tarot for the week (never mind it’s for the year)

seven of candles / wands

i have been really ducking lazy and even tho this week was supposed to end that and get back into GET SHIT DONE mode, i have not done a very good job at that. lots of playing games on my phone. lots of lazing around in bed all day, staying up late drinking. lots of sex. (obviously it’s not all bad!)
so today i ask the cards what medicine i need for the rest of this week to get back into high gear. here i receive SEVEN OF WANDS (candles in the numinous deck) which screams fierce, courageous, knowing and holding my own power. fucking GOALS let’s get right.

i keep telling myself i don’t have time or i’m not ready to start looking at those art life help books but i’m just making excuses. i need to get some advice from those books and also find a better visual way to keep track of my goals. THIS FEELS SO REDUNDANT. i’m tired of falling into the same loops. i’m tired of having to teach myself the same lessons. i’m tired of screens.

also there really is so much to do in the short term future that it’s hard to imagine making time for this stuff, but actually i think it’s integral to making the right choices about what’s next. i need to be looking for s place to live and figuring out more steady income, plus defining and strengthening my relationship with jerel, which also means helping them get to california and then back here with their car. so in thinking about that trip, having my own place, making more green beans, i need to be placing myself in a strong central position, not trying to accommodate for everyone and everything else before meeting my own needs. this means making time and space for art projects goddammit. this has to be #1 priority for the new year! new home, new partner, new life, new me.

last year i attempted to put my healing first, which sometimes worked and sometimes didn’t but i think i’ve made a little progress. this year i’ll prioritize art projects (personal and collaborative) and productive relationships. building a nest that supports my mental health and my work. finding gigs that will let me feel more stable while also maintaining my independence. seeking funding for art projects. finding new ways to clown. making plans for the longer term instead of living only in seasons. holding space and being a safety net for my partner in a way that supports their growth and independence. fucking commit to writing. commit to creating sacred spaces and communing with spirits. commit to magic practice as well as art practice on the damn daily. routine can be ritual!! these are not bad words!!! writing, singing, playing.

(also while writing this i kept thinking of january as technically the new year and even tho that’s far away being like well whatever but i just remembered today is SAMHAIN which is witches new year, duh!! okay i’m already on the right track. i like this card for this year. gonna GET IT!)

SO THIS WEEK to get on track, i need to freaking organize my to do list and start knocking shit off. i should try using that app again, i was having a lot of success with that. at least it’s a good idea till i come up with something better. (jerel seemed to have some ideas a while back, when they saw how frazzled i felt half the time. ask them again?) remember that getting the bullshit over-with means more time for the goods.

to do lists
organize for alice meeting
pay therapist
prepare for paris

go to sleep early

keyculator speak

today is friday march 2, i guess it's just after midnight so. i'm drinking beer and i just had my first cigarette after 2+ weeks without. i'm trying to understand teh impulse. i know part of it is teh moment itself but what's teh feeling that leads to it and the feeling that hapens afterwards? tonight i thought i would write some messages to friends inviting them to teh movie at SXSW and maybe even post on some groups about the screenings. or do some research. or even just read my book. but there was a shift, a switch flipped. and none of that productive stuff is what i want anymore. i have been filling this void for years this way - beer, smokes, drown it. i use the time too to connect, talk with friends, hang out. if i'm alone i can SING or listen to music in a devoted way that i don't normally allow myself to. or this- I WRITE. is that what i really need to be allowing myself? the smoking and drinking is the excuse for the thing i want. the honest, the open, the art, the silliness.

what do i remember about that night???? chris was flirting with me. maybe we had already started snuggling..... i know we had at least been talking/hanging out on the couch in pickle house. 

were we going somewhere? cel came upstairs and we were standing in a little circle by the fridge. 

or did i get up and come back to find the two of them talking?

i remember asking if we woke him up, apologizing. i think it was the next day, he said he couldn't sleep "with a fire under his ass" and a suggestive sort of look.  what could that mean? i didn't ask.

today he's whispering so ken won't hear about a previous "arrangement" he had with chris. something to do with education. sounds like something to do with sex, if i'm reading his implications correctly.  

he also says chris wanted me and him to get closer and that he was trying to bring us together. 

so you're saying he's fucking me to get us to be friends??

and you're saying that chris placed us here on purpose, to 

okay i don't buy it. 

okay i think he really likes me and i don't really know what to do with that. 

i can't get over the idea that he's making it up for some reason. but he told mike he was terrified and excited, he wouldn't say that to someone if i'm not there. to a dude!! and he told FOUR dudes today that i'm an awesome lady (or something, i guess i'll find out exactly what i am when the audio recordings roll in). 

i don't quite know what i'm doing but i don't quite mind. these last two weeks (good lord, three???) have been a blur, a dream. i don't know where we're going and i think i'm okay with that.  

that's not altogether true. i know you're going to south boston, virginia, any damn minute now. and where will be then? you want me to come with you, at least you say you do, at least for part of the time. i can't imagine what this will look like, so i haven't said yes or no. i'm still curious. i still want to see what happens after brett gets here, what we will look like then, and if you are still interested when we're not fucking every couple nights. 

you said:

you want to help me build my space. 

you want to be as honest and open as possible. the experiment is on and for yourself. 

you want to know a good thing.

i can calm you down and descalate you from getting angry, violent. 

i make you feel comfortable in your body.

i make you feel human. 

you said a great many things i can't recall. 

i believe we could do great things. i want to make magic with you. i want to build it better. 

i'm still scared. i'm scared you might be trying to fuck me over, or just get something from me. (what's left? i'm not sure.)

i'm scared that i'm hitting you hard, like wild turkey, and i'm drunk with the right-now good, dreading the ambiguous future. i'm scared i don't know you. (isn't that the point of this, though?)

i'm scared of your massive past, the violence, the drugs, the women. 

your reaction tonight when i told you about cel, about what i thought he was implying, was huge, terrifying. you wanted to hurt him, our poor friend. somehow i calmed you down for now, promising i would talk to him tomorrow before you're back in town... but i don't know how we're going to endure a 4 hour car ride with him for the wedding this weekend, let alone share a tent. i feel terrible. what have i accused him of? what do i know? now i have to have an impossible conversation (is it?) to find out if he's listening to our sex and listening on purpose. the attempt will be better than your proposals. 

i don't understand reacting like that but somehow it doesn't disturb me like it does in other people, or maybe like it would have in the past. why?? maybe i think you're all talk. (not really true.) 

i have a strong desire to record your stories, to pin you down and hold you before you unravel all around me.

we like shapes in the night

we drank half a 30 rack and we smoked more than half a pack of cigarettes between the liquor store walk at 10pm and the sun coming up at 7am before we crashed to the mattress on the floor and took our clothes off, for the second time, i think?
we sat on the bench where we'd been painting boards for the bedroom trim and i was wallowing and you held me and told me you wanted to help and nuzzled my head until our lips found each other. 
(what was the moment in which this became inevitable? the last beer, or the first? meeting eyes in the kitchen and feeling seen? the night you don't remember, when i tickled you to capture your nonexistent keys?)
i don't remember what came next. chainsmoking and natty bo in my unfinished new room, top floor of middle house, sitting on the roof to watch dawn creep over the highway, wearing only jeans and a hoodie. i don't remember when my shirt came off.
we were too many beers in to be doing what we did. we crashed to the mattress on the floor tangled tickling kissing and i fell into a dream, walking to a job interview at the neighborhood grocery. to apply i had to get fingered. your hard soft body naked on top of mine, the sweetness of skin on skin, how we ache for this dance. suddenly your soft hard cock inside. i wanted it but i hadn't said so, i wasn't ready and no protection. (you're lovely but i don't want your babies or infections.) what is wrong with me that i can't stop, can't say anything? why has this become my pattern? caught in drunken jumbles, wanting without knowing why, not having the courage to speak.

they have said: cmon. please. you're nothing special. just hold still. shhh.
and they have said nothing as they put themselves inside me.
and they have said how much they missed me, how they love my squishy body, i'm not like the other girls, i'm good enough, i deserve it.

my heart races to write it. as much as i'm disgusted and furious with myself, i'm still turned on. and i want and i want and i want and i like you but i don't like our culture. i don't like the roles we're playing or the confused consent. i want to break myself apart to see how my sexuality was formed around my passiveness and i want to start over.

sometimes i think i ought to charge

lately, everywhere i go, all these men's eyes.

at east wind, there's a male majority, and the closest town with a bar is 20 miles away. commies in the ozarks get lonely too. from out of the autumn night rain, i shuffled into the cramped sunnyside commons, bumbling with my bags and beer and too many coats, sloppy smiling, and i became meat. the freshest sort, from one or two communes over, but as yet unclaimed. a dozen people crammed in this small room, and i felt them mentally undress me, i saw them puff up against each other for a piece. but it was so far under the surface that maybe i'm the only one who saw, because they were really all so kind, not creepy at all, just starving.
could i blame them?

i don't know what to do with men's interest in me. i guess i'm a little flattered but mostly confused by it. they all like my dimpled smile, they like that i think, they think it's cute that i'm awkward, they always like it when i'm nervous.
do you think your presence caused this? your power?

my confusion takes the lead in the dance of the flirt. i refuse to believe that this is what's happening, i thought we were friends. i didn't expect him to take it there.

how did i end up again against some him?

his room is its own circular structure, right by the dribbling creek, falling down, half whole, mysterious, broken. is this how you saw me? how did you see me at all?

i will entertain the conversation, i will drink his dandelion wine. i'm a sucker for the bottom of the barrel, let me keep going till i find it. finally i'll stop my awkward talking long enough for him to ask to kiss me.
thank you for asking.
for a moment everything feels sweet and giddy, almost innocent.
why not say yes? why not anything? why not see if i feel?

the first time kissing is always the best. (maybe i am better when i'm nervous.)
it will start on the couch with our mouths until his hands start to wander, why not? he will want to move to the bed or turn out the light, why not? he will squeeze my tits like lemons, kiss suck pinch pull push hard harder hurts.
most of this will be uncomfortable.
i will go into a certain type of subspace: silent, riding, object, use me.
some things feel good but others i will just let happen.
what's the point in trying to correct his too tongued kissing, his hard hands?
what am i doing here, where have i gone?
what can i ask for that i will get?
he won't know until after he's done it that i like pain but he won't understand what kind. he will have already had his hands inside me and will have bitten my meat until the blood vessels pop and the bruises flower up.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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

i promise.

you do not want to know about all the sex that i did not want to know about.


christ.

everything that's breathing is also busying dying

so i was intending to post once i had some pictures and/or video to include with the text.... but yeah, it's not happening and you'll just have to wait.
what can i say? school's been back in session for a few weeks now... it's actually going okay. this is largely due to the fact that i changed my major back to english lit on the second day of classes. ha! take that, science, i could not stomach thee. my schedule looks like this:
MWF 10:30-11:20 Honors Biblical Literature
MWF 11:30-12:20 Modern Short Fiction
MWF 1:30-??? working at the library
W 8:30-10:10am Video Writing and Directing
TR 2-3:15 World Theatre II
TR 3:30-4:45 Intro to Creative Writing
and i generally work on tuesday and thursday morning as well. i got a raise! $7/hr baybee oh yeahhhhh. freaking rolling in it!!
and where does the money go, you ask?
well, this past week most of it went to drugs. i have been sick with bronchitis and it is awful. rite aid has my paycheck. other than that.. we buy a few groceries (the ones we don't glean in other ways), some toilet paper, and a good bit of beer. at least two people are drunk in the house every day. are we wasting away? perhaps. are we loving it? sometimes. are we considering another path? not really. so far everything is going as well as it could, i suppose.
realize i say this about a home that is haunted, filled with drama, and loaded with tension i could eat with a whole loaf of bread. it is ridiculous. on saturday, py confronted mal in the only way he knows how:
"so when are you moving out?"
yikes. he doesnt know her like the rest of us... yes, she has made a lot of promises she hasnt kept. she says this time is different. and yes, she's said that a thousand times before. but now she's got AA meetings every night and drug testing once a week starting in october. i just hate that we didnt have a real house meeting, and come to a decision TOGETHER rather than just sort of poking around and being rude and giving the poor girl a week to move out.... but the drugs, the monetary choices, the disappearances of stuff within our own home.. these things never stopped, even when we saw her improving. so i dont know, this is what it's come to. i can't say i'm thrilled but honestly i dont know what to say at all.
i dont even want to get into the sex drama. all i can say is that it's no fun to be sitting there bored when you are pretty positive that whoever is having sex in the room next door. especially when you have been looking forward to seeing this person for months and then they just come over to fuck your roommate, apparently. am i wrong here, or does that suck a little? either way, i recognize that this is my jealous, possessive side coming out... and oh, how it comes out. it chooses the worst ways, at the worst times, sneaking up on me when i'm drunk and too angry to put my courtesy filter on. well, fucking woops. i dont regret a whole lot of things.... i guess it sort of sucks that i stood in the middle hall room in the middle of our house and yelled about how i hate plastic, jesus, electricity, the whole modern world, the whole house and everyone in it. but i was depressed and it was all true. what can i say? it's weird to apologize for things that are still true, even if the timing and the delivery were inappropriate. not that i REALLY hate everyone in the whole house... although i definitely felt like it at the time. and that was what was important. i dont like containing anger. but like i said, i dont want to get into the rest of the house drama. there's so much and it probably shouldnt all go on the internet anyway. i'll try to keep you vaguely updated anyhow....
so leroy is taking mallory's room. he and his boondock will be staying with us until at least january, which will be fun because maybe everyone will stop accusing ME of being the craziest person in the house, and also just because i love leroy. i am looking forward to lots of free meals, free drinks, and goofy adventurings. however, leaving with mallory are her weezy dog and lucie cat and the rest of the female energy of the house. i will be a lone she-wolf. loucifur will luckily provide me with some fellow cat spirits, but even then, he's a little bastard. as was determined the other day... if lou were 6 feet tall, he would rule the whole freaking world. maybe i'm wrong but i dont think i could say that about most cats. perhaps because lou would be a tyrant and a master of surprise attacks from overhead. the point is: i'm thinking again about getting a kitten. i know i know i can't help it. but is it a good idea? i can't tell. i want a lady kitty friend, at any rate. and i haven't found any elsewhere yet.
however, i have made a few new friends so far this year. wonders! new friends make me happier than almost anything. i dont want to speak too soon so i'll give some better details later.
today has been rainy. i left home right after brandon got back from BR, a city i have been trying to avoid at all possible costs (but i end up going for the good shows). drove to school as i've been doing.. it's sort of nice although i end up bumping a lot of parked cars. shhhh! py constantly teases me about my driving skills, which i suppose are somewhat stuck in the mud, rather than improving... but speaking of BR, i drove from there to NOLA for the first time last weekend! and i didnt fuck up at all (although py would tell you differently, dont listen to him because he was wasted and doesnt remember anything) and we made it down in one safe piece. i was a kickass designated driver for my little drunken men.
point: it's not raining anymore. i was slightly late for bible class, despite my timely driving. i always goof around in the bathroom and forget that class is starting. woops! i thought i was going to really hate that class, but it's turned out to be freaking awesome. my professor basically tells us that everything we learned in sunday school is a load of bull and we talk about the real origins and meanings of old testament stories. he's hilarious and i especially love it when he talks about how stupid fundamentalists are. it is awesome. then i went to modern short fiction where i get to sit next to my friend david who makes me giggle all day. today we were discussing colette's "gigi" and about the sexuality of foods like asparagus and lobster. it was pointless but i took more notes in class today than i have all semester. usually i just write "FREUD" because that is all that our teacher talks about and it sucks so usually i read or write something else. being in a writing class has been really fun, just to get into the habit of writing again. plus my professor is awesome. so yeah, basically i've got a good bunch of classes this semester... i might go so far as to say this has been the best semester i've had yet! but perhaps i shouldn't speak so soon... midterms are coming up, after all. yipe.
but i don't care because i'm going to memphis this weekend!! look out, i'm coming home and i'm bringing my nutty friends with me! we are coming up on friday to see Mr. Airplane Man at gonerfest and i'm so freaking excited. we have seen a lot of great shows recently, it has been really awesome. last weekend we saw Witch Hunt at a house show in BR. brandon got their record, and i got a patch and a book about new orleans. even though i damaged my right ankle somewhat early in the evening, i still managed to dance on one foot and have a kickass time. and that ankle is all better now, although apparently this weekend i destroyed my left big toe and surrounding area.... doing god knows what. i just woke up with it all mangled. i'm hoping that it will just figure itself out and heal somewhat like the rest of my feet wounds always do. i have been realizing how freaking weird my feet look because of all the times i've fucked them up and just sort of let them figure out how to let me walk on them again. oh well.
i keep getting off track. the real point to all this is that py and i have been volunteering for the past couple weekends at the green project, where they've started doing a matinee show every saturday. this past weekend, we cooked the 'free vegan food' which they advertise for every show, and we got lots of compliments. py's soupy shitasaurus was a smashing success, of course. that stuff is delicious! vegan slop is really growing on me. mmmmmmm... py got free goodies from the band because his food was so good! lucky bastard. we danced our asses off and had a great time, despite the lackluster crowd.... hilary, py, and i made up for it with our energy and enthusiasm. the bands were all amazing! i havent been to such an all around good show in a really long time. first, an acoustic band called the Let Down played while we sat at their feet. the two ladies had beautiful voices and played guitar, although one also sometimes played a musical saw. a boy with funny hair also played guitar. their songs were about being alcoholic and in love and they were wonderful. then, Fake Problems went on a few minutes later. leroy and i had just finished pre-gaming outside and as we were walking in during the second song, i said to him "i hope EVERYBODY's DANCING!" and of course no one was. so py and i took that shit up a notch. or four. they sang country folk punk rock songs about capitalism. it was also awesome, and they gave py a free 7inch. then Parsley Flakes played. they wore silly clothes and sang songs about "zapatistas and white people," among other things. we danced like fools! then their amp started smoking 2 songs before the end of the set. it was intense.. but also hilarious and ridiculous. it was an amazing show and an amazing weekend... except for all the drama, of course, but i suppose that sometimes it can't be helped, and so it must be ignored. i'm getting better at this.
i forget if there were other things i meant to say, but if there were, i should save them for another day. this has gotten rather long, and i congratulate you if you made it this far. perhaps i will see you again soon.

Teenage Mythology: Daphne and Apollo Revisited

This boy came quietly out of the wood work, and I was caught off guard. No one before him ever really saw me, with my unruly hair, rumpled skirt, and no trace of self-confidence. That was the life I had learned.

He stole what he could –– the minutes off my cell phone, all my days of summer, midnight in my grandma's kitchen, one desperate hug. Of course I ran. The only thing I knew to do was run. No one taught me how to be pretty, how to be loved. I became afraid to learn. Just told myself to keep my muscles pumping to keep me out of reach.

Well. I may have overdone it. I pulled back 400 miles, building the best defense: a separation of two entire states (measured by 7,877,696 people), the length of a muddy river (equaling eternity). A girl needs her space.

But he couldn't drop it. I couldn't understand why he kept pushing against my limitations, what drove him to stand as watchman of my night and day. Turns out, it was only that he knew me. He knew my legs were not long or strong enough to keep me running forever. How could I have known that he would whittle my wooden heart, gently carve away the rough places in me?

By November he was biting at my heels like an obsessive French dog, hanging on the curtain of my voice, and imagining the curl of my hip. Without my permission. I never wanted to be marked, claimed, owned. But now I look at myself, firmly planted in my sneakers and undeniably connected to some puppy of a boy. He lead me out of my darkness and pulled me into his wood. Some very needy roots sprouted out of me and met up with his –– connecting and intertwining finally at the halfway point on the brown bank of the Mississippi. My limbs fork out like awkward branches, pocked and uneven bark covering completely my milk pale skin. He places his hand on my chest to admire his craftsmanship: heart beating full and sticky with some sound resembling love.

finally bought some new goddamn bras at victoria's secret, and i actually like them. i went with laylee and alice and it was surprisingly unpainful. i also got some thigh high stockings, which i wore with laylee's little black skirt, my doctor who shirt, and the magnificent foot's top hat. we went to whitney camp's house for another pono party, and it was really weird. we were expecting them to either make jokes about our outfits or be really awkward about them, but they didn't really do anything. they were actually really involved in watching the porn, and it wasn't even good. go figure. the rest of us tried to make the best of it by dancing around to avenue d and the pixies, but it didn't really work. oh well. the best part of the night was cuddling with brock and alice on whitney's bed and unbuttoning his vest with our teeth. le sigh. how high school can you get?
we went to sonic for a few minutes before we came home. alice and hunter hung out for a little while, and we listened to some music. i talked to brandon on the phone. i'm going to miss all of you kids when we leave town tomorrow... we come back july 4, but i hope to blog a bit while we're there to keep you posted maybe. stay hott, my loves.

puppy, put the skirt on. make me forget who i thought you were (the hip cat of my nightmares) until you devotedly scratched at my door, and every day for two months, howled to the shell of me. trickster, love bites dissolved my chains between your teeth, you melted ice with sugar.

puppy, take the skirt off in my dreams: become my faithful lump. you're a regular visitor in my head these days-- again you stalk in, look around, find a nice clean spot and settle down, shed all over the fucking carpet. how am i supposed to keep this place up, since now you wanna be my dog?

come home, puppy

i feed you under the table straight from my hand, your tongue greasing my palm in its search for the difference between me and the salt. after dinner, you present me with collar and leash, begging night's adventures. when we crawl back in through the broken window, we

come home puppies wet with rain and reeking of grass. so what if we spent all night chasing after cars, sniffing lamp posts, waiting for a bus that never came? we curl up at the foot of the matress and gently whimper into sleep as the moon turns into sugar.