You're probably in Illinois at some gas station, rumbling through your pockets looking for change. You wouldn't have the intention of calling anyone from home with those coins though. Those coins are for beer along the road and for bumming cigarettes from strangers who don't become familiar. I guess your hair has grown out too and maybe you've gotten a little dirty by now but I'm also going to guess that you still have that distinctly aromatic smell of sweetness and musk following behind you. Maybe you are doing none of these things and instead you are just couch surfing from acquaintance to acquaintance and are getting money put into your bank account from daddy to buy your cigarettes and booze. I don't want to think that this is how you're living because it's not how I want to be living but I'm doing that anyway it seems. People don't see you as quiet but sometimes when I think about what your face looks like and how you move when you aren't speaking I think I can sense the quiet part in you and maybe it's just running from the silence.
I miss you. And you. I hope you're dusty out west somewhere so I'm not disappointed.

Ah glorious! Last night was sort of fine as in fine like egyptian cotton. Until that weird shit happened and then I'm not really sure where the lines of conversation were drawn or who I was or where I was or what the fuck was going on. But before all that, the night was fucking beauty.

I've sort of been crying a lot uncontrollably in the past few days. I think it may have something to do with the fact that I have had one too many family engagements and it is cramping mahh style. Ha. But really, it is. Things are sort of strange and in transition. Mr. A has said he doesn't want to see me anymore which is a long time coming seeing as it has been 4 or more months and we are still way too up in each others shit. The thing is, he came tonight with me to my cousins to have a jew ol' good time and for some reason I basically cried, publicly, the whole night. The weird thing (besides me crying uncontrollably in public, of course) was that no one said anything. One woman actually went as far as to ask me a few questions about myself before realizing that there was no way I was going to answer any of them with more than a yes or no, even if that answer wasn't appropriate. My cousin asked me if I was sick and then my sister walked in, in her stockings and backless shirt and I'm not going to lie, I sort of wanted to cry more. I'm also not really sure what the fuck I am doing with men. In that, I don't think I want a relationship but then I sort of feel like a dick for just fucking around. Not that I fuck around, I mean, I have been with the same 2 people for the past 2 years...but now I'm not and it's weird and I'm not sure I remember how I let them in at all. And I'm not sure how you are supposed to let new ones in either. Because, I don't trust the possibility and I don't want to run after anything that comes along just to try and get my mind off of the one who didn't come back at all. It's been a whole week of self-control with him and I'm trying to gauge how it feels in my body to not have the possibility of seeing him or touching him any time soon if at all. Calla is fucking back. Back at home, back in my life, back in my room, back in my house, back, back, back. It makes me want to curl up and just crawl into her stylish sweaters. I haven't gone a day without seeing her and I think I'll have some serious anxiety separation when that happens. I wish this new person wouldn't speak in silly talk. He is too willing to give everything of himself to someone who is so obviously not ready to be responsible, even for her own self.

Fuck Monday.

Tomorrow is Monday. And I can't find the attention span to sit down and read something good lately. I feel that the past 3 weeks have been at a sort of stand still for my mind.

"I went to a cobbler To fix a hole in my shoeHe took one look at my faceAnd said, "I can fix that hole in you"I beg your pardon I'm not looking for a cureSeen enough of my friendsIn the depths of the godsick bluesYou know I am a liarYou know I am a liarNobody helps a liarBecause I've been down to DixieAnd dropped acid on my tongueTripped upon the landUntil enough was enoughI was a little bit lighterAnd adventure on my sleeveI was a little drunkAnd looking for companySo I found myself a sweetheartWith the softest of handsWe were unlucky in loveBut I'd do it all againWe build ourselves a fireWe build ourselves a fireBut you know I am a liarYou know I am a liarAnd you don't know what I've doneBy the rolling river isExactly where I wasThere was no simple cureFor unlucky in loveTo be lonely is a habitLike smoking or taking drugsAnd I've quit them bothBut man, was it roughNow I am tiredIt just made me tiredLet's build ourselves a fireLet's build ourselves a fire"

Jenny Lewis

This shit is interesting. Yo.

The three basic ideas of Theosophy are (1) the fundamental unity of all existence, so that all pairs of oppositesómatter and spirit, the human and the divine, I and thou—are transitory and relative distinctions of an underlying absolute Oneness, (2) the regularity of universal law, cyclically producing universes out of the absolute ground of being, and (3) the progress of consciousness developing through the cycles of life to an ever-increasing realization of Unity.

you know what my favorite days are? The ones when I look in the mirror and don't see all the failures and hurt.

It's those rare glimpses that I think I see a one woman revolutionary. And I know it's bullshit and divine intervention from someone just allowing me a second to see myself in a good light, but still.
I like those days.

He read my book. That's so humiliating. And it's sad because I don't know what to tell him and I don't know what I even think about it. I can't say that I'll change! To be honest, my desire for the unknown doesn't seem to be something that will simply dissipate with time. And I don't want it to. But I wish that he could see that in me and love it instead of fear it or resent it or realize that it means that we aren't good for each other. I don't necessarily want someone who thinks and feels exactly like I do about the world. But yeah, maybe a little more so than he did. Isn't that the whole point of compromise in a relationship? Fuck. I really have no idea. The one thing that makes me upset it how he says that we can't just half be together. That when you're with someone you're with them and you love them fully. And that's what I can't seem to get out of the other. I want to fucking devour someone and the only way to do that is by being with someone who shares my ideas but also knows how to tell me when to shut the FUCK up. Cal does that. She lets me talk and say all my bullshit but at some point when I start to really get the fuck out of what normal people consider to be reality she says, "shut up. bitch." and I love that. *(thanks boooo heheh you make me like a little kid with a crusshhh). I just generally feel like we all have so much to give to one another. Maybe not all of us in the same ways but when you meet someone who has shit to teach you just by being themselves it's fucking incredible, right? So why can't we be that for each other and just flush all the marriage crap down the toilet for now?

I want the tight asshole but I think I gotta give that shit up.
Like sugar cookies and menthol cigarettes too.

Holy shit. I just texted my boss that I was, "out of mah mind on opium last night".

I think now would be a good time to, uh, ya know...like, dieeeeee.

Haiku's are fucking difficult. And he hasn't done shit for me so I'm not doing anything but shitting on him.

A cold time to visit.
On a date with no money.
Pretty, you stick ass.

HAHAHAHA FUCK!

Crisp, fund less but fun.
Free yourself; be a poet.
Return to comfort.

I have too many thoughts and filler for this crap.

I think that is what I so desperately want to rid myself of: any remote part of my mind that still believes in the reality of living. But I know it doesn't make sense. To you.

I've also been trying to figure out who we are in nature. No hippies...we're too selfish for all that. And no bums because some of us have money. Not rebels because most of us are still following the same paths that some one else has followed. Maybe junkies? No, we still feel loyalty to one another. We still love each other in the ways we know how, and I don't mean that as an excuse but as a reality of some peoples minds. We're not even stoners! Quite a few have already gone too far with too many things to be stoners. I guess the disgusting word that gets stuck in my cotton mouth is "fringer". This is why though...

I see this black and red landscape with solitary rocks, miles high with nothing visible near by and then you hit cities with blocks for buildings and sidewalks made out of tightly packed old poets trash. We are all cut outs here and we sit on the edge of the tallest cliff. We all see different shades of the red in front of us and our perspectives are shown in our paintings. Paintings where there are so many shades of red that the mind forgets existence and the structure of the word, 'concepts'. Black in not just a singular thing here, for us. It is not just a "color". It comes through in our words too and the words we tap tap tap on papers or hands or paper cups. I have never heard so many descriptions on the simple perspective of something as common and played out as our very own lives. I love the eccentric. But I don't want to call us that. I'll keep living, for a little while, until I see red and black instead of the red of the first leaf you saw this fall or the red of the lipstick I smeared on my lips as a child just to make sure everyone knew that I had kissed you, the red of the very first time I felt wounded by anyone or anything or any idea or any belief.
I may always be living in the dirt and grime of cities but I'll still like to go to the beautiful places too. I just prefer to see the shame of people and get to escape it while being surrounded and thinking, "we are free, you are me and we have everything and nothing at the same time and we feel everything and nothing at the same time too."

You know what?
I have nothing important worth writing about but a lot worth saying. I want to write a few things anyway and just save the talking for later.

My co-worker (who we will nickname, "God Jr.") bought me a fucking navy blue hoodie with Obama's face on the back of it. The front just simply says, "America's First Black President". I'm pretty happy about that.

Also, I have realized today that my diet pretty much consists of meatballs and cookies...and cigarettes if you want to count that as a food, which I do.

I spent the night picking mushrooms that grew in a field of electromagnetic glass. It may not even exist but I swear I saw it and you'll see it too. I felt shards growing like tumors from all directions. This is the point where we lose all logical reasoning. This is all that breaths life into anything anymore for those who fill blank canvasses with nails, bits and pieces of old cloth and friends they haven't spoken to in long enough that it causes them embarrassment. The face of this has color and a specific shape too but I just see the definition of lips. Lips like sandpaper with the texture of salt grain. My own tongue, now tasteless, reaches out for your words. I spell out your thoughts in tar and spit and remember that nothing can cause disgust when acceptance overwhelms with its weight. I'll run through the public greasy pubic hair, till the curls come out and clump into knots in my hands. I'll be left with the sensation of color and the thoughts of us not wanting the pigment to rot.

I should be working. But my head is in some abstract place as usual. I was thinking this morning, that I would wake up after not sleeping and take the bus to work. Instead, I woke up without having slept and ended up walking the whole way to work. It's nice, walking in the winter, I mean. It wasn't too cold and I still broke a sweat which made me feel productive. I usually love the bus but today I was so glad to see people from a bit of a distance. I didn't feel like listening to any one elses conversation, just the thoughts in my head for today. Meh, I want to go smoke a cigarette but it's only been an hour since I've been at work. Too short to already take a break, yeah?

Spun round and round, eh?

Hm. So I guess this shit cannot get too personal. Since it is public and all. But I've got to make some mention of it, right? I guess we sort of love each other in that ridiculous way. I don't want to sound like an asshole and I don't want the people who really care about me to think I am dumb. But really, we are too perfectly disorganized to not be together for at least a little while.
Finally you reach into my pockets! I may be mixing you with others but I know at least, that I've always fought my hardest for you. I thought you would say how different we are and how, like you said before, we are lost as lovers. But this time, it was different. And in the end all these words weren't needed. Can you imagine? Me? Without expression? The conclusion is that we're mad for one another. Whatever that means. You make me crazy and I do the same to you. So really, we just want to be close and we were in our typical inappropriate fashion. I don't know what love is but I know I've never minded this feeling of insanity.

I saw the most ridiculously normal thing today but it was still shocking. It's so obvious that we are all fragile and come from the same place. I was a difficult baby. I was breech, my head was facing the wrong direction and my mother had to sit for hours with an ice pack on her belly to try and get me to turn the right way. I didn't. She said I was active and kicked her with force, and regularly too. Her water broke at the symphony of all places. With my father holding their seats, she went to the bathroom at the intermission and ended up in the hospital to deliver me. The part I find most interesting is what happened after she got the epidural. Her fucking body went numb. It didn't go as planned and her entire body was paralyzed so she was breathing, but couldn't feel herself breathing. Can you imagine that? It's hard to realize that we are conscious of our breathing. What would happen if our body kept doing its job but our minds simply couldn't recognize that the motions were still in play? I was born at around 5 o'clock. A healthy baby. A fat baby. A trouble baby! I told my mother I loved her this morning. And it wasn't just to say it. Some babies are born with their intestines hanging out of their bodies. Some babies have to go right into surgery just hours after being born. I was trouble, but I survived. Birth is an overwhelming thing.

And that, is the last time I'll be watching the discovery channel for a while. HA.

Oh shit! I forgot. The fiance was never found and he began a love affair with her best friend. It is obvious what will happen but it was still pretty compelling. He cheats on her and she sees it and runs away. They meet at the top of the hotel, looking over the mountains, and the little shit starts to cry. And she almost puts her hand on his back, for comfort, but stops. And you think, 'Yesss girl! Run away. You are beautiful!' and then after a few minutes, she does it again and the music increases with tension and finally...

she does indeed comfort him. And the film ends there.

Fuck. that. bologna. up. the. ass.

"Stop".

What are the things that are only yours? That no one else can take away or give more to. I mean to say, when you don't hear any ones opinion or have any other influences, what are you left with? Some words are only yours. Stop is mine. I can use it how I please, and liberally too. My writing is mine. You can edit it but it is not yours to keep or see or understand or for me to care if you do. Finding value in the things that don't depend on anyone but my own self. I recognize what is mine, and what is yours, and what I have no place or reason to touch of others.

Huh.
So it would be nice to write the things I'd felt on a different day but seeing as there is consistency in disappointment (at times) I guess it makes sense that I'm not able to today. People seem really cool with all their silly hats and silly hair and small words put together in sentences to seem wiser than they really are. As if the sentence could make their thoughts any more important. It can't. You're still just as unsure as everyone else.

I'm going to try and see if I can laugh at the distortions of a lot of things this time.

Young Stuff...

Dirty ground, mud that captures your shoes when you step in it, Argentina.
Don't let the dogs scare you, they travel in packs to stay safe. Smoke more, move less, insides stay inside and the earth stays out. I've never seen the sunset here.



Boy
You rip the skin off your fingers too. IT hurts when the skin breaks but sometimes, you like to see blood. What makes the two of us so angry at ourselves that we peal away layers of our own skin as quickly as we smoke our 20 cigarettes a day? Your mother calls you to ask how your thumbs are, she's worried you've finally gone too far and this time you have taken the fingertips off. I laugh as you imitate her. I think of my own mother who shook her head and looked down at the floor when she saw the band aids I used to cover up the craters and blood soaked spots on my own thumb, ring, middle, pinkie, all fingers. I think, only now do I realize that she was just tired of seeing my raw, pink skin.

Lolipop
You gave me this lollipop. I had wanted it all week but never had enough money. Then, without saying anything at all you pulled an orange pop right out of your pocket. And I was so excited,
that I forgot to say thank you!


"Mother"
Mother. I haven't called you 'mama' yet because the word stays stuck on my tongue like melted ice. I think you like it better that way anyway, though. You feel younger, feel like a big sister instead. And the truth is you are young. Younger than my father and more beautiful too. I wonder, mother, if anyone tells you how beautiful you are? If they did, you'd probably just laugh and show them your rotten teeth. But mama, rotten teeth can be beautiful too.

More Teeth
It's through the blackness of your gums that I first saw kindness in imperfection. In the beginning, your teeth scared me. They made me careful to put my toothbrush on the far side of the bathroom so our grime couldn't meet. In the beginning, when you spoke to me, I didn't hear a word you said.

As time went on I noticed other things. Things like your ways of showing affection, how you kept your figure and how you always had food on the table for all those other hungry mouths.

Walking on white lines and black stones today, snow fell. I thought about my hair and the cold and the smell of winter getting stuck in each pore on my body. Being outside is like gifts and getting used to smoking crack when you just recently found a bag of cocaine, sitting like cherries on top of the counter at work one day. It's like, woah, you've got to readjust your glasses to see straight and when you think you're seeing truth you realize it's just hazy glass, your eyes cage you in. Not the body, not the mind but it's your eyes today. I know you just want to get out of here. You just aren't in the right state of mind. I can't touch you and you don't know me. Everything gonna be all right, everything gonna be alright. Repeat it till it hurts, till there's no more saliva left in your mouth, till you believe it.
I'm sorry I can't touch you. I'm sorry you can hardly look into my eyes and that you have to look at my white, sick skin.
I'm sorry you are 45 and have 2 kids and a husband who don't come visit.
I'll be back in 2 weeks. If you're out, fabulous and if not...everything gonna be alright.

I left as a beauty, and came back a mess.


Why does it still feel like a man can do as much shit as he wants and is just called a "junkie" affectionately? When a woman out does a man she still is forced to accept these boundaries of, "well, what do you do to have fun besides smoke, anyway?"

Burroughs was a junkie. Anton Wilson a shroom. Bukowski was a drunk...but we are none of these. So why don't you just get to know each other?
We'll smoke a blunt together.



HA. :p

I've been smoking those fucking spirits again. But this time, it was different. I got asked for identification and I had that moment of panic, that second of total forgetfullness of self, of place and of time. And then, I saw that the whole reason I had come there was null. I saw yellow, red and dark green packs but not my familiar light blue. The one I started buying when I was in 9th grade and I knew all the places to shop for fags and naty boh and Indian, foreign, waiting men. That's when I started and my mind came flooding back as I dipped hand after what felt like hand into my woman bag and scraped old recites and broken credit cards and scraps of words written in black ink, on white napkins.

He said, he said they have what I'm looking for in the back and I protest saying, "No, no. I'll take the others anyway...". And then I look at the pack, the one I've had my eye on, the one whose color screams "SMOKE THE SHIT OUTTA ME" and I see it's menthol. Indian, smooth, creamy motha' fucking hunter s. thompson green, menthol. And I buy it. And I don't hear how much it costs but remember to get free matches on my way out.

Menthol, buddy. Something new. I can't smoke the whole pack, too strong, too minty and fine. So I'll cut back. So I'll lose that ID for a little while.

Menthol. Difference helps me cut back.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1AxreV9xGmo&feature=related


Honestly. This made me feel life in my toes again.

"'be a plumber instead'-(i felt like screaming)- 'and have your fucking king-size fridge full of venison sausages, chilled aquavit and Malvern spring water, and look at your color TV with remote-control switch and cuddle a .30-.30 on your lap, waiting for teh deer season when all sensible citizens will be in their cellars with sandbags stacked around them."

-William S. Burroughs

God damn. My mind plays tricks on me more than my physical body does. I want to escape this dimension so badly. I walked around today in a fucking daze! Went the wrong way on the metro, asked a co-worker what makes him happy, did some awkward shit. I'm all out of sorts. Because I don't know what I want and I'm always looking for other people to help me figure out what that is. Will I be happy in obscurity? I'm scared I'll feel the exact same way I do now and then I'll have tried everything. My thing in life has always been to live through every emotion possible. But that has gotten me into a lot of trouble. That has "complicated your life" as my mother constantly reminds me. It's true. But fuck that. I think. And then, I come into work and see these ridiculously sad people. People who got kicked out of their homes, people who lost 30,000 worth of furniture when their landlords threw their shit out on the lawn and it rained like hell on them. I see these people and it makes me want to just curl up, man. Just curl up and tell myself to shut up! That I am insignificant and my happiness is meaningless compared to this man I see shut out of his own home. But is it so wrong to not value the same things that I'm told to value? At least not yet...fuck my head hurts, my heart hurts more. I'm lost in these boundaries we are told to keep between us all. Reading has been keeping me (relatively) sane lately. A good escape, yeah. It's all the same shit over and over. I feel guilty when I want to just go. I feel like I'm being a selfish woman, a selfish being who isn't giving but just wants to take from the world. But I'd be giving in my own way. We all contribute in different ways. We don't all have to be competitive and progress society in the more logical ways. Some of us can contribute with thought, right?

Shit. I'm tired. I'm zoned. I am smoking too much weed.

What do we think about competition?

OKAY. Honestly, the last one.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4uOhD67028I&NR=1

oh shit. There may be a few of these.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fh2fh1aI24Y&feature=related

ha ha ha ha. Thanks Jackson.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eKLzClpc12A&feature=related

Shove that, public.

In a dump of beige concrete, you're given 25 years. You don't blink. The person staring back at you keeps talking but she shouldn't be the one to leave you with this news. And as you lean down to the bottom of the window where there are holes for speaking, you think how unfair it all is. Look around you, even I don't want to touch these walls. You're so young and the smell of this place is too strong. Blame the dust for tears.
But this is all make believe. You don't cry and you've grown used to the smells around you. 25 years. It's a safe enough place to keep us away from the street, if only for a little while. Back to the kitchen, to clean off piss filled tables.
Only the attorney seems guilty.

Oh! And I'm a belligerent drunk. If you know me, keep the phone out of my hands if I am within 10 feet of a blunt or bira. Sometimes, they are messages of love and other times, they may make you hate me. But no one wants enemies! I think we all laa love to hate and most of us can't tell the difference.

That woman disappeared on an island. Her fiance was in love with another woman and she was crazy for attention! Silly women! Did he want both?

I'm having crazy thoughts these days and none make sense. But words can be strung together like blown glass. Gloppy at first and then it comes together into something beautiful but not quite sane.

Look at that! We're all beautiful and vain.

Ah! Crazy Italian love! Their movies were so grand and filled with sad and beautiful women! I am a silly Jew but my dad looks Italian so I'll play the part in my mind while watching these florescent movies. This weekend was so crystal and fine and I felt that glimmer of true happiness! Connecting with other people for REAL is so rare and I appreciate every moment of it. I cannot wait for these next few weeks to fly by though! I know my girl is terrified but I can't help but think how incredibly sunny life will be with our minds fuse together again. We spread fire like temperature in California and we've always been blowin' smoke up other peoples asses. MY LOVE! I'm with you! This blog seems to end up just being a dedication to how special I think you are. And we will live and love together and apart. I LOVE YOU. I hope you're doing good tonight and maybe you'll read this on a break. KEEP THOSE SPIRITS HIGH! Julian Bond thinks you're BAD as. I bet he sort of wishes he was you.

Heart and soul, baby blue, jazz of mine, lets sing staccato (??) tunes.

I fuck myself over. That dark night, laying in his little, carved out space of blankets. He turned the lights off, 'no fancy dimmers here,' he thought. Then to undress me, bit by bit, you read fucking poems to me! Everything we did was so fantastical. Each fight, each kiss was like a director screamed, "TAKE TWO!" and we gave it our all. I miss your silly face. My puppy dog with slender body. I would collapse in you all the time! I loved you so much. I've buried it all so I don't have to think about it too much. I don't know how we were so locked into each other. You still make me your world and I remember that night, coming home to you on my couch. Starting the adventure together and all spirits high. Did this all really happen? I jumped on you, you woke from sleep, the history channel glaring blue on your cheeks. I kissed you all over, I could eat your face. Knowing you was like an alternate universe. where does this leave us for the rest?

Dios mio! I don't know how to react! I am so shocked and I'm not sure it's real and I don't want any expectations for either of us. Life is what you make it and having support is so important.

I love you!

Tiptoe, on a neon green lily pad. I look forward, trying to stay on point and I see the image of the forest reflected back into an unconscious world. The lake is painted silver during these cold months. As my weight changes from one side to the other, the water ripples past. Nature always seems to have such an advantage of definite destination. This is the dream I have, wide awake. Each time I try and say, "Let's slow down! Let's stop this crazy dance!"

I felt myself shrinking despite trying to put things in perspective. It's too hard to look into other peoples pasts. It's too much for me to handle being in such close proximity with someone who knows more than I probably want to. And it's brought up every time by someone which is what I don't understand. It was surprising to hear from him but now I just want to disappear into myself. How long can I not feel worthy of something that is probably not even so great? I need fresh air and to be lifted up again. I can't find that in 1000 miles away but I can't find it close by either. We all wish we were our idols but I don't want to hear ex lovers quarrels. Not when you bring up the words with such casual knowledge of being.

You're dressed in such nice clothing. A blazer even, clean and good smelling, fitted to your round belly. Sit quietly, while the train moves swiftly, faster than your mind allows you even in its independence. You shout out! In public! A sigh, a cave man shrill, unintelligible language. We don't react. We let you sit, we let you sleep. I forget about you for a while. Watching the black shift to tan pavement walls and back to black again. And then, you are suddenly standing up, and I sense the nerves in this confined space. You're playing with you belt, trying to pull up your jeans. Is that what you're doing? For a moment, I think you may be trying to expose yourself and I'm not sure which way I should look or where I am supposed to go in this sort of situation. Then, as slowly as you rose from your seat in the corner, you quickly fall sideways with gravity. It pulls you down and your eyes are glazed over and you fall into an unsuspecting young woman. She isn't even very shocked. I am just glad that the children have gotten off at the last stop.

I drove back through a glass minefield. It was so unexpected. I was trying my best to keep my head balanced and my eyes slanted closed just the right amount. I got distracted by the car next to me and suddenly found my self in a rattle of brittle glass, shreds and pieces strewn on the highway like gravel.

I spent 32 dollars today on some nifty shit and smoked joints throughout the day. Shit man, a good Sunday should be just like this. In bed and warm, nice and stoned, in a fuzzy sweater.

What a beautiful day! I'm sitting at work and I can't even pretend to focus right now. This city is an inspiring place to be. Walking the street back from the jail I had so many smiles put on my face. Everywhere I looked was an Obama sticker and everyone on the streets was talking about our man OBAMA! When was the last time we as a country were so moved? No matter what you think about him you can't deny that he brought the spirit of people back, and it's about time. Outside of central booking there was a group of kids being interviewed. I stopped and asked what was up and they said they had been arrested the night before while celebrating and that one of the kids had been tazzered (how the fuck do you spell that?). I don't want to be a bitch...but I probably will end up sounding like one anyway...It will never stop pissing me off that these kids get the media to pay attention to them so quickly. I go to that fucking jail everyday and see the most horrifying things and people don't care about that. People are people and everyone deserves to be heard and some (here goes the bitch in me) deserve it way more than a group of silly college kids. Not that I am not one of them...I guess I should put my anger towards the media instead of the kids themselves. Thus, fuck the media. (?) Baltimore is so special to me today though. The cobblestones and empty natty boh cans on the side of the street, Calvert, St. Paul, E. Madison, all so familiar to me. I get asked for money and honestly don't have any, I almost get hit by a biker and then again by an old man smoking a pipe in a blue punch-buggie no punch backs. The city paper comes out today, each Wednesday and it's pages are strewn all over the sidewalks. I see the main character in 'Whose Afraid of Virginia Woolf' and I stop him to tell him how incredible he was. I walk past a skinny man in a stripped sweater with two dogs, one still a pup and I smile and he stops and lets me oohh and ahh over them for a few minutes. I giggle to myself at the homeless man sweeping the leafs and cigarette butts off the sidewalk. He doesn't have to do this but I think he thinks he does. I walk and walk and hear the distinct laugh of each of the buildings, hear the chatter of poverty and still hope. Dirty, dirty, city. We all love you. We all clean you and put our cigarette butts out on you at the same time. But that is true love, isn't it? Respect vs. disrespect. Loving vs. loathing. Bawwdeemore...

Yes we can. :) Ha.

To the spinning world of what used to be deviance and is now simply, social conformity. To the excess? Perhaps and these extremities keep you dharma bums in balance. For now. Till generation nothing gets tired of snorting.

So fabulousss, kids. Today is the day and I already voted and wanted to hug everyone in line. There was a group of college kids there handing out "Vote for question 2" pamphlets and it was so silly. I won't press my opinion on anyone...(*yeah, right.) but I just sort of laughed to myself and maybe a little slipped out into the public world as well. Then, the strangest thing happened. On the metro to work, a young man with a beard came and sat across from me. He was smelly and obvious and had a guitar. And I of course looked him up and down just to check if I should EYE FUCK HIM?!!!! Ha. Just joking. But I looked at him. And it was a mistake yet it made my day a bit better. He started talking to me and then came to sit next to me. I could tell after a few minutes of talking to him that he was sort of mentally unstable but the thing is, we all are and I still wanted to hear what he had to say. It was great. I mean, he was very inappropriate in that he asked me to sleep with him but at the same time he was very brilliant and the simple fact is, this world just will never accept him. It sort of made me feel good to know that I am at least not so far gone that I can't function in the society we are told is right. I don't like it or feel comfortable in it at all times but I can respect some of our societies values and rules. This man, did not. And it was refreshing. Maybe I am strange for thinking that but I mostly agreed with what he was saying, that men and women are so strange with each other and that people don't say or do what they mean to say and do, they fake it. I agree, or agreed, but then I sort of realized that I also agree with some of the boundaries societies places in life too. It was a first to be honest. An interesting guy, from Russia, who said he wasn't trying to rape me. And I probably should have run...but, I'm strange and who was I to tell him he was any stranger?

It was weird, and funny and scary and unreal and hairy.

Man. She had it down exactly! It blew my soul! I wanted to fucking congratulate her on being aware of the ridiculousness that is a posse of sorts. To explain the people well, the story goes like this:

While everyone else leaves a party at around 12 or 1 to go and you know, eh eh, they just think that it is naturally okay to just pass out on the couch at the place their at currently. No thoughts about it.

That, my friends as McCain might say, is the story and the moral too. It's pretty fine how each group of friends has their own unspoken rules but it also is silly how each group can end up fairly unhealthy after too much time spent together. Not unhealthy, but your reality changes depending on who you have around you for long periods of time. You don't change but your reality and how you perceive things may. It was both comforting and unnerving to see this in other groups of relationships besides my own.

We really should all try and stay 20 for a while. I'm not sure anyone can prepare for the following years.

And, on another note, Cal, I totally DO have autism and am schizophrenic guuurrrl. Self diagnosed.

It's so funny how complex we all are. It would be great to just sit someone down and say, 'hey, lets just be honest and real and speak like real people instead of monsters or actors or pretense!'.

Black and whites

"They say you are free, but you must learn to choose"

-8 1/2 by Fellini. A pretty incredible line.

9-5 boo.

Having a job is pretty lame. I mean, being a productive human being every day from 9-5 without any choice is pretty lame. And I can't really believe I'm going to have to do this for life. It's weird and it sucks how much my co-workers piss me off sometimes. I'm really fucking tired, I want to go home, and I want to smoke a lot of dope, and I want to have nothing to do for about 10 days straight (but only if my mind is quiet, please) :).

Plus, I keep thinking of that face and it still makes me want to barf. I hate him but I think it is sort of misdirected hatred of the self. Either way, I wish there was a device to blow things out of your mind, to pick and choose which people and places you want to forget. It's making me sad today that I am so stressed about a job that isn't even my career and a person that isn't even a person.

I'm seeing Whose Afraid of Virginia Wolfe this weekend though with just about the most badass of girls I've met in a long butt time. I think I'll love it and it will make me want to get married that night and be an alcoholic too, making up fantasy children and living on a ranch with my slender one.

Granola and kiddie laughter

Honestly, it's beautiful. You are beautiful. We sit outside, inside, on the floor, maybe in a chair, we laugh our asses off at shit that isn't funny. We forget to put water in the bong and wonder why it hurts so bad. I fall to the floor laughing, and it is genuinely the funniest shit that I think I've ever heard or experienced.

Your face is tangible and real to me and I think, hon, I'll marry you for it.

Okay?

Oh my jesus

fucking Christ fucking shit! Technology can suck my hairy balls.

old-ness, kid.

Crept under the wrath of my own hand, the one with the fake tattoo, ink bleeding diseases.
Lying in a naked bed, with one phone call to make and bandaged hands to show for the effort. I painted you green, for the color of speed and underrated glory.
I don't want to hurt you, or maybe I just don't want to watch.
If I was far away from here, my body would still follow wouldn't it? I know it would and you would too but on a different plane. And if I see him again, I may scream without using words and bite the lips of god,
right out from under him.

Smelly

Bent over, in a quiet tumble, telling stories of old neighborhoods and mouldy cheese with wine last Saturday night.
No one makes it through these windy streets, not like they used to anyway.
Stop, inhale, the air is thick like your monogrammed towels. I wash myself with them, terrorizing sleep and blemishing a melon dew face.
Go rest, ignore time for as long as you can (forever?) and I will tell you,
no one will come running to stop the clock.
Did you even pay them for it?

Indifference?

The silhouette of my fingertips has changed.
Lacking in finality of shape.
Did you give that to me? Or do I give you too much credit?
I can't write now. I hear the "click, click" of the typewriter, and see how effortlessly thoughts can breed independent syllables. Or can they even breed their own ink, black and thick?
Thoughts seem disabled today, though. Fuck! Maybe they've experimented with that god damn heroin again? Or maybe they just dreamt it.
Being constantly restless doesn't help with definition and having no one to take my mind off it doesn't help much either.
I should figure out why I hate you, cuz I do. And I guess there are people out there who hate me too.
I want you in my lungs still, or what if I sweat you out of my pours? That's what it feels like!
Exactly.
Like you're pushing through me, penetrating, my skin tries to keep you in. I wish you wanted to stay there.
I smell like alcohol again.
Who are we kidding thinking we could be Buddhist?
"Click, click"
Who knew you could delete mistakes? Maybe that typewriter is smarter than I am.

Crab and Ice cubes in yo face.

I feel this weird shit all over.

Like not knowing where to fit.

Unreasonable fear, I know!

You are right. It's not fair. I was not fair. It's hard to realize that feeling of being sola is a constant one that everyone in life feels in the pit of their stomachs. In the end, we hope that we find people who will impact our lives, hope to find people with passion, people who hate like you hate, people who fuck like you fuck, people who laugh like you laugh. But living is ultimately an individual process. Fuck,
that's obvious. But it's not to me. Crutches galore, you said to me! And I know it and it's time to let go of it. Be fair to those around you.

Life is singular. And pleasant, and the feeling in the pit of my stomach is there forever but it doesn't mean its intent is to stop you from living.

Single, single, single, we live all in the same world together.

I'm not going anywhere till my head is straight on my body, where it's supposed to sit. You are you there and here and minutes from now and years later. Understanding is overrated but taking yourself seriously CANNOT be!

A process, no doubt, but love! You and I will find our ways and learn to take ourselves seriously in one way or another. Separate forever, well fuck that! It doesn't mean a thing and I'm sorry I made you think it does. We're different but we love and love and love.

So go do something serious, mkay?
:)

t'accordas cuando nos fuimos al cielo solo para hablar un ratito? Fuimos juntos, charlando con dios y todo que habia en la calle. Yo, yo me acuerdo bien.

Father

The 4 agreements. Maybe he's actually right. It seems pretty ridiculous to me but at this point, I'll give them a try. The thing is, it's hard to hear someone like my father say that people are capable of change. He has been the same for so many years and I haven't seen much growth. If he thinks he has changed, then we are all really in the shitter. Sometimes, he surprises me with his warmth. Last night, in the cold, we sat out front of Sinai hospital on one of the benches and did not speak. I never know what to say to him. I think I'd probably just like to scream. He always asks the same questions because he doesn't know how else to get me to speak. My favorite is, "So...who are you hanging out with these days?". No one dad, next question?

And then I got upset at her...and I've got to apologize.

I feel the loss of 1 thousand men and I know I am dramatic. You were never meant to be a tease but you fill mountains upon mountains of imagery in my sleep.
And yes, we are all supposed to be alone. Come in that way and leave the same they say. But,
I came in so close to you. Our fingers criss crossed, X marks the bloody spot, we can't get them to link together now, to set time straight.
Remember in the young days, (still younger than we are now) when swings meant marriage and tag meant love and sweaty kisses on the cheek.
I guess you're IT! But don't let me catch you.
(I won't)
And I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Life lost and separate we may fall, in pieces of thin string.

Now that is reality. Was mine and yours.

Idiomas de mis suenos.

It is so god damn mother fucking strange. She is so far away and we were so close. Now, we look at each others pictures and write notes to one another but we don't know each other anymore. I want to visit all the people I miss. Each one their own character and each one now living their lives completely differently than the next. I remember how she would laugh and with a look of innocent shock say, "Hay!! Boluuudda!" after I would speak. I always saying something obscure and out of her cultural boundaries. We loved each other intensely. I hope we'll see each other again soon.

Naropa seems so far away and like a step of total ignorance on my part. I could go to U of B for the equivalent of what Naropa is for just one year. That is truly ridiculous. And I guess place shouldn't matter but it does to me even if I don't want it to. I fucking hated UMBC. I hated the buildings, I hated the teachers, I hated the shit people said in class. But maybe I was just in a generally hateful place then and I could get better at not being such a dick. Then again, I want to be with people who are consciously making the decision to take themselves out of the general population and instead, are opting to live in a different sort of community. I like the idea that everyone there has probably felt rejected and shunned from most of the rest of society.

In other news.

The debates lit my cigarette last night. Not cuz they were that great...just because I want to marry Obawsome. I had this stupid grin stuck on my face whenever he spoke. Yup, that man was speaking to ME personally. I think it's about time for some new countries though, ya know? I mean, we're all so done with all the ones that currently exist. We've all sucked and failed and shit man, lets make a new one. A fucking cool one that you have to write some great essay to get in and fuck passports and shit as long as you bring some beer and a really good attitude. It would be great. Things would be chill and beautiful and we could ignore the rest of the world and make out and smoke blunts and grow...food.

31,7500 or some mierda. I wish bartering still existed here...I'd sell all my shit and then go.

Truth.

In spaces of delicacy, shapes fall like stained glass from lightening's first strike.

I don't know what I'm doing there, spreading everyone thin over time. But now I know how you feel. I think it's just like me. You treat me like our kind has always treated the others.

It's too bad I can't find you, worse that I can't let you go. I don't want to be those things you think, I think about everyone but you.
A lie is so easy to tell it hurts. How do we first learn to be dishonest?

I was taught by the best, but then again, you probably were too.


We should have been perfect, but I am not becoming.

Release. Can you release me if you have it in you? It's not your responsibility but I'd love to give it to you.

Curly pie, what a magician. I should have known your tricks.


(I use them too.)

Jesus, Joseph and Maybe Even Mary

It is pure madness. I don’t want to recognize myself in who I may resemble. He told me I need to learn to love more than I hate. And jesus, is that truth.

I am all the things I hate in the others and when I say I know how it feels he doesn’t believe me one bit but it’s true. And then, it makes me realize that things are simply obvious and that I am just too stubborn to see them clearly.

How can we tell if being selfish is a bad thing or not? I mean, yes, we know it is bad. But, maybe people should be more selfish? Maybe they would be happier. There is a fine line between being a dick to everyone and being selfish except to those that mean the world to you, right?

But that’s not how it ends up working out, is it?

Someone should let me know if I’ll regret a fantasy world or not in the future.

Regrets eat the whole world up alive.

Mine.

In love we are allowed to sit.

lets live here?

It needs to be okay to be happy. I need to be okay to understand that normal is just a frame of mind. We are all unique and there cannot be just one way to live a life. In fact, I am finding there are thousands of ways to life in just one life. I have been running and running from what I know would make me smile because I think it is not the right way to live. Because I think it is hiding from some form of "real life". But REAL is relative! Ha. Real is whatever you make it out to be. Just like truth, as my mother might say...

We can make our lives exactly what we mold them to be. Not total control of course, but there is some there and I intend to use it.

No judgments can be made on doing things the way you feel they should be done.

C-r-a-z Crazy.

And there is nothing there! Not in any of them but you keep digging. Finding pieces of perspective love. Is that empathy you see?

Wait, that word he's used, sounds just like my father, no, ex-lover 2 times removed. Sounds something like nothing but syntax...gone wrong.

Keep digging.

Quiet is just a play on kindness and exhorbetent amounts of passion ensue in those that keep quiet, open mouths can run askew.

And that touch, dug up from the nursery in my old backyard, it feels like heaven not grime!

And those bruises you see, I don't look hard for them, my body intact, my mind sharp like theirs,

like men.

Shit,

my shovel broke.

Father, will you buy me some tape? And lover, will you mend what I brake?

I want to get where I'll be.

And it's the hardest fall we ever took. Maybe I took it alone. Walking forward towards an ominous ledge, the whole world shouting,

the fish and the rocks below bellooowwing loudl over the smash of that first wave.

But maybe I know the edge well. Maybe better than most.

Sounds from an Ipod with everthing with Queen to Mozart. The other side, live music plays, gaining inspiration from a note they hear or an image they've seen that day.

It's noon, early, too early to leave but not too early for a blue moon and one hit off a nicely rolled joint. We crack jokes,
then sit silently, breathing in mountains. All those things you take for granted here.

I wanted to pull your lips onto the paintings, knowing how cold they'd be. I didn't care and you didn't try and I am deciding in freedom to steop where your feet take you.

Music on the right side.

Character speaks.

How beautiful.

Such desolation. I can't make up my mind and I can feel my throat begin to tighten.

I miss the grip, the bleeding of my fingers hidden by my side.

I want to write you love poems, be nostalgic for something we've never had but I might just sicken you. And in your glory, I wonder if I've ever frightened you?

I want to stop testing my borders, thinking one is one is I'll never find another.

And if I am the ONE, what can that ever mean to you? Snake eyes...

I've always called you that. It hurts to see the colors change, to feel a pull in my gut. Life seems so short to me. If it isn't lived now we'll all die soon. In this trial of damp fog and jungle gyms I hope I find you...

Alone and honest, breathing slowly with the tip of your tongue on a bead of my sweat.

I need seconds.

It's terrifying to feel like you have no self control.
I want them to believe me but I haven't shown any proof, have I? Too late to believe in myself. I think of time as death and I am already at the tipping point. I want to think there is use in words again.

I need to buy a nice camera. One that doesn't take pictures that look like the mush and trash on the beach in Chile.