paper present)

Friday, May 11, 2012

critic
manager
music videos


learn drums
make zines
learn to write
herbs
acrobalance

join intnetional community
publishing internahip
animal rescue
artist residency
filmmaker in new zealand


rex will be great forever just doibg what he does. what do i NEED to do?

Friday, April 13, 2012

sawngs

1) Art Sorority for Girls - Spaceship
2) Larkin Grimm - The Butcher (Live on Airborne Event in 2008)
3) Adrian Orange - Blushing
4) The Mountain Goats - California Song
5) Diane Cluck - 4 Score Lightnings
6) Paper Bird - Cryptozoology
7) Regina Spektor - A Cannon
8) Beirut - Scenic World
9) Mountain Man - Play It Right (live in 2011)
10) Haruko - Spring In Our Lungs
11) Erin Tobey - Water Song
12) Agent Ribbons - Birds and Bees
13) Belly - King
14) Beat Happening - Dreamy
15) tUnE-YaRdS - Want Me To
16) Pearl and the Beard - Voice In My Throat
17) Zoë Boekbinder - inexorably
18) Khaela Maricich - V-Day 1998
19) Cub - The Day We Met
20) Paul Baribeau - How Could That Be True
21) Why Are We Building Such A Big Ship? - Lonesome Leash
22) Shenandoah Davis - Duet
23) Jolie Holland - December, 1999
24) Josephine Foster - Little Life

Friday, April 06, 2012

​dreamt of animals, taking care of charlie, who it turned out had been alive all along. a soft sweet creature, peach and feather fur.

Saturday, March 31, 2012

sinking as a window pane

a trial

it's a night of beer and coffee on the couch of weary lonesome
and the dirty cups are stacking faster than we're pouring new ones
with the ghostly winds ahowlin through the trees, a fearsome rain storm
and the chimes clang crookedly throughout, an otherwordly chant noise


4am with nothing left
half a beer, my shallow self
i do forget to eat
but i don't forget to drink
how can we know where we stand
when the birds don't sing?


a pitterpatter pitterpat sings in the dark alone
the lonely redwood branches chant the heart of every song
i fall to catch the only thing that i know how to trust
the life that struggles in the dirt, the worm that's all of us




i'm throwing in this bit from an old song i wrote, stealing from yeats.

and this is all i know:
things come together
before things fall apart
things come together

sinking. singing. the chant of it that leaves me out. the pace of it that proceeds, as i sit , idle on the couch. the smell, the breath. nothing left. nothing to offer to wind or rain, nothing to gain. just take me, teach me, let me ride. i'll turn to storm clouds, pitch and glide. i'll become the blaze you want me to; there's no tomorrow but me and you.

and jesus christ my heart stopped when I saw it was me who left the carriage house door open

something about how the branches scraping the glass ends up sounding like the birds that i've wanted.
ugh this is terrible tom, please excuse me. but you asked me, and it's practice! practice is good. let's keep working. i wanna improve. let's go there.

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

​dreamt you sent me two songs. the first was about how sad and depressed you were, and the second said something lik​​e "if you really cared, you'd be here" and it made me feel awful.
and then i dreamed about being at the pharmacy with a girl i used to know when i was small.

Friday, March 23, 2012

​the world all warm and wet, ancient and growing
all i want is the feel of your fingers around me,
inside, stiff, hardened
everywhere in complete​​

When I came, I saw the forest: redwoods, ferns, ravines. And those bats. A night full of bats.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

old mix

tom sent me the tracklist to an ancient mix i must've made him in, what, 2006 ?? 
i didn't know him well yet and i didn't know what kind of music he liked, so i just threw a bunch of stuff on there. haha wtf was i thinking.

i'm down right amazed at what i can destroy with just a hammer - atom and his package
mediocrity rules - le tigre
the return of evil bill - clinic
lime house - the breeders
i was born (a unicorn) - the unicorns
nancy drew - tuscadero
the chimbley sweep - the deceberists
miss alissa - eagles of death metal
hounds of love - kate bush
the naming of things - andrew bird
bridges and balloons - joanna
neighborhood #1 - the arcade fire
the pull - the microphones
crushed bones - why?
big science - laurie anderson
not living at all - mr. airplane man
no roses no more - lucero
manhole - ani
steak for chicken - moldy peaches
love und romance - the slits
fire fire - mia
god and country - the thermals
deep wilson - kristin hersh

Monday, March 05, 2012

Finally realizing the truth. I just need to talk straight. I'm afraid of being this way: clingy and crazy and scary. I'm afraid of him being something else, something that doesn't want the same thing. What can we do.
I'm afraid that we won't be what we want. That it wont work when I do want it to work.

Put our heads together. Press mouths open. Hearts beating as one, matching breaths. Close, open. What heat, what magic! The feel of our tangle, the mess of us.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Home alone and every little noise is freaking me out. Will i ever grow up?

Monday, June 27, 2011

i do not need a light

i almost didn't go to my therapist appointment this morning. it was my first time seeing this woman, and after my disastrous experience a couple weeks ago (in which the LCSW accused me of being on my parents' insurance illegally and made me cry in the first 2 minutes), i was feeling pretty wary about whether this was a good idea. but i went, and i was late, and a very sweet dog greeted me as soon as i walked in. the session was okay i suppose; i felt pretty okay about it when i first left, but that feeling has been steadily failing since i got home. i wish i had been more firm that i see medication as a last resort, and i wish i had talked more about immediate problems than answering all her questions about my back story. and anyway i don't see what good this is going to do me if i only see her three times, which is hopefully what it will be if i can get out of town as soon as i'm planning on. SO basically probably a big wate of time and money on my end, and i'm not sure what i'm even trying to get out of this. i hate to be so negative but.. well that's just how it is.
now the day is already half gone and i have no idea how that happened and i'm mad at myself. i need to find some lunch and take morgan driving and do some errands and work on editing and finish cleaning my room, etc. instead i'm listening to an album i just discovered by an artist i really like, josephine foster-- it's all musical versions of emily dickinson poems! so perfect. how did i not know about this before?

listening to: josephine foster - i see thee better -- in the dark

Sunday, June 26, 2011

happy birthday

well, old blog, today you've turned 10. i'd like to make an effort to write here more... the periods of my life when i wasn't writing have turned into weird black holes that i'll never be able to remember. and i think it'd be good to keep this up, if only for processing. definitely in a big transitional period right now, with really no idea what will happen next. if i look at it the right way, i have infinite possibilities; the world is completely open to me. but the reality is much more stressful than that, and this is the worst low i've been in for a long time. i really don't know what the hell i'm doing with myself and it's impossible for me to envision my life beyond memphis and this movie. so i guess that's where i should start?
anyway, i'll try to be around more. sorry for neglecting you, old friend.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

already today, morgan saved me from a roach that attacked me while i was taking a shower AND gave me some of her old teeth. for there is no friend like a sister...

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

dreamt of goth and fey girls, and finding a way in the woods.
everybody is full of advice for me lately but none of it is very useful. i gotta get out of here.

Friday, January 21, 2011

i don't know why i bother going out of the house at all anymore.

i stayed up too late last night and got a bunch of road kill emails, but they're too upsetting to read.



my free will horoscope from last week:
If you want to be healed, whether from a physical malady or a psychic wound, there's one prerequisite you have to meet: You have to be willing to learn a lesson that your suffering has invited you to study. I would go so far as to say that no one, no matter how skilled a healer, can help cure you until you have taken that first step. So what teaching is it that you would need to explore in order to transform your distress into wisdom?

this scares me.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

in 2010, i graduated from college and learned how to use a manual can opener.

in 2011, i will start reading my dad's book, stop smoking, drink less, write more, read more, FINISH MY FILM, organize my papers, start doing yoga, learn about nutrition, become a witch, and move out of my parents' house.

Saturday, December 04, 2010

last night almost turned out to be the night.
katherine, brett, and i go out to chao praya for delicious thai and watch fast, cheap, and out of control at brett's house, which i don't think i like. after a gin and tonic and a couple of hours of channel surfing, i drop katherine off at her house and head home around 2am. for some reason i call brett, i guess to rant about how depressed i am and how awful the universe is. why did we watch that movie, that television? why is everything the worst reality it could be?
a grey cat shape is running right in front of my car. a wild sound ravages my throat, and i'm braking as hard as i can. it happens so fast, not fast enough. i open the door and poke out my head but can't see anything. i wonder if she's under the car, so i inch forward a little bit. the phone has hung up. there is the sound of whimpering, a squeaking chirping sound. what have i done how could i do this how can i go on how do i fix it. i'm rushing to get out of the car, almost forgetting to put it in park. behind the car, the middle of the lane, a raccoon, no two. two raccoons somehow saw the fallen cat and took immediate advantage. how can i help? am i capable of taking two raccoons? nature is cruel, maybe this is out of my hands, maybe it's up to them. i can scare them away, i walk towards them, three raccoons unhook themselves and scatter. no bodies, no blood. there's another car coming, it passes without slowing down. by now brett must have called back; i'm in such a shock, just start driving still debating what to do. brett says if they left the road they're fine, but i tell him that most of the roadkill i've seen is on the shoulder, in the gutter. i make it all the way back home before turning around to check for a body. what could i even do with it? i keep asking. my voice is hoarse and my eyes are dry for now. completely disoriented, i keep getting my landmarks mixed up and directions confused. the road by east high is dark, black. where did it happen? i wonder if each blemish of pavement is smeared blood.
brett assures me: i see no bodies, i felt no bump. i assure him, we live a miserable existence.

Tuesday, November 02, 2010

while cleaning, i realized that everything i own is covered in feathers. this accounts for at least 70% of the problem that is my room.
today i voted not to make hunting a constitutional right in tennessee, to consolidate the memphis city and shelby county governments, and to put steve cohen back in office. i'll let you know how it turns out.
yesterday i got a job as a part-time receptionist at a massage therapy place in midtown, and my first day of training is tomorrow. the job itself seems pretty chill and at least slightly flexible, which hopefully will make up for the shitty salary. i'm NERVOUS as you can imagine, but oddly not as excited as i was expecting to be after a job search that felt neverending and soul-sucking. maybe it'll be a little more exciting once i'm there a couple days.
in other news, my trip to wilson was really great, for the most part. i got to see mountain man sing for free in asheville!!!! they sang for about half an hour, with me and morgan standing only about a foot away. for "dog song," molly asked us to close our eyes and snuggle up with someone, and i don't know how many people participated, but i hope they did because it was amazing to be able to just listen to the different tones of their voices and feel the direction of each sound and wowowowow i feel so lucky to have been there. i need to write them and ask if we can borrow a song for our movie. that would really be something.


you can see all the way at the front.... amazing!!



HANG ON WAIT IT'S NOT DONE

listening to:

Monday, October 18, 2010

whining and pining is wrong

this morning i scheduled my first job interview since my last one a month ago at the humane society. just a minute ago, i called back and canceled it.
i'm still depressed about the humane society not calling me back, but i have decided that this is the week to get over it. i almost applied to starbucks a couple days ago and realized that i need to GET REAL.
part of me wants to catch up on here and write about everything that's been going on, but in some ways it doesn't really seem worth remembering. for instance, i embarrassed the life out of myself on friday night, and now i wonder why i ever leave the house. i need some new hobbies. pbrs and music tagging aren't cutting it. but did they ever?
yesterday my parents found cosmo in their bed gnawing on a baby turtle. the top front of its shell was bleeding, and i cupped the turt in my hands while mom dabbed at the wounds with betadine. then we made a house out of a big plastic storage container and a feast of tomatoes, grapes, collards, mushrooms, and the rest of the schnuck's produce aisle. although seemingly healthy and doing fine, turt won't eat and seems pretty stressed. the vet says just to let em back into the wild, i.e. the backyard, but now it looks like there's more blood and i'm afraid.
also morgan is here for fall break. hurray for fall break! finally fall.
now i'm going to the pho hoa binh buffet YAYAYAY

listening to: the magnetic fields - busby berkeley dreams

Saturday, October 02, 2010

me: yr always running me off

Jerel: well
I don't know what to do
I'll feel bad either way
but one is more in your interests than mine so I go with that one