Excessive Idiosyncrasy

vipers are nocturnal and ambush their prey

2011-05-08T14:43:00.000-07:00

Experiments have shown that these snakes are capable of making decisions on how much venom to inject depending on the circumstances. In all cases, the most important determinant of venom expenditure is generally the size of the snake, with larger specimens being capable of delivering much more venom. The species is also important, since some are likely to inject more venom than others, may have much venom available, strike more accurately, or deliver a number of bites in a short space of time. In predatory bites, factors that influence the amount of venom injected include the size of the prey, the species of prey, and whether the prey item is held or released. The need to label prey for chemosensory relocation after a bite and release may also play a role. In defensive bites, the amount of venom injected may be determined by the size or species of the predator (or antagonist), as well as the assessed level of threat, although larger assailants and higher threat levels may not necessarily lead to larger amounts of venom being injected.

You learn something new everyday! I'm not surprised to learn the fat ones are the most venomous! Interesting facts.

2011-03-04T09:40:00.000-08:00

Some lyrics from my favorite song this week:
****If I were you, i'd take a permanent vacation...****

2011-02-25T21:52:00.000-08:00

Eat it up.
feed on the garbage...
Maggot.

Pretty girls make graves.
You're the one for me, Fatty.

The Itsy Bitsy Spider

2011-02-01T23:48:00.000-08:00

Sleep is a terrible commitment. Sleep admits defeat. To be tied to sleep and caught and choked and held to it... is an unsettling idea. Sleep is competition. The knots it creates are at odds with mine. Detangling is detaching. Detaching is crucial in this escape. To be freed from the bonds I've fastened is frightening, but impossible without permission. I enjoy navigating the twists and snags almost much as their production.
Weaving crossgrain on my tapestry, I look at the threads and I smile. I tie off. My part is finished. I wonder what others will come up with. A smile crosses my face again. No one out weaves the spider. To sleep is to surrender. Handle my fabric carefully. Spiders sometimes bite. It's tough to tell what stays awake spinning while a pillow is beneath a head.
Fingers stiffened.
Eight legs above.
Oh, if only I had more appendages like my friend the spider... so much more work could be done!
Alas, I must finish each task one by one, sharpening pins and needles is always so difficult when I find someone on them.
Sweet dreams my friends.

No Title

2010-12-08T04:23:00.000-08:00

You really want to read all of this? I don't know who's crazier me for writing this... or whomever you are for going and reading it... Think about it.

i love my Jenna

As we spent the last night on Maudlin street, goodbye house forever. Love at first sight may sound trite, but it's true you know.

As I glance over...waiting...just breathe again.
The ground is frozen. You don't belong there.
In my lap
Burrowed
Left behind
Every night
Oh I was so selfish then
Always there
Tug at the rug
Self imposed sterile existence
I will be soon
I want you to breathe again
Lift up your head
The way you turned it to face me just before you went away
Head on paw
Stiffened the back I used to rub
Oh I do love you

We're after the same rainbow's end. We were going to see the world together. It was just around the bend. Wake up. Poke your head out from behind the curtain behind me, come look outside. I wish you were soft again. I need you to be with me...in this Place. I wish I were twelve again... because then you'd only be seven. We could run around the yard together again. I'd even let you catch that squirrel this time.

Who am I going to walk with now? I'm sorry I didn't wrap you in a nicer blanket last night. I'm sorry I made you take a bath when you didn't want to. I'm sorry that I trimmed your ear hair. I'm sorry I made you drink that medicine with the old turkey baster. I'm sorry I didn't lay by you more. Most of all I'm sorry that you're gone.

...But I'm still going to the dog bakery to buy your birthday carrot cake this year. Now it really blows that yours is the same day as mine...
We were meant to be.
You weren't supposed to go yet. I don't want to bury you in a couple hours. I want you to stay asleep in your spot... and then wake up after you've gotten plenty of rest, and we'll hop on the couch when mom isn't looking, and then we'll eat all of the carrots we like! and no one will stop us and say that we need to save some for soup. And then we'll spend the rest of the day exploring around outside, and it won't be cold! and ...

I just want more day with you. I wish you would have told me earlier that you were going. I'm sorry I can't come along just yet.

...You've never been anywhere without me before... I wish I could have baked you your favorite dog biscuits one more time. The ones that I make with the heart shaped cookie cutter.

I know I don't have much to go on with this seeing as you're the only dog I ever had, but I think, I know, that you're the sweetest bestest most wonderfulest dog that ever lived. And even if I ever have another dog (for whatever reason...believe me, you'll never be replaced) I won't ever love them the same way I love you (and this is a secret...just in case it happens...which I highly doubt it will... but if it does... it'll have to be secret because we wouldn't want to hurt their feelings) ... I'll always love you more.

Come back Jenna. It's hard seeing you this way.

Puppy Love

2010-12-07T22:48:00.000-08:00

Life is everywhere. People have babies all the time. Almost always there is someone I know who is pregnant or has a baby. I've even been so privileged as to assist in a delivery. Life comes about frequently, joyously, and even sometimes unexpectedly.The excitement builds up in an expectant mother. The anticipation is almost too much to bear. There are fears, but they always pass.

The first wail of a newborn is both a little frightening and a cause for joy. A small new person breathes their first breath of air. The body is wet, and in my experience ... very very pink. It's a wonder to see the little hairs on a newborn's head. The small fingers are all equal in size. The fragile body is wrapped tightly in a blanket, but even then it's difficult to know what to say, or how to behave, or even how to feel. Birth invariably has had a strange effect on me. It's surreal. I'm seldomly able to grasp the idea of this new teensy individual existing in the world that I know. There are faint doubts in my head surrounding the whole idea of it.

Life is easy. We're all living right now. This passing moment, every feeling, every sensation, every regret, every pain of jealousy, the agony of feeling alone, the joy of company, the promise of hope, the itch on your back, the taste in your mouth, the memories gliding through your mind, they are all a part of existence in this world. These are things we really know. We all share in them to some degree. It's a pretty thing, this beingness, even when it feels ugly.

To all good things there must come an end.

Repose.

Sleep Eternal.

Death is unavoidable. Much like birth, I am unable to comprehend it when it occurs. I never had the opportunity to try either, but here it is ... a few feet away. Death is mysterious. I don't trust it at all! Tonight my part in it was unrelated to my part in birth. I was a witness once again. That is where the relation ends. That is how it feels. That feeling is false.
The truth is much like the birth I was present for, this participation in the experience of death was also a privilege. I'm thankful that my darling waited for me before she passed. It was bittersweet to be so close to one I loved so dearly when the time came for her saddeningly slow and slightly painful departure. I look even now and half expect her soft black ears to perk up a little. Maybe, just maybe if I whisper her name her eyes will open and meet mine again... It's a beautiful falsity. I don't curse death. I welcome it for it's own sake, even so far as to remove it from life... Death is make believe, it's conjured up as something that it is not becasue we cannot explain it readily or particularly. There is no such thing as death ...only a changing of worlds.

In Memoriam

Jenna, lovely little angel who has left me to frolic the pastures of heaven and to amuse herself with the chasing of rabbits (never catching...playful chasing) and perhaps even to rest on a few beds. My wonderful Jenna... Walking up the steps and opening the door I would always hear her tail beating against the entryway wall... barely able to contain her happiness that I was home. Jenna my sweet... Pulling down the bed covers and climbing onto the pillow when no one was looking. Jenna my baby... Taking her food and eating under the table at dinnetime. Jenna my n-n-enna... always there when I needed a hug. Jenna... I miss you.

The Elysian fields called her to play and I'm certain that I'll get to pet her again one day. I hope they have carrots there! They were her favorite... just like her mommy.

That's my baby... The one on the left.

Quote of the day

2010-10-25T11:19:00.001-07:00

"Le premier symptome de amour vrai chez un jeune homme, est la timidite, chez une jeune fille, est la hardiesse."
Don't judge me, I'm lovesick today. ... : )

Buried

2010-09-22T17:55:00.000-07:00

I'm getting out, and climbing back in. I miss feeling a thousand things at once, being headstrong, not being a full on adult. He symbolizes my girlhood, the one I gave to a black and white creature stuffed with softness. Oh... they're one and the same? That's is true.
I feel a little bad...
I feel a little bad for the one with the mortgage, the responsibilities, the one with their head on straight. The one with everything in place... who invited me in... but it's too restricted there. I've always said I wanted to be put in a glass case, on display, a soulless mannequin with nothing to say, a perfectly groomed, well dressed monster. There's no passion there. The trophy in the box isn't the same as the little girl with mismatched socks who also "likes fall." I'm tired of being someone's perfect accessory. I'm just glad we started out by explaining to each other exactly what we were doing together and why. Mutual using is an easy thing to get out of... the guidelines were perfectly clear. A meaningless partnership... two people... together out of spite. Trying to prove something to the past... they "no longer care about." Neither of us would be here if that were true.
My eyes are sore from crying, I hate when people catch me.
I hate when people catch me... I've been caught.

Goodbye, I'm sure you'll have millions of dollars one day.

The problem with giving your whole self away is that there's a price for it, but you can't ever pay it because you have nothing more to spare... a person requires another, the one they're giving themselves to. That person is supposed to give a small share to make up the difference. They pay the toll so you don't have to. So you don't do crazy things. Then you get to go down the road together. Otherwise you're stuck there, walking the way alone, a fool.

If you don't like me, don't look at me.

2010-07-05T23:21:00.000-07:00

I was not meant to write tonight...

Dreaming fuzzily... and in muted tones

2010-05-23T04:29:00.000-07:00

I watched the swirling clouds for awhile, woke up to the night, re-entangled myself in blankets, and woke up again, this time enchanted with the hours others pass through banally dreaming.

Hopefully one day this mess will all get sorted out. Things aren't always the way I planned them to be. I deal poorly with plans, especially the last minute sort.

I've said it before...I'll say it again. "Run, run, see if I care, see if I care (I do.) If you don't like me... then don't look at me... there must be somebody else who can take your gaze away. If you don't want me, you don't have to have me. I just thought you might feel the same. That's all."

I have to say hello to an old friend. And then I must go. I just stopped by to tell you that I'm going, ...it won't happen again. I swear.

Don't say I didn't warn you. Just don't say I didn't warn you..."Like a jealous little sister, when you had your time you spent it crying. I may be cold, I may be out of anyone's control, but I have my feeling of superiority to comfort me. "

You're drunker quicker... and you're sicker even quicker.... I was waiting for something to fall on you... so what shall I call you now? I will never say I told you so...but I knew, I knew, it was something that would happen to you. No, I told you so. I told you so.

I'm sorry if I have confused...anyone, but there is no person to which I am venturing through these waves for. I'm more of a floating island. I go where I want to, unencumbered by the fixed ground. I'll take company on my next misadventure...but please, don't try and set up shop.

The things you love. Why does someone always try and stop me from having the things in life that would make me happy? Have the pleasure of saying what you mean. To sum it up... maybe my weekend wasn't so good...

Aside from one detail I cannot mention in particulars however, it makes me glow and brim with smiles just thinking about. Sometimes life is kinder to me than other times.

So Happy

2010-05-22T15:38:00.001-07:00

So Limbo. Saturday, what to do? Oh I know, but I have little desire to commit.

Shouting "I don't care" doesn't particularly convince me

2010-05-19T06:06:00.000-07:00

You cannot call it your own. I always run circles up around in my head.
"A long, long time. Still you drive me out of my mind."

I hear the flucuations in the intonation. I know already. I always did. Lying is always a very foolish thing to attempt with me.

(But what street was she walking down?

As the street grew clearer, I saw it was in Paris. It was a boulevard.

And some months later, that first sentence finally became

"It was a hot, peaceful optimistic sort of day in September. It was about eleven in the morning I remember and I was drifting down the Boulevard St. Michel thoughts rising in my head like little puffs of smoke when suddenly…"

And I had to figure out - suddenly what? Somebody stops her, of course. The man she will fall in love with? Undecided. She's an actress and the man who stops her is an actor and they already know each other and they go to a café when suddenly again...

She sees her lover, an Italian Diplomat…." And I was off.)

-excerpt from The Dud Avocado, which was read by me....at age thirteen and had a profoundly negative effect on my overall character and person. The lack of morals is astounding, awe inspiring if you will. As a overt hedonist. I highly recommend it.

Well, it's a marvelous night for a moondance.....

2010-05-18T14:21:00.001-07:00

Can I just have one more moondance with you? -a song that never gets old.

"Choke me in the shallow water, before I get too deep."

With the sun shining, she walks on petals onto the dizzying grain, picking up splinters along the way. She knows how to pull them out. -This is all that I have to say.Ooooh and I smitten by Earth Art.

Medicine Wheel, Stan Herd.

I'm still in love with Morrissey... And made out of glass.

2010-05-17T06:43:00.000-07:00

The world is lazy, but you and me we're just crazy......I'm still in love with Best Coast too.

Can I make the sun shine today?
Call me psychic but posting something as blatantly as I did was bound to get me in trouble.

"If you have to tell people the truth, make them laugh, otherwise they'll kill you." - Oscar Wilde.

I'm forty percent paper mache.

I have to look like I know what I am doing, at the very least from a distance.... and I can manage that just fine.

So another monday morning.... and it's raining... but I have the new copy of The Paris Review in my hands... about to run and get the new issue of Art in America... so much for studying. It's gonna be a good day. Possibly...Possibly not... at the moment it's looking up. Hopefully the good mood will continue. I like my whims. They're so variant.

I wasn't joking about the paper mache.

The path goes further.

2010-05-16T16:09:00.000-07:00

Kerrie is crushing. Kerrie is a bit confused. Nature overrides and guides you to the other treasure. It's the one she over looked. The one that evades, that pushes and pulls, but it's at the point that there's still time to pull away. I'm game.

Set to music. I am taken over.

2010-05-13T20:24:00.000-07:00

Sheets of empty canvas, untouched sheets of clay

Her legs spread out before me as her body once did

All five horizons revolved around her soul

As the earth to the sun

Now the air I tasted

And breathed has taken a turn

And all I taught her was everything

I know she gave me all that she wore

And now my bitter hands chafe beneath the clouds

Of what was everything?

Oh, the pictures have all been washed in black, tattooed... Everything

Hold on to the thread

The currents will shift

Glide me towards...You know something's left

You don't have to stray

Tho oceans away

Waves roll in my thoughts

Hold tight the ring...The sea will rise...

Please stand by the shore...

I will be...I will be there once more...

And we're all allowed

To dream of the next

The next, time we touch...

Straight outta the package

2010-05-11T18:56:00.000-07:00

The introductory twinges were sublime. The yearning was film quality.
But now... knowledge ended my youth. I'm old. I feel like a grandma... who lacks any awe inpsiring youth filled qualities. I still have hope. There is still hope in the past ..and.. what remains. "You say that never want me to leave, but you're gone so gone." "You say that you never want it to end, so I stick around." "but now you're gone so gone." "You say that you want to be more than friends, but now you're gone, so gone." "You say that you don't have time for for me, so now I am gone, so gone."
I am listening to Mumford and Sons, hey female friends no matter how long I've known you... or how little... Let's get drunk in Ireland and tell lies to men. Come with. I need it. (Side note please pay pour moi... make checks payable to cash.) Let's pash with someone who is gallant and Celtic.

Here are some of the lyrics to Mumford and Sons lyrics to White Blank Page: Check it.
"Can you lie next to her and give her your heart as well as your body? And can you lie next to her and encompass your love, your love as well as your folly."
"And loving you with my my heart, and tell you what was my fault in loving you with all of my heart." "A white blank page, and a swelling rage. You did not think, when you sent me to the brink. You desire my attention and denied my affection." "And tell me what was my fault in loving you with my whole heart?"

Mumford in Sons. Like I says those Irish boys.... mhm.

"Hope(ful) Romantic" (I'm such a nerd)

2010-05-09T14:55:00.000-07:00

The Junglecat paws at you oh so delicately.
Pretty wild stuff.
I am really wasting your time right now. It's sunday, I'm bored. What of it?
I keep asking... for a show, a way to present myself in an innovative light. And I keep getting a no.

Eὐτέρπη - I am the Junglecat that Always wins. je gagne souvent pour sporte.

2010-05-06T22:13:00.000-07:00

We've been friends (and ya.) for a long long time, but i dont know how to make you mine. So i'll try yea i'll try to make you mine, all mine.
We've been friends for a long long time and still you drive me out of my mind (Which happened... oh so long ago.) So I'll try yea i'll try to make you mine all mine.
we've been friends for a long long time
but i don't know how to make you mine
so i'll try yea i'll try to make you mine all mine
oooh baby..0

When I’m with my guy and he watches the pretty girls go by
well it hurts so bad deep inside that I wish that I could die
not a word do I say
I just look the other way
cause that’s the way boys are
that’s the way boys are
when he treats me rough and he acts as though he doesn’t care
well I never tell him that he is being so unfair
cause he loves me and I know it
he is just afraid to show it

cause that’s the way boys are
that’s the way boys arethat’s the way boys are
oh oh when he wants to be alone
I just let him because I know soon enough
he’ll come back to me

when we have a fight and I don’t think that I’ll see him anymore
but before I know it there he is
standing at my doorwell I let him kiss me then
cause I know he wants me back
cause that’s the way boys are
That's Best Coast: Psychedelic pop, which is my schtick. Music has a profound effect on my psyche (hence the pyschedelic ...umm stuff... i am into.) Let's journey on this muddied road.. gathering what we can, taking what we want... the end of line is unimportant, it's the road, and the way you travel upon it, which has bearing to the completed masterpiece which is your hollow, sullied, jumbled, euphoric life. Shroomin' it are we??

and I am very furiously engorged with hunger... Je pense que cigarettes are in order. Phlem.

Oh pretty baby,

2010-05-03T22:54:00.000-07:00

You'd be like HEAVEN to touch.

PASH! THE MOST Rational thing is PASH!!!

If it's quite alright.
Fugeessssssss. Trust in me when I say it's ok.

Reversion-eleven. Clinging to my sister's friends.

When I step out into the open, all is well and perfectly in a natural order. I gaze upon the highest plateau. I delve farther into the deepest crevice and what remains, what is left in my perception is the only thing which ever was... from the earliest time.... from the incarnation. The birth.

Knowin' nothin' in life but to be legit.

2010-04-25T09:22:00.000-07:00

A car pulls up, who can it be?
It's a fresh El Camino rollin' Kilo G
He rolls down the window and he starts to say"It's all about makin' G.T.A."'
Cause the boyz in the hood are always hard
Come talkin' that trash and we'll pull your card
Bored as hell and I wanna get ill
So I go to a place where my homeboyz chill
The fellas out there tryna make that dolla'I pulled up in my six-fo' Impala

This always make me laugh, I thought it would be a good opener.

Lightnotes. Moisture.
With an unexpected spring in my step, I walk. One foot goes in front of the other, one foot goes in front of the other, while my mind is consumed by the motion. There is nothing else to think about, it's not worth it. Actions have an incredible power over thought and speech for me. Movement has an abundance of weight in my imagination. It crushes everything else. Often, this has a negative effect on my life day to day. I do. I don't not do. I run, I dance, I talk to myself sometimes, but it's never enough motion. Maybe it's time to just jump...back into the stagnant pond. Murky, murky, mossy, mossy, it's refreshing. At least it's saltwater. My knowing that is lucky. Wait, no, luck has nothing to do with it. I discovered it all on my own long ago. But that's besides the point. the point is, something like this: no. yes, yes, no, no.
well the point I was trying to make is.... I know I can't drink any of it, no matter how thirsty I am. "Have I confused anyone yet?" "yes? Brilliant." "It's just as lost on me as anyone else." (Not really... I am the keeper of the key.... If you want in you have to go through me.)

Leo- The Tigress. Holy Dances.

2010-04-11T17:52:00.000-07:00

"Sorry I cannot hear you... I'm kinda busy.
I don't wanna think anymore."

Directions. The pull.
The threshold. Power-power trips, I'm under your control in every sense. What should I do? why how? What should I do if........................
What should I do if.........
And what if ____ should happen......?
Like a lost puppy, I wander from here, picking up on all sorts of concealed scents.
Evidence. Evidence, Evidence, evidence, so obvious and deceiving. Seemingly negative, oh it was... it was very filling.
" I'm not taking any calls cause I'll be dancing."
What if I.... what should I then proceed to do?
I can do nothing without consultation. Helpless fool.
Am I given the direction I seek? (I'm not telling[no{you suck}].)
"Hello, hello, I cannot hear a thing."

Within The Utopian Framework :

2010-04-02T17:49:00.000-07:00

What am I talking about? What am I thinking about? I'm at a loss of all and nothing. Dumfounded. A precious mode is obliterated. A treasured mood is transformed and ultimately shelved very far behind a dozen other cannisters holding all sorts of feelings that never should see the light of the day. People, people go away.
The People's Commissariat for Enlightenment...

Hard edged geometric purity.

Why live in the world when you can live in your head?

I sit and I think : If only it were done.

2010-03-19T16:16:00.000-07:00

More than a bit.
Sidenote:
I don't care if monday's blue
Tuesday's grey and wednesday too
Thursday i don't care about you
It's friday i'm in love

Monday you can fall apart
Tuesday wednesday break my heart
Thursday doesn't even start
It's friday i'm in love

Saturday wait
And sunday always comes too late
But friday never hesitate...

I don't care if monday's black
Tuesday wednesday heart attack
Thursday never looking back
It's friday i'm in love

Monday you can hold your head
Tuesday wednesday stay in bed
Or thursday watch the walls instead
It's friday i'm in love

Saturday wait
And sunday always comes too late
But friday never hesitate...

Dressed up to the eyes
It's a wonderful surprise
To see your shoes and your spirits rise
Throwing out your frown
And just smiling at the sound
And as sleek as a shriek
Spinning round and round
Always take a big bite
It's such a gorgeous sight
To see you eat in the middle of the night
You can never get enough
Enough of this stuff
It's friday
I'm in love -Robert Smith

That Place

2010-03-13T17:50:00.000-08:00

Quelquefois Il y a vieux.
This past.
Il n'ya pas sympa.
That forsaken past.
C'est la vie.
It is torn between two crevices, hewn out of everything false that the jury has imagined.
Ce n'est pas joli, exactly as planned.
It is calculated and tempered and examined, and it doesn't fit and it always will and won't.

Yes, Morocco.

2010-03-08T18:21:00.000-08:00

My take on the poetry of Dadaism:
When you make-believe, small shifts repeat thanks. I write joyful expectation. If most relationships opened gratitude, they'd stop cycles. Stomach : open, tip, visualize, clairvoyance. Look, remove famine. Refocus in negative.

Tsk Tsk Tsk

2010-03-02T20:33:00.000-08:00

What did I say? Delve far into long term memory. I don't ask this politely.

They Never Listen.

Just Like Honey

2010-03-01T16:52:00.000-08:00

Listen to the girl

As she takes on half the world

Moving up and so alive

In her honey dripping beehive, beehive

This girl, so good

It's so good

Walking back to you

And the hardest thing that I can do

For you

That I can do for you

For you

I'd be a plastic toy

I'd be a plastic toy

For you

Eating up the scum

Is the hardest thing to do

Just like honey

For you

Just like honey lyrics-The Jesus and Mary Chain-Psychocandy

I don't have much else to say. Keep a look out for a photo filled post starring my pajamas, but only if that would be agreeable .

Sprouts

2010-02-21T16:18:00.000-08:00

When I'm with you:
"The world is lazy, but you and me, we're just crazy
But when I'm with you I have fun
yeah, when I'm with you I have fun

Ever since I was a little girl...

I hate..." (Best Coast)

I'm terribly fond of taking stuffed animals around town with me. It's very Sebastian Flyte. "Charming, but self-destructive and ultimately tragic."

"He went away and you hung around and bothered me everynight. When I wouldn't go out with you, you said things that...weren't very nice." (The Raveonettes)

Est-ce que Tu es Malentendants?

2010-02-20T11:57:00.000-08:00

This is your horoscope ardent admirer Lundi au Vendredi :
Please stop insisting you have nothing left to live for. The phrase you're looking for is "never had a reason to live."
Your future as a songwriter ends almost before it begins when you find that someone has already compared the depth, power, and beauty of their love to an ocean.
All of those hurtful kerrie jokes will come back to haunt you this Friday when you suddenly run out of hurtful kerrie jokes to tell.
For centuries fire was a sacred symbol of vitality and strength. Keep this in mind as you roll around frantically on your kitchen floor this Thursday.
A deadly game of cat and mouse will play out this week when you spend several hours pawing curiously at your rival.
Some people believe your house in Heaven is filled with all the things you lost while on earth, which explains the dead pets lying everywhere.
Unexpected and startling events in the coming days will compel you to become more familiar with your monthly menstrual cycle.

Sketchy.

2010-02-08T16:18:00.000-08:00

An array of frightening nervous laughter flees from one wall to another.
YOU ARE DYING.

My hands bleed. Poisoned volumes trickle in drops down my purple fingers, resting near the tips of my manicured fingernails.
Don't discount the small amount.
It's just a drip to the eye.

I would bet the cocoa fifty in my back pocket it's enough to stop the continuous melody, running through your body.
Nonstop motion, finally collapses.
The end is never soon enough.

The turtle-dove's necklace - Tu Es Un Neuneu

2010-02-07T19:01:00.000-08:00

Far away, constant pounding, so much to say.
It's better that way.
Good to be, good to be on another hill
No sparks seen above her head. She only feels the surface shift
With colors appearing under her eyelids, vivid.
Forgotten.

Laissez-nous vieillir ensemble et mourir en même l'heure,
À perdre moi vie ou de perdre moi amour, c'est le cauchemar J'ai fait tourner de.

Kill Lies All

2010-02-04T07:52:00.000-08:00

I don't listen to what art critics say. I don't know anybody who needs a critic to find out what art is.

"I wanted to bring the art absolutely up to date, to retrieve it from art history and give it life.I tried to trespass beyond that invisible barrier that no one is allowed to cross; by my acts encourage the individual to expierience it anew and to challenge it, deal with it and thus see it in its dynamic raw state as it was being made and transformed, not as a piece of history. "

The Peacock Throne.

And to all my dear, earnest admirers, I thank you for your support and constructive criticism, you've pushed me to my greastest heights. I thank you with all of my moist, turquoise soul. I beg others to appreciate my musings and collected pieces as an homage to life, as a tribute to death, and also as a mockery of what is tangible.

Look at me, eyes awake, as I shove twenty grams of white through your nasal cavity. Push, thrust, my pinky through the sharp hairs, your brain it soaks up the fluff, and I feel your movements, soft, then shaking, ending rough. Snowflakes landing in the corners of your eyes, they melt and pour downward. Pupils freed, now explode. White, white as blow.
My limp friend... This is the beginning. You've never felt so real.

The Radiant Child

2010-02-03T17:21:00.000-08:00

SAMO does not cause cancer in laboratory animals.

To Repel Ghosts

(Where is Taki?)

My experience has shown me that the artist is a person much respected by the poor because they have circumvented the need to exert the body, even of time, to live off what appears to be the simplest bodily act. This is an honest way to rise out of the slum, using one’s sheer self as the medium, the money earned rather a proof pure and simple of the value of that individual, The Artist. This is a basic class distinction in the perception of art where a picture your son did in jail hangs on your wall as a proof that beauty is possible even in the most wretched; that someone who can make a beautiful thing can’t be all bad; and that beauty has an ability to lift people as a Vermeer copy done in a tenement is surely the same as the greatest mural by some MFA. An object of art is an honest way of making a living, and this is much a different idea from the fancier notion that art is a scam and a ripoff. The bourgeoisie have, after all, made it a scam. But you could never explain to someone who uses God’s gift to enslave that you have used God’s gift to be free.

Not unlike melting butter, separating whey.

2010-01-28T18:57:00.000-08:00

Caught inside,
The keeper of the key.
Well born and raised
Without the want to leave.
What a locked up crypt
It felt to me.

Silver Zebra Times

2010-01-25T10:42:00.000-08:00

-The blurred colors of the street lights overhead and neon signs as you lay your angel head against the leather seat, feeling tears and liquid build up in your vertebral column.

We were sleeping till you came along
With your diamond heart
You let us in the wooden house
To share in all the wealth

Seven figures leap the hungry maws
The beast it comes to you
He's a hunter for a lonely heart
In the season of the sun

Where you thinking that you have to run now
With the beating of a diamond heart?
Hang on to the things that you're supposed to say
Billions of stars that open to your fate

Thievery

2009-12-01T10:43:00.000-08:00

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.

In The Night- The Absence of Breathing

2009-11-29T20:52:00.000-08:00

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.

Sickness and Waste

2009-11-24T17:15:00.000-08:00

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)

Everyone Has Classic Moments

2009-11-22T18:53:00.000-08:00

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.

Why kill pretty things?

2009-11-09T16:34:00.000-08:00

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.

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

2009-10-27T20:27:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-27T19:54:00.000-07:00

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.

Yellow - Red. Mean red. Mean red.

2009-10-26T15:44:00.000-07:00

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

Last night I had a minor altercation

2009-10-24T08:55:00.000-07:00

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.

I would ride out the nightmare ...

2009-10-23T22:32:00.001-07:00

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.

A lot like Halloween

2009-10-22T13:24:00.000-07:00

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.

My Dystopia

2009-10-19T10:56:00.000-07:00

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.

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

2009-10-17T00:27:00.000-07:00

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.

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

2009-10-16T11:26:00.000-07:00

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

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

2009-10-12T09:48:00.000-07:00

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.

The River's Edge

2009-10-11T12:51:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-11T02:25:00.001-07:00

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 :

http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/music/features/thom-and-flea-rocks-odd-couple-1799632.html

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

The Logical Machine

2009-10-10T23:04:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-10T14:32:00.001-07:00

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................

Why is this relevant?

2009-10-04T22:26:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-10-04T11:02:00.000-07:00

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.

On the side of the road

2009-10-03T00:45:00.000-07:00

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.

Dumb. Happy?

2009-10-02T16:08:00.000-07:00

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?

Remember When...

2009-09-30T23:06:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-30T16:13:00.000-07:00

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.

What is left to come?

2009-09-29T17:40:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-29T16:51:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-29T11:22:00.000-07:00

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.

1 4 3

2009-09-28T11:12:00.000-07:00

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.

The Loop

2009-09-23T13:36:00.000-07:00

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.

What more was asked?

2009-09-21T22:11:00.000-07:00

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.

Spotted Tail.

2009-09-15T18:43:00.000-07:00

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

For every poison this is an antidote

2009-09-11T03:09:00.000-07:00

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

The trouble with faces is that the expressions can change

2009-09-05T19:07:00.000-07:00

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.

Burrowing

2009-08-29T02:09:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-29T01:28:00.000-07:00

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

Kerrie the Firefly

2009-08-27T17:53:00.000-07:00

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.

Good evening, welcome to my puppet show.

2009-08-17T18:43:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-17T11:49:00.000-07:00

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.

Don't question me

2009-08-04T12:43:00.001-07:00

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!

A Look Into My Subconsious Mind.

2009-07-28T16:25:00.000-07:00

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.

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

2009-07-25T13:32:00.000-07:00

Malady.
Tomatoes.
Some things last a long time.

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

In Twenty Four Hours An Altered Person Emerges.

2009-07-02T17:53:00.001-07:00

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.

Goodbye Ink and Paper Trente Deux

2009-06-21T21:15:00.000-07:00

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.

Goodbye Ink and Paper Trente et Un

2009-06-17T23:10:00.000-07:00

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

Goodbye Ink and Paper Trente

2009-06-11T22:56:00.000-07:00

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

Goodbye Ink and Paper Vingt Neuf

2009-06-08T03:30:00.000-07:00

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

Goodbye Ink and Paper Vingt Huit

2009-06-06T04:22:00.000-07:00

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.

This is for all of you faithful readers out there, you know what your IP's are.

2009-06-05T04:28:00.000-07:00

I have a new persona.

I drive around in my car, sitting on a pillow in my Simple shoes listening to the Samples, Fleet Foxes, and Woody Guthrie. I utilize my immense scarf collection (Thank you Forever21). I colorfully shape my life into that of someone beyond recognition ( Everything is fine, all the time, and if something isn't fine to someone else, I feel that they are making a big deal out of nothing).

It's nice being an island. I have three locks as means to keep people out. The downside is that I lose my keys a lot (remind you of anyone I idolize?). I lose my keys and that is bad because I can't even get into where I need to be. I can't get out of where I don't want to be and that is worse yet. The problem should be resolved in due time. I have made four new copies.

Everything is chill. You need to relax.

Someone help me, It has been three days. I can't keep up this pretending. If you tell me to just "be yourself Kerrie", I may laugh. Is there anyone who knows how to "be yourself". I'll try, but I am not making any promises. How could I?

I better stop I am getting all Gabriel Marcel-ish (One of the forerunners in existentialist thought) on you. I don't like him, so we can't have that now can we?

Goodbye Ink and Paper Vingt Sept

2009-06-02T18:08:00.000-07:00

This is how I am feeling. Not just the picture, silly.

Lana Turner has collapsed!

I was trotting along and suddenly

it started raining and snowing

and you said it was hailing

but hailing hits you on the head

hard so it was really snowing and

raining and I was in such a hurry

to meet you but the traffic

was acting exactly like the sky

and suddenly I see a headline
LANA TURNER HAS COLLAPSED!

there is no snow in Hollywood

there is no rain in California

I have been to lots of parties

and acted perfectly disgraceful

but I never actually collapsed

oh Lana Turner we love you get up

by Frank O'Hara

Heat, like a dead weight
Still coverin' the street outside
So heavy that the dogs can't hide
In the hot, hot rays
Out on the sidewalk
It's a river where the children go
Out enjoying the arctic show
In the hot, hot rays
In the hot, hot rays
In the hot rays I get old
I could never know what the dead man sees
I could never know what the deaf man hears
Or know what the dead man fears
Even if you were incomplete
Brother let it go
And I'll find my way
If you want to know indian summer
I will make it back here to you somehow
What have you ever thought
Underneath the fire
Do my best to keep the heat at bay
Maybe that would make you want to stay
In the hot, hot rays
In the hot, hot rays
In the hot, hot rays .
by Fleet Foxes ( I really like them, I really really like them)

I went shopping today. I bought florals. That means I am happy. I counted and the last twenty two articles of clothing I had bought prior to today were either black, dovegray, or beige solids.

I have a hunch that some good things may be happening, I haven't made up my mind yet though... The decision is mine. Which makes it all the more daunting.

Goodbye Ink and Paper Vingt Six

2009-05-25T17:16:00.000-07:00

"People aren't used to thinking in a very charming or handsome way. I think pretty words can sweep away a lot of the grime because people are becoming so mentally depressed and inverted that they can't think of a positive language any more."The language that people use totally erodes the heart, but modern life doesn't give much opportunity for really inflated language. The art of conversation has definitely been destroyed." -Morrissey

Can you delve so low ?

And when you're standing

On my fingers

Can you see it in your heart ?

And when you try

To break my spirit

It won't work

Because there's nothing left to break

Anymore

All of the rumours

Keeping me grounded

I never said,

I never said that they were

Completely unfounded

You've done it now

You won't rest

Until the disease that becomes me

Finally takes me

You've done it now

And you won't smile

Until my loving mouth is shut good and proper

FOREVER

All of the rumours

Keeping me grounded I never said,

I never said

That they were completely unfounded

And all those lies

Written lies, twisted lies

Well, they weren't lies

They weren't lies

Goodbye Ink and Paper Vingt Cinq

2009-05-23T06:55:00.000-07:00

Recalling who I was, I see somebody else.

In memory the past becomes the present.

Who I was is somebody I love,

But only in a dream.

The longing that torments me now

Is not from me or by the past invoked,

But hers who live in me

Behind blind eyes.

Nothing knows me but the moment.

My own memory is nothing, and I feel

That who I am and who I was

Are two contrasting dreams.
I digress.

I was reading Pessoa this morning and as I fumbled through pages I caught sight of a poem.

"If you want to kill yourself how come you don't kill yourself ?"

The poem provides a comical view on depression and self-loathing.

Some lines so you can get the general idea:

"And in any case, if you're sick of existing,

Be sick with some dignity".

"You hesitate at the thought of better days ahead.

Maybe it will get harder if you go on enduring than if you stopped enduring...

You hesitate at the thought of those who love you.

Maybe things will get worse for others if you go on living..."

Once upon a time, whenever I was tempted to sit in the bathtub of bad feelings, I would read this poem and have a good laugh at my own expense.

That's all I have time for today...

Goodbye Ink and Paper Vingt Quatre

2009-05-09T21:57:00.000-07:00

How many times have I been around ?

Recycled papers paving the ground

Well, she lives for the written word

And people come second, or possibly third

And there is no style, but I say "well done"

To the Girl Least Likely To

Deep in my heart, how I wish I was wrong

But deep in my heart, I know I am not

And there's enough gloom in her world, I'm certain

Without my contribution

So I sit, and I smile, and I say "well done"

To the Girl Least Likely To

Page after page of sniping rage

"There's a publisher," she said, "...in the new year"

(It's never in this year)I do think this, but I can't admit it

To the Girl Least Likely To

One more song with no technique

One more song which seems all wrong ...and the news is bad again

See me as I am again

So how many times will I shed a tear ?

And another stage of verse to cheer

When you shine in the public eye, my dear

Please remember these nights

When I sit and support with a dutiful smile

Because there's nothing I can say

So chucking, churning, and turning the knife

On everything (except their own life)

And a clock somewhere strikes midnight

And an explanation - it drains me

If only there could be a way

There is a different mood all over the world

A different youth, 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...Darling, it's all for you ...

Beautiful Chaos

Goodbye Ink and Paper Vingt Trois

2009-05-07T17:56:00.000-07:00

A myriad of complications :

An exposure past the inlaid claims

Seizing what was initially rejected

Unsanctioned inheritances

Discredit witty repartee
Maybe in the next world

Privation or windfall?

I know it's the latter

It was all my own accident

That was how it began

I'm sorry doesn't matter

Dolorous moments were the only ones left.

Escalating emotion

The uncertainty is what is crushing me

Whatever happened, I am contrite, but I'll never be sure why

Exigent answers

If not now when? Never

How soon is now? Too soon

It's an impossibility. Is it?

Generating misconceptions

Cause and effect

January is a time best put out of mind

February-februum-purification

Is that what it was? My view may be askew

I wanted to write you a letter, but there isn't enough paper in the world for it. If there were, I could fasten it to a balloon, and hope that the wind headed in the right direction. If I were older, I'm sure I would know better than to trust the course of the wind with such an important task. I'll be so happy to grow older, to move away from these younger dreams.

I am not done with this cryptic posting phase...
Next time I will set out to write something that can be clearly defined. It will be so easily defined that you can size it up and label it. We'll just have to wait and see.
No promises...

This is all very trivial but true, more thoughts...

No one has any idea what anyone else is feeling, their motives for ...anything, or the effects that their behavior has on others. This lack of responsibility, this careless inability to put themselves in the position of others is very damaging, not only to myself, but to society as a whole. When I look at things of this nature from an outsiders perspective I find myself in the right. Everyone is at fault. Naturally, I exclude myself.

Accept Yourself.

Every day you must say

So, how do I feel about my life ?

Dreams have a knack of just not coming true.

Others conquered life - but I ran

I sat in my room and I drew up a plan

But plans can fall through (as so often they do)

Accept yourself

But I once had a dream (and it never came true)

And time is against me now...

Now for something happy (relatively) :

There was no monday.

Tuesday

Don't take your life tonight
I know they take
And that they take in turn
And they give you nothing real
For yourself in return

I will be here, believe me

believe me?

when they've used you
And they have broken you
And cast your shell aside

I will stay right here

Angel, don't take your life
Some people have no pride
They do not understand
The Urgency of life
But I love you more than life

Wednesday is a day better left behind.

Thursday

Did you really think I meant all of the syrupy, sentimental things I said the other day?

It's not Tuesday anymore.

Every motion was planned out specifically for viewing.

I adjust my reclining form

Bored by the inattention

My audience didn't applaud loud enough.

I exit stage left.

What is a friday? I am not familiar with the concept.

Saturday

Can't you see it in my eyes?

When you're standing so close, how can you mistake it?

The finale is over and done with, everyone is going home.

Why don't you?

Standing there with nothing to do

I can think of four things

But, my blood sugar dropped too low

I've just fainted

I'm hovering over your dormant form

I could have dragged you in, and mentioned your name

I didn't and I wouldn't

In my own strange way, I'll always be true to you

Can you blame me?

Sunday Morning, the rest isn't important

Games, the outcome is rarely in my favor.

When all is said and done it's me I love.

Things have been bad, but now we're going on nineteen years

Why would I ruin it now?

Whatever happens, I love you.

Yet another fine example of my exceedingly odd sense of humor...

There's more to life than books, but not much more, not much more.

Excuse my overblown blog.

I hope I am coming off as either pompous or abstruse, seeing as this was my intent.

It's like I've been hanging around with Dr. Faustus or something....

Thanks Christopher Marlowe.

Goodbye Ink and Paper Vingt Deux

2009-05-03T17:12:00.000-07:00

Travel? One need only to exist to travel. I go from day to day, as from Paris to Mumbai. The people are the same and always different, just like scenery. If I imagine, I see. What more do I do when I travel? Only extreme poverty of imagination justifies having to travel to feel. So why travel? In Madrid, Seoul,The Maldives, Nairobi, or the South Pole, where would I be but in myself, and my particular type of sensations? Life is what we make of it. Travel is the traveller. What we see isn't what we see but what we are.

One of my better verbal moments in my unbearable interiorizing :

From the lap of the sleeping grandmother falls the orange thread of the soul. The stealthy striped cat peers at the abandoned embroidery in her hands. He gnaws at it. He passes it between his paws. Orange shreds rest on the worn carpet. The cat rolls it under her chair out of sight. His life is a ball of yarn that he tangled up. It would make sense if it were rolled up tight and impenetrable. It would make sense unrolled and completely stretched out. Such as it is, life is a problem without shape, a confusion of yarn leading nowhere.

Parking lot

Where the curb was smoothed and sloped

Contours redefined by erosion

As a manmade barrier crumbles

Contorted mineral warmed by presence

Shadow beside

Adjusted naturally

Shadow on the gravel

Particles of artificial solidarity

I'm feeling very long winded this evening.

Literature- which is art married to thought, and realization untainted by reality-seems to some the end towards which all human effort would have to strive. To express something is to conserve its virtue and take away its terror. Fields are greener in their description than in their actual greenness. Flowers, if described with phrases that define them in the air of imagination, will have colors with a durability not found in cellular life. What moves lives. What is said endures. There's nothing in life that's less real for having been well described. Small minded critics point out that a specific poem, with its cadences, in the end says only that it is a lovely day. But to say it's a nice day is difficult, and the nice day itself passes on. It's up to us to conserve the nice day in a wordy, florid memory, sprinking new flowers, new stars, and brighter colors over the field and skies of the fleeting outer world. The novelist is all of us, and we narrate whenever we see, because seeing is complex like everything.

Goodbye Ink and Paper Vingt et Un

2009-05-02T11:59:00.000-07:00

Truman Capote, you are gone but not forgotten. I read Breakfast at Tiffany's when I was thirteen or fourteen. I saw the movie shortly after that. The movie is an exception to my usual feelings about books turned into movies, in that I prefer it to the novella. I believe that it has a little something to do with casting and Old Hollywood magic.

The novella Breakfast at Tiffany's is supposedly either about Dorian Leigh, or Marilyn Monroe.Capote had sought out Miss Monroe to play Holly Golightly, this would have been a tragedy,and I am thankful he couldn't get her to do it. Fate stepped in taking the form of a sprightly and ever jovial actress.

There is only one woman who could ever be Holly. Her name is Audrey, and I adore her.She played the part well; flawlessly understanding that Holly Golightly makes a holiday of life, but she treads through it lightly. Holly hides her true self behind a glamorous facade, it comes out when she is sleeping, and when she has drank a tad bit too much. Holly expieriences "the mean reds" which she describes as worse than the blues and can only be cured by "hopping in a cab and going to Tiffany's." Miss Golightly is so wrapped up in the little world she carved out for herself that she ignores the past and the future. She lives entirely in the moment. She savors attention and being a "real phony, honestly believing in all the phony stuff she believes." It catches up with her quickly, and painfully. When the feelings she holds enclosed in her heart surface the result is a dramatic tear covered scene. There is only one person who remotely understands her. His name is Paul Varjak, they meet early one morning, on the staircase outside her doorstep. They become friends quickly. They spend days running around exploring the city like little children. They take turns doing something each of them has never done before. She takes him to Tiffany's. He takes her to the library. They form a tight emotional bond. She lets him look through the keyhole in the door to her world. As much as he wants to save her from herself and be let allowed to view the person underneath he knows he can't. She has to come to some realizations on her own first. It is a powerful work that touches on relationships, self discovery, and the imaginary worlds flighty girls foolishly build.

This is my favorite song. It has held that position for several years. It was composed specifically for the film. Thank you Mr. Mancini.

Moonriver
Wider than a mile
I'll be crossing you in style someday
Oh, Dreammaker you heartbreaker
Wherever you're going
I'm going your way
Two drifters off to see the world
I'm not so sure the world deserves us
We're after the same rainbow's end
How come it's just around the bend ?
It's always just around the bend.

Deja Vous. If you know what I mean, I highly doubt that you do. It may be that Miss Golightly is ever so slightly unbalanced, but someone still carries her home.

Constant Make Believe: This isn't about you...or anything. I mean...I wouldn't do that...or anything.

Goodbye Ink and Paper Vingt

2009-04-30T02:32:00.000-07:00

I had cried wolf twice before.

The hairs on the back are full of electricity, every fragment, amplified.

We are standing together trying to sort out the mess.

Someone wishing harm, trying to wreak their havoc on my sanctuary.

Their actions tug at my curiosity.

There is a place for such as you and I.

A softly glowing blue light searches, it spots muddied footprints.

We still stand, holding a look, neither knows what to say.

Fear.

I didn't mean to play the damsel, it was forced on me.

I like to choose my parts, not have them thrown at me.

I don't mind being caused injury, I can take care of myself; it's the ones I care about, their fear.

A little baby cries, she was awakened by deranged howls and unearthly laughter.

I hold her tightly in my arms, peering out the window through drizzled drops, she looks up trustingly, I spot them, running away.

It is amusing to you?

This cannot be, I have difficulty relating to that kind of cruelty.

Crux.

The sounds, screeching, I suspected a catfight by the unnatural tones.

Stomping breaks through the quiet, it stemmed from heavy feet.

I can imagine the heel in the shoe pounding against the rain covered wood.

The rain seeps into the ridges.

The shoe leaves marks, ridges on the damp ground.

There is only one kind of mark I like to see.

We survey the area with bewilderment.

A puzzling predicament.

I'm being taken over by the fear.

I am a weapon of massive dissipation.

Fault.

We hold wide brimmed mugs of South American nectar, fueling suspicions.

How could this be?

Torment.

Hold me!

Yesterday.

What must come before.

Tomorrow, will it really come?

It's surely nearer now.

If it does come will you still be human?

Detectives.

All I ask of you is one thing that you'll never do.

Would you put your words into an activity.

Through my shiftless body.

Listlessness.

I didn't ask for anything.

Or did I?

Would you tell me your life story, I only want to put it together, the puzzle.

The pieces are too scattered, and most will remain far beyond reach.

Am I so little that you just didn't see?

Please be careful, you know where I am, so why step so hard on the ground?

I should have opened my eyes sooner.

I couldn't say for certain, but next time I'll divine the direction of your steps.

Rainbows and trunks of gold.

The eyepatches suppress at least half of my means to gain a better understanding.

Sunken phrases.

The ship has sailed to another sea.

Buried treasures.

She can't be still because of sixteen years of standing there.

Emanating restlessness, Eliminating all kindness, seeking me out.

There are rainbows after April storms.

I am pouring bubbles into a pot of gold.

I recline into the prisms.

I think I may just sit here awhile, on the very top.

I am the amused one, occasionally glancing below.

Come up if you like, I am inviting you.

Machiavellian Schemes.

Her conscience follows him in the streets, flagstones shake under your feet.

Too articulate to bother noticing me.

The wind picks up, carrying leaves and small twigs.

I grab at one.

Trying to steer you clear from harm.

White flowers only budding.

Don't bloom too soon.

The frost still has a chance of getting to you.

This is the fault of whoever let you out.

Keeping company with dehydrated, narrowed eyed girls.

Selfish, aren't we?

We are not here for the right reason.

We're here for them.

Why did it take so long?

Was there a queue in the post office?

Always resurfacing, I hope that it will one day be forgotten.

Chapter XIX.

That One Should Avoid Being Despised And Hated:

"I consider that a prince ought to reckon conspiracies of little account when his people hold him in esteem; but when it is hostile to him, and bears hatred towards him, he ought to fear everything and everybody. And well-ordered states and wise princes have taken every care not to drive the nobles to desperation, and to keep the people satisfied and contented, for this is one of the most important objects a prince can have."

" I say that whoever will consider it will acknowledge that either hatred or contempt has been fatal to the above-named emperors, and it will be recognized also how it happened that, a number of them acting in one way and a number in another, only one in each way came to a happy end and the rest to unhappy ones." -Nicolo Machiavelli (The Prince)

I may require some suggestions for my reading list.

Lately I have been caught up reading Huxley, and okay, I can admit this...Vogue and Vanity Fair. The VF playground articles are my favorire (they are society pages.) This shouldn't come as a shock to people who know me. I have been set on getting married to Albert 12th Prince Von Thurn Und Taxis for a good four years.... http://www.thurnundtaxis.de/

Word of advice:

Do not under any circumstances read Capote's Other Voices, Other Rooms while listening to Wagner's Death of Isolde, you will cry. There is the possibilty that I was just overly emotional. Gee, I wonder why.
I've been writing more frequently on this because I lost my flashdrive and I don't have the will to spend money on a new fancy notebook, (I am very particular). Excuses.

Donations? You know you want to get rid of me... ; )

Goodbye Ink and Paper Dix-Neuf

2009-04-29T10:39:00.000-07:00

Words from off the beaten path.

Block by block. The little pieces all come together, like beads collecting on a strand.
I don't approve of this kind of puzzle.
All the offers I toss aside.
Contrast follows me closely.

The ordinary.

I don't want anything more than to see your face when I open the door.
Let's hike up the hill. I know we'll be out of breath by the time we make it to the top.
I'm sure I'll win out in the end, Pouncing up and down, grinning ear to ear, a sore winner.
Follow me, I can clear out a trail, but you will be walking below, I like to run ahead.
I know it doesn't seem fair, but I'll send you a postcard when I make it there.
If I pause for a break, I'm sure that I won't be passed.
Raising dust.
I can rest awhile if you really want to be first.
An actress, a trail as a stage, I am willing to play second for a bit.
I go through stages, does this mean I'm not clever?
It's not that I'm letting you win...you seem so determined, it would be wrong of me to ignore that.
While cavorting, I sense another person, the fear stops me from pulling faces.
Bunny Ears.
I explained that only recently. Alright, I shouldn't have done it in that way.
I used salty phrases and I waited too long to say it. The expressions escaped me.
I waited for an hour or so, I had a notebook and a pencil to pass the time.
All it takes is a phonecall, but there wasn't any reception way out there, I was on a hill if you recall.
Too tired, time for sleep. I moved too quickly, slinking through passageways, I found a way out, so did they.
I think somewhere we switched places, I had no idea, It escaped my notice.
"Keep going"
"I need a break"
"Well take it when we are at the top and- -"
"There is a pebble in my shoe!"
Any excuse is acceptable in that pitiable condition.
I use it again.
"Maybe you can make a necklace from all these pebbles"

Miscommunication. I pick out the shiniest stones, I put them all together.

I even out the rough edges against a sharper rock. Reshaping.

I give, easily.

You let me have my way. Sitting atop a rock, I look down, my palms feel funny.

We plodded much farther than I thought, it's not a hill, it's a mountain.

Now, I have think about how I can get back down, and I will, it's inevitable, but I still won.

Carousels.

Tomorrow I'll leap to the otherside of the railing. I can see all of the characters, gilded mirrors, and multicolored lights. I use thoughts to pass the time before it starts up. I don't want anything more than to see your face as it spins around in your direction. Lit up brighter than the bulbs above me.

Some thoughts about my relatives in South Dakota:

The feathered and blanketed figure of the American Indian has come to symbolize the American continent. He is the man who through centuries has been molded and sculpted by the same hand that shaped its mountains, forests, and plains, and has marked the course of its rivers.

The American Indian is of the soil, whether it be the region of forests, plains, pueblos, or mesas. He fits into the landscape , for the hand that fashioned the continent also fashioned the man for his surroundings. He once grew as naturally as the sunflowers; he belongs just as the buffalo once belonged.

The bodies had souls, also formed and molded by the same master hand that fashioned harmony. Out of the Indian approach to existence there came a great freedom-an intense and absorbing love for nature; a respect for life; enriching faith in a Supreme Power; and principles of truth, honesty, generosity, equity, and family as a guide to mundane relations.

Headwaters

Noon in the intermountain plain:

There is scant telling of the marsh-

A log, hollow and weather-stained,

An insect at the mouth, and moss-

Yet waters rise against the roots, Stand brimming to the stalks. What moves?

What moves on this archaic force

Was wild and welling at the source.

We talk, you listen.

With the rise of ethnic studies programs and courses in minority-group history, the Natives situation has become worse. By recognizing that Indians have contributed the names of rivers to the road map, many poeple feel that they have done justice to the group concerned.

A documentary, camera flashes, a crew hastens to either the Navaho or Pine Ridge reservation, quickly shooting reels on poverty conditions, and return to where they came from, blithely thinking that they have captured the essence of Indian life. In spite of the best intentions, the eternal yearning to present an exciting story of a strange people overcomes them. The endless cycle of poverty-oriented films continues. There is no effort to present the bright side of Indian life.

Parallels. That's all. I made the connection.

Goodbye Ink and Paper Dix-Huit

2009-04-27T17:13:00.001-07:00

Controlling substances:

Blitzed:

If it wasn't for me you wouldn't have anything.

I'm snorting through the walls around me.

I'd like to stick a syringe in your arm.

If it wasn't for me you wouldn't know the urge.

It's rubbish, the rush, an average girl, you'd do anything to please.

It makes me cringe, I'd stick my syringe right in your arm.

Everyone is saying you're not ready for me.

You move in the wrong circles.

Since that day I inhaled, stay clear from me.

Don't jump in my way.

Are you ready for them?

Whatever recipes you find, add mushrooms.

We'll be racing.

Psilocybin.

I'm jumping a train to Amsterdam.

Under the ocean.

I saw a railway, I swear, a mermaid pointed out the way.

A substitute sweeter and whiter than sugar.

If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't even have the urge.

You'll move in the wrong circles, you'll be stuck with schwag.

I'd like to stick my syringe in your arm.

I jump through a hoop.

Abandoning circles.

If it wasn't for me you wouldn't have anything.

You don't owe them attention, pay them in ganja instead.

Purify your circle.

Bad fringe.

It makes me cringe, Soap Bar.

I am plunging my syringe into your arm.

I very much doubt you feel it the same way anymore.

What took me so long, to discover snow?

An average girl, who you try and please.

Now I am the center of the universe.

I hop around on the bed.

Everything belongs to me.

Control, I have too much, I know I am everything, but nothing is me.

It is all for me, existence.

Power "tripping".

If it wasn't for me he wouldn't feel anything.

Desensitized.

I built a snowman.

If it wasn't for me you wouldn't have blow.

Welcome to the fourth layer.

I'd like to remove my syringe from your arm.

Since that day, I lost my will to survive, got a little back, I'm stuck with methadone.

I'm ready for you.

Come down with me, we'll have a hangover.

It makes me cringe leaving my highs behind.

Downers from now on.

Laced everything.

Materials of poor quality, not me.

I'd like to share my spliff.

Snow, pure, white, easily a waif when used properly.

What for?

An average girl with a kind of heaven, a kind of hell.

I suppose you knew right away when we first tread upon hills of gold, and silvery mounds.

Since the day I left my baby, a sweet girl named Poppy.

I gave you my syringe.

Gaga girls, they love you.

What is so great about you?

I don't see it.

The only thing worth anything is me.

Pills only take me so far.

Are you better than me? No, I don't think so.

I suppose you know because we went to together.

Hand in hand.

No you didn't and no you don't.

No you didn't and no you don't.

No we didn't and no we won't.

We sit in between old car parts.

"Do you want to jump the train with me?"

No I didn't and no I don't.

No matter what we'll be together. I'll never give up what makes me forget.

Excuse my excessive blogging, earlier was inadaquate.

Goodbye Ink and Paper Dix-Sept

2009-04-27T03:43:00.000-07:00

Someone kindly told me that I wasted all of my good lives.

I tell them "only if you take them out of context".

What is it that you value most?

Things I value:

Hay.

Bread.

Mud.

A good night's sleep.

Honeydew.

Being une jeune femme. (Young enough to enjoy the moment, old enough to enjoy the moment).

Moments, not minutes.

Reading poetry and essays at five in the morning simply for the novelty of it.

Easter eggs.

Swimming in mud.

Still being awake.

The thing I value most:

Myself, with honesty at a close second.

I went to Birdies on 18th st on saturday, I purchased an Anika Brazil swimsuit. Some people spend less on rent, C'est la vie. The intricate beadwork is a study tool, so I count it as a school expense. I used to want to design swimsuits, even an expierienced seamstress makes forty-one and has to throw away forty. I bought one. I was ready, it is time. I must practice my prancing. Water will never touch it!

http://www.fourseasons.com/paris/

http://www.hearstcastle.org/
Which of these two pools do I choose?

I am also done with 7 pages of a short novella...not alot, but a novella is short only 83 more to go...It will have a very abrupt and violent ending...It is actually an autobiography.

On that note, Goodbye Pixels and and Readers Dix-Sept.

Goodbye Ink and Paper Seize

2009-04-24T11:16:00.000-07:00

I am drifting to an island. It will one day be haunted, but that day is not today. There are no ghouls tormenting visitors in these halls as of yet. They will come soon enough, rattling chains as they float by. It is my turn for now. I am mistress of the island, I have a throne in the castle. The castle sits high up into the clouds. The island is a mountain with valleys deeply set underneath the sea. I've explored it at least a hundred times, I have yet to hit the plateau.

The climb can be exhausting, sometimes leaving me faint and crippled. Motionless, I hide into any crevice that will hold me.

Every corner, every limb, every breath, every heartbeat, I am.

How impossible it is to be still. How incontrollable, my desire to climb.

"Lie down, under stormy night, tell nobody." I will keep you safe. Burrow into the hollowed trunk of the tree. The tree , it speaks to me, branches softer and warmer than any others. There is no tree I would rather have heal me. I nestle closer, it wraps me up, it picks me up, I am lighting up the sky. The stars may twinkle, but they don't even dare compete with me. They should really dim themselves in my presence. I thought I had made that clear.

Every moment, every glass shattering, every turn, I am.

A shroud of dew is set below. I know I must come down, and cover myself with leaves. I wonder if you'll appreciate my disguise. Quickly, run, away from the clouds, they will take you up again. Be patient, but don't forget.

I run wildly around my palace, It appears so much less appealing now, I sit atop the precipice, and I pine for what just was.

"There are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the doors of perception”

“An unexciting truth may be eclipsed by a thrilling lie.”

“There is something curiously boring about somebody else's happiness”

“An intellectual is a person who has discovered something more interesting than sex.”

“They intoxicate themselves with work so they won't see how they really are”

“A fanatic is a man who consciously over compensates a secret doubt.”

“Classic remorse, as all the moralists are agreed, is a most undesirable sentiment. If you have behaved badly, repent, make what amends you can and address yourself to the task of behaving better next time. On no account brood over your wrongdoing. Rolling in muck is not the best way of getting clean."

- Aldous Huxley

The world is blurry, I am clear.

Goodbye Ink and Paper Quinze

2009-04-22T10:54:00.000-07:00

The reflection in the water is unrecognizable to me.

Where did I intend to go?

I missed my exit. I wasn't paying any attention. I am stuck in this lane, going at a high rate of speed. No exits in sight, going nowhere, fast. Highways, a means to get to some place, a road less traveled. There is no hesitation.

I split the guilt into two parts. I generously assign you the bigger half.

I've never believed in causing external injuries. I starve, dying from the inside out. I wash my face so that no one knows I am fasting. Now you do. An emaciated corpse is resting on the altar. As a devoted priestess I perfume the body. Bitter scibblings, a notebook which documents the incarnation to the aftermath. A pile of beautiful bones. Fade away. Being and Nothingness. Hell is other people. "They say I'm plump, but I threw up all the time.""It makes me sick. Now I've stumbled here, failed to make it mine." Cleansing the sacrifice. Untarnished virginal creature singing a song that no one was meant to hear. Echoes are all around the doorway, crawling to the ceiling, they penetrate the song, they turn it into a fearful howl. They ring loudly in my ears, like the cries of children throwing tantrums and fits, which I don't bother to soothe. A lullaby. A trance. Go to sleep. I will not wake again, no matter how loudly you scream. I am stuck here in a vacant dream.

I am the seed sown among thorns.

It seems the world is divided into good and bad people. The good ones sleep better... while the bad ones seem to enjoy the waking hours much more. To you I'm an atheist; to God, I'm the Loyal Opposition. It's not that I'm afraid to die, I just don't want to be there when it happens.

My lover belongs to me and I to him. I belong to my lover, and for me he yearns.

Skimming though a book.

How I answer your question isn't half as important as how I will question your answer. The world is full of crashing bores, I must not be one, because someone always turns to me and says "Take me in your arms and love me."

When the unknown became known I did not fear it any less. The mystical world I entered was one not due to pen and paper, or even lonely musings, I entered it accompanied.

All that was lost cannot be recovered or removed from time. I assuage my own pains, I leave you to your own devices. Pick your weapon wisely, my dear. I sharpen mine. It exists in a hidden place. A glance, you won't pick up on it. Density. Intensity. Spitefulness. Rancor.

They realize they are there to torture each other, which they do effectively, by probing each other's sins, desires, and unpleasant memories.

I think about life, I think about death, neither one particularly appeals to me. If the day came when I felt a natural emotion, I'd lie in the middle of the street and die.

You just haven't earned it yet, and I'm telling you why. All the love that you long for eludes you. I'll tell you why. You wouldn't believe me.

I've seen pictures, so I've seen people.

I searched, what I seek is unseen.

I've seen stores which sell it objectified.

Objects I'd like to be.

Won't you please objectify me?

Something you hold.

Something someone can mold.

I'll keep scanning, seeking life, objectified.

Glass coffins. A firm resting place for my head. Sleeping Beauty. Thorns. A glass case, so all you do is look at me. The absence of interaction.

Reprisal. Tomorrow in the Battle, think of me. The game is, in fact, so dirty and so biased that, on such a basis, no justice system can possibly presume to be just, and perhaps, therefore, there is no possible justice, ever, anywhere, perhaps justice is a phantasmagoria, a false concept.

Things past. You are trying, but not as hard as I. Your existence is trying.

The substantial, falling in love- and the insignificant-falling in love. People are ceaselessly relating without even realising they are, and quite unaware of the uncontrollable mechanisms of treachery, misunderstanding and chaos they are setting in motion, and what could prove disastrous, they talk about others, and about themselves. This constant telling and retelling is perceived, wrongly, as a transaction, disguised as a gift, and is more often than not a bribe, a repayment of debt, and a curse. Backbiting, how kind, I thank you. What is it you are trying to achieve? It is approval you seek. That's not how you find it. Justification, justice-a false concept, we have established that.

Insignificant odes to concrete objects, only finite substance, just like you. Compare. I am the judge. Jokes with severe injury. False accusations. Perjury. Imitation. It was only a bad impression of sincerity. I found it easy to enter into. I feel my lungs closing up. I feel that feeling I get at only one time. Leave it alone, I was only singing. It was a song that I will not perform again.

I speak to the one who needs to be spoken to. Make amends. How I love you!

The poets of long ago, I am the weed that chokes your roots.

I am the seed sown on rocky ground.

I am the sun. I am the air. I nourish you. I deprive myself.

We're done, at least I am, I can't speak for you, but this has been a long time coming. Try and guess what I mean. Try and figure out who this is directed toward, no one who would read this, or even knows it exists. The games children play. I can't pretend I feel love for you. I can't pretend it gets easier. I have hung on, I have egded along this narrow ledge. I can't pretend I feel love for you.

Goodbye Ink and Paper Quatre

2009-04-20T11:44:00.000-07:00

Leave it alone, I was only singing. Melodies and harmonies are dripping over my palace colorfully. The worlds I build are growing. Thinking too much.

I recognize you as me.

I recognize me for who I am.

I could not discern which demons were let into the landscape of my world.

I recognize then as what should have been.

I could not make the distinction between reality and fancy.

I could not even begin to undo the damage.

Gliding by the pines. I balanced myself on a branch. Summer seeped into every part of my soul. Desperately inebriated by the glow of the setting sun. I could not wait for it to go away. Evening unleashes a release of inhibition. I heard my name. I gave the dusty hiding place away with a muffled giggle.

After a very small struggle, I surrendered. Maybe I gave up too easily. How pleasant it is to be amongst the wildflowers. They shout for me to imitate them. I sway when the powerful southern winds entreat me.He crouches down poised like a wolf, almond eyes witholding pieces of himself. Drawing the curtains so that the light can't penetrate the window of his soul. He told me the names of all the different grasses. He told me lies, he had no idea what they were called. I studied his face not the ground. His expression was far removed the surroundings, intent on the one in front of him. The wind is against you, it moves your curtains, I see in. I am bare, There is no need for me to hide what is within. I act sheepishly, that is because I know not what I am doing. Why hide? In this innocent place of mind there is nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to have to keep to myself. When things are good, they should be shared, and I have no secrets or regrets.

The sun moves down across from us, it remains, we turn away. As I turn, my linen dress catches on a thorny bush. The muddy dress is now light brown, though it started out a pale off white. I check it for a puncture, it is unharmed. I face upwards, the faint last rays of sun still burn my eyes. We walk in opposite directions. He heads peacefully east, beginning anew, erasing the time. Sunrise. I sprint west, going fast, going nowhere fast. I end up alone, in the grasses, a dusty heap, giving up on the chase for a setting sun.

I wipe the blood off of my cuts with a leaf, I pinch the wounds to cleanse them. I become an expert in cleaning their messes for them. I examine my bruises, such variations in the shades. There are many bruises, but they heal much quicker than scatches. A purpley monstrosity takes over my left knee. I thank God I came away with only bruises in the beginning. If only they had been painful enough for me to falter in continuing.

Time refuses to be still. More darkened adventures like these ensue. I stand upright after I take my final tumble. My dress is only shreds and caked with black earth. My chin points left, my eyes focus down. I shift my position to better view the criminal behind me. There is a stab wound in my chest. I cringe. I weakly lay down again, feebly clinging to a dying world which drains the last drops of light for their own. I writhe. Light up a new world with them. The last semblance of my childhood gleaming brightly for the amusement of the newest eastern star. Don't burn out too quickly. I fade away.

The sun is down. It does not rise again.

I am not really so alone, Fernando Pessoa and The Book of Disquiet, read it and you'll see.

Build high walls around the garden of your mind.

"Literary alter egos were popular among early twentieth-century writers: Pound had Mauberley, Rilke had Malte Laurids Brigge, and Valery had Monsieur Teste. But no one took their alter ego as far as Pessoa, who gave up his own life to confer quasi-real substance on the poets he designated at heteronyms, giving each a personal biography, psychology, politics, aesthetics, religion, and physique. Alberto Caeiro was an ingenuous, unlettered, unemployed man of the country. Ricardo Reis was a doctor and classicist who wrote Horace-like odes. Álvaro de Campos, a naval engineer, was a bisexual dandy who studied in Glasgow, traveled to the Orient, and lived outrageously in London."

You thought I didn't know. That is telling. You underestimate me. You know, I run the risk of seeming pedantic when I behave true to my pure form.

I follow Pessoa, what you see is an illusion, a genuine lie.

I'd rather be despised for who I am pretending to be.

I keep mine hidden. You'll never believe me so, why don't you find out for yourself?

The Sanest days are mad.

Sick down to my heart, that's just the way it goes.

They know the full extent of your distress, they kneel and pray and they say: "long may it last" .

Why don't you find out for yourself?

Bad scenes come and go, for which I must allow.

Don't rake up my mistakes, I know exactly who they are.

I've been stabbed in the back so many many times.

Goodbye Ink and Paper Treize

2009-04-13T16:56:00.000-07:00

It's not wrong and I must own I was taken over by the sweet delight.

In a world of discontent I sought solace in the deepest realms of guilty pleasure.

http://www.andreschocolates.com/

I must say that I have had one of the most amazing weeks. However luck has nothing to do with it. I truly believe that you can get whatever you want in life with a positive attitude, charm, confidence, and the occasional hit of dark chocolate.

I went to see my dearest love, Mr. Steven Patrick Morrissey. I was granted the setlist.

I found out which hotel he was staying at. I was bestowed the honor of touring through his room.
(The Presidential Suite)

I missed a certain duck, and we spent exorbitant amounts of time together.

I was exhausted from having such a glorious week so I spent some quality time in an herbal linen wrap. http://www.bijinsalon.com/servicesproducts.cfm

I kept my hopes up and a smile on my face, plastered in more ways than one.

I went home again this weekend. Halls is my real home. They know my name (well, the people in the shoe department and the Chanel counter, the fragrance "Juice Bar", and if I am being completely honest...the handbag department too. ) The entire building is a wonderland of merchandise. Lauded by anyone with taste, Halls has everything a girl like me would want to be surrounded by from Van Cleef and Arpels to the Ermengildo Zegna. As I exit, overstuffed shopping bags in hand, it hits me, there is no place like home.

Oh, right, I'd almost forgotten, I am engaged! To two boys!!!!
British ones, a roadie named Oli & Mark Cupello (bass guitarist for The Courteeners.)
Whoever shall I choose? Maybe accepting both was a poor choice on my part...Oh well.