Pretty bird

You and I are only canaries. Blood-thirsty canaries. Adorable yellow chickadees Intent to rule the world. We sing flit hop Preen molt chirp Disguising plans to silence protesters. Disguising distress. Destructively simple. Canaries are cannibals. So really it's either you OR I. Pretty songs. That make people weep. And cherish our voices and fragile beauty My bones are empty. Feathers slicing breath. You were wonderfully breathy. Darkness silences a song. You look. I see your look.

Finding joy

There are hippies. Joyful hippies. There are Christans. Joyful Christians. There are hypocrites. Joyful hypocrites. There are technicians. Joyful technicians. They say that joy is not based on circumstance. But isn't Salvation a circumstance? Hhhhmm. The joy is returning. I may be confusing it with something else. All Ive wanted is to escape my circumstances. I'm on my way. Joy. I barely ask.

(free write with some contraints)

Hi.
It's been awhile.
Things change. Have changed. Rather.

Things change.
Our souls seem to be composed more of DNA the more we age. More of Mom and daddy and less of free-will....or personal resolutions....or...
Well, things change.

Beauty is different.
People want to understand me now.
I care less if peple understand me now.

Things change. When I speak, it's with authority and humor. Even charm.
Things change. I use words. Like "yes" or "no".....and never rock in an embarassing fetal position between them like I used to.
Things change. Stay where you are. Because I indulge my carnality now. Come close and I will rip my fingers through your mane, while I shiver with molten rage.....haha O how things change, don't they, friend?

I've done many things since I cared for you.
Buried a loved one.
Been proposed to.
Made friends with whales disguised a glaciers.
Bought jeggings (things change, right?).

A clean slate's a cliche'.
My risks are often risque'.
Ah, things change Ren--- well never mind.

Maybe I'll try this again tomorrow.

Tulips don't catch tears. Nor do your dead roses. Nor do dead roses hung from ceilings. Nor do cat-mangled-sunflowers. Nor do azaleas. Nor do you.

Wrists catch tears. Old t-shirts catch tears. Throats choke them back. Books catch tears. Necks catch tears. Not yours. Mine. Alone.

It's finally clouded, it can't see...breath.....breath...breath.

Terrible loss.Terrible freedom.
All I do is sleep. Once in a while, I open my mouth and smile. All you see is a smirk. I feel sorry for you.

From You.....

I Love You is fear-mongering.
I Love You is a tactic
I Love You is your power trip masked by your love of 'justice'.
I Love You is your heroine. Your desperation of choice.

I Love You is your avatar; your cartoon face of you.
I Love You is your rite of passage
I Love You is your form of neglect
I Love You is your cologne.

I Love You is your chest about to burst, so you say something, anything.
I Love You is your leash, tethered around my neck.
I Love you is you craft and game, no, your monopoly.
I Love You is why I still speak to you without numbness (although I try)

I Love You is your emotional credit card
I Love You is your seance....
I Love You is your default mask
I Love You is one of your two-faces

I Love You suffocates me in air waves and voice timbres.
I Love You strangles me with your selfishness.
I Love You is horseshit.
I Love You will either fly me to glory or slit arteries. Or both.

I Love You is desecrated. By you.

Dirty Laundry

I like airing my dirty laundry in public.
No pretense.
So, madame e monsieurs', enjoy some shadenfreude. Relish it.
In January I nearly killed a boy who stole my phone
In February, my best friend betrayed me for the scum of the earth, the wolf in sheep's clothing. A liar, to sat the least.
In February, I quit my job and ran away from NY. Ran away from the pain. Ran away from her. The lesson I learned? Never let sub-par people make you feel awful and give up your dreams.
In March, I was swallowed by the South. It stranded me there. No income for months. But it was nice to be in a show and have a boyfriend.
In March, an old love called me incessantly while being too drugged up to form words. This is why I hate drug abuse.
In April......not much happened. I rehearsed and enjoyed the bourgoise feeling of playing house (I didn't move in....but it still felt very "Honey, I'm home.") with my too-good-to-be-true boyfriend.
In May, the show ended, and my boyfriend and I broke up. It hurt, but sometimes you never see someone's true colors until things go sour. It marks the different between friends and fair-weather friends.
In May, I made a mistake of tsunamic proportions. I lied. I became what someone else accused me of once. And it nearly cost me a friend.
In May, I felt the most alone.
In May, I still couldn't get a job. Not even at Wal-mart.
In June, I got a job at steakhouse
In June, I figured out that at this job, at best, I would tentatively make $150 a week fulltime.
In June, I interviewed alot, and got nothing.
In July, I started seeing the ex again.
In August, my Dad left my Mom.
In August, my old love committed suicide.
In August, my old love wrote me 17 suicide letters and enclosed a ring with them before committing suicide. I have not read them yet.
In August, I made a last minute decision to move to Chicago.
In August, I nearly fell for old lies. But hearing an "I love you" doesn't change anything. By the way, I love you too.
In August I moved to Chicago.
In August, the day I left Dad came back.
In September, Dad gave Mom an ultimatum.
In September, Dad strangled Mom.
In September, Dad went to jail.
In September I got a job. A real job. A good job.
In September, I dreamed every night. I never dream.
In September. I had to be careful with a heart.
In September, someone bailed my dad out of jail. He hasn't had his trial yet.
In October, Dad sent me an e-mail asking me to call and "cheer him up, as family is most important to him".
In October, I realized that my own father doesn't know my phone number.

This is not a beg for pity. This an explanation to why I might be crazy.
On a positive note. I love Chicago. It's beautiful, and fantastically opportunistic without being dirty or depressing like NY.
And I heart my bestie, Chris......a great great great friend.
And I heart Ila. My oldest, and dearest.
And I live close to Grandma (yay!)
And my job is sooooo wonderful! In every way imaginable. The people, the pay, the hours, the proofing and editing work itself.
And soon I'll make it. I know my dreams will come true. And I'll make others' dreams come true too.

Sitting on an awning., hey y'all good morning.

I find your provincial wailings to be blissfully, no, artfully ignorant. And I envy how lucky you are.
It was nice when I could run from my problems like you, or like you, or like you. Or like you even.
And when you look my way, you see my mask, no, my sculpture I've created for myself to stand in my place, whilst I beekeep.
And when you look at me (which you don't, but the rest do) you wish you could love a sculpture, but of course that would be stupid because a sculpture cannot love you back. Or so I've discovered.....

You will never be able to answer my question. Because I will never ask you.
I will never press my arms against the heat of you....I would not touch you with a lengthy pole.
Challenge is just a word that people use to make themselves feel stronger.
Do you feel stronger? Because you shouldn't. Because anymore my mind cannot be changed......I can't cater to your fishing. You sad thing.....you aren't even a challenge.

I love how this blog applies to exactly 22 people. Currently.
I love my narcicism. How could I not?
I love how my problems consist of having far too many options, rather than the classic 'focus longingly on a closed door' scenario.
I love being a secret.

All things you never said are left behnd.
All the things that flit on your protagonatory countenance, are only important to the cells of your mind.
All these chairs wrapped in foam and leather, that may or may not recline, will comfort you.
All these ringtones you buy are a jingling cacophony of what will fall on it's knees and fade like a destroyed nintendo villian.

My prayers have been answered.
God has whispered peace into my ears.
There is a part I can't tell you or any breathing thing.

I saw a young man. He wants to sing. I pressed my hands against his stomach, and he pressed his hands against mine, in order to feel breath. I wish everyone could feel breath. There is beauty about releasing the staleness from you. There is a beauty about living.

You are like the breath; when you are stale, I release you, and when you can bring me life, I pull you back in. Selfish but necessary. It's how we survive. And I don't feel sorry for the air, nor will I feel sorry for you.

If you find me, after I have escaped....that is the moment I will believe you have a chance of deserving me.

Why do I write these? It's a form of relief.

Pardon my impertinence. It's your turn.

It's been said before: The more I get to know people, the more I like myself.

I'm spent......half of this is nothing......I'm barely coherent.....

Pure Intentions

Do you know what I intend? You coulndn't possibly know. You couldn't understand or fathom. You could not. Could you? No, you couldn't. You can't understand acceptance, as you only can see the world through an eye of a needle.
I have lied. I am not an envelope pusher. The only envelope I ever pushed was my own, trampling other persons' envelopes in the process. I thought the only important envelope to push was my own. It was indulgent and sad. I am indulgent and sad.
And you, O glimmer, do you know what I intend? I intend to have elysian peace.
I intend to burn in the heart of a nomadic star.
I conspiratorize to rise above that glimmer and burst with a potency, above the cellular waves, above airplanes, above the stratosphere. And the angels with turn their heads to see what the sound was.
I do not care to live where people don't learn or search or probe or have a hunger, a curiousity about them.
Unfortunaely the hunger eats oneself if it is not being fed. I can't think like that. The unrest.....
O glimmer, please let my honesty reside with you. I beg you not to teach me to lie. Not being shackled by humanity is a wonderful loneliness.
Do you know what I intend? To mend this broken smile. To breath at last.
I may be honest, but you are not intuitive enough to ask the right questions......which is why I will always elude you, my dearest glimmer.
I am not a poet, nor a writer, just an indulgent.
Do you know what I intend? Tell me. If you can tell me, I will be forever indebted. You can put an awl through my ear for seven years.
Do you know what I intend?

Blog posts are bad luck.
Short cuts are bad luck.
Chinchillas are bad luck.
Swedes are bad luck.
Perfect posture is bad luck.
Antogonizing the alligator of your choice is bad luck.
Walmart parking lots are bad luck.
Inadequatorymonetishunits will notify bad luck.
Poets are baaaaaad luck.
Technically not cheating is bad luck.
Posed scandalous behaviour to comedically onset southern gossip is bad luck.
Your hip bone contacting your clavicle is bad luck.
Adam Lambert personifies bad luck.
If you asked if you want any candy by a stranger.....that is bad luck.
Subway platforms in the summer are bad luck.
Thumbs pressed between the carpals are bad luck.
Concentration camps in Prauge are bad luck.
Unfolding your mental canvas to the world is bad luck.
Gaing weight in your face is bad luck.
Editorial religion is bad luck.
Pressing a hot number is bad luck.
Quickened breathing for any reason is bad luck.

Green engagement ring

It's as if a font, the curve of your letters, creates a bias. It's as if this endless sea of smiles before me are bared teeth. It's as if your burden, your fear is my menace. It's as if my constant use of high heels will restrain my ever-present urge to run. It's as if restraint could actually restrain. It's as if playing house with you could mask what really happening. It's as if what's really happening happens alot here in the sweet tea country.
It's as if clutching a copy of cosmo will help me keep in touch. It's as if the sweet tea country will satiate my physical comfort. It's as if the Big Apple will satiate my mental creative blackhole. It's as if no matter what important choice I make, I'm slated for regret.
It's as if I'm slowly being paralyzed. It's as if the glittering mania encompassing my hands is becoming a pair of steel handcuffs.
It's as if the persian elaborate rug will fly before I do.
It's as if a starlet simultaniously imploded too early and too late.
It's as if the phoenix will rise from the ashes if I fall in love with you.
It's as if every time the stuttering pyromaniacs on coney island charge a fee to swallowing a flaming sword, the cabbages smooth their leaves.

What a hilarious misunderstanding.

Remember the time you thought "bushido" was "bukkake"?
Remember the time I grew a strange look and informed the world I had my waist through the leg-hole of my underwear?
Remember the time you thought Norway was "Norweiga"?
Remember the time I took your pants on mistake?
Remember the time I April fooled you so good, that it tok me a week to get you to believe it was only April Fools?
Remember the time we went to war with Iraq instead of Afghanistan?
Remember the time you were convinced of my lies and accused me of relations with your exes?
Remember the time you kissed me and I screamed in your face?
Remember the time you made fun of my speedometer for not working, although it was because my car got hit by lightening?
Remember the time you said 'grotesquely beautiful' and I fell irrationally in love with you?
Remember the time you said "I understand" and you didn't?
Remember the time we bailed out/paid billions of dollars to criminals?
Remember the time we simulated drowning to extract critical information?
Remember the time you decided to no longer read your material to your students?
Remember the time I ran away?
Remember the time I forgot to write blogs?
Remember the time you responded to all my anonymii?
Remember the time I begged you to let my cells expire and cease multiplication?
Remember the time no one sent help to a squall in N'awlins?
Remember the time your laughter was holographic?
Remember the time we took vicodin and watched the Spanish channel?
Remember the time you proposed to me and I said " I'm 14."?
Remember the time you went searching for Nazi gold and I told you how to get it?
Remember the time when no one believed us?
Remember the time I invented you?
Remember the time I hadn't been in a relationship for years and you hadn't either, but then I got into one, and you did the same thing within two week?
Remember the time I forgot how to think, write, or feel?
Remember the time dad kept calling you PJ?
Remember the time we vowed upon?

I'm slowly but surely forgetting.

A Miracle Would Happen

--------Everyone tells you that the minute you get marriedEvery other woman in the worldSuddenly finds you attractiveWell, that's not trueIt only affects the kind of womenYou always wanted to sleeep withBut they wouldn't give you the time of day beforeAnd now they're banging down your doorAnd falling to their kneesAt least that's what it feels like because you
Can
Not
Touch
Them
In fact, you can't even look at them
Close your eyes, close your eyes, close your eyes
Except you're sitting thereEating your corned beef sandwichAnd all of a sudden, this pair of breasts walks byAnd smiles at youAnd you're like
That's not fair
And in a perfect worldA miracle would happenAnd every other girl would fly awayAnd it'd be me and you and nothing else would matterBut it's fine, it's fine, it's fineI mean, I'm happyAnd I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine
It's not a problemIt's just a challengeIt's a challenge to resist
Temptation
And I have to say thatWhat exacerbates the problemIs I'm at these partiesI'm the center of attentionI'm the grand fromageAnd here she comes:"Let's get a cup of coffee.Will you look at my manuscript?"And I'm showing her my left handI'm gesticulating with my left handAnd then WHOOMP! There's Cathy!'Cause she knows(They always know)And there's that really awkward momentWhere I try to show I wasn't encouraging this
(Though of course I sort of was)
And I don't want to look whipped in front of this womanWhich is dumb - I shouldn't care what she thinksSince I can't fuck her anyway.And in a perfect worldA miracle would happenAnd every girl would look like Mister EdAnd it'd be me and CathyAnd nothing else would matterBut it's fine, it's fine, it's fineYou know I love herAnd it's fine, it's fine, it's fine
It's what I wanted
And I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine!It's not a problemIt's just a challengeIt's a challenge to resist
Temptation
I'll be there soon, babyI'll finish up this chapter and be out the doorI swear I'll be there soon, CathyDon't give up on me yetI am so proud of you, babyYou're doing what you never got to do beforeAnd I will be there, ripe and crawlingIf fuckin' Random House stops callingDon't lose faithDon't get downDon't despairI'll be thereAnd in a perfect worldA miracle would happenAnd that day would finally be hereAnd it'd be me and youRiding it togetherAnd the things we doGoin' like we plannedWe're gonna make it throughAnd nothing else will matterWe'll be fine, we're fineWe're fine, we're fine, we're fineI'll be there soon, baby...
I swear I will-------------

Sigh. Thank God for JRB.

A Prayer

Dear God.

Let me not wig.
Let me not try and make something worth what it isn't worth
Let me not be like them.

Let me live in a pleasing way to myself and others and to you.
Let me stay inspired by my friends.
Let me be fierce.

Let me not fights wars with myself
Let me not yell at the wonderful people in my life.
Let me not use the eff word quite as much (although I would still like to use it).

Let me forget him.
Let me forget him.
Let me forget him.

Let me not be a wallflower.
Let me not be a firecracker.
Let me not be an enigma.

Let me recognize truth and beauty (even when it's grotesque)
Let me use uninterupted windsheild wipers.
Let me breathe easily.

Let me not have crushes on friends
Let me not hear the door shut when it shuts.
Let me not need any help.

Let me sing.
Let me sleep.
Let me cease to exist.

Let me not make anyone cry.
Let me not get married if love isn't present.
Let me not get lost in violet haze.

Let me love.
Let me keep my integrity on every level.
Let me be clear.

Let me not run away.
Let me not scar.
Let me not lose you.

Let me appear contagiously joyful always.
Let my revenge be sweet.
Let him remember me.

Let me not choose the wrong side.
Let me not rendezvous with poison.
Let me not sacrifice my curiousity.

Let me laugh.
Let me reach the fingertips of the Sistine Chapel.
Let me be the untortured starry starry night.

Let me not mouthbreath
Let me not kiss irreverence one too many times.
Let me not break one too many cattails.

Let me have one. Just one.

Let me not act too cool for school.
Let the sunshine in.

Let me throw the fairydust in my hair.
Let me not beekeep.

Amen.

Freewrite #2

I'm not good at categorization. I love these days, the day thedayof this. I'm tired of writing out my phone number and saying 860 the 0 is not a typo. I love the days because they're warm, and when it's cold I don't have to walk in it. This isn't bragging. I've lost that part of me. Ila I won't call him this weekend because I can't, I'm chicken buck buck bacawk, and you say you'll do it if I don't terrifies me, because it's a game. I don't like games when my heart's invested. I like games when everything is disposable. Cruelty. I hate this blog. I just read over it. The vampires are telling me it's banal. Morte, vampire', morte. Mountain dew is penguining down my esophagus veins rattling screams waking me just in time fore midnight. Yaaay midnight. Please, I only give a shit about 11:11. I used to like a-line haircuts until I met you. The piracy on the high seas of south america reminds me of Muppet Treasure Island. Note what I capitalized. I am such a child. The python on your shoulders just seduced me, coaxed into eating the fruit. And now I know, the knowledge will kill me. Sununu. As for you, whom I have loved infinitely, I only have one question - do you have a single original idea in your mind? Present me with a single thing you thought up yourself, that someone else didn't impose on your curdled brain, and I will fall back in love with you. As for you, who has loved me infinitely, your symphonies and galaxies of imagination are laughing and twirling on point in their own dimensions and I can barely bring myself to touch your face. Bushido. Remember? My hands are cold. I have it bad. Pardon, I have found myself wilting in habeous corpus surprisingly. Skin stiches itself back together and thin white lines are the only remnants of the aesop fable that was ours. Its stitching itself back together now, it's too deep to be a white line yet. There are new people. For everything. I couldn't tell if he was gay or european, however the accent and the bad breath led me to go with european. I have wrapped myself in people. It's a juggernaut burrito. I sneezed just now. Sneezing is better than Christmas. Pineapple on my pizza same as when I was twelve. Writing letters so people will know exactly what I mean, same as when I was twelve. My words are so careful, so scared, so timid. I dream in color........sepia, and also in the color of your eyes. My incisors are so sharp. The chrorophyl of the cabinet, presses the secrataries to dissipate. And waterboard themselves for the truth. Truth which is overrated and relative, and DOES NOT set you free, because I told the truth, and because the look on someone's face was just right, I was betrayed for a boy, out of fucking desperation. Attencion. This shadow is passing. Light which is not from the sun or any natural source shines thru a prism.......and does not create Noah's rainbow, and therefore is not a promise from God. I loved the cube. It's amazing the boulders that slip thru your fingers. Corners of the mouth simultaneously droop and tighten. I just hung myself from your paranoia. I;ve laid on my back in the shower for so many days trying to recapture the lessons you brought me from france when you gave me a leather book to write in, and a castle to escape to, thank you sir. As Iraq burns, my cat stops to lay a purr in my hand. I wrap myself in your words. Tequila is not my friend. Andrew. This cold has left me shaken. The spiders have poured from the mouths of the derisive coquettish marxists pervading my lungs. My airspace. Please, a Vienetian Waltz one two three one two three. Anna and the king. A freewrite the only thing to write, to get your mind off the one thing on your mind. My flesh is encased in the vocal chords of babylon. The smooth protruding stings of the fights you have over and over again in your mind, it's time that you won. Sail me away. All I want now is to play Guitar Hero and sit in a hottub :) We all live in a yellow submarine, yo.

Welcome to my depression

Maybe the synapses aren't firing correctly. Maybe the chemicals aren't perfectly balanced. Maybe it's because I haven't eaten a single calorie in 27 hours. But I can feel this headache in my toes. Toeache? Bodyache? Soulache?
It's amazing how you can hear your stomach howling at you, and not feel even a touch hungry.
Maybe I'm being a bit of an exhibitionist with this whole blog thing, but it's better than any confidante. I get to release how I feel, and you get a little bit of insight, but it doesn't tell any of my secrets.

Maybe I'm just brilliantly and restlessy alive in a stagnant society, so pain is inevitable, dizzying.
I wish you would have listened.
I need to be proud of you, of your integrity.
We need to not flatter and excuse ourselves.When we do, it cheapens everything.

Pardon my angst.
I have to suck out the venom, melt the idols, knock over the moaii before I come saying I'm fine and dandy, here's a cute story for ya.

I took it down to save us. I took it down.