... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..
lets begin..
one whole thought. fuck!
date: 1 10 11 time: 02:00
not very late. considering.
one fucking thought.
fuel like i've had thousand
today. tons of thousands.
bizarre, scary, calming,
unnerving. echo every
thought possible & not one to come
to mind now...
forget everything i said
no explanation
you're always going to bed
five thousand piece puzzle
division. cannot replicate.
locate, understand and fabricate
plan for reconstruction.
shit cardboard puzzle pieces with grotesque half kitten eyes
i had another thought..
see. i didn't think so.
throw it away.
this went on for hours
vous pouvez faire cela
avec votre esprit,
s'il vous plaît
i cant read this shit either
this is...
give in
piss right
on a clean toilet.
they told me the
war was over.
corners keep changing.
will rearrange thing.

is that a used condom?
no. pterodactyl fetus.
taking these antibiotics just to stay alive
because you decided not to live

it is 18.09.10 by process of elimination

warm air keeps getting colder
i don't wanna get older...

everyone knows<---------
that feeling
you're about to _____(verb)
you know it's going to _____(adjective)
the ____(noun) in the room is fucking ___(adjective)

"she pays him back in the bedroom
one step down from her leader
obeys, or is punished
like he obeys his bosses"
i can tell it...
i can't tell it
write. something
yesterday home
i went home
in my mind
for some moments
where i grew up
also home is where i'm going
not where i went
though i've been there before
i remember
the winding road that lined
the creek lead by the railroad
tracks followed those tracks but now
he's dead, isn't he?
sure is.

fuck this used to be so easy
gave everything given back
can live without
have lived without
pritouritze planinata
t+f =
if f = failure....

want a pint of it
getting mean..

under all circumstance - tonight
i am supposed to remember
do not want to search date
& time
my hand smells
like blood and vomit
this chair is horrible
the sound is dead babies
supposed to be
thats how my last nurse
signed her initials gg
though it looked
more like ss if you can read cursive and what i really write on paper
supposed to remember
eyes face smell
remember no
change. no
change no
he says we're different
says we're "more mature"
never felt more close
to the way i have always felt.
how different?
do not want to hear old songs.
have a good trip
see you next never.
[is outside my skull]
autumn 08
highlight all of last years writing...
found someone else to slosh around my skull for now
late one night...

i do not believe so...
nor do i insist.
recovery or rediscovery
words that do not deserve "re-"
this poorly planned, unnecessary appendage
does not occur.
feminine grievance
"you" (identification purposes)
giving my built in bullshit detector repair man a call...
mitigate the dosage.
turning my pages so fast,
he tears the edges,
but he memorizes every word.

you cannot smoke a pen, i've tried...

late october, back porch, st. ides, american spirit
no idea the date.
evidently someone taught me to share.
alone; simplicity
vomit jealousy
furiously making my way home
to make change
to sustain
memory is all we have
it's too easy.
i was married for the first time
in a clearing of trees,
on a pile of leaves.
"i have located my counterpart"
and whiskey.
there was nothing left to drink,
the food had been eaten
as the cigarette burned out...
she realizes, she is a victim of necessity
i will share, but
not much room
left on
this page


our stride is a measurement in time...
& maybe
liver failure & lung cancer are something
to look

(és minha rei)

documented non- memory
a word on:


that kind of day
patiently awaiting a halt
from the wind.
freezing rain stings your face,
but it's no use turning back.
the bartender is pregnant.

winter 08
without use
commentary on enthusiasm
"no one is anyone, one single
immortal man is all men.
like cornelius agrippa,
i am god,
i am hero,
i am philosopher,
i am demon
& i am world

which is a tedious way of saying that
i do not exist..."

borges - labyrinths, immortal

fourty two minutes after thanksgiving
same bar as last entry...
what are we?
arms & legs
no why?
have this idea.
"are you mechanical?"
each transaction/interaction
fuels fuck. can't.

barcade. it's before nine because we can still smoke outside with our drinks.
my dead baby is named herman.

from a dupe check -
shooting through the sky.
can't stop getting no where.
seen this before, but maybe through
another pair of eyeballs.
awake carries a certain weight
all of the nonsense is rearranged.
unavoidable and absolute
destination of reality
like i mentioned, it doesn't look like much;
this happiness is blind
thse truths are absurd
yet undeniable
the sixty fifth floor is eternity.
these truths are unavoidable,
spinning and crashing on you.
you must acknowledge this.
this is no mistake.
death is human error
and absolute contentment
i don't recommend traveling
past the sixty fifth floor.

the united states of mogadish
by: matthew

my name is ebola
i am here to teach you
to reach through
the person
that was you.

the bar is empty
except a foreign man asking
if he can get his beer
wrapped up to go
i think his name is jimmy
& michael got the paper towels
epidermis assault
& i need to get drunk
eleven years.
"everything unravels & you finally know someone"
"then what?"
maybe then we end up like
forcing himself upon a closed bar, ordering two drinks at once.
southeast asians are taking over syracuse & they're the
only ones left during winter break
nothing to do but beg for fifteen
more seconds to finish their beer.
bodies of water
the devolution of the diaphragm.
jimmy was misplaced.

spring 09
reflection is absurd.
if i had read 'a refutation of time' before LA
why if? why not?
how many variations of a perception are there?
to know is a step closer to what?
change is an effort right now.
"are you bored?"
"i am here."
just scraping these thoughts from the floor.
where i want to lie down.
where after happy is there to go?
liquid liquid liquid
you keep pouring.
we keep flowing.
no one does it the same every time.
is outside
my skull
spinal fluid.
all this entire time,
all this entire thought
amounts to an entire lifetime
ahead of outside my skull
just beyond my reach.


these things are not real
i feel what i do not feel.
treetop guilt

summer 09

moonlit through the trees
still drunk on my knees

double you's and aches of h's
i hate march
this will carry on...
i'll die like the rest of them.

last night;
requires no body,
no mind.

password: providethought
[this is my folk song...]
left a little bit a whiskey for you
hope its enough to get you through
climb right in we'll create another sin
get to sleep just before morning
oh! the werewolf, oh! the werewolf
comes stepping along
he dont even break the branches where hes gone...
once i saw him in the moonlight, when the bats were a flying
i saw the werewolf, and the werewolf was crying
cryin nobody knows, nobody knows, body knows
how i loved the man, as i teared off his clothes.
cryin nobody know, nobody knows my pain
when i see that its risen; that full moon again
for the werewolf, for the werewolf has sympathy
for the werewolf, somebody like you and me.
and only he goes to me, man this little flute i play.
all through the night, until the light of day, and we are doomed to play.
for the werewolf, for the werewolf, has sympathy
for the werewolf, somebody like you and me.
bastard jalepeno chili
1 lb steak
1/2 lb hot sausage
1 lb ground beef
can stewed tomatoes
2 can spicy chili beans
1 can tomato paste
1 c beef broth
2 jalapenos (de-seeded, de-veined, diced)
2 red jalapenos (same)
1 red onion (diced)
3/4 c mushroom (diced)
2 cloves garlic
2 tbsp red pepper flake
1 tsp coarse black pepper
1 tbsp salt
1/2 tsp garlic powder
1/2 tsp onion powder
10 oz arrogant bastard (or other craft deuce)
-brown steak, sausage, beef and 1 clove garlic
adding half spices called for
-sautee jalapenos, onion, mushroom, 1 clove garlic
adding half spices called for
-combine meat + veg in large pot
-add stewed tomatoes, beans, beef broth, bastard (do not use cheap, shit micro brew)
-simmer 1 hour
-add 3 tsp huy fong chili garlic sauce and tomato paste
-simmer 40 minutes
toast and butter crusty bread
garnish charred red jalapeno stuffed with fresh chopped garlic and jalapeno jack cheese + diced onion, jalapenos, mushroom, kettle cooked jalapeno chips, and more jalapeno cheese.
enjoy with good beer, then take a nap.
photo coming soon.
My baby says
We can live in the empty spaces of this life
My baby says
Far away the stars are coming all undone
My baby says
My baby says, But that's far away
and we're young
My baby says
And if the devil comes we'll shoot him with a gun
My baby says
We can live in the empty spaces of this life
My baby says
In the desert sands
our hearts are brighter than the sun
My baby says
When the devil comes we'll shoot him with a gun
My baby says
My baby says, And if he shows his face
we'll laugh
this color makes me think of genitals... i have every intention of sending this one. picture this... i'm in a dungeon. there's a boombox in the corner playing built to spill. a leopard print lamp bathes a mountain of empty packs of cigarettes surrounded by a forest of empty bottles of whiskey. i slip a hand into my purse and retrieve an optimistic-looking bottle of rum. with the other hand i pull a wide from a box beside the shot glass and place it between my lips. no immediate intention of roasting more cancer... it's undeniable. we're getting off track. i've taken a moment to gather my thoughts and vicodin... broken chairs faded out, i swallowed shot five and you know how i hate odd numbers... number six is easy unless you forgot where you last placed the lighter and realize you've switched shot glass with unlit cigarette for at least... the disc returns to track one... &... so what? it's on repeat... it's hitting me as hard as it has been pounding into my stomach all day. speculate. please. today began over thirty hours ago. can one day turn into another without pause? what occurred to me was the fact that i've eliminated yesterday. i left the dungeon earlier to stumble around work. a worried co-worker took me aside and told me, "if you don't sleep, YOU WILL DIE" so many rules. shot #7, hour thirty five. almost over. explanation; sleep is imminent with alcohol. if yesterday did exist, i was under the impression that i was suffering from a life threatening, alcohol induced illness. [i had no idea. some people call it "falling in love"] however, the true ailment is what began this "letter"* honesty begins with an attempt at empathy or a realization of guilt. both are in attendance. never expect me to fully explain. i attend waitress camp to earn dollars equivalent to a plane ticket, a printout that will eventually result in a naked, drunk girl residing in your naked, drunk arms..
do you like me?
yes or no
*other than genital references
start to realize
everything you thought was handed to you
was only the best you could get...

three years. what a waste.
yes. the bottle is half full.
yes. so is the ashtray.

yes. i'm coming home
[all we need...]
is the shot glass...

nowhere tonight.
[i want to spend the rest of my life with you...]
in this picture.
[ell bee]
bars up twenty nine floors
these strong drinks
wont spend the night
dont hold me tight

we're saying goodnight just before morning
been saying it since sunset...

driving through glass in the alley behind your house
going to crash into myself
get this car running if it takes all night
because i'm not turning around.

oh, you intentional misunderstanding
make you feel like a big mistake
because you sure as shit aint givin
pas ce que je veux
tomorrow, expect
i have an hour.
chugging ice water and coffee.
chewing as many croutons as i can
chug chug more
i've been doing this for an hour and i have one more to go...
cannot believe it is because you couldn't.
don't drink and drive
[keep telling yourself that...]
you still...
[thought process]
colorado’s dry heat vaguely reminds me of walking through joshua tree,
mind blown and burnt out on vegas… almost two years ago… when all of this started
smoked a cigarette in the shower today.
one of many things i have crossed of the list since then….
the shower filled with smoke like a thick fog before dawn in upstate new york
the smoke got in my eyes… except for real this time
too drunk to figure out what to do with a half smoked, soggy cigarette…
the tall can of pbr was an easy choice when i had to face this exact situation
on a west philadelphia rooftop in the pouring rain on the fourth of july
not to be confused with the previous year; tequila on the roof in santa ana
i elected to mash the cigarette into the tiles on the shower floor,
rubbed the black smudge away with my foot, threw the butt on the floor.
i love how ashes just disappear, but where do they go?
i have one of those open, stand up showers with a brand new glass wall
brand new because i fell through it some amount of weeks ago…
the hangover ended three days after they sewed me back together
either way, i wasn’t going to put the cigarette out in my beer
i hadn’t finished it yet.
i first learned how enjoyable a beer in the shower is
after wandering around hollywood blvd until sunrise
it takes a clever imagination for me to relax enough for sleep.
the nights here are still cold
i like to be warm when i’m cold.
i’ve decided against ever spending another five month winter, frozen and awake in the northeast,
but i wont be able to escape the stifling tension of summer
the heat carries a dense contamination of exhausted pleasure.
you get used to the odor of wasted time and decay if you stick around long enough,
but you will always taste the staleness in the air… it’s like breathing cement
time passes even slower as you travel west.
but it only works if you stop to notice….
if you keep moving, it can hardly catch up…
i am incapable of forming a complete thought...
amazed that each new breath and beat of my heart is all it takes to keep me alive.
i am pondering the possibility of infinite endings and unintentional beginnings.
however, the words "i'm tired" keep floating from my tongue.
constant devotion to excuse.
[innocent when you dream]
finally reached a point where i can say,
“i have nothing to lose.”
kind of feels good.
kind of feel sick.

…probably the most.

everything feels forced.
pretends to believe…
pretends not to feel.

just want to do cool shit with you.
[i just want to let you know..]
that i don't love you anymore...

sleeping most of the day.
waking up before the sun rises,
driving in the mountains
listening to last years songs..
forgetting names and faces
and not talking to anyone for days.
[as american as a fucking hot dog on the fourth of july...]
i remember nothing.
and it feels just fine..
[save me, save me]
don’t think i’m any good at this…
haven’t felt anything in so long.
no desires, no expectations…
fucking floating…
calm up here…
i still don’t sleep.

though this is all you'll ever get..
it would be a strange delight...
no eyes, no nose, no mind
the grey light of porto
stay with you
oh, how can you love
a tiny bug impressed
by the night
when you cut yourself?
save me, save me
your body rotten,
as the last melon on the vine...
"pull your shirt down"
save me, save me
press my thumb onto your tongue...
hand a knife up to me.
no mouth, no neck, no rest
the white poem of self hate stays with you...
even though you know
a chance to cut is still a chance to cure...
"pull your legs apart..."
save me, save me
your body doomed,
as the last apple on the tree...
so let me hurt you.
ungraceful as i am in loving...
and leaving i'm the same.
it’s way too late to say i’m sorry,
but i’ll say it anyway.

and when the day falls
i guess it was love...
and when the day falls
at least it was.
[distraction is an obstruction for the construction.]
tonight i'll show you
how dreams are prepared.......
first, we put in some random thoughts...
and then we add a little bit of
reminiscences of the day...
mixed with some memories from the past;
love, friendships, relationships.
all those ships...
together with songs you heard during the day,
things you saw and also
uh... personal...
will you marry me
when you are seventy
and have nothing to lose?
parallel synchronized randomness.
an interesting brain rarity
and our subject for today...

two people walk
in opposite directions
at the same time
and then they make
the same decision
at the same time.
then they correct it,
and then they correct it,
and then they correct it,
and then they correct it,
and then they correct it.
basically, in a mathematical world...
these two little guys
will stay looped for the end of time.
the brain is the most complex thing in the universe
and it's right behind the nose. fascinating!
everything will turn out the way you want,
if you stop doubting that i love you.
i don't want to be spaghetti.
i don't want to be spaghetti.
i don't want to be spaghetti.
between the ear and the lips.
girls never change their mind when it's over.

[we sure are cute for two ugly people.]
don't see what anyone can see in anyone else...

under react.
smoke more,
skull crush whore.

shouldshould...shouldn't have done that...
thinking it as he whispers it,
"this is it."
not summer...
not anymore.

the addicts got older.

"i don't know if the change in me was great,
cuz the craving remains the same."
last flight
get lost in the moss
and oh, oh
fall in the neon mine
push me down

still rolling in the stones
run to the log that's rotten
and oh, oh
your soft belly bossing
push me down
[yesterday in list]
"white lice"
new hat!!
sambuka - liquorice
listening to low and today is the day
ice cream sammich!
on the roof
all night
bottle of soju runs out...
someone cruising on a rascal...
i get loud.
"but ocifer, i drink better when i drive"
biggest firework always sucks
urination station
yager time...
"i can't see it!"
melvins and goatwhore
licorice gummy bears
"yo is dat yo man"
my fear of reaching into bags
he made me do it.
another midnight drunken deli trip
evan gets a cheeseburger
talk to fish and lamont
back on the roof
grand finale on the phone with james
throwing m80s in between apartments
more yager...

seeing jesu and torche tomorrow
i. do. not. want. to. leave.
94 bottles of beer on the wall
four months...
fifteen bottles of jim beam.
three of which were for my birthday...
the rest were because i got thirsty.
two bottles of jack daniels.
one was mariko's birthday present...
"breakfast of champions"
nineteen bottles of red wine. [small]
four bottles of white wine. [small]
six bottles of vodka.
three are VLADIMIR [1.75 liters]
one is grey goose from arron.
vodka and gatorade was a good choice.
one is absolut from the landlord...
locked on the roof.
one is a bottle of P.I.N.K.
1.75 liters of SKYY vodka...
drank almost all of it the first night we moved in...
moving on...
a bottle of captain morgan's...
from when james visited...
eleven 40s... malt liquor...
there were more, but i threw them out.
twenty three bottles of red wine [1.75 liters]
stains your lips if you drink the whole thing at once.
seven bottles of white wine [1.75 liters]
one bottle of 99 cherries...
six pack of PBR and three 40s from the fourth of july...
sitting on the roof in the pouring rain.
one bottle of bud light...
shaun's from the queens of the stone age show.
roughly $920..........
i'm going to go to the liquor store now.
my liver hurts.


singing through you to me
thunderbolts caught easily
shouts the truth peacefully

high voltage man kisses night to bring the light
to those who need to hide their shadow deed
go into bright find the light
and know that friends don't mind
just how you grow

midnight cowboy stained in black
reads dark roads without a map
to free-seeking electricity

lighthouse beacon straight ahead
straight ahead across black seas to bring
seeking electricity

high voltage man kisses night to bring the light
to those who need to hide their shadow deed
seek electricity...........

[back and forth]

mr. inconsistency, tonight, finds me reaching for a forgotten pillow…
among meager attempts to convince myself: it was real
and another ashtray full of half-smoked cigarettes,
wasted on half-hopes for any reaction…
and reaching for another half-empty bottle.
familiarity is paradox.
carry on this disgraceful routine or….
reclaim every word i didn’t mean to say; disappear
isn’t that “the disgraceful routine”?
wasn’t that the appeal?
getting warmer…
remembering the moment it was wanted,
yet closing another tragically typical evening with the feeble:
“you should probably leave.”
didn’t mean to or…
admit: it was real
the whole dilemma of:
want vs. need
all efforts put into escaping reality equals a thousand lost memories…
a few significant mornings
that sometimes outweigh every apology i must give
in regards to the previous night…
all efforts put into solitary contentment [stability… fuck] equals solitary confinement
a few significant all-day thinking sprees about my ocean
that sometimes outweigh the need
to be even remotely functioning in society…
mr. inconsistency…
tell me what you need
so we can both be free.
i should probably leave.”
you’re hot… you’re burning.
maintain my stride
back and forth
through this fire…
“want him there when it gets cold.”
“always gets cold.”
“nothing survives.”
not without this answer:
“really think you can keep me warm?”
technically, there are places
where the ocean is warmer
during the winter months…
over analytical, over tired and over it...


keep me where i belong
all wrapped up in wrong
you’re all to blame
wasted words of sad refrain
let them take me where they may…
believe me when i say:
i will be your accident…
if you will be my ambulance…
and i will be your screeching crash…
if you will be my crutch and cast…
and i will be your one more time…
if you will be my one last chance…
fall for me

[my mast aint so sturdy]
in mathematics, the kirby calculus in geometric topology is a method for modifying framed links in the 3-sphere using a finite set of moves, the kirby moves...

my head is at half.

robion kirby proved that if m and n are 3-manifolds, resulting from dehn surgery on framed links l and j respectively, then they are homeomorphic IF AND ONLY IF l and j are related by a sequence of kirby moves...

i'm searching the clouds for a storm.

according to the lickorish-wallace theorem any closed orientable 3-manifold is obtained by such surgery on some link in the 3-sphere.

fucking for fear of not wanting to fear again.

[i want you to remember as i disappear tonight]
didn't miss it tonight...
or was that the night before?
pretending it wasn't a coincidence.

i must be one of the devil's daughters.
i'm going down into these troubled waters.
[she's gleaming like mother of pearl]
you know... it's only because you have too much contact with me...
i'm telling them all that i'm doing so well... clear headed and sober
as i pull whatever bottle closer to my lips.
this must be analyzed...
wake up...
travelers, redecorated
someone's parents...
i'm trying to remember the past month
cannot be sure that it has been a month.
structure; opposite.
orange shag carpet
confusion in bed when they come in to tell me:
there's someone out there who is looking for the paper...
yes. i forgot the name..
the paper.. i find covered with short notes of love and miss...
don't know the handwriting, but he walks in the door
don't know why he's wearing a jersey and cuts on his face...
"where was the fight?"
you do not seem happy...
then he's changing into a hoodie... maybe a coat..
it's colder than it was this summer...
i want to know where he's going...
or maybe just where i am...
but he tells me he's not going anywhere.
he lives here.
i don't know and i continue to investigate...
there are pictures on a camera...
messages from an unknown lover...
everything is blank.
no memory.
dress myself in a new skirt and... i found a kimono?
i'm walking towards him; thinking i've never seen anyone more gorgeous
i'm forcefully exiting humans from my bedroom,
but they keep coming back.
there is something wrong.
all that i want is to make him happy...
and just remember.
don't think you realize.
my only thoughts are:
what the fuck happened
don't leave.

it was rough...

okay. i'm not coming back.
i'm not going anywhere.
could be happy there with you,
but i doubt it.
need to keep it the way it is.
too much contact:
you're the one who knows...
because you're the one i call...
when i can't see
and i'm acquiring bruises
that i wont recognize...

in the morning.

speak in tongues
speak in lies
drooling liver
born to die

[nous sommes seulement de l'alcool...]
pretending to remember..
don't even remember last post.
won't remember this one.
i like this one, too?
i want to meet your wife.
where did that red lighter go?
[plan making...]
after it all.. when its said and done
will you come back to me?
and tell me that it
never was up to you or up to me?

when you stand up so tall...
with your back to me against the wall..
and make demands
with your angry hands.
you say you're sorry
that you didn't mean to scream,
you say you're back again,
that you still love me
and that you never meant what you said to me
should i believe what you're telling me?

to wait for you
was all i could do....
to have you back with me
so peacefully...
you broke your back
you left your scratch
then you came back to me
just to get some sleep.
[i am alcohol]
backwards saying...
i can take onethousandshowers
and never be clean.
of course she lied away.
she is ten times heavier,stronger than you found.
the grave or ever was.
he's got it down name
you know what I need
who doesn't lie?
you know what i mean.
if i'm never in without you
like you don't know...
i am so angry. i am so at ease.
feel just like some great big disease.
i think you need ice water,
but the only thing that you really hate
is all its emptiness.
you'll swim
and i will drink myself to death...
if i'm never in down with you.

it might help
stop relying.
expectation: loss.
i am alcohol.
you were the best accident.
attempt, attempt, attempt; fail.
access your heart: granted.
begin another end..
begin another end.
i can't swim the ocean:
and the air is too salty,
my lungs are too faulty.
be another person...
be another person.
we are alcohol.
we are only alcohol
behind the wheels of a head on collision...
and maybe i'm the fool, but i think we'd find
that we could all be so, so kind
if you'd just leave your tread mill powertrip behind....

and maybe it's best that you're so, so blind
because your heart can't grieve...

i know your heart can't grieve
what your eyes won't see,
but you were my favorite moment
of our dead century.
if we just discuss the weather,
we can ignore reality.
and, perhaps...
if we are clever,
we can make it look like we're not home.

so that when the truth comes knocking,
it cannot find us.
[keep the bastards guessing]
i want to rule the islands
and i want to rule the sea
but if you're not coming back
i will sleep eternally

and i want no heavy diamonds
and pearls crush my teeth
i just want my sailor
to sail back to me

captain has a treasure
he says i hold the key
but old man grows and sweet winds blow songs
to you and me

i want to rule the islands
and i want to rule the sea
but if you're not coming back
i will sleep eternally
[this is my escape art exhibition... and i'm never coming back...]
emphasis on never...
picking the lock to your heart
hope i can't break in...
fall apart
drink more...
eat shit
i hate this
wish i'd never seen your face...
can translate because i'm shit-faced....
drunk by two,
pissed by five...
trashed and pissed by eight...
pissed off by eight thirty... no idea why...
passed out by nine...
wake up at twelve thirty...
pissed off at dreams
try you at one-ish..
trashed again by one thirty
the rest:
fucking die in a fire
so... why do i try?
[feel the same]
break hand
fight the wall
couple weeks, but not tonight...
wish i'd never seen your face
[revised]...for making me fall
you are every thought...
was so bright
fuck you...
fuck you
[taken from: 082607, 8:51pm....]
fancy some shit?

[something i found i had written down one lost evening...]
[i believe that time is running out...]
it is not cold.

i didn't mean it.
[i long for my sweet disappearer]

[because that's so fucking satisfying...]
never sleep.
from brooklyn and
back to philly then
return to atlantic city...
details lost.
safe to say: game over.
lack of words.
prophetic. pathetic.
stay drunk. miss me.
decided i did after...
deciding to call after...
deciding not to call.
shouldn't have after...
drinking with her after...
fighting with her after...
a week of being an asshole.
fall hard.
eat shit.
fall harder.

this summer needs to end.

"i've been away for so long"
one hundred thirty proof...
causing death and/or madness
awake for thirty six hours...
99 cherries...
today i am drowning.

doubt i accepted what was given back...
doubt i'm even here right now.
wont be able to retrace my steps this time.
dreadfully comforting....
this is unfortunate.
this is undeniable.
say it.....

"you wont remember anyway"
[sometimes the same is different, but mostly... it's the same.]
some things are better to forget...
i have one concern (maybe two...)
not revealing.
the water's turning black,
temporarily deaf; breathing heavy.
heat, lay down on me.
the best of our moments,
however mundane and redundant it has become,
seem to wrap themselves tightly around my heart...
to keep an unwilling soul.
i am starved of him.
surprised myself to stumble upon this conclusion.
may have suspected...
this is why i haven't gotten rid of........
fully unaware of the impossibility
liar, this is going to be a fucking blast.

earlier i decided to remind them that i am not a monster,
but it only comes out as a whisper.

anytime, anywhere.
[please don't come so close...]
not impressed by a broken toe.
drunk by noon.
hungover by three...
drunk again at four.
buying a pool for the roof...
getting ac in every room next week.
not exactly cold in philly...
wearing a goddamn skirt
working in a bar
new neurosis and acid mothers temple
kicking hawaiian breeze clear across the room.
forget to remember to forget.
oh, you silly, stupid past time of mine...
once a day.
my phone still only rings at 4am.
remembering, however, to do another shot...
[hot salvation]
it kind of turns me on when you say call...
and then you don't answer.
kind of...
071607: longest day in history.
i've already run out of things to type.
going to get the notebook...
distance is a perfect reminder.
gave up after four attempts to write a letter.
disappointment after seeing that i only write when i am drunk...
and i can never read those parts.
get to nyc around 10...
get to brooklyn around 11:30
get to sleep around never...
leave for syracuse around 11...
taco bell.. mmm
arrive before 5...
he's not buying it because he knows
nothing would stop me from getting there.
recess with ted for a minute...
i'm not buying it because he doesn't stop smiling.
but i am buying the wine...
he's not buying it because i smile when he's on the phone with his mom.
sleep resides (for him) in the last red drop.
mulder no... mulder yes!
built to spill session...
and he's not buying it because i've already said too much.
he drags me out and orders me more drinks...
i'm not buying it because he's showing affection...
and this is HIS place.
i let them believe i am less drunk than i am...
he's not buying it because i have to pee every four seconds
and i can't look him in the eyes...
we have random conversations over the noise,
he's not buying it because i have to sit down...
stopped caring about what's in the new drink he hands me...
memory failure or not blog worthy...
i am not impressed because the night is MY place...
two thousand something miles is now two hundred something..
every two months is now every two weeks... or less..
it's not what you think, is it now?
["endless" airports, or the "it'll be different this time" nervous approach]
["endless" stay in bed all day theory: the art of "NEVER GET TIRED"]
["endless" as the story continues... theme]
a better version; i learned all i needed to know -
an optical illusion of an emotion impossible to recreate.
could have sworn i heard him say-
fuck it.
not important.
...and it was too early to be re-assured, though i was...
and we're not buying it anymore,
but i am buying brunch.
illness begins
"there's a hole in my throat"
"you smoked too many cigarettes last night"
"i don't think that's what it is..."
unknown pleasures session.
i have to leave too soon, but i didn't leave soon enough.
it hits me as we cross the pennsylvania border...
i have the flu..
there is no comfortable position without..
there is no thought other than..
there is no desire other than..
i'm sick and i need sleep.
sleep finally comes all day like...
illness continues...
i take the trains to chinatown...
i walk for hours with no where to go...
i make another attempt at a letter...
the noise follows me everywhere
or maybe i follow it.
screaming back and forth with eyes..
skull reader,
read your mind
miss you all the time,
but disappear
see, i really don't mind.

taken from attempt #2:
you know what was said.
is your face squishing into confusion?
it doesn't matter exactly.
just all those stupid little words
floating from your stupid little mouth -
i reach out to touch them,
swirl them into my own...
and when i'm gone they follow me
wherever i go... [not unlike the plague]
i wont remind you. [they belong to me now]

my throat's closing
my bones are breaking
my head's caving in
too much walk/thought
none of this really matters except -
i am reaching for the space next to me
that so recently
was full of you.
more than empty

black hole slowly drains every constructive thought in my head.
all i'm left with is... "where the fuck are you?"

and i'm not buying it because:
aaron and angela hit a dead end.
realized i stopped caring when?
i'm about to fall asleep for the next hour and a half on the bus back to philly
phone rings...
i know what he wants to know...
i'm too tired to be nice.
remembering why i gave up the first time,
i decide to tell him-
"there is someone else."
i have been repeating myself for months...
maybe this will work?
small talk, rhetoric.
he's asking questions he doesn't want to know the answers to.
brutal exhaustion = brutal honesty...
i stop caring and i lose service as i'm saying:
"fuck us. fuck everything that ever happened. fuck everything that was ever said-"
i'm more concerned with getting dropped off in north philly and finding my way home.
more walking, more sneezing and coughing, bodies aren't capable of this much tension...
i quietly turn the keys in the door. tip toe up the stairs in the dark.
head straight to my room.
close, lock the door.
throw the clothes from my body and bed.
lie down, find his pillowcase where i had left it...
finally, she sleeps...
she's not buying it because:
"We used to be tough,but I dont even care anymore "
[finally i don't mind... worthless tries at finding something else....]
your body breaks
your needs consume you
and with this lies the need to be here

not smoke in my eyes this time...
[i know that nothing...]
nothing survives.

center city since 10am in heels.
in heat.
no sleep last night.
4am drunken laughfest through the airwaves.
spinning and choking on vomit..
forcing myself to remember all the hideous details.
reminding him to stay weary and concerned.

brand new chrysler drove straight into a tree up the street.
paul, my driver, chuckles to himself, "the tree wasn't about to move out of the way.."
and i awkwardly laugh along,
though i'm thinking there's something so familiar about the way it all looks...
i saw that in the mirror this morning.
i don't feel so good.

he showed up monday at five... (5:05pm)
ordered chinese food...
took me to see some fish... and hippos.
"we're goin' to texas!"
"stay cool, man"
"yeah.. LOOK AT ME."
whole foods, wawa, liquor store, dollar store
showed him the art of ghetto living....
got drunk and bummed.
left some hand prints on the mirror...
tried to hide his keys, tried to take his shoes...
tried to fit in his backpack...

for some reason i just drank tabasco sauce...
i've never had it before.. wanted to know what it tasted like...
let's just say... i am not impressed.
i can't wait to have brunch sunday morning.

perfect outline.
you are not real.
keep mumbling...
skull readers.
i can hear your thoughts.
[dream me, oh dreamer...]
down to the floor
open my hands and let them
weave onto yours...

who ordered this
up & down
down & out
out & in...
makeshift mess?
because you're not leaving
until you finish the rest.

why would you do it?
[you probably think this song is about you]
i've written more in the past three weeks than in the past three years.
you don't read this...

it would be nice to go one night without you making me feel like an idiot..
but thanks for my fleeting moment of glory.
you don't (i'm saying you now... great)
he has no idea how rare it is for me to feel comfortable enough to open up like that...
just wanted him to know that i want him.
and rarer still that i...
fuck it.
he was being sweet,
but it was hot all day and i couldn't take it anymore.
for me to not want anyone else...
unheard of.
jesus christ, he is going to institutionalize me.
all that's left in this bed are lonely, disgusting creatures.
made a fool of just for thinking.
probably too much - yes
too fucking much.
too fucking bad.
and isn't he always the crude one?
vaguely remembering other comments...
obvious signs of how it would be.
but i enjoy it.
they were always crawling at my feet,
begging for words
it was only poison dripping from my lips.
my hips.
said the wrong thing. maybe it was "the one thing"
(pretending again that i want to find that one thing, but i don't.)
doesn't matter how perfect you are (act?)
there's always that one thing that will turn them right off...
funny... i was getting off.
(by the way, angie... you have completely abandoned your number one.)
sometimes i ask myself what i'm even doing here?
same name. wrong face. "same" name. wrong face.
hell, i couldn't tell the difference and i was actually trying to listen.
blurry conclusion...
the man downstairs with his too loud television isn't the only reason i'm up all night.
we're both fools.
she said, "you're fucked."
he shouldn't say nice things to me.
text message-ly speaking, yeah, you win the game every night...
not real words, though and i don't play games.
ask them.
they'll all tell you, "she don't fuck around."
however, memorize every word and analyze everything unspoken.
counting the "..."s
need a distraction.
"that's when i need you the most."
my revised response:
"i agree. i always have."
but i am not ashamed.
it felt damn good,
but it didn't last.
it wont last.
keep telling yourself that.
you don't believe it yet.
the only thing that defines a relationship to me is making sure the other person knows that you actually do mind if they fuck other people...
i wouldn't mind.
and still... i don't want anyone else.

utter defeat.
it's all over my face.
i have a human eraser.
i would beat you down with it
if you didn't make me too weak to lift it.

memory failure.
[jupiter's eye]
beyond wired...
first week:
drunk and still realizing it.
second week:
back in syracuse for my birthday...
nothing exciting.
third week:
jobs and setting it up...
shaun and dipino visit....
sick, drunk, half-naked, rooftop, sweat, mutter museum, VLADIMIR vodka...
work. finding any distraction or excuse. listening to phantom limb. throwing my phone. getting back down to my birth weight. writing songs every day. getting my phone shut off six days. listening to era vulgaris and track seven. going to relapse and the liquor store every day.

almost died in a fire at five this morning...

missing joe. and if i had a car i would drive back every sunday for brunch.
[cuz i'd like to see you often, though i don't need to see you often...]
we do the dance up on the plains
then i shake your shoulders
you push me down into the grains
who rubs our noses in the night?
we do we do we do...

fucking headache.........
[try not to lose yourself...]
i'm way past trying
i’m way past caring
i’m way past hoping
you’re always needing
you’re always hoping
wash away your tears

igniting another delusion..
hit-or-miss, red hot disaster.
busy bee, buzz in my head.
our idle collision has seen it's end.

i think the medicine's gone bad...
sleep was the best thing we ever had...

i'll probably forget all about you.
[i'm taking the pills..]
and if i never sleep again...

it means i wont let today end.
[you think you're civilized, but you'll never understand..]
chain smoking all day..
headache... alllll day...
one of those can't eat, can't sleep things..
and dopethrone. constant rotation.
still spinning...
should be over soon..

is that what sleep looks like?

should be over soon
is what i'm hoping...

you realize that you have been gone for almost two years;
so why does it seem like you're still here?

put it in; take it out nOW
don't stop..

i have to go....
[reverse the universe..]
wolf eyes - burned mind
neutral milk hotel - in an airplane over the sea
quix o tic - mortal mirror
deerhoof - apple o'
goatsnake - flower of disease
bic runga - drive
acid mothers temple - wild gals a go-go
animal collective - feels
electric wizard - dopethrone
and david bowie - the best of... (always)

disco... let's go..

discovered that "blogging" for me is really just trying to remember...
it's a struggle...
we can all assume that wine was involved.
assuming, also, waking up every morning at 8am...
and on friday i left again...
syracuse was gray. we had to get out...
girls just wanna have fun - cindi lauper
the trees have finally bloomed...
be my baby - the ronettes
runaway train - soul asylum
you don't own me - the blow monkeys
sun comes out. enter philadelphia...
eye of the tiger - survivor.
dungeon. now we have a loft in philly.
winelounge can be found across the gray's ferry bridge.
in university city..
black rob - "that shit is whoa..."
head to ECBV (for those of you who don't know... jersey...)
hewwo wawa...
"mariko, go get a bottle of wine."
5 minutes later...
"markio... four bottles of wine... alright."
2 hours later...
stained walls...
fire hazard ceiling art...
"herbert johnson! i just ashed on the fucking bible!"
"that's blasphemy, man.."
phillies vs cubs...
"cole hamels, did you want my number.. or...?"
digging through my purse i'm sure i found a marker or two...
i'm sure the maids wont be happy.........
E.C./B.V. representing jersey.. Sai ASE ano GAW L.O.C. eleven SOMA
not so much not everywhere...
hokay so...
you need to RELAX
you take a walk..
you sit on a folded circus tent and drink your wine...
she's saying something about climbing the fence
and you're always on your phone...
thanks for the memories...
let's get the fuck out of jersey.
piss coffee and the temperature rises...
back in sweat city on foot...
hazel st. let down...
melted a little on market st.
"where's the van?!"
starbucks saves my life.
mariko beats up two old ladies and a little boy swearing, spitting and sweating.
she's not a fan i guess..
one day we will leave that city and drive by an urban... for the first and only time ever.
i'm sure we hit up another wawa or four...
consumers... we go shopping.
what's up, fellas....
dodging aids puddles in the rain...
jon's is the trusty joint...
9 dollar vodka and redbulls...
salad, but uh.. where's the dressing?
"your lips move, but i can’t hear what you’re saying..."
i gave up on the umbrella, mariko took a dip in the hiv.
pissing on dark streets...
sanitizing my feet because i wore sandals...
singing k's choice and bic runga songs as we leave the city...
salty coffee at cumbuns.
"let me whisper in your ear: angie, where will it lead us from here?"
we wont get back until 2:30am but i'm already making plans for then...
wish you were here and eclipse - pink floyd
syracuse.. up ahead..
bitter sweet symphony
motownphilly's back again... ABC BBD.
exhausted and wired.
yawning and delirious, we arrive.
and they take me back to same place i was before i left...
tired, but awake... waiting for something to go wrong.
tom shattered the glass table before i saw the sunrise.
bubba's birthday..
very nice, how much?
yourspace.com (coming soon.. keep your mouth shut.)
drive to the middle of nowhere to get to the show with ted and joe.
the venue was in an indoor motocross arena..
over stimulated and playing tetris in the car...
not interested in chatting with old "friends"...
leave the show for a minute..
watch architect.
avoid people on the way out the door.
winelounge with mariko, mick, amy, jay and ted.
someone's in the wolf - queens of the stone age
home and sleep.

05/18 - 05/19: NYC
05/20: seeya syracuse party at kyoko's. mixed drinks, wine and sushi. close friends only.
05/21 - 05/26: ...
05/27: tom ward III's birthday party. [..and my month long birthday extravaganza begins here]
06/01: hate; the fragrance. it's in the air.
06/06: visit me for my birthday. good luck.
06/09-6/11: syracuse
07/04 - 07/08: NYC

[two headed... girl]
"in the dark we will take off our clothes
and they'll be placing fingers through the notches in your spine
and when all is breaking everything that you could keep inside
now your eyes ain't moving now
they just lay there in their calm"

wine in a park, i hope.
probably emptied about 4 bottles this week.
last night i couldn't find my feet.
and i have to go, but i just want to say...

you'll be back just in time to say goodbye.

he approached me and informed me that i don't care.

i realized he was right...
[the answer to your dreams...]
my life is a sub-par, mostly not funny sitcom that's about to be canceled.

good game.
[for you a thousand times over....]
would you smile again for me?

most likely i am hung over.
okay. the past week or so couldn't be less vague... or spontaneous.
i'm fine with it.
i'm even dealing with the first weekend back in syracuse fairly well.
a recent philly trip that seemed to work out better than we could imagine for the most part.
four incredible days in nyc and a long depressing ride "home".
i would be there now if i could.
i'll be back in philly next weekend.
three weeks from now it will be home.
(phone ringing in bkgd)
i'm going to throw my phone away.
i'm making memories right now with the warm weather and wonderful people in my life.
and i can see it fading already.
like the bruises.
let it die.
haha. turmoil is playing today.
i really can't lie.
i'm starting to get the feeling that syracuse will be missed in some way.
some bizarre, comical way...
which is a perfect way to describe my life.
thank you.
so if you have time, friends, and want to see me before i disappear again, i don't say no to a warm night, wine and reciting lines from movies and tv shows...
futility wins.

i wont miss it that much.

... and there is nothing left to say
that has not been said...

i could stop doing that, but some things make so much sense to me right now.
and still so many things that seem pointless...

shaun has been on my mind constantly.
it's crawling all over my skin.
being back.
seeing them all.
2 years soon.
i don't remember a thing.

better off that way, i suppose...

i wonder if i'll make it home tonight...
[i don't need you. i want you.]
..come here, baby.
i love your company.
we could do it and start a family.
she was living alone unhappily.
we could do it, it's right romantically.

home is not here.
[better by far]
i'm about to forget all about what i'm doing.
waiting for it to kick in.

you can go ahead and die in a fire now please.
i should probably stop being mean to deaf people.
probably not.

i thought i couldn't go wrong.

i'll stop thinking now.

thank you....
[what was golden is gray and i'm suddenly shy.]
i'm about done with syracuse by now.
i'll be working and going to philly every other weekend until i move there in june.
it's not june yet.
i find myself walking around in the rain and snow and cold more than i probably want to.
last night two men smelling strongly of cheap liquor drove me home telling each other tales of girls and pills. i felt safe in the snow storm. it was 3am.
i don't miss LA more and more everyday.
but yeah...
i do.

i am completely elsewhere lately.
uninterested and showing no sign of concern.
i choose this.
this is satisfaction.
i'll be doing this right up until i escape this place, looking straight ahead and smiling.

get the fuck in line.
he was afraid he'd break me,
but i said,
"don't worry, baby,
but be careful."
the glue is still wet from
the last time around
and i'm positive i'm missing
some pieces.

but i'm doing alright without.
and he said,,,
well, he said nothing
and the silence
was louder than the last time
i shattered.
and i'm positive i wont
repeat this.
[i do not remember the last post......]
oh it's such a perfect day.
i'm glad i spent it with you.
oh such a perfect day.
you just keep me hanging on.

just a perfect day.
problems all left alone.
weekenders on our own.
it's such fun.

just a perfect day
you made me forget myself.
i thought i was someone else...
someone good.

you're going to reap just what you sow.
today at work someone called me a stupid bitch.
a woman on the phone sang 'endless love' to me.
well not to me, but to herself.
but i sang along.
[it's only skin]
and there was a booming above you that night,
black airplanes flew over the sea
and they were lowing and shifting like
beached whales
shelled snails
as you strained and you squinted to see
the retreat of their hairless and blind cavalry

you froze in your sand shoal
prayed for your poor soul
sky was a bread roll, soaking in a milk-bowl
and when the bread broke, fell in bricks of wet smoke
my sleeping heart woke, and my waking heart spoke

then there was a silence you took to mean something:
mean, run, sing
for alive you will evermore be
and the plague of the greasy black engines a-skulkin'
has gone east
while you're left to explain them to me
released from their hairless and blind cavalry

with your hands in your pockets, stubbily running
to where i'm unfresh, undressed and yawning
well, what is this craziness? this crazy talking?
you caught some small death when you were sleepwalking

it was a dark dream, darlin', it's over
the firebreather is beneath the
his breathing there is cold clay, forever
a toothless hound-dog choking on a feather

but i took my fishingpole (fearing your fever)
down to the swimminghole, where there grows bitter herb
that blooms but one day a year by the riverside - i'd bring it here:
apply it gently
to the love you've lent me

while the river was twisting and braiding, the bait bobbed
and the string sobbed, as it cut through the hustling breeze
and i watched how the water was kneading so neatly
gone treacly
nearly slowed to a stop in this heat-
frenzy coiling flush along the muscles beneath

press on me: we are restless things
webs of seaweed are swaddling
you call upon the dusk
of the musk of a squid
shot full of ink, until you sink into your crib

rowing along, among the reeds, among the rushes
i heard your song, before my heart had time to hush it!
smell of a stone fruit being cut and being opened
smell of a low and of a lazy cinder smoking

and when the fire moves
fire moves away, son
why would you say
i was the last one?

scrape your knee; it is only skin
makes the sound of violins
and when i cut you hair, and leave the birds all the trimmings
i am the happiest woman among all women

and the shallow
stretches as far as i can see
knee-deep, trudging along
a seagull weeps; "so long"

i'm humming a threshing song
until the night is over
hold on!
hold on!
hold your horses back from the fickle dawn

i have got some business out at the edge of town
candy weighing both of my pockets down
until i can hardly stay afloat, from the weight of them
(and knowing how the common-folk condemn
what it is i do, to you, to keep you warm
being a woman, being a woman)

always up the mountainside you're clambering
groping blindly, hungry for anything:
picking through your pocket linings - well, what is this?
scrap of sassafras, eh Sisyphus?

i see the blossoms broke and wet after the rain
little sister, he will be back again
i have washed a thousand spiders down the drain
spiders ghosts hang soaked and dangeling
silently from all the blooming cherry trees
in tiny nooses, safe from everyone- nothing but a nuisance; gone now, dead and done
be a woman, be a woman!

though we felt the spray of the waves
we decided to stay until the tide rose too far
we weren't afraid, 'cause we know what you are
and you know that we know what you are

awful atoll-
o, incalculable indiscreetness and sorrow!
bawl, bellow:
Sibyl sea-cow, all done up in a bow

toddle and roll;
teeth an impalpable bit of leather
while yarrow, heather and hollyhock
awkwardly molt along the shore

are you mine?
my heart?
mine anymore?

stay with me for awhile
that's an awfully real gun
i know life will lay you down
as the lightning has lately done

failing this, failing this,
follow me, my sweetest friend
to see what you anointed in pointing your gun there

lay it down! nice and slow!
there is nowhere to go, save up
up where the light, undiluted, is weaving in a drunk dream
at the sight of my baby, out back:
back on the patio watching the bats bring night in-
while, elsewhere, estuaries of wax-white
wend, endlessly, towards seashores unmapped

last week our picture window produced a half-word
heavy and hollow, hit by a brown bird
we stood and watched her gape like a rattlesnake
and pant and labour over every intake

i said a sort of prayer for some rare grace
then thought i ought to take her to a higher place
said: "dog nor vulture nor cat shall toy with you
and though you die, bird, you will have a fine view"

then in my hot hand
she slumped her sick weight
we tramped through the poison oak
heartbroke and inchoate

the dogs were snapping
and you cuffed their collars
while i climbed the tree-house
then how i hollered!
well she'd lain, as still as a stone, in my palm, for a lifetime or two

then, saw the treetops, cocked her head and up and flew
(while, back in the world that moves, often according to the hoarding of these clues
dogs still run roughly around little tufts of finch-down)

and the cities we passed were a flickering wasteland
but his hand in my hand made them hale and harmless
while down in the lowlands the crops are all coming;
we have everything
life is thundering blissful towards death
in a stampede of his fumbling green gentleness

you stopped by, i was all alive
in my doorway, we shucked and jived
and when you wept, i was gone:
see, i got gone when i got wise
but i can't with certainty say we survived

then down, and down
and down, and down
and down, and down and deeper
stoke without sound
the blameless flames
you endless sleeper

through fire below, and fire above, and fire within
sleep through the things that couldn't have been if you hadn't have been

and when the fire moves away
fire moves away, son
why would you say
i was the last one?

all my bones they are gone, gone, gone
take my bones, oh i don't need none
cold, cold cupboard, Lord, nothing to chew on!
suck all day on a cherry stone

dig a little hole, not three inches round
spit your pit in the hole in the ground
weep upon the spot for the starving of me!
untill up grow a fine young cherry tree

when the bough breaks, what'll you make for me?
a little willow cabin to rest on your knee
well what will i do with a trinket such as this?
think of your woman, who's gone to the west

but i'm starving and freezing in my measly old bed!
then i'll crawl across the salt flats to stroke your sweet head
come across the desert with no shoes on!
i love you truly, or i love no-one


fire moves away, son
why would you say
that i was the last one?


clear the room! there's a fire, a fire, a fire
get going, and i'm going to be right behind you
and if the love of a woman or two, dear,
couldn't move you to such heights, then all i can do
is do, my darling, right by you
[i make stuff..]

and then i dont use it.
and then i dont go.
i should have gone.
[come along, fool]
it's not that it’s bad… it’s not that it’s death.
it’s just that it is on the tip of your tongue and you're so silent.

i find it hard not to think.
and i'm ruining everything through my mental processes.
i'm looking for a little less thought.
a little more passion.
less logic. more emotion.
one thing matters enormously to me now.
my heart knows exactly why this needs to be a priority.

i'm sick of knowing, though.
i would like to see what i know take some kind of physical form.
i wouldn't mind if it reached out and smacked me in the face.
this isn't one of those reassurance things.
all i can seem to make out of this is...
i can't be the one to say it.

nothing new. ever.

absurd memory- i became extremely irritated with a shower curtain once.
its intricate design. its colors.
i said to this shower curtain, 'are you kidding me? they made you out of a plant. you're just a million tiny particles beautifully woven together. all i want to know is...
and it wasn't even that great of a shower curtain.
i mean... i've seen better, but the point is that i see molecular structure in everything.
right down to trillions of atoms bouncing off each other for no particular reason.
and this really is all nonsense, but i wouldn't hate for our energy to fly around wildly.
if only for just a minute.
even if all i get out of it is some static in my hair.
[their examples are: scooters, vacation, fall... who comes up with this shit?]
i'm talking about "labels for this post"
apparently you can stick a label on your post and anyone can search it and find your bullshit.
i never noticed it before.
scooters. vacation. fall.
scooters just remind me of some dude i dated.
he bought one.
i broke his heart.
do you know how many vacations i went on last year?
and most of them were when i didn't have a job.
know where i went?
to sleep mostly. wherever i ended up all i cared about was how comfortable the hotel bed was.
and i'm assuming that's what most people do on vacation.
living in LA i didn't exactly experience fall.
the temperature was ninety degrees from march until i left in december.
i was willing to die for a pile of rotting leaves.
instead i moved to a pile of rotting people.
but seriously...
i said (10:45:15 PM): we're moving to philly to be different people, right? i mean... we're not going there to get away from these fucks as much as we're pretending... we just want to get away from ourselves, right?
they replied (10:46:46 PM): most likely
and i said (10:46:55 PM): good. i'm glad.
i am. i can admit this to myself.
i have a friend who understands.
and that's all that i need.
maybe one day we'll tell you all about it. you'll have to wait, though.
can you do it?
can anyone wait for what they want?
i mean, do you have any idea what it's like to sit... for years... every day... waiting?
sitting up in bed all night with your eyes open because you think you might miss it?
what i'm talking about is this..
we are all waiting for something to happen.
what i'm realizing is this...
it's not going to happen.
when you start to accept that, you get kind of cold and irritated all the time.
you get kind of lonely.
i feel like all i've been doing lately is waiting for all the simple people around me to get it.
but... i'm starting to envy them.
this really isn't about me, though.
it's about finding out what makes you move.
what you might die for.
what you might kill for.

the search is on.

and i seriously considered hiding this blog again when i noticed that it's not that i could be a better writer... it's that i couldn't be a worse writer.
all i'm going to do about it is apologize and hope one day what i really mean to say comes out.
honestly everything in here was important enough for me to type out...
but seriously....
someone said(11:07:39 PM): what is wrong with us?
[when the fox hears the rabbit he comes running, but not to help]
i'll walk with you through space and time.
and when sleep is near i will fold you in.
i'll disappear with you in clear blue flames.
and when our time arrives we will slide through space.

i've been less excited about weekends.
we'll have to see how this one turns out.
reflections have turned into "what a hot mess."
this is how it goes:
most of the week i don't sleep.
then one day, each week...
sleep finally comes.
just for one day. usually an evening.
on the days that my body decides to fall down and die i actually dream.
but this isn't good news.
these dreams are not fantasies. they are reality dreams.
nothing out of the ordinary.
so realistic, though, that i don't know that i'm dreaming.
so realistic, in fact, that it's more intense than reality.
like so many times in my life, these dreams are so ordinary and random that...
i'm expecting everything to go wrong.
and sure enough everything does go wrong at some point in these dreams.
but so realistically wrong that while i am sleeping, i am dying.
i choke. i cannot breathe. and i cannot EVER wake myself up.
it takes hours sometimes to wake myself up from these dreams.
the whole time i'm telling myself over and over again that it is a dream.
and that i will wake up.
slowly creeping towards death the WHOLE time.
in whatever stupidly boring ways my mind can come up with to die.
a terrific wreck. over and over again.
drowning. over and over again.
choking. over.
and when i finally wake myself up i always come to the same conclusion.
i was never sleeping at all.

so since i don't sleep, i type.
i type at work all day, but it has become more bearable these past few weeks.
playlist- swans, lou reed, julian cope, xiu xiu, beefheart and some bathory.
guess i have a thing for miserable old men.
[i'm lucky i made it out alive]
and all or what little joy in the world seemed suddenly simple and endlessly mine.
this is post number 200.
after almost four years the term progress might come to one's mind, but one shouldn't be fooled into expecting so much.
i lack expectations.
helps with the avoiding real emotions thing.
so. no progress.
i can deal with that.
sometimes i convince myself that i have to deal with a lot all of the time.
really, though... i have great people in my life.
here is some appreciation.
probably the only time you'll hear it from me. read on.
i'm doing fine.
i. am. fine.
get it?
i am alright. i will be okay. everything's fabulous.
really. and i owe it all to the people that are that are there. every day. or almost.
[...as I go showing off again, self impressed by how well i can put myself down. and there i go again, to the next further removed level of that same exact feigned humility. this for me goes on and on to the point of nausea.]
but, seriously. that's how i feel most of the time.
i would like to talk less. i think.
being practically alone for a year in LA kind of killed my social skills.
i'm in my head. all the time.
and what comes out isn't so much what i want people to hear.
i guess lonliness...... is a factor.
i'm not lonely. i'm fabulous.
for instance:
i would rather watch people get drunk and dance like retards on a friday night than.... not... remembering friday nights.
i would fucking love to wake up at seven, slowly get ready, go to work when i'm ready and not running out the door, put on my sunglasses, listen to something that wont get past the intro until i'm there, walk slowly into work without 7 feet of snow on either side of me and cars swerving by, sit there, leave work, go to the gym and make my heartbeat match david bowie songs, make dinner, read, study, sleep, and the same thing all over again.
i'm into saturday and sunday.
sunday is usually reserved for winelounging and sushi and long conversations about philly during a movie that we really want to watch, but cant shut up long enough to catch our favorite parts.
saturdays should consist of warmth, comfort, a ton of great people in the room having completely incoherent conversations. i wouldn't hate for one of those conversations to be the kind that actually makes you think. makes you eager and confused. i want to meet that shit head on.
but really, there's a bunch of snow and everything's flying by.
and i'm short.
i can barely catch my breath.
i'm hungry and dirty and i want to take a shower.
thank you if you know me and care that these things are important to me.
i'm not looking for anyone to get in the way of these things. i promise.
and to those of you who are there for me or listen to me or remind me or keep me going, thank you.
i mean it.
[it's cold under the blanket.]
but really, it's cold everywhere.
and i light my packs off the stoves and watch them as they go.
i just wish they would all leave.
and she says it's like a disease. you just don't do it.
not in public.
you take it all. you remember it all and you throw it away in your leather book.
and we're always saying, 'i'd like to tell ya all about it.'
but we wont.
we just watch them as they go.
i keep wondering if this is the only thing i'll ever know.
[i could pretend that nothing really meant too much.]
you shouldn't mess with me.
i'll ruin everything you are.

i don't sleep anymore. thanks.
i barely slept last week in ny.
everything is the same here.
it's starting to get cold. that's the only thing i like.
i put my new blankets on my bed and hug my new pillow.
still, i just lay there with my eyes open. sick to my stomach.
the dreams i have are worthless.
it seems like everything i used to look forward to in life is disappearing.
new york...
what a fucking waste.
i'm sick of the people i know.
i'm sick of strangers who think they know me.
i'm sick of every fucking kid that lives there and thinks they're going to get anywhere.
they're not.
i'm ready to move to philadelphia. i have been.
not my thing.
my work is the only escape i have right now.
it's so rare, though.
making music is a chore now.
there's no way to get anything done at home.
i'm suffocating.
i want to get out of here.
lately, though, 'here' is everywhere.
we're all dying.
[that's not funny. that's not even me.]
and i'm a fucking comedian.
today is going by like a rocket ship.
like a rocket ship that isn't set for take off until the year 2034.
[you're such a wonderful person, but you got problems.]

[something for the mrs.]
in the next war, we shall bury the dead in cellophane.
the host shall come packaged in every k-ration, the host shall come packaged in every k-ration.

every man shall be provided with a small but perfect archbishop spellman which shall be self-inflatable - courtesy of air reduction.™

open. close. previous. open. (close).

you don't need to repeat this. there is not any ceremony anymore. everyone is gone - and you will say this out loud to yourself.

you're alone at the time, and the time now is always, always is a word humans used in promises. it is valueless.

all officers, warrant officers, and enlisted men will be provided with a copy of their own true loves - which they will never see again.

all these copies will be returnable to their proper channels.
[angela's corpse]
quietly the rain played down on last of the ashes
quietly the light played down on her lashes
she smiled and twisted she smiled and twisted
hideously looking back at what once was beautiful
playing naturally magically
oh her ragged hair was shining red, white, and blue
all and all the children screaming
why surely madam you must be dreaming
you couldn't have done this if you knew what you were doing
well the gold fish in the bowl lay upside down bloating
full in the sky and the plains were bleached white with skeletons
various species grouped together according
to their past beliefs
the only way they ever all got together was
not in love but shameful grief
it's not the way i would like it to get together
that's not the kind of thoughts i would like to keep
the rain played lightly down down on the formaheap
oh lady look up in time, oh lady look out of love
and you should have us all
oh you should have us fall
[turn yourself around, you weren’t invited. good good things happen in bad towns]
this is what happened last night.

that is what happened last night.

did you go see gorilla biscuits last night? i didn't.
[recycle. recycle.]
angela (2:40:01 PM): i am the head of graphic designs/photography, technical assistant and plant waterer.
arron (2:40:24 PM): geez. how'd you get such a fancy title?
angela (2:40:30 PM): it's a small company.


[but i am not gonna bless you with such compliments,
some degrading psalm of praise,
like the kind that converted you to me so long ago.
because the truth is that gossip is as good as gospel in this town.
you can save face but you won't ever save your soul.
and that's a fact.]

[so hurry up and run,
to the one that you love.
and tie him up in your likeness,
and he'll become, become
the prisoner I was.
and know all that has spoiled your heart.]
[habitually seeking the same thing that happened the day before.]
it is about walking. more or less.
if i can remember anyway.
i seem to be doing much more of it than i ever have.
and some of it is even by choice.
it is only from the seven and a half miles of good ol one foot in front of the other action that brings me here.
and it is a hot day.
but why shouldn't it be?
weather, the most boring subject, is thick here and always has been.
a slight breeze now and then which is more than i can say for the sticky, wet air in central new york.
when you walk between buildings there is a draft carrying the rot of the streets.
i'd like to blame it on the wanderers that ignore elaborate shelter and instead use boxes, shopping carts and sometimes even tents. they bathe in the rot and blow it all around us. a place that resembles mexico, i'm told.
but really...
it comes from the east. like everything.
and that cement fortress of these nomads is likely to be confusing.
since i live in the type of vacant, forsaken parts of this great city of california.
where at night the starless sky is florescent and pink.
an adult playground.
they say.
though i do not know who says that.
it is at night that i choose to wander.
not far from my home, but far enough to lie on a patch of grass under a tree on a hill in the center of the city.
the tall buildings behind me. the ever pink above.
there are a thousand other happenings at night in my life now.
things that are now all habit.
i am not alone.
and i do not want to be alone in this city.
the endless city of california.

and always when i walk people, men, stare.
and i am quite aware of it, though they may not be able to tell until i look up and meet their eyes.
who wouldn't wonder what they're thinking.
obviously, 'the most beautiful girl i have ever seen.'
obviously sarcasm.
while they wonder in amazement at my lack of height, grace and stability, i wonder why we use terms like, 'the most ---- ever.'
it's dull really. until i reach my favorite park.
this is where the fuchsia flowers grow above our heads and the lavender ones fall to the ground.
and always the birds play around us.
i'd like to think of animals doing everything that resembles 'play' and nothing close to constant survival.
where is the bird playground?
'do you think that every tree has a bird in it at one time?'
and it is in this place [and all over the old places i've been] where i watch the birds fly by to remind me that there are places that aren't here.

but past this sanctuary is the wall of mirrors where i am not the only one to slowly turn and catch a glimpse of what i look like on the outside.
it is apparent here that i cut my hair too much.
and among all the locks of recently chopped hair, i wonder where the secret is to make it look fantastic.
fabulous even.
i'm sure it's in the beauty aisle in right aid.
which is definitely the first aisle in the store.
the last being alcohol.

always everything is in between.
i am in between the most populated suburbs of america and the sea.
but i am usually not interested in the abandoned places of this country.
not in comparison to the deserted and even untouched parts of this world.
and not at all in comparison to the relinquished, dead parts of this mind.
travel is soon.
there is some number of species that has not yet been discovered.
which doesn't seem to make sense at all and i can't remember that number anyway.
i do this every day.

the secret is out that i am the president of the anti-john travolta fanclub.
still active as he ruins another seemingly good film for me and everyone on this earth.
cassavetes' she's so lovely this time.
we cannot stand for this terrible blow to cinema.
it's been going on for decades.
i know we're all praying for that joke of a pilot to crash a plane somewhere.
at least i'll come out and say it.

today is the tenth day of my birthday.

this was the first:

malefic came to my birthday party...

... in low resolution.
[you leave more cancers than you have yourself]
i have abandoned time.
and i have ignored logic.
i am stuck in the desert.

i am always told it wont be long.

who knows, though?
who understands that i have seen time unchained to humanity.
i have lived life apart.

i am unwilling to measure time and distance with the ease to the common life span.
i am asleep.

and these drugs sleep inside of me.


leaving las vegas.
[electric love machine]
fine then.
i guess it makes sense.
the way days pass.
currents of time.
get my attention for about five seconds.
a week.
all else is robotic.
last weekend was exceptional.
minus the disappointing lakers.
bars. boats. disco balls. bright lights. fire alarms.
youth of the beast is a great movie.
if you like movies that relate in no way to the title.
shopping too much lately.
sleeping all day.
heavy metal sleep over two thousand sick was tuesday.
'take care of your hair and your hair will take care of you'
i am bored in life. and in LA.
666 is my birthday.
i'll be driving to new york next month.
listen to haino.
[i'm nothing, if not a man.]
i have to stop pushing enter after everything. i don't know why i'm writing in this piece.
it is fucking cold. i lack sleeves at the moment.
i showered for an hour again. this happens daily. sometimes twice.
not many other things happen.
that are worth mentioning.
aaron sent me a song he wrote me in the mail. i received it today.
somebody gets bored.
i despise internet journals.
there's a rock on my finger.
i am falling asleep.
maybe i'll write something interesting soon.
[you can pick the direction next time.]
i wrote an entire blog.
beginning with where i would like to live and ending with a deathwish.
you were a disease.

i think i'm deleting my blog.
[living on lies.]
calm all around.
nothing inside.
i sleep in the meantime of resting.
i watch while words float off my tongue.
i cover my eyes in silence and stare through my fingers at this disaster.
i am fine.
every thing is fine.
what is it?
these things we have?
where is value?
when did detail enter and sharpen my pupils, pressing needles back through my head?
let my eyelids fall.
catch them if you can.
every thing is fine.
to define oneself is not human.
so i am fine.
[the joke was on me.]
it is... monday.
it is still cold.
last week:
more sick.
less happy.
this week is long.
it is... monday.
still... just... monday.
a song to finish.
a surgery to have.
books to read.
go watch notre musique.
the part where olga talks about suicide.
says a lot.
to me.
stay quiet.
be still.
i am always tired.
i do not want to be sick anymore.
sometimes i forget his name.
and i usually stay in the shower for too long.
or i forget to get out.

i have a hard time remembering the things i should remember
and a hard time forgetting the things I should forget.
[within her hands are gifts for the damned.]
oh man.
open mic.
cold here.
work is fine.
home is fine.
health isn't so great.
music is fine.
maybe something new will happen.

[i was on fire.]
at work.
finger hurts.
i cut it open yesterday and it bled for a long time.
aaron is working on my day off.
i'm half working on my day off.
as in...
sitting at my computer watching things happen outside.
everyone keeps asking me why i live in l.a.
i live here.
this is where i am.
that is why.
i live above the city.
there's an elevator.
aaron works in film.
i just work. always.
music happens a lot.
i don't speak very much english anymore.
we get our groceries at a chinese grocery store called al hoa.
it's good.
and not cold.
so i'll be here for a while.
[it's cold when birds fall from the sky.]
or when your car gets stolen and you have to walk or take the train everywhere.
soy chai.
los feliz.
work everyday.
today was my day off.
good thing i worked today.
it is lovely.
thank you.
i don't really care about this thing anymore.
or you.
['you're lucky i don't jack you right now.']
seven pm?
soy chai.
karma cafe.
semi cold.
semi warm.
open mic.
saturday night car accident.
strange sleeping.
my grandmother is dying.
my cat is coming here soon.
new apartment.
diph last night.
so many ideas.
it's a creative atmosphere out here.
which is making me apprehensive.
i wish mike would start making his movie so i can know people who are actually good at making movies.
i pretty much live in amoeba.
i pretty much forgot how to do life.
vegas in two weeks.
syracuse in june.
i don't know where aaron went.

eight boners right there.

out of boredom last night:


[really bad.]


[giant x's on your eyes.]
and coffee shops.

very current pl:
discordance axis

going to see joe preston tonight.
i mean HoF...
i mean joe preston.
cold california nights.

SUNN O))) & EARTH vs EUROPE 2006



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