4/25

happy birthday mom.


Television noises, she sits in the dark all alone. All night, all hours passing through two deep sockets covered by shiny eyes of green. Covered and aged, wading through the mindless numbing feeling creeping in for the moment. Alone with no goodnight kiss for her tired face, hidden behind a wave of blonde and mild grey. Years have passed and she's still alone. Has it been decades since she's last felt the speechless awe of love? Possible, plausible, haunting. Sun-streaked skin torn off by cigarette smoke and beer, child birth, and golden moments. Tell her another bedtime story? One of the countless stories unfolding inside her? She'd love to hear one but she can't quite remember how to make them anymore. Afraid and waiting.. there's nothing more discreetly horrifying. She made sense of the smarts she was given and left out the things life wasn't able to give her. This beauty queen held her sorrow deep down to each small painted toe. The world's a cramped hell when you're bigger than the novel you've written for yourself. Love? Love! She wants. My hello and her goodbye started years ago- never leaving the house even though the breeze is that of a movie title. Her inked spirits, laced with the same blood she's made of, rest their eyes with that of a similar depressed soul. (I guess you couldn't quite call it resting.) The heat of a thousand brush fires burn the eyes of the unfortunate. She hurridly and excitedly makes jam and toast for the little one this morning. The little little apple of her eye shining so brightly- the only sweet dream she's made come true. Was it real she was given four bodies to raise? Truth: four-years-old came with loss. Sixteen was a dark year. Eleven more years passed of the game called life she fondled so crudely. Age twenty-six-seven came with stars and promises for a bright future. (Stars, stars, stars in that little boy's eyes.) Twenty-eight-nine-thirty-one: babies with curls and eyes of a distrustful man. Sleep child, sleep until you're sick with the joy of a dreadful disease. Laughter, black and white, pearls of perfection for the only love she took upon her finger. "You can't always get what you want," an older version of her heart told her. (Didn't know how? Didn't know why?) So an agreement was made. Splash me up a pretty picture and show your morning fun when you've got nothing else for yourself. Could this all be from a woman who struck the weight of a dead husband upon her? Tonight hit hard with suffocating sounds of husbands and wives going to bed all over the world. Not this one, not this beauty. It's stellar out tonight, magical under the roof of a house that sleeps with lies. It's wonderful out tonight, tragic under the covers of a house that rapes innocent dreams. "Love? Use, my hand? Give it something to hold onto?" An abrupt feeling of destruction upon her heart of freckled, naive, passion. Today came without money.. they spun a web in her.. ate into her intellectual side. Driving, staring and loving the eyes she once loved. One, two, buckle your shoe darling of mine; we wouldn't dare want you to trip over your envy-encrusted ego. We won't lie, she made mistakes. She tried to fly when she shouldn't have. She she she was lost in the woods, decaying long before the sun went down. Raised in a waterfall, behind a gas station, over the span of a meadow, crisply thinking she would never let herself stay out in a storm. Bright above the bedframe, a pale face wakes up her subconscious. (A silouhette undefined by every means.) It's been years since she's let something hold onto her so deeply. "Tomorrow will come with better company." Blood and sweat, "It's not mine." She'll make it. A good friend is hard to come by. Alone in the doctor's office, she tells him how she watches old movies. He helped the lonely that day. (Put them in their right place with your handcuffs sir.) Bloated bellies, lines of powder goodness, a good woman saves her best lipstick for something real. Perhaps badly drawn out -an excitement come by falsely.. or perhaps written by a man she barely remembered? Sick sick death. A man, a second rate family, now she sleeps until she can't help it. Pour another glass of gold bracelets and smell sweet perfume clouds blown in by fragile lungs willing to collapse with the slightest push. Oh dearest god she believes in without resort: Thank you. My mother's a saintly beast of a woman and I have her jackolatern smile tonight.

I used to be cold.

2009-
Hurry down sunshine, beg, borrow, steal.


winter breath shiny, she asked for another drink. moon half fallen, violently listening to old songs of violins and exasperated church dwellers yelling outside for more light. no need for consequence, black institutionalized hearts continue to ride skyward. sick coughs of blithe friends and carefully illustrated nights, today would be the day she'd remember how to reach. grown from cellophane and radical advances, never too proud to speak her intrusive mind. stunted live from the courthouse, he never cared much about her accomplishments. shut into a coat, whimpering like a bruised dog, she hurled electric. timing was everything, what you live in is nothing. a crusty memoir dug under each nailbed, flirting with god's unholy slur. "men, they'll grow up to be men!" but by then you'll be yellow and soft. blue was meant to be the favored color, but changed daily into everything hard. if surrendered bones of light are what you want, you'll get none here. sour under the chin, she fell through his motionless and child-like brain. bursting with warm plans, not everything regulated fits into a bag. vamos a la playa y tomar el sol, the past turns into unregrettable stains of freckles. when she put her head down, telescopic plants burst through her ears. smokey lips turned impervious from blood, expressions are perfection. gifts of coins, compact in its own salty place served her very well throughout the years. rising from the mechanical feathers, each day a sun dawned unwanted heat and anguish. if a collapsed woman you're looking for, a torrent explosion of life you might prefer.

the year is two thousand and nine and i am twenty-two years old.

ghost ration

3/12/10-
What would the dark do without fevers to eat? What would the light do without eyes to knife? What will he do, do, do, do without me?


News was heard, worse than before. If he had been a king, I think he would live forever. Loss of control, the trees no longer speak the same to him. Body: old. Mind: dwindling. Embarrassing to be human on all accounts. A man lives his life then counts on scripture to save him. I'd save him.


I cannot sleep father. I cannot shut down the workings of my dry brain. The thoughts are too heavy and my heart too red -the contents of both waiting to violently purge at any slow motion moment. A calloused lifetime of memories dug under each delicate nailbed. Each hour passing I hope I'm miraculously prepared to handle this. "Someone's sitting unknowingly dead right now," your son tells me. A person surrounded and consumed by only darkness. Maggots controlling their motor functions instead of bones of love. I sit in the sun and think of how you made me. I burst from your arms like the colliding of hemispheres. I think I was born to worship you. The things I've done have been unwanted; but at times I feel the unwanting lays in your hands. Your hands. Those hands. The hands of an old man. The once large and sugary swollen fingers that held mine are cold and now fragile. I await the moment I see you but know that you have reverted back into a state of infancy. You can no longer fully grasp the nature of your narrowing hips or sullen cheeks, no longer hold my back so the cold doesn't break it. I will feed your mind and hold you in my arms while I comb back the rage. Quiet rage. It's creeping up inside my lungs like black balloons of hatred rallied towards every breathing creature. I want to kiss your knees and peel off every freckle of pain that's consumed your wildfire of a heart. The fields are greener than usual today and oh how you'd notice them. Birds are chirping and I've seen the most exquisite trees of my life. My life. Soon our blood will meet and we'll be one as I once was, a feather in a sea of flume.



morning playlist:
fleet foxes- false knight on the road
fleet foxes- white winter hymnal
andrew bird- MX missiles
iron & wine- homeward, these shoes
iron & wine- flightless bird, american mouth
m. wards- stars of leo
chris bathgate-serpentine
janove ottesen
bonnie 'prince' billy- love comes to me
damien jurado- hoquiam
rogue wave- I'll never leave you
rogue wave- california
dr. dog- heart it races
the white stripes- we're going to be friends
ottis redding- I've been loving you too long

out of ash I rise with red hair and eat men like air.

3/8/10-
Their bones showed and the moon smiled.

Beards. That's what's on my mind. Beautiful bountiful beards. One in specific. A Samuel Beam-esque beard by the name of Chad. He is attractive on all accounts. Judges? Three thumbs up. I see him around town.. always a little intimidated. Sit next to him at the bar. Introduction. Two hours later, we hope to see each other this weekend. It was one of those conversations that sticks in your head for hours, then days.

Friday, 3/9/10 -
You're into train fucking?! You're kiddin' me!

Tequila at 5pm. Sunshine sunshine sunshine, Jared, Leah, Julia, Ashlee, Kacey, Mike, myself. We a find a new free king mattress. We carry it the block and a half, up the stairs onto the porch. Picture it. Yes, ridiculously awesome. All evening, on the bed, drinks drinks drinks, sunshine until we can't have anymore. Julia's working the door at the bar-we cannot spend the entire eve together. Bonfire. Lame bones. Lame bar. Fat people staring. Unhappy on all accounts. Haymarket. Even lamer. But this time in the aspect of not only a shitty band but I come to the realization I may be starting to miss the excitement of those one night stands. And not just necessarily the sex but the downright adrenalin and mystery of it all. I suppose without them I still have great stories. At one point, very drunk, I look at Jase and say "this is it, isn't it?" He says, wow, you've finally realized it. So we leave hand in hand, hearts in throats. Cuddle, food, talk talk talk. Old boyfriends, old feelings, old everything. Hit the mattress for some more mattress cuddling under the stars. Julia comes home. Three blind mice cuddling in a porch mattress. 3, 4am? Sleep? Almost. Just barely drifting off. Footsteps up the stairs. Could be any friendly hoodlum - scary, but not alarming. Oh wait, it's Mike. And a COP. A fucking cop walking up to see three people snuggling on a mattress. He must have been quite shocked. Probably not as shocked to have to come the scene of a domestic report of two gay men. Yes, Mike and his "ex"-boyfriend Jeremiah. Jeremiah, adorable, tiny, bearded. Mike, robust, lip ring, loud. Almost two years of dating under their belts, they get into a brawl. Apparently a brawl with Jeremiah being the agressor, Mike's head on the ground, blah blah. I say "blah blah" not because it's not important but in the fact it's two gay men fighting. You can clearly understand what probably happened. Which is pretty fucking hilarious. So, the cop takes Mike to our house because he lives out of town and cannot drive. So the fact he came to our house at 4am is definitely ok. The fact he came to our house at 4am with a cop NOT ok. There's so much pot in our house. I am a criminal. Mike is crying. We are trying to console, but we are clearly on our way to cashed out town and barely have the attention span to listen. Jase does however tell the cop it is a wonderful night to sleep outside before leaving. J, you are so stupid cute. Mike piles on the bed. Four monkeys rooted in as the birds start chirping. Julia and Jase are out like bandits, they realize they need sleep inside. I wake up to Mike's snoring at the arousing time of 8am. Birds galore. Fucking birds galore. They sing so sweet that I want to kill them. I want to twist off each of their heads. But the mattress is too comfortable. We're talking hellafied remix soft. No back pain, no problem. So we sleep until 11. I wake up to a scorching sun and Leah and Jared snuggling me. Reason #453 why I love these people.

Jase says he saw Chad at the bar. I however did not. And I was wearing a damn good outfit.

3/10/10 -
Chins up, trousers down.

Mattress in, everyone wake! Onto hangover central and a lunch to reunite our souls with Julia's olive Jenna. Oh my lanta is she a peanut. I mean down the T and precious little beautiful peanut. Julia did well. She's gorgeous. TJ and Brandy are amazing. Absolutely great people. She is loved. I'm so happy for Julia when I saw them. It was the closure maybe I needed on the situation? I guess I feel a little protective over that baby considering she came from my baby. And to see her loved, cared for and happy made me conceptualize it in an immensely needed way. Hard to explain. Hard for anyone to explain. Sigh. Now it's 4pm. Everybody officially has a haircut by nonny and is working hard to do their part in the workforce. Well, Leah's sleeping. Which I shall do now as well. Cave party tonight. I do not feel like drinking. But it's in a fucking cave. And that's too cool to even start to talk about. I hope to have beard all up in my shit. Hair for days.