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[05 Jan 2010|07:50pm] |
the best part about this curse is that you can't tell anyone about it.
weird fainting spell.
ringing in the ears.
everything gone bullets and black.
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[05 Jan 2010|08:47am] |
read the tempest.
have nothing to say.
am wearing three pairs of pants.
not as cold today as it was two yesterdays ago.
here is the snow.
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[30 Dec 2009|10:24pm] |
06/19/05
read like a fortune cookie
rode like a bat out of hell
satan on his tricycle
pedaling for almighty
won't you rest a while under my
umbrella tree
we're selling the apocalypse
in five easy steps
won't you stay a while
and live life with me
06/20/05
burn your gasoline
heart
down to its last
chamber
running out of
time and
ventricles
08/10/05
sally opens a box
inside it are all her friends
i'm so alone, she says
she falls asleep and dreams
in her dreams
she is dead
several ribbons
wound round her head
a parade of mice
bury her on top of
the hill
even in death
she still whispers
mice, you have buried me
on top of the hill
instead of inside of it
now, how will i ever rest?
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[28 Dec 2009|09:18pm] |
i was singing to penny. we were hiding from all the bad guys.
then the evil kid came up and tried to steal her away. we told him
to go away. i told him we were hiding. that he should not tell the
evil kid where we were, okay? and he said: oooo, where the stupid
things are. he called us where the stupid things are.
then he lied to penny. bribed her to leave.. and i was left alone sulking.
all so he could force me to go downstairs and play majora's mask.
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[28 Dec 2009|07:16pm] |
people are very disappointing.
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[28 Dec 2009|11:37am] |
messed up the exposure. camera is probably losing its mind, too.
either way.
we like the snow mainly because it means other people are lazy and don't go outside.
quiet quiet world outside.
the pups like to play on the ice.
mogi goes wooosh sliding across frozen puddles and whatnots.
penny goes: clickety clickety SPLAT.
the other reason why the snow is nice is that pups go hop hop hop.
my brain is frozen. its exposure is probably messed up. it's probably losing its mind.
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[27 Dec 2009|10:58pm] |
penny and i were having barking contests to pass the time.
really i was stalling. it's very cold outside, and very slippery.
i made the kid watch the mighty boosh, and he wasn't even drunk, yet.
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[27 Dec 2009|01:46pm] |
the pen in her super snazzy winter coat and magenta harness
waiting for mogi to arrive at the park.
today i learned that there might be hope for me after all (friendwise)
with very little to no effort (actually, no effort at all) a three year old
wee asian boy kept sneaking up to me at the restaurant.
who says i'm incapable of human interaction?
something sinister about fortune cookies that tell you: take a trip with a friend
feeling very low.
going to go brush pup teeth, and watch farscape now.
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[26 Dec 2009|09:29pm] |
if they ask you a question on your way out
you answer it
whisper once past any threshold : i'm sad.
walk up the stairs.
answer again.
whisper once out the door: i'm sad.
thought i should make friends.
i don't know how to make friends.
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[25 Dec 2009|10:22pm] |
04/04/08
Percy, when you arrive, I will tell you you are no longer welcome here. Percy, you will have to ring the doorbell. Enter through the front door. It will not be me who greets you. It will never be me again. Percy, I write this not because you will come here, again, like a thief in the night--but, because this again is a week for ghosts. This is a week for everything all at once. Dulcinea falling asleep in the dark crying as they come and go. Asks questions. Dulcinea responds. Nobody knows. Dulcinea crying into sleep until it is nighttime again, safe and dark. But Percy, this is the dangerous hour. This is the hour when you always appear. Percy, don't come here. Percy, stay away. Forever. Percy, it won't cross your mind to see what is wrong with Dulcinea. I am thankful for this. Percy, it will not even cross your mind to ask. Dulcinea, unreachable her--and it all just doesn't matter anymore. Reached down inside again to find the meaning of all these years. Of all these todays. All I found was less. It's all just meaningless. So when you decide, which you won't, to follow your compulsive urge to my window, I will have learned already to turn you away.
03/30/08
Then there was Marion.
Marion come down from the lemon tree. Come whisper-coo in Dulcinea's ear. Marion making promises
everything will be alright. Marion being Marion, and not Percy. And what of Dulcie, now? And what of Percy? Poor, poor disappointing Dulcinea's Percy. Well, Percy-poo. Dulcinea would have been heart-broken again,
if there were such time in this world for such things, at the degree to which Percy, oh Percy just didn't give a damn. But there she is again, Dulcinea. and Dulcinea and Marion sitting in a lemon tree. And Dulcinea out on that limb, balancing, trying never to look down again at below-world. And yes, even on dream Percy--mythical beast that he was--yes. Dulcie, turning her back on you in so many ways. And, Percy, for the record, Dulcinea so angry. So mad at you. So resentful in another time and place. So always disappointed by your inhumane-nature. And Dulcinea all these things, without you ever having to know again.
Marion calling after Dulcie. Reminding her to sleep. Just like that, again, dulcet-Dulcie taken away by the tide.
03/19/08
Dear Percy,
Yes, yes, yes. It is very true. I have often hated you. I have often hated myself because of you. You drove me to resentment. Too often these days my mind drifting away, resenting the better parts of myself just to make you finally go away. Ghost Percy, why so poisonous. Dulcinea, why so venomous? Yes, yes, yes, Percy m'dear. I will tell them I can stand you no longer. I will turn my back on your general direction. You will not notice. Percy who comes and goes as he pleases. Percy who remembers and forgets as he pleases. He forgets more than he remembers. Oh, so sorry, Dulcinea. You must have slipped my mind, again. I'm sorry, Dulcinea, you said your name was? Who are you again? I think I knew you once, but I know you no longer. Oh, but, Percy. Oh Percy. You're so convincing for that split moment when you assure me we have always been the same. We shall always know eachother in a certain way. There will always be this orbiting. Percy! How many times can I be pushed to the brink of belief and disbelief? Well, the answer is: a year's worth. A year's worth of silence. A year's worth of revolving doors, and no more. Percy, we will not walk to these places any longer. Percy, if you are ever in town again... Dulcinea is no longer at home. Dulcie is no longer a home. Percy it won't matter that i thought any of these things. That I wrote them in this letter. Percy you'll never know. These are my secrets, not by omission or keeping, but because... Percy, you don't want to know. Percy, make me hate myself. Make you go away.
Signed,
D.
03/18/08
The last round of destruction. f3 e5. g4 Qh4#. She had written you that letter when you weren't looking. How could you be looking, anyway? You were impossible. But what would you have done if you had read such a letter? Found it at the top of your dusty red duffle bag full of dirty laundry. Well, all he said was that he had read it. Oh the things she always said. The things she could always write. What magic level of understanding and purpose were you going to breathe into this one? Anything to stop this feeling of degradation. Anything. Well yes, at that moment when she was talking herself back into her human self, she believed all those words. Wanted to believe them very badly. Yes. Well, they let you off the hook for being a rotten avoiding bastard. Let the story hold some warmth, where no warmth belonged. But, oh the things she said. Oh, all those times. And oh how quickly she wished she could take them back. Not quickly enough. So many orbits after the fact, and no. not anymore. This is how it often happens. You speak a truth. You use an always. You use a never. Then weeks later it simmers into thin air. Thin soup. Says nothing at all. Negates itself. She was trying to find some way to apologize for the way you always are. She was trying to excuse you for your inexcusable behavior. She was trying to weather the storm. She was trying so hard all of these things. The last round of destruction, nothing ever was the same again. Nothing ever is. No more invite the vampires in for tea. No more revolving door ebb and flow psychotics. It's a humorless business. Well, no one ever wrote me a letter like that. I don't know what I'd do. No one would ever say those words. Everything is veiled in vagueness. Open end everything, it can mean anything. But if she had written a letter like that to me, well.. I don't know. I don't even remember what it said. I only remember a single sentiment. Would have wanted someone to understand, I guess.
03/18/08
She as seen from afar. Crack open like the storm sky. Break like the ocean waves. Crumple from the exhaustion. Dulcinea, Dulcinea, I saw you walking down the spiral staircase. The one like any other.
There were ten in that room. That imaginary room. And you, Dulcinea, walking down the one. Third one
from the left. The one that lead to the crystal ballroom. The one that lead to all that broken glass.
Dulcinea, Dulcinea, there will be no more parties. No more balls. Quiet the festivities. The guests
have all been sent home. And there, it is you, at the end of the day, walking down the staircase to the
rooms below. Dulcinea, is there anyone at home. Dulcinea, will you invite me over for tea? Dulcinea,
what will you do next?
03/14/08
571dulcinea in the nighttime sky. Can we see ya'? Can we see ya? Dulcinea? Dulcinea? And so they chant. And so they sing-song, trying to lull you out of your home, the sky. Draw you down to their earth. Plant your feet in the ground. Spin you spun right out of orbit. Dulcinea? Dulcinea? Come out, Come out, wherever you are! And oh how you would want to draw your ear near to the peals of laughter. But no no no, Duclie. No, no no. 571dulcinea there are rules for this sort of thing. The proper way to court a planet. The pomp and circumstance and rules and regularities of interstellar society. Dulcinea, Dulcinea? Oh but what a marvelous thing a fallen planet must be. Dulcinea, okay, we give up.
Then there you have it. In the sky. Very far away. Silently spinning spun spun.
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[25 Dec 2009|09:36am] |
the sky started melting. falling down in large wet globs.
thought it was the rain, but the sky had already left.
nothing but the vast winter whiteness. and here we were
left trying to catch it if we could. not that it made any difference.
not that we could ever put it back.
it is a grey dark day. maybe just a grey unlight day.
it occurs to me that others are celebrating today.
much warmth to you and yours.
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[24 Dec 2009|10:59pm] |
things are upsetting and bad.
also,
livejournal popup ads=so not cool.
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[24 Dec 2009|07:25pm] |
8/25/09 10:15 pm
wake up wondering who you are. thought if i just knew. if you just knew me. but know you can't find me. in my dream we are in a hospital. you are injured, not sick. i don't know why i'm there. maybe i'll die. i probably won't die. everything is different there. the entire world seen from adjacent hospital beds. i don't know. i know the details. but i wake up and you're still in my head. and no, you don't exist. and right now, no, i can't exist. and all day long in a half dazed quiet thought off to the side thinking how i have to start existing again, but i don't. and i pick the small flowers from the varying weeds and wildernesses thinking this is a kind of spell. but it's not. it's several small flowers, some queen anne's lace, an acorn... nothing more. if i drop it here you won't even notice it. if i drop it here in a week the lawnmowers will turn it to mulch. just part of the scenery. and sometimes i think this has to mean something. and sometimes i know it won't.
3/1/08 11:58 am -
all evening and all morning on this brink of discovery of tears. really all early morning hours and all late morning hours. this welling up. this sensation. this passing over of waves. in waves. it comes in waves. it stays contained. no single thing will tumble out. no single moment will betray me. it is the tiredness of the muscles. the dropping of everything half mast. at any given moment the entire face may fall. intake of air.
intake of breath.
2/19/08 06:29 pm -
a is a ghost. please pass the toast. a with your rainbow halos and eyes turned lights to stars. blinding blinding blinding. losing all sight of all things that there are to site. a with your stony stony thorny throne and crown. which was stone which was thorn which was anything at all. what was that supposed to mean. a with your brain that is splitting in two. on the bus pretending to have super powers. super hearing. super sight. zooming in and out. this is an exercise in concentration. no no. it is the opposite. letting the brains drizzle away until i've left my head. five minutes before i realize i've been fabricating conversations for the girls who are talking just out of earshot. and i could hear their voices that entire time, but once i paid attention... muffled mufflington. oh a's brain. poor a's forsaken brain how you feel like you are literally cleaving. a oh a oh ao ha. thinking at the bus stop how i should get married. actually not really even thinking like that. just the words in my head: marry me. we'll live happily ever after. again and again and again. i have no idea. no fears, last week i just kept mumbling jack be nimble jack be quick. jack jump over the candlestick. oh poor a's drizzly drizzle brains. come home to icarus asleep on the couch. icarus with arms crossed against chest. i've disappeared the city! the outside world exists as sound alone. the sirens are real sirens. tragic ladies and seamonsters waiting to catch you between a rock and a whirlpool. the traffic is the ocean. or maybe the building is flying in space. fast enough that the wind howls and howls and howls. or were the winds banshees? come to take you away. kill the men and peasants. icarus sleeps like the dead. soon i will, too. no food in the fridge. but no sir. not going to eat dinner. days like these--class kills the work schedule--just drag myself home. crawl into the nest. say over and over again: oh bed. bed. bed. bed. bed. hello bed. bed bed. bed. mr. larsen can vouch for this, as on one or two occasions has called me at this hour in this state.... and all that i could say was: i've got a bed! bed bed bed bed bed.
so a. crawl yourself into sleep.
2/17/08 06:48 pm -
this mountain is unscalable. the fortress is infallible. the forest is impenetrable. you will not go back the way you came. you cannot climb these stairs. the passageway is barricaded. the staircase winds and unwinds at free will. look around you, the walls will change. look around you, the doors will disappear. look around you, there are no traps. everything is just as it seems. everything is blocked. everything is caved in. everything is standing still. everything is spinning. the fable teaches us this lesson: the past is past. the fairy tale keeps us in line. the rules are the rules. the rules are the rules. the laws are the laws. do not question them. do not go into the woods at night. always offer gifts to house goblins. do not wish for more wishes, it only angers them. three is the magic number. there were other rules. what were they? breadcrumb trails. witches. what to expect in case of emergency. never forget. be wary of strange kindnesses. be kind to strangers, as they might be evil stepmothers in disguise. or wrathful vengeful sorts. everything has its place. everything has its time. help us save the dragon. help us cure the witch. help us fix the troll's troll bridge. help us restore the seamonster to the mermaiden's grotto. help the seawitch brew her brews. help us organized the evil wizard's wizardy tomes. help us put everything back into place. it's a balance. it's a balance. by the end of the story you think the balance should be tipped to the side of good. by the end of the story, where they tell you the story ends, it seems that way. but you see, there's this invisible chapter. goes on for days and days and days after when we say happily ever after... where balance must be restored. no king can exist without his evil doppleganger. no peasant can be princessed without her conniving family roots. it's the contrast that makes us good. it's the juxtaposition of the damsel in the distress that makes her all the more beautiful to human eyes.
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[24 Dec 2009|08:05am] |
March 5, 2007
5:11am
mishearing: on a hillside, i'm sorry
dream the dreams of the sad and lonely. a certain vacancy in my mindspace. a certain standing room only in my headspace. the clock striking various hours before its battle is done. all night long the next door neighbor drunkenly enters and exits the building. and you wonder if there is any such thing as solitude and peace. utopia, you think to yourself, is a place where you can't hear your neighbors. no more fear of the bad guys busting down the door. moments before sleep you see in your head your brother falling to the ground. this metaphor--shaken, not stirred. one day your mother will die, and you will have to had built up enough of a life around you so that you don't fall apart. this sense of urgency. this sense of loss. this sense of everything that turned your mother back to the value of family. this sense of everything, again, in the way we turn our backs. look, i can't change the past. i'm no time traveler. i'm no magician. i can't take back the things you said and did. in a couple of years from now i won't try to right the wrongs. they were not my wrongs. that's the way life falls. that's the way life fails you. daily, people disappoint you. you put them to the test, and who they are falls right through. hello, here i am. i'm me. i can't be anyone else--neither could you.
so for a little while we were friends. now we're not.
i'd be lying if i didn't say that this halls are filled with unhealed wounds.
but really, that's just how things are. resigned to accept fate for what it's worth. for what it's worth.
March 29, 2007
12:40 AM
coherency no longer being a forte--we regain equilibrium at a later date and time
chose your mark wisely. it brands you for eternity. the heart that only you can see. the one that you read over and over. meant for my eyes only. mine and the other that is the same but opposite. in reverse. the difference between a mirror image and an opposite. the heart hung vaguely askew.
sitting in the dark conjuring up general catastrophe. in the emptied movie theatre, decapitated. all eyes on the screen, no longer alert to what lurks. the giant stony toads piled atop buildings, blotting out the owl calls. the squirrel crossing several lanes of rush hour traffic--this one is real.
the dream in which there is your dog. you tell the person holding her back that she will growl out them. when they release her then she is yours again. following you everywhere you go through sleep. my only friend. my only friend. my only friend.
thinking about these sorts of things. thinking about the vacancies. think until your lobes run dry. think about the nature of grief. yes, i have been grieving. thinking about the nature of comfort. no, i seek no solace. thinking about these idea that you may run until you run dry, and then go on. go on go on. gone on. think about the difference between the word absolve and dissolve.
i made up my mind long ago to go at this alone. there is no sense of dependency on anyone.
eating pancakes with my mother. i say to her: i have no friends left. she asks if i am sad that they are gone. i tell her i made them go away. i list off the reasons. everything makes sense again.
those were the worst days left. the ones where i so desperately needed to know they were there. where i so desperately needed someone to hold up the walls while i let go. the ones where .... this is what you think. this is what you wait for. this is why you build those bonds--no, i mean they're all why you build those bonds. but these are those moments where you are supposed to believe in the existence of others. and those were the days i sat alone in rooms. sitting behind the couch at her shiva. crying on the swingset the day you watched your dog never wake up. well, any of those days. any of them. pick one. there are more. the days where you were all alone.
everywhere i go i imagine chloe running in and out. in the sunlight. in the dark. in the movie theatre. anywhere. everywhere.
coherency is no longer my forte. maybe tomorrow everything will be strung together. neatly. in rows. everything is this mix of thoughts floating around. varying monologues. varying hindrences. varying variations of variety.
one day i see that someone i no longer talk to has glanced through everything here. it makes me want to say things in a certain way. i know it holds no meaning. i step away.
the ability to address to yourself what is on your mind without a cloud of words.
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[23 Dec 2009|11:06pm] |
september 21, 2005
when i step out into the sunlight, i know it will never be the same again. in all this talk of sadness, you never once say my name. in all this talk of anything--i am erased. the importance of existence. for the one who always wished that he/she was invisible. this is your song. this is our song. this is what we play when we can't sleep anymore. when night time is made of jagged teeth and sharp claws. when we are falling off the cliff. when the screen darkens. when we fade to black. when the end credits roll. in the story of your life, i am a footnote. written in the margin, in handwriting no one will ever understand. the dull ache of the heart sings quiet late at night. the resonance. sonnar. only bats can hear. sonar. sommeil. asleep during the day, and asleep during the night. when i fall asleep the nightmares come. when i step out into the sunlight, and watch you walk away, i know that this is fiction. and this will never be what i want.
so give up. give up like everything else. give in. give in to everything else. have everything else. have things. just not this. choose, out of everything you could choose. not this. check off the box. option click. of all the things you can choose, why not this.
when she says to him when they are standing in the rain that this is over. then it is over.
the poetic wax of a life that will never be lived.
the artist paints a portrait of someone else.
even though she is in his heart, she was never in his head.
september 22, 2005
a house is not a house, but a facade. walk behind it, and you'll see. what we are are trees and shrubbery. a house is not a house, but something that is false. this house we built of bricks, but ran out of time. never made it past the front door. past the open windows, and the concrete porch. never made it past the hanging plants, and the streetlights. at my quietest i am at best very tired. the image of the blue heart. small and on fire. hold it in your hands and it is ruined. think of the heart as an object which you may pluck from your chest. where when you hold out both hands cupped, you could give it to someone if only they wanted it. a small object. bird's nest. birds hearthome. my heart was not a heart, my heart was a home. how did that go. once upon a goldfish pond, i have a terrible broken heart. so i tied it up with sticks and strings and set it in the sun to dry. maybe there was glue involved. at night the birds move in. and then the heart is a home. quiet tears from long ago summer. because, summer is always long ago. i have a memory of everything.
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[23 Dec 2009|11:03pm] |
september 28, 2005
late at night, someone drives a wooden stake into your brain. cleaves your self in two.
cleave (v) : to divide as if by a cutting blow: split; to separate into distinct parts and especially into groups having divergent views.
cleave (intransitive verb) to adhere firmly and closely or loyally and unwaveringly
it is possible for a word to mean itself and its opposite at the same time.
late at night, someone drives a metal pole into your head. since you are neither mighty nor
god, no late night goddesses come spilling out. no magic occurs. you endure the strange way your brain is in a vice. there is only the vague notion that someone has put a cloud of voiceless bumble bees in your brain. the silence, as always, deafening. but you can feel their buzzing without sound no matter which way you turn. so you keep your head still. your whole body is aflame. you can feel everything burning. you wonder if this is purgatory. this must be purgatory, you tell no one in particular. you point to your left temple, you say there is rain in here. all of these images of broken gods. zeus gets a headache and the mighty hephaestus gives him the ol' one two on the forehead with his hammer and spike, and out springs forth athena, goddness of war. my left temple is a place of worship. none of the above means anything.
you begin to learn that you can live anywhere. quietly take anything. sit through the things you don't want to be around. there is no one that will walk up to you. take you by both hands and say: come with me for a small while. late at night you dream a room where everyone's back is facing you. you could spin in circles forever before you found a face. daft symbolism. so quiet. sit quiet in your head. and wait for the day to pass away. in the morning, all morning long, somebody's dog barks in the distance. refuses to cease barking. follow the bark of the dog down the street like crickets and cupped hands over your ears, but you'll only have to walk back. you will not find burried treasure. you will not find the prince of elves in the forest. you will not find the holy grail. the meaning of life. eternal. people say things and you wonder why. wake up all acute and obtruse angles. your body is a folding chair. wake up frighteningly alone, in a room too bright, and wait for your brain to return.
if i had a staple gun i'd be in one piece.
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