dated future: may 12, 2012

what I would not do to spend one night with you:

1)...

history

mind has ostracized heart from rest of body...
heart travels world and follows dream
dream actualized
mind wants heart back
mind needs heart back
heart comes back too big to fit in body
so heart shrinks itself,
because heart loves

life is too short to be anything
but a joke

jungle boogie

in your jungle basement,
two bartenders mixing the better potion...

Two snakes wrapped up like Caduceus.
You slither your coarse against my smooth,
in this jungle room.
Leopard spots,
elephant tusks,
zebra paintings;
delight in the shag-feel,
coated ground.

I know you watch me,
want me. The prowler
with a growl.

My eyes closed,
taking each second
as its own before it dies
like fallen domino.
I already see the last one
hanging off the precipice,
before it's there.
Sometimes, a hand will wait
below to catch it,
but that domino will never know,
until she lets go.

Kienholz installation “The Illegal Operation”, 1962
 
He regarded his viewers 
by their garbage. 
He fabricated material life
holding up a mirror to still eyes
in denial at the horror of truth
captured
like a living photograph.
 
Burlap sack punched raw
laying like a burnt slab of molding meat
hoisted atop a shopping cart
that’s missing its cage.
Its wheels overused,
no longer able to move.
One can smell the rust and taste it
as though a child were in the seat
looped wires cradling
as it sucks on the handle
where mama’s hand had been.
 
Burlap sack sweat-stained
vomiting out its torn orifice,
split like cruel lips
of a motorcyclist
with a mouthful of cement.
Purging what poison that let grow
within, pulsating
now dead, half covered in a pail;
 
a forgotten guilty conscious,
a redemption for shame,
existing only in
mother’s waking nightmares,
her cold perspiration against
the cool moon's stare; a reminder
of the surgical bright light
that casted a pallid yellow glow
on seemingly sickly skin.

Collecting together, many years
later, little knotted plastic black bags
holding the little bones of the 
little ones, discarded
in the wasteland.
 
 

2-line poetry

(basis: little to no abstractions)

i am but a simple mechanism taken advantage of
invented by a dead corpse with a name

........

smoke-laced conversations under fading bulbs
whiskied souls floating down the river Lethe

.......

broken fragments of a wine glass glittering under wide eyes
a pair of cocks, beak to beak, vying for the cry to the rising sun

......

shit grins from within a toilet
chagrin to desire to dig it back up

.......

hair that stands on end and pricks when the skin crawls
under coverlets that should protect the mind's wit

dreamers

i sometimes see him, in my mind, clearer than other times i imagine him. on these clearer pictures, i see a great man. he is on a journey. a journey he wishes to accomplish alone. he feels a great desire for independence, freedom and the complete fulfillment of self. but at certain moments - certain, rare moments when he is completely alone - he doubts himself, and then still other moments...i know he imagines someone like me. and this is the clearest of moments - me knowing exactly who he is without ever meeting him while imagining him, and he, in the same respect imagining me - knowing i'm imagining him. and although we've never met, we've never shared a real moment, when we do meet, we'll know...something.

we're not exactly waiting for each other. we each have our own lives to live. we each give into idle pleasures now and again. we find fulfillment in not only what we do, but what we're capable of. the only thing that keeps us awake at night, and have us dreaming in the day is the fact that we're just a daydream, imagination, invention; a comfort away from reality. we don't even exist.

survival is thinking:
"i don't belong here"
and then wading around;

no matter who you bump into,
share that cold air between you

bump together for some warmth

then get on that separate lifesaver

you're from somewhere else

somewhere greater
somewhere less

doesn't fucking matter

"I want you, But I don't need you" - Amanda Palmer

I like you, and I'd like you to like me to like you
But I don't need you, don't need you to need me to like you
Because if you didn't like me, I would still like you, you see
la lala... la lala...

I lick you, and I'd like you to like me to lick you
But I don't need you, don't need you to like me to lick you
If your pleasure turned into pain, I would still lick for my personal gain
la lala... la lala...

I fuck you, and I'd like you to like me to fuck you
But I don't fucking need you, don't need you to need me to fuck you
If you need me to need you to fuck, that fucks everything up
la lala... la lala...

I want you, and I want you to want me to want you
But I don't need you, don't need you to need me to need you

That's just me, so take me or leave me
But please don't need me, don't need me to need you to need me
Because we're here a minute, the next we're dead
So love me or leave me but try not to need me
Enough said.

I want you, but I don't need you...

I love you, and I love how you love how I love you
But I don't need you, don't need you to need me to love you
If your love changed into hate, would my love had been a mistake?
I don't know. I don't know.

So I'm gunna leave you, I'd like you to leave me to leave you
But love, believe me; it isn't because I don't need you
(You know I don't need you)
All I wanted was to be wanted
But you're drowning me deep in your need to be needed
la lala... la lala

I want you, and I want you to want me to want you
But I don't need you, don't need you to need me to lead you

That's just me, so take me or leave me
But please don't need me, don't need me to need you to need me
Because we're here a minute, the next we're dead
So love me or leave me but try not to need me
Enough said.

I want you, but I don't need you...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3UYEZnhnVCg

untitled song

if you'll take me
as worthless as i am
an abused girl,
used and broken down
if you'll take me,
i'll take you too
i'll take you as you are-
i'll take your heart

i once inked a pond and wrote:

the pond ripples
with the desire to
run into the sea
tired of a stagnant movement
wind only hitting it
against the reeds
still
waiting
to rise up to the sky
even just
to fall again;
the only excitement in its existence

it's odd how happy i feel
when i imagine myself dead

memories

these should be private, unopened, forgotten
held down, trapped, never shared...
because they're inconsequential

but there's an interested party
and for only that reason,
is it on a public interface as such;
and even so, possibly no one could read it...

.........

first impressions at the academy?

really, in all truth, i was so absorbed in myself, to say the easiest way, to be bothered with first impressions - maybe it came easier, the fact, because five people i knew of or knew about or fairly knew personally came along with me

even so - there should exist first impressions - shouldn't there?

shouldn't there - even when i was thinking here's my escape - and it wasn't so
shouldn't there - even when that escape was to another cell - and it wasn't so
shouldn't there - even when i isolated more than the voted hermit - and it wasn't... so... much

i felt downhill, since the academy, but maybe downhill was way before then... maybe downhill was at my birth.

maybe downhill is all life is... until the uphill - but so few may ever get there...
...steepest hill yet...

(i should've written this out first - but now i haven't it's all 'blah-sey' since i'm still a little buzzed...)

i'd rather talk about the moment "write" about the moment that is... than any past... i only write about the past when i'm sadly drunk - or sad when i'm drunk...

fin digress

maybe it's because i don't believe in first impressions...
maybe it's because i ignored most people's existence in that place
maybe it's because i didn't want to get invested in that place anymore than i was...

first impressions don't exist with me...

all i knew... were events that occurred... people who happened to catch my attention beyond their intrusion- most intruded.... others ...
so few of 'others' i intruded... and was glad to... and was rather well received...
but that intrusion came too late... oh fucking well.

there are no first impressions really... i think it truly comes when one is alone entering a place...entering also, in a certain way that they can allow first impressions, neither completely diving in nor ignoring as i did.

impression? he impressed me.
from afar.
and i only started looking,
as a joke, as a prom date.
and only he, i knew could be it...
i made sure he had no attachments, not any hint with anyone
because i don't like drama
in real life
and there we were.... and there we went. and there we had... and ceased.

academy?

i try to not... think about it ever happening.

i'm still recovering.

if anything - the only impressions...

were of people coupling up and off so fast and so long and such and such -
i tried my best not to do that - because i saw it as easily done...
if you went it coupled already - you were desired, but off the chart - unavailable.
if you were available... then you were went for...

sorry... i have nothing but hatred... for that place..
this is me on the fly,
trying to talk about it.
but there's nothing good from that place. nothing.

i met the good things before or after the place...
the one good thing i met... he's dead.

so fuck that place. fuck that place and die.

fuck the academy. it doesn't exist for me. it's best for me to imagine it now, as non existent

change is within
never without

"why did you fuck me over?"

he sits silent.

"you never cared did you? at least i pretended to care less, but cared a whole hell of a lot more than you did."

"you can't say i didn't care-"

"yes i can. you claim you cared, but all you cared with was with your dick. i've never let any guy fuck me over until after...you know what's funny? i had a nightmare with you in it... and i hate when nightmares come true."

"maybe you shouldn't have pretended to not care."

"maybe you should have been honest from the start."

"i said what i felt at the moment."

"never believe what you feel at the moment for someone you fuck. time tells with that shit. i don't even want to see your fucking face anymore."

"it doesn't have to be like this-"

"but it is."

"i think you have to be mature."

"i think you have to be feeling what i'm feeling, oh wait, you did this to me. fuck off and die."

she gets up and walks away.

regrets

i was talking with a. and k. today
we came upon regrets
and i was surprised that
after a moment went by
so many came to mind:

i regret that-

-i didn't run away
-i didn't shoot myself with that loaded canon
-i didn't cut deep enough
-i didn't run away
-i went to the academy
-i bullshitted my parents (esp. mother) for so long
-i ended it with him
-i didn't say "i love you"
-i didn't run away
-i started drinking
-i didn't run away
-it was you instead of me
-i became an alcoholic
-i didn't end it
-i'm still here
-i am not running away
-i am an alcoholic
-i'm still alive

and without the first two regrets...
i wouldn't still be here
wondering

it seems my purpose of living is to make regrets

alcoholic

idleness to an alcoholic
is like walking the plank
over a tank of alligators
with human blood on their teeth

an alcoholic prefers company
chatter, clatter...sex

an alcoholic prefers
like a customer to a whore
to pay for company
any company

more than talking
more than listening
that body present
doing likewise
thinking likewise

paying for sympathy

an alcoholic is better off
driven off the road
six feet of dirt as a blanket
a tombstone for a pillow
----

when i'm even half alive
and i feel nothing

i will not be inconvenienced.

when i'm even half alive
and i feel something

i would give the rest of my life
to it
because it will be the most i've ever felt
in so long

i just realized... it's almost a year

and i wonder where all that time went.
and know you'd be disappointed that i haven't moved on.

but right now...
i still can't believe it's almost a year
since your death.
because every time i think
and have you in it...
you were just alive... and just now died.

it's so unreal...
the mind can get so unreal

and i can't decide if that's beautiful
or horrific

the hypocrite speaks

i wonder why men choose to begrudge women so much - is it comedic for them to say such things as though it hurts no one? and the women who simply laugh along just to find approval in the company of men. i think once again the feminine rise has fallen on the wayside.

i feel sometimes that nothing has changed. there is no more equality than 60 years ago. no more equality, but in actuality - laws have changed, rules have changed.

but the issue i find is that people have grown too content with how things are when the change could be taken further.

no wonder even women don't want to be women. this complacency, this stuck atmosphere - no wonder we seek the company and power of men and insult even our own kind - when really, the only growth all gender has had is sexually. no wonder slut and cunt is thrown about. women have forgotten about the one collective - females - and since then, we have ceased to grow.

not saying women aren't free. they do, with the right choices throughout life, have every opportunity to reach freedom as any man.

but throughout that woman's life - she will have faced those crude looks, vulgar remarks, multiple more tests and hardships because she is attractive to the straight male in power.

even when it comes among friends - the woman will see her male friend as a friend, equal in that respect - a companionship - but he will view her as a female, a friend, but with the possibility of something more - and when that's rejected, he moves on, loses respect, or still covets.

i shouldn't be so sad over all this. truth.

my mother calls me a quitter
at first my heart heats with everything to say
but my mouth remains shut

and then i listen
her morals, the way she was raised
sticking to things to the end
no matter how much you hate it
no matter how much your heart cries
no matter how much you want to die
you stick to it til the end
whether you die in the process
or the end is death
there lies her stoicism
everything that is good
and right
and respectable
in what she thinks
everyone's eyes.

i say
fuck that