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[11 Jan 2006|08:26pm] |
i dont want to do this anymore.
my thoughts are my own,
and i'm reclaiming them.
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| it means what you want it to mean, baby. |
[02 Jan 2006|12:06am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
tired, actually |
] |
the lamp lit like plastic palm trees & inverted umbrellas. i turned to face the east, and felt six:thirtyAM inflate like "get well soon" balloons and the self-esteem of a girl reassured she doesn't "look fat in that."
the morning wrung the side streets dry, and i went to the kitchen to bend black coffee around the inside of a sun bleached teacup. it felt something like this- untwist unsalted pretzels and remember the reflection of fireworks & light from high heights & highrise livingrooms.
watered down reality, set on burner to boil. i felt your royal ego break defensive like a challenge. we've waged war before,
over perceived "unresponsiveness."
i shouldered new years resolutions & resolved to lend on loan my soul to an institution.
i ate self-respect for breakfast and broke down the brick walls i built years ago with abandon[meant].
create : create
let's sublimate
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| christmas eve in new york. |
[26 Dec 2005|04:38pm] |
|
green traffic lights gleam
on cold nights like these;
christmas eve breathes rain this year.
my knees are freezing.
i can feel the winter air seizing
the silence of back streets,
blowing whimbs & limbs through trees.
they say these nights
require capital to burn,
& alcohol to turn your stomach.
(some words of advice):
unlearn your infantile morality,
swallow reinvention whole &
terminate your terminal addiction
to conventionality.
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| subtlety & liberation. |
[16 Dec 2005|03:25pm] |
|
i do not share your fate. my demons are my own to bear[y], and now having transversed transparent boundaries i find i am barely able to comprehend the (in)consistency [form & inharmonious uniformity] of my former self. the criss-crossed lines [verbal, & metaphysical] i swore were drawn in concrete have been wholly converted to dust (although no appeal to Holiness was uttered). though somber times have passed, the past should not be forgotten, and so i have learned that "i am" is infinately more powerful than "i think" & "i can."
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| alive & awake, so much is at stake. |
[08 Dec 2005|11:02pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
abatement |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
röyksopp - circuit breaker |
] |
sugar snap peas & pine trees
please break my vertebrea evenly
i can feel my form free falling
my spine twisting, stalling
bruised conversation
confined & diffused
confusing the views etched into my mind
using intellect in place of emotion & time
i'm so close to an escape
a psychological jailbreak
a pause without subtext,
liability clause, or
cause for alarm
i've refused a call to arms
revenge is a trend
like religious conviction
& ephemeral eating disorder affliction
|
|
| extremities. |
[17 Nov 2005|11:05pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
i never quite know what i mean |
] |
suffused with frigidity
her seclusion & lack of fluidity blur
black coffee & frozen windshields.
"yield through intersections, fog, & black ice-"
this is the kind of advice that divides sworn allies,
black ties & a brick laced skyline-
a horizon raped of definition & hue.
wear & tear your emotion along your jaw line,
reset your spine to pacific standard time &
bury your borderline paranoia in a heavy black coat
meant to denote an unsteadiness of bone & marrow,
the narrowing of time & somatic frame.
battling common sense &
an intense fear of weight gain,
she waits without aim &
plays civil war games
within her cell walls.
spread beneath a thin layer of skin & morality
mortality breaks us down in the end.
she bends light to suspend her fear of heights,
& a forceful retching of cognition
that despite it's promise of volition
only violates her line of sight &
deprives her of any & all opportunity
to lead a fulfilling life.
|
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| it's because you're blonde. |
[12 Nov 2005|08:44pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
body dismorphic disorder. |
] |
she feels the weight of his arms & chest
compressed between his bed & body.
held captive by exhuasted limbs,
she's trapped beneath his fluxing skin.
he penetrates
with shotgun eyes,
contortion & a novel guise.
undress to westward winds.
recidivst rewind,
leave behind your wayward whims &
assassinate your state of mind.
|
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| a long aweighted return. |
[31 Oct 2005|08:32pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
s[e]atellite |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
shawn colvin - sunny came home |
] |
she saw paris reflected
in burning hydrogen &
burnt-out cigarettes
regrets retold &
enfolded in the pleats of her skirt
she watched as
imperial language
pressed itself into her curtains
first impressions are everything
there's some sort of correlation between
focus & light
focus & flights overseas
survolant salt saturation &
choleric romance with red lips
silk slips &
abandonded air strips
|
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| licensed to commit vehicular homicide. |
[12 Oct 2005|09:39pm] |
|
it's not the height of a building, but the weight of the body leaping from it. there's something about inertia and negative sixteen "t" squared minus initial elevation. if you can reach the bar, they say raise it. can you imagine facing a fear, say free-falling, by jumping from an airplane only to discover your equipment is faulty? you'll plummet to your death because you've overstepped your physical boundaries. it's unfortunate that consciousness cannot exist without being (alive & present in the present). so much of life is hypocrisy & reverse psychology.
i felt that foreign eyes were fixated on my shoulder blades. when you slip between consciousness and unconsciousness everything becomes serene. you hear, but cannot speak. i felt her heart beat, palm to palm, through her fingertips forty feet above ground. it's not an illusion of invincibility. how can you be reckless in body, but not in mind? how can you subject yourself to the occasional high, and then allege a fear of heights...
it's always about need, convenience, and conversion.
|
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| send an s.o.s... these waters are rising. |
[09 Oct 2005|08:48am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
hyperbolic, as always. |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
elysian fields - stop the sun |
] |
admitting you're something is so much easier in isolation, but solipsism can't coexist with codependency. bases are the basis for personal developement & unfortunately mine relocated eleven months ago. intelligent people discern meaning from context, subtext. pretexts are unavoidable, but the base, the base, should always be sought. please trust that i've been searching.
memories fade, you know, and i'm afraid the moment before she dies she'll reflect on my life as a part of her own & see only what i've become. maybe- what i've really been all along, but change, change, you can't change someone's perception of yourself once their heart has stopped beating.
is that what you were afraid of, as well?
recidivist, please rewind...
sans the self-deprecating bodily assaults
sans the shattering identity crises
sans the vindictive nature i now embody
i sent a letter home, but "return to sender" was the only reply i recieved.
|
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| insomnia is overanalyzation in its purest form. |
[06 Oct 2005|12:26am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
defin[e]-it... |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
azure ray - sea of doubts |
] |
finding familiariy in first floor corridors & dark rooms with red lights. is it true that most people cry with red eyes? it seems odd that non-actions can infer so much disrespect, but no one expects a heavy rain when [sk]eyes are blue (in hue versus in tone).
one look can express more than commentary ever could. narration, you know, is mostly unnecessary. it's an inability to breakdown when breaking down comes most naturally (in chemistry, or literature).
they say, "altruism is overrated" & that "selflessness is selfishness under a guise with ten thousand names" [eg: friendship, love, family]. it's simple enough to become too complicated, but you've heard ten thousand times that "entanglement is simply a symptom."
you're behind, one.5 years of neurological developement.
deficit (n). an excess of liabilities over assets (usually over a certain period)
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| would-be autonomy. |
[25 Sep 2005|10:46pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
navy blue drapes & skyscapes |
] |
she's always someone other than herself in person. so when i see her, naturally, i wish for elongation of reflection. "sight & tact"- in the archaic, of course, because "tactFULLNESS" is one of those hyperbolic kind of words people would rather not be weigh[t]ed by, or near for that matter.
let's recall a line i wrote between months ago, "the anonymity of the big city, where the bricks break the skyline." it came to me when i wore a towel turban & thought back on the days i let myself become wrapped up in thought & warm summer nights saturated with (or is it by?) sound.
i often speak of stasis in the behavioural sense, stagnancy. have i really progressed so little these past few years? i wont allow myself to think linearly. life is full of meaning & a word is worth a million more.
|
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| oh shit, she's on[to] something. |
[10 Aug 2005|11:28pm] |
|
she wanted to be a quantum physicist. national geographic, M.A.C. attack brown eye-liner. are scientists not civilians too? she said it's, lyonaise or some such bloated nonsensical french utterance. she slept on my bed, cannila spice. my hair is up in arms, broken fingers ---fractures "to" & "from" mail. love, love, lust. tahiti in pink -kalua [on fire], why put coffee flavoured syrup in coffee flavoured coffee? you be sweet; i'll be low. she feels her bowels enlarge, enraged. open doors, vacant gaze, crazed. [untellable imaginations]. keep it up, run it down, stick around, fly high, we're sweet & ---low flow toilets. socks & saucony, saks on 5th, avenues that lead to nowhere. you say "chemin" and i think "chemise." roads with trees, like shirts, right? fluffly collar early-mid-19th-century-wig-wearing bourgeoisie. L'AFRIQUE!
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| can we try ----& take the high road? |
[10 Aug 2005|10:45am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
i should be jogging |
] |
i have a problem making friends, but it's not that i want to impress, no, it's that i want to BE impressed. i fell asleep with black mascara on & gold eye-shadow from europe, after a day in the city, in a new pair of jeans, on the floor of my living-room, coffee in hand. do you stay away to remain mysterious. or do you stay away to retain your internal image of me, insuring it wont come crashing down, breaking dreams & destroying interpretations.
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| one should always learn to coexist -peacefully- with potato chips. |
[14 Jul 2005|06:44pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
heavy-er |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
mazzy star |
] |
the resolve i've been looking for, it's been awhile & some phases have finally located their finales -just in time, maybe, a little too late-. i feel like rocks-on-shore-under-ebbing-tides.rotting-wood-under-feet-under-black-sky-buzzing-powerlines.super-light-cigarettes-&-green-lighters-melting-plastic-string "on a cold night." on a, cold night. i've fallen asleep into another world.
a trip back in time tomorrow: one year, three, fourteen -sweatdirt&burningrubber-. you know you're getting old & losing touch when life begins (to unravel this way). if i didn't know better i'd think i was on drugs, high -right- like a kite? as; i think is the expression. life is pointless & it's okay sometimes to channel that if you're only trying to beat back blindly the dark blue waves of tidal vacancy, total vacancy -orange neon lights at night near highways & overpasses-. i envy those of you who self-suffice -who live alone in warm beds under brown comforters in summertime- self-sacrifice, self-contain contameninants.
i'm never really gone, never really here. i ache for contact with a past self, to be -in touch- with someone again.
i dreamt of basements, brown pants, and baseline recquirements. he was late, again, i had to wait, again, just like old times -like anna waiting on the monkey bars for her mother-. god would say, "what a pity, divorce is a sin. she's a good kid and deserves both parents, together."
good,innocent.
i'd call, but.
|
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| i make necklaces of rocks. |
[12 Jul 2005|12:56pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
tired, in need of a shower |
] |
there's something about lasagna, you know. the smell, or maybe silent [g]. i thought today, eating a box of it frozen/reheated, that it was perhaps one of the few things i haven't rejected in this 19-month-old life. i remembered then, however, it was the first HALF of ONE THING/DAY/REASON -although, no reason was involved- that forced a finale once.upon.a.time. yes, that & cherry pie, you remember.
there's something about men & money, you know. something about "there's frozen dinners in the freezer, you wont starve." the bad grammar, and "INeloquence," right, or the "everything" bagels & easy mac on the counter he bought for me after 20 minutes of "please, please, please, bring food home." in the fridge we have: pickles, britta water, shredded cheese (a rarity), & various condiments. i can take a photo, if you'd like proof.
the irony of this situation lies in my constant plea, "can we please go to the grocery store? please?" i feel dirty & cheap & fake, but have to ask that way because i've been black listed. i "treat [him] badly." i spend the money i earn on fruit half the time, but he's right- i wont starve (at least not to death).
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[09 Jul 2005|08:15am] |
today, i'm wearing the world
the cracks in the concrete match
the creases enfolded in my 21st century skin
the wind, written on my face in lavender,
dances between my eyelashes & my fingers
lingering just long enough to seep into,
slip sleep into
my eyes because
today i'm also wearing the sky
enveloping my body in
blue velvet & white cotton clouds
a shroud, cloud cover
protecting my lush limbs
like the leaves protect the trees
growing moss from my back &
tracking civilization through the canopy
of my history
digging roots down &
tying them around my brittle bones
a feeble brace for impact
bend, dont break
mend the space between earth & sky
maybe just try stitching it together
let the weather decide
today, i'm wearing the world
as opposed to carrying it on my shoulders
walking on water,
you know, you're no one's "daughter"
you can be your own savior
because i refuse
to let the sins of "civilized" men
weigh heavily on my mind
i'd rather unwind
let time unfold like a map tracing dawn to dusk
the lines between your reality & mine
the veins that lead from core to fingertips
trips
from extremities
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