Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Thievery

The days they go slow.
The nights they go fast.
It's only some time,
Til we get together.
I'm out on the street.
I'm waiting for you.
Do you hear me looking?
The method is clear
In waiting for you.
I think I need a distraction.
I'm not staying in.
I'm searching for you.
I can find someone new.

Go downtown put the drugs in my body.
Step back up I'm the life of the party.
Come back home and we'll get something started.
Stay up late put some heat in my heartache.

Lay down my incapable body.
Wake up, I'm the life of the party.

My stomach's all over the floor.
No one can blame it on liquor.
I asked for somemore.
Anything that reminds me of you, makes me sicker.

Go downtown put the drugs in my body.
Step back up I'm the life of the party.
Come back home and we'll get something started.
Stay up late put some heat in my heartache.

Sunday, November 29, 2009

In The Night- The Absence of Breathing

What do a paddy wagon, a police car, and an ambulance all have in common?

Sirens.2



Actual physical fights aren't as glamourous as they look in movies, faces get all swollen, and look funny the next day.2



It is the hunter’s honour that he
Protects and preserves his game,
Hunts sportsmanlike, honours the
Creator in His creatures. 1&2 mostly 2 last night



Behavior.1&2

Deer blood doesn't digest very easily.2



I'm lucky.2



Luck has nothing to do with it.2



Skill.2



It is also commonly used in small quantities around the home as an insect trap because flies and wasps are drawn to it...2



I have been thinking with my final brain cell, how time traps you sliding in it's spell.2



"I'm sorry not for what I've done, but for the reaction of others."1



Stupid stuff.1&2



Consideration for the feelings of others.1



Consideration for your body, it's a temple, don't defile it.2



Happier elsewhere, obviously.1



This is all over the place.





Decisions. Decisions.





I know that this post may be a bit confusing... almost to the point where you could become "sick of it".... Sickened by it.



If someone stops breathing....rubbing mentholatum on their chest doesn't really help, and then they walk around the next day smelling like it. Reeking of it.


Oh, no, it's half past eleven, and it makes good sense things are fine in the beginning. I can't remember a worse time, but I swear I've changed so much since then. Oh, no, it's already daybreak. And there are so many things contained in this world that are truly repulsive to me, but only things that hurt me intentionally. I don't want to see it, especially not in this light, so I squint my eyes under someone else's giant sunglasses for the remainder of the day, set out to kill everybody's joy, with everything to lose. Take a breathe, push the pain away, nothing lasts, it's better that way.


Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Sickness and Waste

Devotion.
The tipping pearls are gone.
The memories of the twirling paradise remain with me. (to put it bluntly)
My world of possibilities have vanished with the tides inside my head.
A foamy sea of fluid, drowns me. (too soon?)
The more I put in, the more I am drained (and nearly drowning.)
I'd like to be someone you could finally learn to love again.
We've put up walls on all sides (thick barriers of clay and wood.)
Leading a life, which picks up all of the little pebbles and carries them inside a shoe. (it's a size too small)
In my mind, I'm the lucky one.

Where will I find you again, Stranger? (roaming alone again?)
In this hopeless bulb, I'll find the strength to see that it won't ever happen anyway. (because I gave up)
It's as though I've never seen you before, but I have and I want to forget. When I can't drown it with anything else. anceieierussithdsw. I'm cool because I can be weird and write things small. Weirdness is in.

I am scarred by the rough edges, I'm taken over by fragility. (Please)

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Everyone Has Classic Moments


The poet is a faker
Who's so good at his act
He even fakes the pain
Of pain he feels in fact. -This is a Classic Kerrie Moment
Plumblossom

by Eric Ekstrand
The spine is a slide of human marvels; it is a hierarchy of white florets; it is a cult of secret brothers; it is a deliberate list; so look how the spineless relax in their unblushing banality.
I lose my patience in Greensboro where no discoveries are ever made and the only inner lavishment is the bar, occasionally.
The spineless aspire to incessant interludes that never arrive anywhere and that can’t remember wherefrom they came.
Mary is slightly spineless, for instance: her dress is cream her skin is cream her creamy mind is fine and her life will end finely—how sad is that to think of, the finery of a cream life?
It is the saddest of all truths that can be read on a person’s face in a decorous garden that person has planted themselves and of which they are explaining to you the intricacies and expense:
“notice how in the light”; “three pallets shipped last week”; “have complementary attitudes when it comes to soil-type and moisture.” She isn’t wicked; but, also, she destroys the art of her life.

Monday, November 9, 2009

Why kill pretty things?

I have to say, it's a beautiful day.

Delicately Wild.
Beautifully chaotic.

My arms open, but my ankles are planted in the ground, still you won't catch me anyhow.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

The news of today : A thunderstorm is hitting in Boulder County, hitting it, hard.

There is no style, but they all say "well done."

"But somebody's got to make it !" she screams
"So why, why can't it be me ?"
But she would die if we heard her sing from the heart
Which is hurt

There is a different mood all over the world
A different voice, unfamiliar views
And dearest, it could all be for you
So will you come down and I'll meet you?
And with no more poems, with nothing to hear
Oh darling, it's all for you...
Oh, deep in my heart, how I want to be wrong

But the moods and the styles too frequently change

The efforts are wasted on me.

If there is one thing in life I've observed, it's that reason and freedom are wasted on me.

I burned, it was bright and all anyone could do was wonder why.

No meaning or control and no where left to go

Burn bright while they can only wonder why.

Boundary. The pin lodged in the cushion.

What else could I do?
There.
I furthered a theory.
Why live in the world when you can live in your head?
There's nothing to do so you just stay in bed,
oh poor thing,
why live in the world when you can live in your head?
when you can go out late from Monday,till Saturday turns into Sunday,
and now you're back here at Monday,
so we can do it all over again.
And you go "I want a refund,
I want a reason,
to make it through the night, alright?"
And so you finally left school,
so now what are you going to do?
Now you're so grown up,
ya, you're oh so mature.
Going out late from Monday, lying in the street on Sunday,
you don't want to live till Monday,and have to do it all again.
I want a reason for all this night after night after night after night.
Oh I know that it's stupid but,
I just can't seem to spend a night at home,
cause my friends left town,and I'm here all alone ...ow.
Oh ya they say the past must die for the future to be born,in that case die, die - ow.
Stomach in,
chest out,
on your marks,
get set,
go.
Now, now that you're free,what are you going to be?
And who are you going to see?
And where, where will you go?
And who, who, are you going to see?
And how will you know,
You didn't get it all wrong?
Is this the light of a new day dawning?
A future bright that you can walk in?
No it's just another Monday morning.
Why live in the world when you can live your head?
Ow. I've forgotten how that works. Ow.



I've fallen out of bed.

Monday, October 26, 2009

Yellow - Red. Mean red. Mean red.

I did, but I didn't, I don't, oh, but I do.
Please, it is an awful idea to push me.
Whatever happens, it will happen.
I sat back, I didn't let it seep into me.
To worry is to waste my time.
It went away on its own.
Do you like my smile, the one that I paste on?
I lost it.
Who am I that I come to be standing here?
As I live and breathe
You have killed me
Yes, I walk around somehow
But you have killed me

Saturday, October 24, 2009

Last night I had a minor altercation

It rose to a be a dangerous situation.

Some passersby took me to my car.

And I died in the trunk.

But I'll be back to haunt them.

They smother girls for no particular reason.



Build yourself a castle

Keep your mind safe from harm

Get into softer music

Raise rabbits on a farm

And wouldn't it be nice

for all the world to live in peace?

And no-one gets ill or ever dies

or dies of boredom at the very least

And people tell me

what a real nice guy you are

So come on, serenade me

on your acoustic guitar

And don't believe me

And the things I claim

cause given half the chance

I know that I will kill again





I just came to tell you that I'm going.

Friday, October 23, 2009

I would ride out the nightmare ...

Sparks are circling around my head.
Riding into unknown territories, I continue to trot.
Everything passes quickly.
Dazed and confused, I wander from resting place to resting place.
Then finally, I conquer it all.
What makes it complete?
I say I'm heading home.
I want to stay and see all the people and the things they'll do.
But you see it's written on my dashboard, a little note from the one I love, and it tells me to go home.
I don't care what you're doing.
We want to go home.
At least there is someone there to talk to.
And I never have to face up to the darkest grays alone.
I can't remember a worse time, then the time I saved it all for someone who gave it away.
Do you remember?
I can't remember a worse time.
I don't believe in constraints.
I just believe in ..n...e
Fine.
And then in thirty seconds : I found out that she was funny.
Let's head up to the rafters, and I have something secret that I simply have to share with you.
Please don't leave it up to me.
I have no power.
I can't make decisions.
Especially for other people.
Leave me be.
Sing along and dance with me.
The stupid things I do are magical.
Everybody hates a tourist.
They burn bright and all there is to do is wonder why.
Never live like such as I.
There's only so much more I can do.

Skull faced.
Skin barely hanging on bones.
Cold hearted.


I want to be a different person everyday!
It is fun that way, I know, I do, trust me, ... until they mold together into a unified monster.

My name is Kerrie, it will always be my name. I will always be. I will always be the way I am, and I won't adjust on command.
Feel free to snap away, snap, snap.

The finest day that I ever had was when I learned to smile on command. And I can trick my eyes into saying things that they don't mean. Yes, it's mean.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

A lot like Halloween

Costumes. Gray Areas.

Whatever happened before, isn't happening now.
Now changes all of time.
I'd rather be enclosed in a shining prism, contained in a glittering world.
She lies, lies to me.

It is graveyard, deeply tucked into wooded landscape.
The air stays in the same place.
There is a dangling fog here and there, barely enough to be lost in, but it clouds her judgement all the same.
Nothing living ever walks around here.
There isn't any point, really.




I wish I would finally say what I mean in a plain and obvious way. I can, but I won't.
This feels like lying. I would very much like to tie all of the little pieces together and then there would be a nice little completed structure. It is all there, the reader needs to connect the dots.... I won't do it myself, it would be giving too much away at once, and I don't have much of anything left, for anyone.

Monday, October 19, 2009

My Dystopia

Public Representation and Advertising



The cycle continues, ruthlessly preying on mankind's escapist tendencies and seizing upon several deep-seated self-destructive impulses.

It's a perfect, wholesome snack for any time of the day," the voice eagerly announces, while the image of a young child—himself a physical representation of purity—tempts viewers with the prospect of recapturing their long-lost sense of innocence. "Fig Newtons are ooey-gooey great!"
"Go on, you deserve it!" the psychologically manipulative onslaught persists, at once addressing, encouraging, and currying feelings of inferiority and self-doubt that are a mainstay of the human condition.

The victim, who is reflexively averse to change, is governed by prejudice and assumption, blindly trusts authority, believes in retribution, desires reassurance, is guilty of envy, lies to avoid hurtful truths, and suffers from separation and alienation anxiety, declares "Now I have to go buy some!"


Do you find me to be strange?


Come along, let us continue, I'll guide you.


It is blatantly obvious someone has become a bit self-indulgent.

Pausing for an applause that never comes.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

I came down from the sky, on a giant cosmic spiral staircase


Under droplets with her curled up hind legs tucked under, she wishes to lay down, but the ground is too wet and not very inviting.




The dove gray clouds, which aren't moving, are set so low to the ground, they are removed from the night sky, but that doesn't necessarily mean they are separate.




She said:


"Are you sure? Would you like to see what I see? But you won't understand, so just smile and hold my hand. What else could you do? I don't know why, but it had to start up again somewhere. And I love all of the stupid things that you do. It's a 'rough trade.' I love all of the common people."




"When you're laying in bed at night, If you called, you could stop and end it all."




"You'll never let your life slide out of view, just because there is nothing else to do."




Laughing along can make a person the joke.


Te he! haha.




And it will get to me.




I thought it would be a good idea to let everyone know that I don't want to talk anymore.




The movement of my mouth, uttering word after word, is excruciatingly painful.




I have a hunch that I make people happiest when I am sad; I am grateful that I can amuse so many people, from so many walks of life.




And this is my sense of humor, don't take anything seriously.




There is no "little truth" in any of my jokes.




Rusty hinges, I tried to say I wouldn't be there....much too slow.




What is there to wait for?




I am worn from continual alterations.




Put all the things, which weigh so heavy....down. Make sure that I am securely placed beneath them. I finally lay down, crushed, under all that has been amassed. I'm even lower.




But that isn't meant to be a sad thing. I am happy there, and that is the sad part.



The princess is in exile. This time it is not self imposed and this is the first time it has ever been the case.

And she didn't understand, so she just smiled and took my hand.






Friday, October 16, 2009

Beads, and the center of the universe, the core of the earth,

Beads are everywhere. They are either shiny and narrow, or dull and wide. Either way, I've lost all interest in putting them together. Kerrie

Slowly aligned, without a guiding hand Me

My thoughts never build a structure. They are just little pieces, fragments. I

It makes sense to me, sometimes certain people know what the things I say mean, because it applies to them, sometimes only I know the order. And I guess I don't make my meaning obvious because I always have something that I need to keep to myself. There is always something that isn't allowed to crawl out into the light of day. There was a time when every part of me was exposed, and I wasn't happy, and people who have known me my whole life were disappointed with me, because I wasn't acting like myself. I shall refrain for awhile from letting anything out, as it breeds confusion. I have been repeatedly misrepresented, the one who has carried out the misrepresentation is ....me. The fault is mine. I am flighty, I get carried away and easily influenced. Me
I think too much and I'm tired. Myself
The world is a vaccuum. I

Monday, October 12, 2009

Kittens are cute, but a full grown cat can be cuter


There is a such a thing in life as the slowest of time, and that's where I live, that's where this song comes from.


In the days when I was hopelessly bored, I discussed it more.


Stuck like tissues to a paper mache doll.


I had a funny feeling.


My veins were as coarse as sand.


My body was still.


This was in opposition to my head which spun, drifted, and shook.


The glowing energy was constantly, smoothly, flowing.







Hold still, I told you!





But you moved.





I can't find you.








It should be apparent that I disapprove of verse/chorus/verse.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

The River's Edge


I have already waited too long.


Highlighting a "headlong rush towards doom"

I need a piece to do it.

I need only to make it through it.

I hear a heartbeat, and it isn't mine. But the rythmn makes my fingers shine.

Today is the same as yesterday, a never ending succession of saying goodbye.

It looks and sounds a little bad, but I can't even think of anything clever to say.

So I'll say that the night has grown longer, as the day has darker.

Everything I always wanted.

One last time.

All the things I thought I had

I didn't

I am tired of the sound of my own voice

Combined and brewed

Young girl, one day you will be old

A boy is stabbed and his money is grabbed.

The air is hangs heavy like a dulling wine

Though I walked home alone,

My faith in love is still devout

Then someone falls in love

Someones beaten up

The senses being dulled are mine

This is last night for this pair

She said how quickly would I die if I jumped from the top of the chute?

Scratch my name on your arm with a fountain pen

Aligned this way, and that way

You, if you found me by your side

Not this time

Whenever I'm alone with you

I feel like I am home again

I feel I am whole again

Crushed


Not this time


However fay away,


However long I stay, whatever words I say, - ---- ------ ---- --- ----


I looked behind and I shrieked


I am afraid of my shadow


I miss it so


I was right, you were wrong


I cannot say


Walk on


With hope in your heat, and you'll never walk alone.


Gone through the rain.


Though your dreams be trite and old.


Walk on with hope in out-stretched hands.


What a pretty, lovely, ground upon which to walk.


Rattling pieces....never a whole picure, only fragments... What a pretty sight. Only let in a little.

Into a fury, a tizzy, dizzy, blanket of sunshine.

Pulp's Jarvis Cocker, and Camille Bidault-Waddington.
He's a lot like Morrissey, but he is a little more interested in women, and his wife is a fashion designer. He's my new thing.

"So like the Roman Empire fell away
Let me tell you; we are going the same way
Ah, behold the Decline and Fall
All hold hands with our backs to the wall
It's the end:Why don't you admit it?It's the same from Auschwitz to Ipswich
Evil comes I know from not where
But if you take a look inside yourself -maybe you'll find some in there
Not one single soul was saved
I was ordering an Indian takeaway
I was spared whilst others went to an early grave
Oh, got stoned
Yeah, went out and got stoned
Well if your ancestors could see you standing there
They would gaze in wonder at your Frigidaire
They had to fight just to survive
So can't you do something with your life?"
- From Auschwitz to Ipswich
Jarvis Cocker



The beckoning finger of fate.
We can't help it.
When you are young, you crave affection, and it can come from the strangest direction.
Nothing's changed.
Only slightly.
I continue to drift.
He broke my knees, and he really laid into me.
The pain was enough for a shy, bald, Buddhist to reflect and plan a mass murder.
I can play all the grown up games.
-Set to music, the kind which surrounds me constantly-
Once
Once, once when, once,
See if I care, see if I care, see if I care, see if I care, I do.
If you don't like me, don't look at me, there must be somebody else who can take your gaze from me.
Run, run, run, run.
I've seen how you care, I've seen how you are.
If you don't want to, then stay away, If you don't mind to, then stay away.
Flailing wildly, I mistaked that feeling for the same
that I had been hanging around with long ago.
See if I care, see if I care, see if I care, see if I care, see if I care.
If you don't like me, don't speak to me, there must be somebody else who can't take their mind off of me.
Just fall and I won't feel the same, that's all.
Run, run, see if I care, see if I care
Once, once when, once when I learned the way to care
There must be something else to carry me away.
Don't fall or I won't ever feel that way again.
la la la la I La Lu .
- Myself

In other news, Techno is dead.
Radiohead's Thom Yorke has proclaimed that all music produced electronically is dead and he has abandoned it. He is forming a new group, so new it has no name :


I never said I was deep, but I am profoundly shallow. My horizons are narrow.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

The Logical Machine


Salvador Dali has been one my favorite artists for as long as I can remember, and I remember looking through a book of his work when i was eight. Expressions of beauty do not have to be "appropriate." I'm not interested in a personal definition.


A comma here a comma there.


The difference it made was great.


Layers of wind, all from the same place, hit the leaves with varying degrees of pressure.


A dangling string is smothered in glue. It catches and pulls me with an overwhelming stress into the glistening erosion.


Simplicity, I refuse it, I am not alone, I am the same as everyone else. We are creatures of layered complexity. To make the bold and false statement that everything is cut and dry, or capable of being simply stated, or worse yet, "black and white," is to deny the intricate beauty which we cannot understand. I know nothing, but I find beauty within the sublime concepts that I do understand, and they lead me to an inkling of the transcendent.

The reader is the author; the author is the reader.

Human relations.

Pasolini, I shall always be.

See if I care, See if I care. If you don't mind, I'll slip out the back way. If you don't want me, you don't have to have me. There must be somebody else to go about it another way. I thought you might feel the same way, that's all.

This is what I am made of...there is nothing I am afraid of. I will die with both of my hands untied.


Heaven vs. Paradiso
Never confuse these two contrasting dreams.


It was all down hill from Baroque.

Logic is dead.

Art is dead.

Pragmatism is born.

Modernity.

"All hail simplicity"- ignore the mystical.

Let us capture images of nature - "Look how accurately this painting depicts nature." - ignore the mystical.


Nature is lovely and alluring, but it remains a representation of entrapment to me.

Plain brown portraits take over.

The natural beauty of the human form.... the realist school....gross.

In my own unlearned opinion, there are two types of art, ones which elevate the common, and ones which lower the sacred to our own banal level.

Excuse me, my thought process may change slightly from here on out, as I am on my fourth cup of coffee, and I am taking a break to clip out fashion ads for my project on "Fuchsia- and it's impact on fall jackets trends." I will proceed to feel lackadaisical while doing so...(I am taking the easy way.)

One, two, three, forget it.



I know it's serious.... Girlfriend in a coma....


“Plainness has its peculiar temptations quite as much as beauty.”- T.S. Eliot ....I find the work of T.S. Eliot to be extraordinarily distasteful. I have a severe desire to tear this apart, but I shall refrain, but this what I am talking about. There is no beauty in modern life.

"The virtue of plainness and ugliness." If two things don't fit, but you believe both of them, thinking that somewhere, hidden, there must be a third thing that connects them, that's credulity” - Umberto Eco

Run, run, run, run, forget yourself in the motion of limbs, progress, industry, forget me.

Status Quo.

The disappearance of the individual.

The will, the will is not raw. There is another part of us which is beyond not only the cognitive, but beyond the will. The will is directed by the cognitive to a certain degree. Our wills our influenced by our perceptions. "The Trimuph of the Will"...I don't mean to be racist in any way...but, hey, once again, thanks Germany, for yet another twisted philsophical ideal.

Unity, Power: The death of the individual.


"Words are but symbols for the relations of things to one another and to us; nowhere do they touch upon absolute truth. ... Thus it is, today, after Kant, an audacious ignorance if here and there, especially among badly informed theologians who like to play philosopher, the task of philosophy is represented as being quite certainly "comprehending the Absolute with the consciousness", somewhat completely in the form "the Absolute is already present, how could it be sought somewhere else?" as Hegel has expressed it." -Nietzsche critizing Hegel...but I can't decide who I dislike more profusely...

There are two birds on a tree, one eats the fruit of the tree, while the other looks on. Which bird is me? Duality. I am looking into a reflection of a reflection which goes on infinitely.

Run, run, run, run, through the glen.
See if I care, see if I care, I wouldn't, I won't.

Memorized prayers having the similar effect of a mantra (an abandonment of yourself having God as your sole focus.). I see nothing wrong with this.

Logos.

April 5 2005, Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger (Pope Benedict XVI) referred to the Christian religion as the religion of the Logos:

"I will write my law on their hearts." St. Justin wrote that those who have not accepted Christ but follow the moral law of their hearts (logos) follow God, because it is God who has written the moral law in each person's heart. Though man may not explicitly recognize God, he has the spirit of Christ if he follows Jesus' moral laws, written in his heart.


The Dark Night Of The Soul
Saint John of the Cross


Songs of the soul rejoicing at having achieved the high state of perfection, the Union with God, by way of spiritual negation.


Under the dark of night,

Demented by hot yearning, I arose

(O gamble of delight!)

And went though no one knows,

Leaving behind a house in cold repose.

In darkness all went right,

By secret ladders, in clandestine clothes,

(O gamble of delight!)

In darkness I arose,

Leaving behind a house in cold repose.

And in the luck of night

In secret places where no other spied I went without my sight

Without a light to guide

Except the heart that lit me from inside.

It blazed my trail and shone

A surer path than noonday rays could show

Toward where there waited one

Whom only I could know

Out in a place where only we could go.

O guiding dark of night!

O dark of night more dear to me than dawn!

O night that can unite

A lover and loved one,

A lover and loved one moved in unison.

And on my flowering breast

Which I had kept for him and him alone

He slept as I caressed

And loved him for my own,

Breathing an air from redolent cedars blown.

And from the castle wall

The wind came down to winnow through his hair

Bidding his fingers fall,

Searing my throat with air

And all my senses were suspended there.

Beyond myself, I eased

My forehead on my love where he reclined.

Time stopped. I lay released,

Leaving my care behind

Among the lilies, out of night and mind.





I am not a complete idiot, however my lack of knowledge is vast.

Secrets make no friends

I'm bleeding and it is blue blood.

I'm crying and it is champagne.

There is a kitchen knife in the small of my back.

The mood- lighter throwing.



As I sit on my cloud, I glance down for second, and I remember why I am the one up so high.

I'm already wearing the sapphire crown...so why are you fashioning one of paperclips?



Existance is only a game................

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Why is this relevant?


I'm as mild and as meek as a mouse
When I hear a command I obey.
But I know of a spot in my house where no one can stand in my way.
In my own little corner in my own little chair
I can be whatever I want to be.
On the wings of my fancy I can fly anywhere
and the world will open its arms to me.
I'm a young Norwegian princess or a milkmaid
I'm the greatest prima donna in Milan
I'm an heiress who has always had her silk made
By her own flock of silkworms in Japan
I'm a girl men go mad for love's a game
I can play with cool and confident kind of air.
Just as long as I stay in my own little corner
All alone in my own little chair
I can be whatever I want to be.
I'm a slave from Calcutta I'm a queen in Peru.
I'm a mermaid dancing upon the sea
I'm a huntress on an African safari... it's a dangerous type of sport and yet it's fun
In the night I sally forth to seek my quarry
And I find I forgot to bring my gun.
I am lost in the jungle all alone and unarmed when I meet a lioness in her lair
Then I'm glad to be back in my own little corner
All alone in my own little chair.



I am quite serious when I say I am missing one of my shoes.
Really, it is pink and flat and it has a bow...it's a size 6 1/2. If you find it and give it to me that'd be great.

This makes no sense.

What has passed has not left.

I realize that I am no longer the same person I was even two days ago...in a kinda bad way.

Over sized pieces are buried and they have a marker.

I've seen it all.

Coming back wasn't that same.

It's an illusion...the life that surrounds and hovers around my mind.

I miss the comfort in being sad.

Plunged under and I'm not doing well.

Hovel.

Look on the bright side...I'm on your side.

I was missing for an hour.

Was it only an hour?

I thought it was the whole night.

Ding ding ding, there's a glowing idea.

Fixate on something else!

Deficiency.

I am through smiling, because it is expected.

The mob of people (leeches) are in debt to the bubbles.

I pay tribute to stings.

Fourteen hours later, what is was that passed remains.

Saturday, October 3, 2009

On the side of the road

Thud.
Thump.

Crash.

To appear untrue, is to fool.
Pick it up again.
Shove the scraps to either to the curb or at least the passenger side.
There is an extensive variety of trash to toss out, and the garbage pail contains everything.


Down the road, you'll have a clear view of the wreckage.
Right here are the littles pieces hit so hard they flew.
Why didn't I wear a seatbelt?
As I exited my seat, I cut my stomach on the windshield.

Soaked.

My face lit up with every word uttered in my direction and beyond. I couldn't remember what words passed if I tried. I knew that it was all so fascinating at the time. I lay in bed and ponder what thoughts could have swept me away and vanished quicker than they came. The man who is talking attempts to fill my head with water from a dried out well.

Mind Eraser.

Thump.
Thud.


I need assitance, afterall I am crumpled up at the bottom of the stairwell.

There is a vague sense that I once smiled without conscious effort wafting through the air.

I can erase my mind and mildly drift away. I wasn't built for any other way.

Honestly, I must confess, in a sick and disturbing way, I've begun to truly like emotional pain, and dramatic situations.

It is as though I want to make everything even worse. Sympathetic to villians, and a fan of wreckage, that's me. Awful. I tried. It cannot be undone.

Friday, October 2, 2009

Dumb. Happy?

I'm the chupacabra.
I am doll eyes.
I'm where the wild things are.
I am bouncy and flighty.
I- all I utter is I.


I'm not like them, I can pretend.
The sun is gone, but I have a light.
The day is done, but I'm having fun.
I think I am dumb, maybe just happy.

Skim the sun.
Fall asleep.
Wish Away.
... .... is cheap.
Soothe the burn.
Wake me up.

I think I'm dumb, maybe just happy.
My heart is broke, but I have some glue.
Help me along, through it all, and I'll leave with you.
We'll float around and hang out on clouds.
Then we'll come down.
We'll have a hangover.
I think I'm dumb, I think I'm done.

We passed upon the stair.
We spoke of was and when, although I wasn't there.
I spoke into his eyes. "I thought you died a long, long time ago."
I'm face to face with the ... ... .... ... .....
I laughed and shook his hand, made my way back home.
I searched for form and land.
Years and years I roamed.
I gazed a gazely stare.
We walked a million hills.
I must have died alone, a long, long, time ago.
Who knows, not me.
We never lost control.
You're face to face with the man who sold the world.
He said I was his friend.
It came as a surprise.

Oh no , not me, I never lost control.

Sound Familiar?

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Remember When...



I used to value sadness. I built it an altar in the highest point of my mind.

"Wasting your unhappiness to focus on putting on the show.

You won't want to remember how it feels to let go."

Restless limbs lying thickly covered, turn and twist, and they can't be still.

The eyes flash open, taking notice of the moving parts.

The assembly of body parts are aware of newly fashioned anxieties....And the thoughts in the head don't know where to go.

The form has an ache and a sour stomach.

But, besides being filled with these three things...it's, well, empty.

"Like the spare change we deny a beggar, not because we're stingy or mean-hearted, but because we don't feel like unbuttoning our coat." -F.Pessoa

"There's an awful lot of inactive kindness which is nothing but laziness, not wanting any trouble, confusion, or effort." - John Steinbeck

"Like stars in the night sky, we shine"..... I'd rather burn out than fade away

I have a great great great aunt named Fallen Star (Maybe we'll have a little history lesson soon[I'm royalty, really].)

Someone can cut me down now.

I don't know, I don't know if we'll have time.

I spent the night at a friends house when I was about ten. She told me I could sprinkle some food in a tank for her goldfish... it was skimming the surface an hour later, I had over-fed it.
Poor little goldfish, you saw so much through a bowl. If I were you I'd have come up for air...But I think you're cute. I am a mermaid! This means I can at least relate to you halfway. We should get together sometime, I'll take you under the sea, out of the way of the sun. Then I will fry you in a little pan on the beach...sizzle sizzle little fishy. I am going to make you nice and crispy.
(A tip about the author : I get in these weird moods where I make creepy jokes, and awkwardly state things that are sinister in an upbeat squeaky voice...this is one of those aforementioned moods)

I have given up on planning things.
And so now I have posts like this....I'm kinda sorry, that I wasted your time.

I saw this movie once, it was about some kids in the 20's, and I mentioned it on here before...but I won't now...and that's for crafty, cryptic reasons. But, I will list a poem related to it.
If you know the film I am talking about I dare you to watch it and not shed a tear.

What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind... -Woodsworth
"Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood":


I have this pair of moccasins, and they need to be washed soon. I thought that I could take them hiking...twenty miles a day. I realize now that they would have worn out before too long, and I am not thinking about moccasins anymore. They really stink. They stink the same way that this yellow shirt I have stinks. It was a brilliant plan! Brilliant.

B-r-i-l-l-i-a-n-t.

hehehehe. I'm mean. And, I have too many things that don't belong to me. I don't have enough.
Center of attention. Center of attention.
Creepy, comical mood.
"I'm so pretty, it hurts."
"I don't know, I don't know if we'll have time."
"I'm a H------- and I can take anyone."
I'm going to try and slow down now....
I think I'm funny, and I am not ashamed to be the only one laughing at my jokes. I mean come on, I sang in the middle of the grocery store last week, and my sister hid behind this giant macaroni display... and I didn't stop, that's saying something.


I make jokes at inappropriate times.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

What is left to come?

Hate her, hate her, depsise her. It will make things easier, if she is unloveable.
The tables are rumbling, yes, she is also stumbling, (the world you've built is crumbling[I go down with my ship].) It comes as no surprise. He said she was his friend. She spoke into his eyes "Would you take me somewhere I've never been." He said "I'll take you anywhere as long as you say please, please, please."
"Kiss, kiss on my lips."

They're moving fast. Time cannot be wasted... I recall the statement "I don't believe in the madmade concept of time." Everything changes, fast.

A rush.

The people here (who knows who they are) they're jumping here and there in my head. It is all perfectly contained, we're are all jumping, jumping through hoops. Second rush, Ooh is it my turn? The jumping halts...and a fuzzy screen takes over my head. And I know I need to walk, but there is this foam on the back sides of my mouth, and I can't move until it comes out. "Kiss, kiss, kiss, her lips."


Erased.


Am I the only one?

Pout

I made a friend
Left out to dry
Dresses and let out seams
Keep my word for you
"Say it, say it again."

And the bruises beg to differ

Heavy feet with sores on the sides... burn. They are heading one after the other rapidly down the hill on their own.
Pitter patter pitter patter.
One two one two.
And I fall flat on my face, and my doves pick me up and carry me off to a nest made of newspapers, and burnt papers the size of a stick of gum.
"Parliments have an indented filter for a reason."

I am drawn to the brier patch, no one ever bled to death from a few knicks here and there. Are these the lessons I am to learn?
This is not me, I'd never lose control.

A case of tennis elbow, a bruise on her hip, streaks on her leg, a tree burn on her arm, these signs are to let the poeple know their queen is weak. Her Highness has fallen from the balcony. Under shining mediterranean skies, she coasts along on the back of a swan, and now she lays on Kythira, in the Ionian Sea. "Everyday becomes a little easier, soon enough you'll have the strength to paste on that so-called smile."
I like it, I'm not gonna cry, but only because I already look like death. "Hello, so glad you made the trip out here with me, allow me to escort you to my newest palace, but whatever you do, don't look in that room, it's where I keep the memories of all I've lost."

Oh no...I forget...I've forgotten...I forgot again.


And I'm here cause I didn't have any desire to leave earlier. Must go and be out of the way. The way...which...where is that? I am inept...explain. Plainly. All in all the colors are dull. they are bleeding and blending together, forming a maladjusted gray. Fived colored pictures all in a row.

Madame Guillotine


I'm left standing in the cords.
Stabbing in vain, shards of glass in uneven terrain.
Bleeding to no end, and they tangle.
There are no rewards, it's meaningless words.

She's scared cause I want it all.
Green scenes covering the walls.
Ivory filters, diffused photographs.
Ivy lingers, confused sound, you laugh?

As my palms grew redder...it hurt extra bad, it hurt really bad for you.
I wish I could say something that I didn't think before.
Ah regression. Ah aggression.
Sought out misrepresented second opinions.

And I've been asked before...
And maybe I am on the brink of mental illness...because I never learned to distinguish my thoughts from reality and I have been trained to believe that my thoughts aren't real. Maybe everyone else is crazy? Could it be? Please let it be...please? I said the magic word!

And I am displeased that there are so many judges- no choice but to plead insanity.


I'd prefer to set up a noose on my own, if I am so inclined, but I appreciated having it placed upon my neck. (Princesses hate physical exertion.)



It makes me smile, that it's hard to find, something that isn't there. It's hard to breathe, hard to see through these protruding eyelids. If a camel can see past it's eyelashes, or pass through the eye of a needle, maybe I can see through swollen skin.


I'll see them all there, behind the sun. We'll laugh about it one day. In the future when all's well, after the cords are chewed a while.



I wait for the kingdom to be returned to me...I admit I ate cake, I danced at a masquerade, but it wasn't anarchy, nor a demi-brigade.

Drown me in the Seine, before I contribute to the Republic.

Monday, September 28, 2009

1 4 3

On ne pas serieux on dix neuf ans.

Back to the beginning...
I suppose it could be simpler, after all, I was forced to sit through it once before. My dessert fell on the floor, I proceeded to scrape it off the ashen floor. my lighter ran out of fluid, I lit a match, and then the wind blew it out.
But nothing matters, Let's run down the hill now, and forget that we need to hike back up again. I want to stay here forever. But it isn't an issue, I'll change my mind tomorrow. The bird takes flight, spreading it's wings and soaring into a puffy white cloud. Flecks of sunshine are glittering around it's eyes. The rabbit burrows, and it isn't particularly bothered that it's resting place is dim. The rabbit is hypnotized by the design of cool rust-colored clay intertwined with mud.

And I wish I were waiting in Antioch library during a rainstorm, in October.
And I wish I were wearing a thick tan sweater, a black pencil skirt, black hose, and grey boots, driving and singing a capella "There is a light that never goes out."

Take me out tonight because I want to see people and I want to see life. Driving in your car Oh, please don't drop me home Because it's not my home, it's their
home, and I'm welcome no more.


And if a double-decker bus crashes into us to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die and if a ten-ton truck kills the both of us to die by your side, well, the pleasure - the privilege is mine.


Take me out tonight
Take me anywhere, I don't care
I don't care, I don't care
And in the darkened underpass
I thought Oh God, my chance has come at last (But then a strange fear gripped me and I just couldn't ask.)

And I want a flying pony.
And I want a smile that never turns around.
The time has come to understand that things don't change that easily.

Wahabis.

Learn to love me, assemble the ways, now, today, tomorrow and always. My only weakness is a listed crime, my only weakness is... well, nevermind, nevermind.
Hand me over, hand me over. My greatest crime is feeling too greatly.
I've tried an angry world instead of a shell. I was bored before it even began.

And I speak in codes, that no one understands, so I am either a lunatic, a genius, or quite simply an eccentric.

And I like picnics...when there is honeydew, cantaloupe doesn't cut it. And I like sunshine, and I like a lot of other fabulous things too.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

The Loop

New.

Waiting and envisioning captivating exploits, I cued wanderlust. I waited and gave up. I became bored.
Without expecting much I set out.

I'll admit, I'm impressed, but only a pinch.

Monday, September 21, 2009

What more was asked?

I have to say hello to an old friend.

Would someone help me?

Would anyone even consider it?

A fleeting feeling standing on it's own holds up it's chin against the longevity of rationality.

How are such short term feelings ridiculously drawn out?


"I sent my hardened regards instead of love.

Your mild best wishes make me suspicious."


Pretty girls make graves, is a song by The Smiths

And they do...but I have observed, from a distance, the graves they make are quite frequently their own.


" Surprised to still be asking to be left alone? "


The sky was silent, the air stayed still, I assumed nature was bored and didn't feeling like putting on a show for little old me. Yes, the pine branch crackled as I pulled it to the ground, but that doesn't mean nature was the source of the sound. There was a great build up, I could sense it all around me. The air was heavy with humidity. To the movement of my arms, it had the density of sour cream. And then, and then, and then,


Nothing happened.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Spotted Tail.

........................................................................................................................................................................ Well, I wonder.....................................................................................................
Time to go listen to Mazzy Star.
............. I am an
owl ..................................................................................................................................................

Friday, September 11, 2009

For every poison this is an antidote

These songs are everything you wanted to know about me.
I fill my fanciful little head of straw with selections such as these.
I would like to continue my dancing on air and my floating in the shining star clusters within the cosmos. There is no such thing as time. Listen up these are important, they speak volumes about me... good and bad, but mostly bad. It is vital that the music is actually listened to.

Heart and Lungs


From our lives
the land disappears
all that is left is a heart made of tears
from her smile the golden tooth is worn
child your only hope has flown
hold on to this house
all I have left is the only place I've been

it's all heart and lungs
it's not that much fun
it's hard, hard to run
it's not that much fun

http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Heart_and_Lungs/7280386

Hearts...Lungs...
Following the heart, smoking substances which fill the lungs are...
Trust me ...('Cause I truly do know,)

Not that much fun. Not that much fun.

The above song went perfectly with small blue shining globes of abandonment which glistened in the moonlight, held within my cupped hand. Foolishness.


Saltwater
Love you all the time
Even though you’re not mine
Love you all the time
Dream I’m in the saltwater

Timing’s gone all bad
Broken faith and a broken way
You couldn’t lose me if you tried
Cause I'll be sleeping by your side, baby

Love you all the time
Even though you’re not mine
Love you all the time
Broken faith and a broken way

http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Saltwater/49022
I don't feel that commentary is essential for this particular tune.



Childhood
The beginning of the end,
But the harvest, was my friend.
The nature of that place, sends a sweet smell, around my head.
Oh well. The hardest thing of all,
The heartbreak of our loss. Heartaches all the time.
We were cast out, of everywhere, but not the last time;
The last time I remember, the last time I remember, It was ...
How I want you to know,
How far west I would go.
Hand in hand they’re in love, our loyal days in the snow.
All my toys are dead-Unravelled at the stairs.
Opened but who cares?

This song is named after a place I can't seem to escape.

http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Childhood/203780



Saturday, September 5, 2009

The trouble with faces is that the expressions can change

A waste of time.
Frozen faces, holding the same expression. There are many kinds of expressions, some of which can be actions.

Some reactions can be bad. Some are played out with the utmost care and set forth a demeanor best befitting an uncomfortable situation.

Confusion.





Expression and reaction are specifically outlined to prevent me from creating a scene.

And the tables turn...I lightly reacted anything else simply wouldn't do for such as I.

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Burrowing

The liquid begins to bubble and fills her oversized eyes. Waves take over the overwhelming openings as she shakes her head. Tension takes over. The muscles quiver under her thin pink cotton sleeves. Her hands open. As the hands take hold of the prize, her actions become calculated. A lie roosts at the bottom of the object in hand. A sound as shrill and steady as a boiling tea kettle escapes her throat. Clumsily and with an unnatural quickness, she drops it. The means of absolute , completed, absorbtion shatter. They are miniscule pieces on the floor.

Angel, Angel,
They do not understand the urgency of life.


For various reasons, the source of her fire wasn't discovered. After the sifting through the evidence, the motive wasn't clear.


Goodbye house, forever.
For what it's worth, whatever happens, I love you.



A faction.

And I'm nauceous now, and we all follow the rules, and we all secretly follow our own hearts and we all secretly hurt. Dragging our dusty feet across shiny cleaned up floor, the colors around the room turn dull. We have something to show, but it would be shameful, so we never do. I desire to emulate the parted roots at the bottom of a precious tree. The tedious movements of time encroach upon the crowd without warning. Circumstances deviate and become at odds with the customary.

We answer with stagnation, and we're wrong. The glistening pathways on her cheeks thicken. I dare to open my mouth "Your icicles are like mirrors. They have blended with the fibers of your hair. I can tell by the elevated skin on your arms that you must be a little cold."


The answer is a kind of hibernation underground.
And I miss it there.




Routine.
new people, repeated pains, I vowed to never be in those circumstances again. I did so because I had no idea I would have to confront them again. But, it stares me in the face, and it doesn't occur to anyone that it would be distatseful to me. And the focus remains. And that oval face causes a tear in my frame of mind. And it could be prevented, but then I would be out four chambers of a thing that I really do need.
"You seem to know a lot about me, it's funny, but I don't recall giving you my name. I don't remember divulging any of the information about me which your foreign mouth has just spilled out. I didn't sell it, even through the bad patches, those things about me never came out."

A Wild Collection Of Particles

Compartments of purity begin dripping through the cracks. The droplets slide down the flecked fossil, a remnant of what once walked about freely. Beads skim the connected lampshade surrounding the bright internal entity once perfectly detached.




The clover gown is soft and inviting. The circular fold brushes against the temples on the leprechaun prince. Sensing an inward fragility, the growing gown accordingly stretches all around him, entangling every limb. The powdery scent wafts upward filling my head with a delicate perfume. Archaic words fill my ears. Gratefully, I gaze back at the leprechaun. "Thank you for your inabilty to provide me with charming verse. There are only so many silver tongues a girl can handle. Ineloquence has become a precious commodity."
My winged allies gather and part.



La Vie En Rose (I'm looking at the world through rose colored glasses)

Des yeux qui font baiser les miens,
Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche,
Voila le portrait sans retouche
De l'homme auquel j'appartiens

Quand il me prend dans ses bras
Il me parle tout bas,
Je vois la vie en rose.

Il me dit des mots d'amour,
Des mots de tous les jours,
Et ca me fait quelque chose.

Il est entre dans mon coeur
Une part de bonheur
Dont je connais la cause.

C'est lui pour moi. Moi pour lui
Dans la vie,
Il me l'a dit, l'a jure pour la vie.

Et des que je l'apercois
Alors je sens en moi
Mon coeur qui bat

Des nuits d'amour a ne plus en finir
Un grand bonheur qui prend sa place
Des enuis des chagrins, des phases
Heureux, heureux a en mourir.

Quand il me prend dans ses bras
Il me parle tout bas,
Je vois la vie en rose.

Il me dit des mots d'amour,
Des mots de tous les jours,
Et ca me fait quelque chose.

Il est entre dans mon coeur
Une part de bonheur
Dont je connais la cause.

C'est toi pour moi. Moi pour toi
Dans la vie,
Il me l'a dit, l'a jure pour la vie.

Et des que je l'apercois
Alors je sens en moi
Mon coeur qui bat

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Kerrie the Firefly

Happenings.

Palaeoptera.
Butterfly- inside
Damselfly- outside
Firefly- outside

I am humming the only words I know.
Mumbling a chorus line and hoping that listeners only hear the tune.
The words evade me.
Sparks hover above the ground, they float to the vegetation, occasionally they rest there for a time.

Epitome.

It is just a passing.
Little flickers resembling a human smile.
They bounce from petal to stem.
"I wish I were a snail. I could slowly burrow under the surface and study the roots."
says the Firefly.

There are not many insects which bother me with their presence.

The firefly turns the light on and off. It appears to sparkle.

Monday, August 17, 2009

Good evening, welcome to my puppet show.


Cries all the time, cause she's not having fun.

You always go the parties.....

All alone.

I would not beg you please.
We always go to the parties, to wipe the feathers on all the birds.


I'd gladly be there, like a puppet on a string.
In or out, was there ever a doubt about who was pulling the strings?

Lapse




Leonard Cohen-
Roshi-

I never really understood
what he said
but every now and then
I find myself barking with the dog
or bending with the irises
or helping out
in other little ways

There was once a little girl.
She danced on air, she played with characters pulled from depths in her imagination.
They were sweet little fairies and talking animals, the characters would jump from heights down into her sparkling playtime. Playtime and fancy never had an end. When she would wash rugs outside, she was an Egyptian handmaid to a queen. When she would lie in the covers at night she was hiding from an enemy army in a swamp, she writhed in the blankets because there were snakes at the bottom, (it was a stuffed octopus.) At dinnertime she would eat at a feast in a stone castle, instead of on a marker covered table in a small suburban house.
Draping herself in a wine colored blanket, she told her family that it was on her because she was cold, but it was July. The truth is she didn't want anyone knowing that it was all a game, she wasn't cold, she was always pretending that life was different than it actually was. The blanket was a cloak, a royal cloak, it was currently being worn by Her Imperial Highness, Kera Keralli the I, an Archduchess of Russia.

Forward, forward, at fourteen she was still playing games, running around in back of the house swinging on trees. She wasn't in the back of the house, she was swinging on a tree in an Amazonian jungle, guiding a lost party of adventurers to a hidden treasure located in a cavern.
She had a puppy. But, it wasn't a puppy, it was a lion, in an African Desert, and they walked down not a residential street, but a ditch, and there they captured poachers, and made friends with squirrels (which were actually giraffes.)

Forward, Forward, at seventeen she was playing trickier games, buying clothes from expensive shops, acting as if she could do this any day. Eating at exquisite restaurants, and playing the heiress. She wore cubic zirconium necklace, but it wasn't cubic zirconium, it was an antique diamond necklace, given to her by her great great grandmother, who was the wife of an Eastern European autocrat (He owned half of the black forest and was best friends with Albert the I, Prince of Thurn Und Taxis, and it was decreed that her great great grand daughter would marry his great great grandson, Albert the II, and thus become a princess).

She danced in clouds, clouds in her head. It was always a bit overcast there.

The pretending continued and it didn't hurt anyone, but herself. She had no real life. Yes, there were goals, but there was always plenty of time. And even if there was work to be done, it was always better when it was something else, something imagined in her head.
Then something terrible happened.

...Forward...ever so slightly...
She conjured a falseness which was close to reality... it was reality interwoven with dream tightly, so that they were forced to coexist. One could not continue without the other.

In the imaginary world, the house of daydream, there were heartaches and depression, but she had even made her scarring adolescent depression a glamourous thing. She was full of herself, she believed that everything in this world existed to fulfill a purpose in her imaginary world. Anything that was encountered in her life was merely something to be transformed, improved, and beautified, so that it could hold a special place in the house of daydream. After the conjuring...the house of daydream began to creak and it quickly crumbled into dust.

Without warning reality came running after her, tracking her down, and giving her no more escapes. The true nature of things stood over her staring in her face, shouting for her to examine her actions and their consequences.

All of the fanciful musings had changed her perceptions from what they should have been, they crushed down on her. The worst part is that reality had touched her dream world a little bit ago... and now there were several others involved, and that didn't help matters. She was mashed into a helpless little pancake. She wasn't sure how to fluff herself up again without fancy.

And so she lies on the cloud and allows it to carry her wherever it wishes...forsaking her will.

I feel very sorry for her, this is the problem with dreamers, when someone isn't one (meaning that they are a sane individual,) they are far less likely to feel the pains in their own realities, with the same poignant intensity, and regret. These people can overcome struggles without a dramatic
collapse.

Somethings last a long time.
There is a solution....and I will let you in on it a little later, when I figure it all out. Now is not the time for unveiling.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Don't question me

Lights, Camera, Mediocrity
In the fashion of any great magician, I can make things disappear.
This includes, but is not limited to the following :

Sunny days
Empty Bags
Times when the need for self reflection is made apparent.

Life's too rough and I'm too delicate!

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

A Look Into My Subconsious Mind.

I've heard that it's not possible to dream in color. I find that to be false.



This is the main dream that I had last night, there were two others.



Walking into an apartment a neighbor creepily smiles at me, after I enter I hear a noise. I look through the spyhole and he is leering into it as well. I run to a gigantic couch covered with multicolored leather patches, where my father comforts me. The neighbor begins blasting eerie lovesongs sung by Michael Jackson. I hear a commotion by the door. I know it is the leering neighbor breaking in. But, it wasn't, it is my mother in work clothes. She is followed by my uncle. We talk for a long time and we all decide that it isn't safe for me to stay there, and so I agree to leave.

We drive in separate vehicles. I am now driving a semi truck convertible. A work truck pulling a trailer swerves wildly in front of me. I honk my horn, he switches lanes. As I pass him he yells threats and obscenities at me. He looks like this one guy who is in Pirates of the Carribean. His window is rolled down and I don't want him to run me off the road (he is now trying to do just that) and so I begin to put on this false sweetness, wishing that it were genuine. The intersection looks like Johnson Drive and Antioch. I turn left and there is a large body of water along a neverending highway. I am forced to drive over it as the road has now dissappeared. Now the water looks like ice and there are enormous fish in it. The fish are the size of a standard sofa and they are green and white and slimy and the edges are all mouth with sharp outer teeth. They look a bit like sting rays.The sun makes the world a pinkish orange. It is warm, not hot, warm and humid. This is strange because the semi is plunging into an algae covered thin ice layer.

The fish are swarming. I am being eaten, but I am too weak to fight back. I let them nip at my arms for a while.

Something strange happens, I receive this untraceable strength.

I fight them, I pry them off of me. They are all gone.

One problem : there isn't anything above the water for me to float on and I catch no land in my eyesight.

Something strange happens, I know for no reason at all that if I go under the water I can breathe there.

I plunge under. From the road it seemed shallow, but everything has changed now, why would I think that the depth would be the same.I sink lower and lower. Crystals are bobbing around me. Some are daintily dancing. I see colors that I don't recognize. I see kaleidoscope patterns in some of them. It is breathetaking, blissful and beautiful. A weight hits the water above. The pressure causes my body to delve deeper.

I am in an underwater world. Contained here are miniature whitish gray people. Their naturally white skin is gray with splotches of black and white mold. A fear takes me over.


They desire to do nasty things to me. A part of my mind realizes that this is a vision of a place in hell and that I must be dreaming. An abstracted area in my head assures me I am asleep, but something is happening to my sleeping body, something horrible. This area tells me that my sleeping body is being attacked by an almost inconquerable force and I will only survive if I continue the dream and defeat the forces in it.

I beat the little devils senseless.

Forgive me this is where is becomes gruesomely graphic.

One of the creatures with a white bob style haircut immediately stands up. It gnaws on my upper right leg, biting to the bone. I tear a patch of skin from its stomach off. It is oozing a light pinkish goo. A waxy white half crocodile man wraps his long black hair around my neck. I bite through the hair.

Turning there is a door that looks like a ping pong table with a big metal push handle. It looks like a basement door. I open it. I see my paternal grandmother wearing the shimmering black cocktail dress that she wore to Nestor's wedding. She is all smiles and open arms. Her blonde hair matches a towering grandfather clock. The clock has a giant door. I want to go in. I have a violent urge to pry it open. I don't do it. I know that one day it will open to me of it's own accord.

I walk down the bright hall. I know where I am going even though I haven't been there before. In a tunnel with square cut outs that open to a view of a lush meadow and an adjacent prairie landscape, I find myself in front of Colin and Cassie, Felicity is there too. I lean to kiss their foreheads. Hunched over I tilt my eyes up. I see two people slowly walking toward me. They are happy, truly happy. The rosy sun from the cut outs shines heavenly light onto their faces. One has long chestnut hair that sweeps across her face from the soft winds blowing in the tunnel.

I know who they are...one is named after a color...and the other... well, I'll save that for later... I must keep being cryptic.

I awaken disoriented, with my head on the floor and my legs on my resting place. My hands are sore. My shoulders ache. I am out of breathe. My legs feel as though they have been kicking , my neck is tight like I have been choked. I am sure that something is in the room with me. I can't remember where the lamp is. Finally, my hand finds it. I feel breathe on the nape of my neck, but my dog is asleep in the hall. No one is in the room. I sit very still. I reach for my phone. Every so often for the next hour I walk into icy cold spots in the 88 degree room, (strange I turned off the air conditioner two hours before bed.)

I had been asleep for twelve minutes.

I had very little desire to return to the realm of sleep, or wherever I journeyed back from. I fell into sleep sitting up a little while later with my head tucked under the blanket.

I am sorry that I woke you up at two a.m. That was rude.


Saturday, July 25, 2009

Well, well, well, look who came crawling back...

Malady.
Tomatoes.
Some things last a long time.


I take great pleasure in being cryptic...and smug.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

In Twenty Four Hours An Altered Person Emerges.


My views change quickly...

I didn't intend for the shift to be sudden or harsh. The truth is children, life can be rough. Life can be worse than a horror movie, or losing a poker game all in.
Life throws some people a lucky hand, others don't play with a full deck, and people like myself perpetually lose round after round.
I lost again and again.
I fold.
It isn't fair to my readers to be so vague and morbid...
I don't think that any of you readers could relate. I have lived more life than most old people. I am frightened by what I've seen. I grow, but weeds choke my roots. I have been wounded too deep for stitches, another solution is required. I hope to hopes that there will be a cheerful pinnacle ahead for me. We shall see. Life has been cruel to me twice this week. I know I can't ever be the same person again. It is strange, the first issue seemed so big and scary, but I knew that I would adjust after time. The second issue is one that does not heal, even with time.

Never ask "How much worse could things possibly be?" The outcome is unspeakable.
Trust me, I know.


I had high hopes, but in my case things go from bad to worse.


In all my life I never imagined that brutality directed towards me would peak to this kind of extreme.


This is my last post, the final stand of all I am.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Goodbye Ink and Paper Trente Deux


Moving all the time, even though it doesn't help for long.
I still can't move fast enough.
It's right there, I'll head that way.

The rain pours all over me.
Cleansing away my rocky night.
It's early in the morning, the sky turned over colors twenty minutes ago, from black to fuzzy pink and then on to it's current shade of bright yellow.
The yellow is on one side of the sky.
On another side there are dove gray clouds sprinkling a moisture which calms me.
Thunder.
Rain.

There's nothing shinier in the world, a glimmering prism lies to the west.
I wildly chase it.
I am laughing and skipping and I don't care who sees me.
I notice an elderly gentleman looking out his garage, deciding whether or not his morning paper is worth being drenched in the cool droplets for.
I think so.
The end of the rainbow evades me.
It's so very close.
I know for certain what Power brought it close to my house, knowing I would see it.
How thoughtful, I am not surprised.
I had been writing, and drinking Ceylon tea, looking out my window, minding my own silly business when it caught my eye.
Thanks.

I keep chasing it.
I tried too hard.
I am happy and grateful that it exists at all.
I lie in the moist grasses in the park by my house, in my morning clothes.
The scents all around me are soothing; rainy air, honeysuckle, and grass are a lovely combination.

If only I had my tea here.
Next time I'll take a thermos, if I am given the chance.



Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Goodbye Ink and Paper Trente et Un

Initiation.
Limitation.
Lame.

"You look pretty when you are crying"

"I want your picture, but not your words"



Turtle Island
By the dock of the pond Turtle Island
I will wait there weeping silently
With a murky green reflection
Creeping up behind me
Stranded on Turtle Island
Waiting in solitude
Find me on a mound of sand










Thursday, June 11, 2009

Goodbye Ink and Paper Trente

I like Spring. I like the powerful presence of a thunderstorm whipping away at foliage outside my window under a swirling lapis sky. The winds give a marvelous texture to the clouds. They sit against the heavens in such a way that it calls to mind the impasto technique of a Jane Frank painting... wait... no comparison. Nature trumps Jane Frank...anyday.

I felt like dancing. I could have danced the whole night away... I half wished a funnel cloud would come along and take me off to the Emerald City, but I remembered that I wasn't dressed properly for that.
I know it's out of the blue, but I am reading Maupassant at the moment and I thought that it had some relevance :
'I always wanted to know what it was like to be wicked and actually ... it turns out to be not at all that much fun' - Collected stories of Guy De Maupassant




This isn't the clearest picture in the world, but we had a tea party a while back

I picked out the flowers...

I like violets, I brought some of those to my aunt's house. I prefer gardenias to any other flower, so I brought even more of those.



I highly recommend throwing a tea party. There must be fresh flowers, perfectly steeped tea, fairy sized foods, and a dress code that makes florals mandatory.

That's not the half of it. The guests should have a bright smile inside and out. The hostess should have the brightest smile of all. Most importantly, Everyone assembled should be prepared for lot's of talking about every subject under the sun.


As much as "I like Fall" I also like Spring and Summer... this is an addition to my spring/summer soundtrack

Beach House : Devotion

It's a lovely little album... use it wisely. I have been listening to it a tad too much. I do this whenever I find something new and shiny. It is playing as I write this ... I take things too far.
It is mellow and chill. My only qualm is the lack of acoustic.

All I want to believe
Is that I am better
Round and round
All I wanted to see
Is myself, better
round and round
And you helped me
So thank you
I am lovelier
All the better
^ Beach House - Lovelier Girl




Monday, June 8, 2009

Goodbye Ink and Paper Vingt Neuf

I do odd things.

I write in the early morning hours. I listen to 1960's British pop songs while writing papers (Sandie Shaw- My Darling Daughter.) I have a favorite coffee mug that I use every morning. I don't like to go out to eat, so I am making one new dish each week at least. I check the weather for the week and then I pick out outfits for each day. I line up the selections in order in my closet. I have to force myself to fall asleep. I am always afraid that once my eyes are closed and they stay that way for too long I will miss out on something. I type tutu instead of too too when I want to put an emphasis on the word too. I dislike when people text things like sigh, I never do it, and when people do it to me I completely ignore it (sometimes the entire message if it contains it). It isn't fair and is most likely a little mean, but I think that it is better than pointing it out every time. I automatically assume that everyone in the world loves literature and can listen to classical music for long stretches of time. I can't wrap my finger around the idea that some people eat meals in front of a television set.
I have always wanted to step into a fairy tale by accident (or whim) and be crowned Forest Princess, I even tried to kiss a frog earlier tonight (Not making this up by any means).
These are my six (un)important things that make me happy. (Was I tagged? I think technically, I mean, you did ask? Right Jenny?)
1. Fairy Tales
2. Colorful Pebbles that turn up in my shoe
3. Ceylon Tea
4. Beach House (it's a band)
5. Doing Laundry/Dishes in solitude I can think deeply while doing household tasks
6. Fancy Writing Utensils/Paper

Saturday, June 6, 2009

Goodbye Ink and Paper Vingt Huit


Thinking of how it could go...

Looking into my rearview mirror. I can see her disappear. She won't fade very softly into the backround scenery. She is a stark contrast to the waving greenery. The grass and the plants shift with the wind. She holds her ground. She defiantly stays there not knowing the rhythms in the breeze. She pretends that she stays sedentary because that is where she belongs. This isn't right. She stays still because the natural motions scare her.

None of this matters anymore. I have a deer halfway through my windshield.


Rearranged.

Sometimes you have an uncontrollable wave of emotion. It might cause you to do something drastic. Do it if you must, but just please don't let anyone see you, especially me. It's really distasteful. I'll even go so far as to have my back turned while you clean up your little mess, the byproduct of a temper tantrum.


Open and Closed.

Leave it open. Close it when prompted. I don't want to have to probe him with questions the whole while. Open. I berate the one I shouldn't. I toss things around the yard. Closed. I am dancing, and singing, and laughing, and carrying on, and now I am almost out of breath. What a lovely time to have. Opened, but only slightly ajar. I don't know the correct way to think. Clues pour into my head like little shocks. It's okay though, I know who to blame, afterall I tied down the straps, but then again you turned on the switch...
I slam it closed, I lock it with a deadbolt. Timing is everything. Happily, I am locked in.