| best friends fall by the wayside. |
[03 Nov 2009|11:10am] |
but you've left me this time, and it's for good.
you have left this earth.
you are liking boys that are just too easy for you
they are patient for your freak outs. they wait behind curtains for it to all be over. they just want to show you that they will be the last one standing while they are waiting for your break down
your final break down when you evaporate into oblivion and all that is left is your credit card statement of where you'd like to go and what you ll be wearing when you get there.
your cats will not miss you
your bird can not hear you
the positive energy you have sent has only made me weaker once you have decided to be weak yourself.
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| on success |
[25 Oct 2009|02:14pm] |
i spent the last month and a half traveling all over the country, then all over japan, and i have felt more love in that small amount of time than i have felt in my whole time in new york. i don't feel like i have friends in this city. i have a boyfriend to fill the void, but there isn't an everlasting feeling of always having someone there for me.
she didn't get out of bed to greet me into the family, and it was at that time i knew. it wasn't right. i didn't belong there in that family at that time.
i'm getting a day job just to show myself that i can make it here, and that i haven't given up. i just need to pay off debt so i can make a clean break. is that it?
go back to school to find excuses to get grants to go hike the Himalayas and write some cheesy book about my travels. then i'll feel exposed and feel like I have given too much to my public, but then notice that nobody read what I wrote and it's still mine.
do i really want to move in with him and suffer through more new york when i really just want to be successful, at anything, anywhere??
I can make it anywhere. That's what they say about new york anyway. but you have to make it here first to make it anywhere second. This was my dream, and I seem to be wading in it. Not taking it too seriously. Just living and being with all these other millions of people that seem to give a shit about their lives way more than I care to bargain.
today i'm not especially fond of coffee. i dont want to drink it. i dont want to stay awake. i want my own schedule. like a kitten. i'll eventually regulate. why such a fuss pussycat?
i'm not fond of coffee today, but i did adore the smell of my makeup, specifically the mascara when i was applying after yet another sleepless night. i didn't anticipate to be an insomniac, but the senses are heightened and I can't complain.
back to success. When will it be success, and when will I stop thrashing around and start floating?
we're friends when I'm shooting, but we are strangers all other times. that is not success.
I am going to learn how to do everything. nobody will need to teach me things ever again. I'll be able.
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| i wish that i could just stop reading her blog. |
[25 Oct 2009|02:05pm] |
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it's the ex-boyfriend who was too easy to let go's sister's blog. she's numb and dull and boring. she's the queen of a city i'll never go to, and my new york snobbery gets to me every time i see an update. I can't help myself but stay subscribed. She writes about where she buys her clothes, how she remodeled her house, her two friends she plays with occasionally, her life that is big in her little town. She dreams of being what I am. But she keeps her hair long and her parking validated. She writes about things that are important to her, and important to her readers. It is addicting to me because she is removed from me. We will never be close friends. She will never subscribe to me the way I have subscribed to her. I watch gloriously to make sure I'm still better than her. Daily with each word, I can find reason why I am what she wants. But she confesses that she wants to write abou things that are just too intimate to display on her blog in public view. She wants to write about how he's so happy, and about how he's getting married and how he was being prepped for such joy and overwhelming love by dating me, and how he has gotten the girl he wanted in the first place, and how I had told him to go get her and take her even after he was already in love with me but the timing just wasn't right. I said I didn't care at the time, and I didn't. but now I want them to share that happiness with me in some weird tortured way. i felt as though i have friends, ex-lovers and such, and then all of a sudden, I don't. I have only written about them. I read about them all the time. My subscribed users. Their subscribed users. They won't share their triumphs with me, nor their failures. I have to find it on my own.
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| Traveling alone. |
[25 Oct 2009|02:03pm] |
she keeps a calm face underwater, but I know better.
she is dying here as i am dying in new york.
I know that I will succeed. As for her, I can't quite tell if she'll make it or not.
i wait until the last very second to board
not because i want to but because i have to
with this sincerity
and with this mimic.
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| Evelyn. |
[25 Oct 2009|01:59pm] |
"it's a shame you hate yourself so much. You have always hated yourself."
A 91 year old woman sits at her makeup table. I do not know her. I see her face and listen to her stories and wonder how much is true or how much she thinks I'll believe. Does she care what it looks like to me? does she want to hear herself talk. What does it look like in her mind? A grey bald bulb rotating and scathing. These stories co-exist together in the damp swarm of her ageless mind. The colours are rich, her mind scrawls through the biscuits and dressing gowns and the slippery tile of the church stairs. What is there left in life when you can't see the altar from the first pew?
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| wilt |
[18 Sep 2009|07:20am] |
you are delicious. you are an excellent conversationalist. you are rational and kind and quiet. I will eat the pebbles from your hand, and take the scenery in stride. You are my art teacher. I have known a few, and none quite as flushed.
do all little girls dream of paris like I do?
Do I have to be elsewhere to be fulfilled?
little girls in their mothers eyes running toward the Eiffel tower, constantly, '
my dear teacher, will you meet me? are you around to continue teaching once I am staring out my window and into the eyes of a statue?
the object stares back.
to object is to stare back. it has a job, as an object.
you can stare at anything long enough for it to stare back,
if you stare long enough, it can be love. it can be fury.
I stare back at you, and I am lonely. I want to believe you will always forgive me for my mistakes, and give me a second chance. It is time, I need that bone.
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| broken and fuel. |
[14 Aug 2009|10:35am] |
I will post this after work, before work. It is only a matter of time that I grow too strong and too old for this place. This is my paycheck, my simple means to get by, for now.
I am taking that fire, all those things I have learned and hurt and broken as fuel. It will be wasted unless it gets eaten up.
they are together, she yells and gets ignorant, why is it that we are living here together? it doesn't mean anything. her love isn't for me anymore.
it only makes sense
why is there a reason to go on
why is there a reason to get to work
when it's just purposeless
propose.
and there is a purpose
I need to write
and to love
I need to go to the Alps
and I'm going to be beautiful
because that is what people want of me
they don't want to see the black
because they don't see it
the girls aren't pretty enough
they aren't dead enough
I have to make them look prettier
shot, shoot, shot, shoot, climb into it.
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| no room |
[27 Jun 2009|08:25pm] |
my hands. They are strong, and slightly tanned. They are growing older. But at a slightly quicker rate than the rest of me.
i bathed nude in clean daylight with a dozen other women. thin woman lovers bathing in heat, massaging peppermint oil into eachother. They seek my eyes and smile gently. I am welcomed to watch. there was a massage table left out for us in the hot stone room. I made slow love to the heat, and laid alone in the stone room.
an indian woman gave me a mango and told me to suck it all out. I was in paris, and just turned 19. I sat at a table of strangers with a strange cake and sucked instead of blew the candles out. Those are the only real mangoes. suckling.
"I live in Brooklyn NY, and my primary medium is photography.
A many other New York residents have said, I find myself feeling lost and alone even in this city of millions. I traveled to Iceland this winter with my cameras, and found what truly being alone means. Where nobody can reach me by cell phone, nobody knows where I am at any point in my day, nobody can hear me whistle, shrug or cry. I was in my skin for the first time in my life.
We are always being watched on the streets of Brooklyn. Tallies are being kept. I was absolutely alone when photographing these images, and they are my purity and my breath.
I am continuously fascinated by bees and their honey, and only hope to create something as profound."
i seek to be the queen bee. start studying. start watching and learning.
I always wonder what they are doing now. hoping that they are over me, loving someone else. I seek to find some part of me in their eyes, but know that they are so busy that they think of me rarely. I see them together with bald heads touching. velcro on velcro. they are the ones they both wanted from the begining. I Was the appetizer, the warm up, the training to make it all worth while. I wouldn't change it, I am learning, too. I need this time to have what I have to fluff my tail feathers.
and it's just over flattery
you dont mean it
unless i'm flattering you with my talent, you dont care.
you aren't here for my pleasure
you are not here for me to lean on you
we are only friends when i'm doing a favor
it's only in your regard
thanks for keeping the record straight
we're less happy than good
"i just want more friends
i just want to feel loved"
partially
but not fully
by everyone
thts what friends are here for
to do good for eachother
give take
not just take and not be truthful about it
"if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell dont deserve me at my best"
i can smell my cunt when i pee.
is that normal?
can the woman in the next stall smell me?
I don't have room in my life for new friends. I don't have the time to be loved.
i am no longer going to leave things to feeling or order
i am going to seduce my way up to the top
every move is going to be well crafgted and no onger whimsical and unable to reach people
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| Compost |
[19 May 2009|09:42pm] |
It isn't like he hasn't ever got anything good to say to me. I told him I was enamored by him, i hung on every brilliant factual word. he cherished the moments we spent together, even when lazy Sundays weren't lazy together. He'd leave in suit and tie to see his family, and I would rest in his bed and listen to birds. I liked his apartment better when he wasn't there. actually, i liked waking up in his bed without him there. i like remembering him. I like remembering him earlier today, with guilt in his eyes for a thing he had no idea about. he had done no wrong the night before, he has never said anything to hurt me. I chalk it up to my insecurity and his inexperience. it's none of those things, but all of those things at once. he'll hold me like he never wants to let go. i hope he's thinking different things than he is. I want him to be coming up with an answer to all the world's problems, and I can just be gardening all day and reading and traveling. I won't need the other lovers that we always talk about, we will always have each other.
I'll pluck his mood swings and help him get to work on time by letting go of his hands. I can see him staring at me as I write ugly things on guest checks by the register. I am deep in thought and just want to be looked at. I write about our sex. He is so precise in his speech and movements that he will tell me everything he is going to do to me before we even get in bed. the foreplay always involves tongues, and never fingers. He misses the point of seduction allowing me to be in the perputal state of alwawys being horny. I am, but I still need to be switched on. He had stated that he didn't want to sex me, and decided to take a shower instead. He came out of the shower, naked and curled up next to me reading in his bed and made sure his boner touched my knee. He was ready, and already thought about every square inch he wanted to explore. there are many regions of my body to be discovered by him, and I just have to be patient. He licks at me for dozens of minutes, and then puts the female end of the double ended dildo in my flesh. I can't feel it much since its a squishy soft version of a penis, he sits on the dildo, and we wrestle around getting our legs positioned just right to make it work where we are both fucking each other. I'm waiting for something grand to happen, but it's awkward gyration, and it's almost over, so I think, then the double ender falls out.
He has asked me before to lick his balls while I am giving him a blow job. Not a few licks and a few sucks, he wants me to stick out my tongue and lick his balls while his cock is completely lodged inside my throat. I tried a few times with noting happening but choking, and decided was a little offended that another girl he has had a blow job from could actually do it, and I couldn't. I am disheartened.
The one becomes a two, but I realize that it's still a one. we are back at one. i don't want to escape you, like I have escaped other things. I have caught Ken's disease of never being satisfied and only craving meaningless sex and alone time.
I'm depressed, but in love. I have extreme highs and lows. I am depressed about money, and about work. I don't like my job anymore, it is tiring. Things will get better, I can only hope. I want your body to tell me what it wants, and not your voice. silence is healing.
You tell me after a few days of awkwardness that it was a porno you saw the ball-licking-deep-throating, and I feel better about myself. We fit together nicely, it's true. We peel an organic cucumber together into my bathroom sink and fuck each other with it for hours. It will make perfect compost.
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| Friday evenings with you. |
[19 May 2009|08:22pm] |
You cancel plans on me again. Four coworkers got laid off today. You are feeling low, and don't want to have stupid fun with me.
I just don't take no for an answer. I know that I have the absolute power to make you happy, so I decide that the way I am going to get you is to help you feel pain no longer and make you feel only pleasure. I will come to you and taste you and massage you with coconut oil until you are on a cloud of bliss.
I do not come in time to make you dinner, or light any candles or set the mood of any kind. I am still home. I waste time with my writing, and it becomes late all of a sudden. 45 minutes late. At that time you should decide to come over so you can feel sorrow no longer. I am a distraction, and finally it's a time when you need a healthy one.
Since you are coming to me, I have time to set the mood on my mantle. You arrive just as it starts to rain. We sit at the foot of my bed and eat organic popcorn because I have been reading The Omnivores Dilemma and have felt quite low about corn. Our organic popcorn kisses become overwhelming as we slow dance to Billie Holiday. My ten cent tea lights cast shadows on my altar as I move you to the bed. I take your whole body in with everything I have got. My needs are the last to be met.
I come hard and pull a muscle in my back.
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| Criticism |
[19 May 2009|08:21pm] |
There are enemies in my house. I have just moved in to a clean, modern, secluded and airy abode, and the last thing I had to do before slumber was make the bed. Incense is burning, candles are lit, and I feel safe and fulfilled. There is a woman, who's negative energy has disrupted all thinking for miles. I allow her in my new home because she is a friend of my lover. she just has to finish up an email, and then she will go. I'll allow her the amount of time she needs because i know that things take time. I could scream and tell her to leave the way she screams at me, but I am patient and knowing. I wait. She stands at the kitchen counter, surrounded my warm light and white walls, on her laptop. I don't know why she is here, or who invited her. She is as welcome as a Realtor. I step outside to admire Tibetan architecture, noticing the absence of curves in the building. The negative woman joins me, startles me with her presence, and talks over me to tell me that there are no curves in the building. I thought she just had to finish an email, and now she is undermining me again.
I want to go to bed. I want to sleep refreshed in my new home that I am so very proud of. I want to sleep in my beloved's arms and wake to a new morning.
There are new people in my home that were not there were before I left to admire the Tibetan building. who are these people? who invited them?
I play along for a bit, but I finally decide I really just want to sleep.
There are many people that i have had arguments with, or will argue with in the future. They are all here, in my home, having a really good time. I ask them to leave. I would like to sleep now, please? These people are beautiful, they would make great friends. Then there are those people who are my enemies. We could have been great friends, oh yes, but we are not. We dislike each other for no reason whatsoever, and now you are in my house, perhaps trying to be friend? Make peace? Show me they don't care by flaunting your cute body around here? I suck in air to ask them to leave again, knowing they can't hear my voice above the music. I don't even speak. They leave. I sleep.
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| To math, prostitutes, and bees. |
[08 May 2009|11:11pm] |
So often i think of you, and i become sad because i don't love you yet. Not fully sure I want to love you.
i don't love you enough to make you love me
you should say it first
it's your first time
it's a delicate process that should be more indiscriminate.
it's more beautiful when it can be messy and organic
i am thinking too much these days.
i owe you money, which is a constraint. which is to help me stay here with you.
we are purchasing food months in advance, so that we can ensure we will eat together.
we need time alone and away from each other, so that we can learn to love each other more. i feel we are empty and robbed of our emotions when I read surrealist poetry. I want to be haphazardly falling in love with you. There were moments upon moments when I could have started the game. In hot springs with silences, gentle caresses from breezes that left us still, times when we were in bed together, i was thinking about saying it, and you were thinking about math. Perhaps this is what a girl would want. A man that can think separately from his studies, so that he can multi-task while in bed with us. He'll be here and there, and forever with us. I am ashamed to assume he has no emotions. He will never miss me as a result of being. I adore the way that he has become into a being, but it is this very being that has not taught him to love. He needs to learn. Like any good prostitute, my job is not done until he is fully a lover.
i can't even remember being with The Moustache, or feeling like I maybe loved him. He is just s series of photos now, and a thought i had and acted on, and perhaps regret dragging him along with my idea for so long. I think once the polish wore off, I noticed who he really was, and wasn't tantalized by him any longer.
but then, what is it to have something in common with someone else? what do i feel for The Grey Matter, or for myself that I don't feel for anyone else? when self-love sets in, I don't need The Grey Matter any longer. I am here, so strong, alone, and ready to relax into my skin.
why do we get into relationships if not to show weakness?
I am reading poetry of revolutionary artists, and finding only that The Grey Matter would perhaps not understand or feel this as deeply as i do. is this a problem? should i be worried and keep looking? I will only search and find exactly what I have found, which is the current conundrum. It is perfect, like I always say. So buck the fuck up and love every inch of it.
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| endless thoughts. |
[08 May 2009|10:56pm] |
She told me to never tell her she has an attitude problem. I don't know what else to say to her when I come to accept how I have moved in on her attitude, and i am now her problem.
I was too much a coward to come to the place that I have paid to call home. I was a coward and grabbed a bottle and dashed away. I even took the long way just in case we would cross paths. What I am doing is not wrong, but felt so weak.
I have been trying to pinpoint the moment when things started to fall, and it seems as though I have been wanting these feathers to molt for a while. Friendships mean nothing, contracts are turned to dust, love disappears, my spine turns to sand, and all I can think about is tending to bees. I want to make love to insects so they create honey to put in my tea. This is all about making my tea proud.
you can't just say, "I warned you." That doesn't fix the problem.
you talk down to me and you act like i am something that happened to you.
if this is going to be a partnership, you can't place blame, because blame is ugly. we have a problem, let's fix it. Or not. Let's ignore it.
bees will fix me. There is something about a swarm of bees you just can't ignore.
there are times where i think he is perfect and i want to mimic his body so that i can be perfect, too. Will I be perfect if I eat what he eats?
I think about dust and where it comes from, and how it accumulates in my attic, which isn't an attic at all. It is the seat of the bike that I rarely ride, it is the top of my computer, it is the brow of my taxidermy. It is as high as things get in this room, which is like an attic, or as close as I can get to one. Perhaps when the bees fix the hole in my heart, there will be an attic in my life in which to store dust.
...but she doesn't actually love me, and sex with women becomes just something to do on weekends so she doesn't have to face her husband.
nothing ends up like i originally thought it was.
what I have today was my thoughts, my patience, my orgasm
tea
time
patience.
I only know what I can see directly in front of me.
I wish to wake to tend to my garden and to make a juice that is only slightly wilted. And I will, because this is Brooklyn, this is Bed-Stuy, and this is Home. My escape fantasies will only last so long until I realize that everything is how it should be, and this moment is perfect. I always say that, but I forget it all the time. Which in essence, is perfect.
I want these scars. I want to say I conquered an infestation, and that I lead the life I wanted to lead even when it was said to be impossible.
Still haven't met my roommate upstairs. he might be handsome in that way that he would ignore me because he thinks that I'm the frumpy librarian chick who is always hitting on him. I'm slightly homely when I'm at home, and at this time in my life everywhere else, because I just don't care. I don't care if the maybe handsome man upstairs files for bankruptcy.
My life is a series of falling bobby pins. I always find them falling out of my pockets and my hair. I know the clinking sound all too well, on all sorts of surfaces. I am constantly picking them up. Until today, when I just left them all over the floor. I have tons of pins, and they seem to multiply in that cup. Probably because I pick them up and collect them. Until today.
my motivation, which is said by others to be other-worldly, is slipping and slipping down. My skirt stays up as I learn how to dress again. I haven't put on a skirt in months, and my figure was figuring it out.
I was happy today, despite the confusion.
Dear Brooklyn,
Do you want me? Please let me know, and help me succeed. You are sending mixed signals. Are you seeing someone else? It's okay if you are, just make sure you come home to me. I know I went to Iceland, and I love Iceland, but I am here now and I want to make this work. I want you. I won't marry you, but I'll move in with you if you want me to. If you can't afford to split the deposit, it's okay, Brooklyn. I can cover it. I want to be with you and I'll make it possible. You just have to show me that you want me and I will do what it takes.
A Love Supreme,
Halston
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| to memoirs, |
[21 Apr 2009|07:20pm] |
knowing you are going to succeed and succeeding
knowing you are going to fail and failing
but doing the job the same.
"i need time away from you and I am not going to miss you because I don't miss anyone."
I am going to fail our relationship because it is meant to fail.
I will succeed because I was meant to succeed.
I will love you just the same.
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| I have your fender |
[20 Apr 2009|09:14pm] |
He tells me he will never miss me. He has a deficiency. He calls it broken. He doesn't miss anyone. And yet, he feels guilt.
Are you inadequate? Or mistaking taking pleasure in being alone?
You know you are immature for you have never loved. You will not love until you can be present.
i feel a great loss.
You kept your distance when you didn't show up to watch me boil water. We have an unspoken date every morning, and it is now obvious that I'm the one who is losing. You needed your space and I have not been able to give.
You aren't feeling me at all.
I am relieved that I had not spoken of my fears and my faults in loving you
I thought I was teaching you to love,
teaching you with every breath how to hold me
I am hurt that it is not so simple. We are so different.
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| Reykjavik, arrival. |
[17 Mar 2009|07:36pm] |
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I can't sleep yet because I am a casualty of jet lag. He falls asleep after about an hour of subtle noises of clearing his sinuses with the back of his throat. It's a common sound from him. His noises are similar to that of a pug. I find it endearing in it's constant execution. He gets self-conscious when I speak of it, even when I use a warming tone. So I have resulted to smirking instead. I lay in bed with him despite my alertness and read about Africans coming to my Americas. I enjoy weight of actual good writing. I think about what I look like when I leave Brooklyn for a residence of sorts in another country. I would need a lot of money and a bigger suitcase. The idea is already there, and I have the idea's passion. That is already more than half the battle. I am not tired yet as reading in bed usually results, but I put the book next to my glass of water that reads VIKING. I roll over and find his body turned away from me, ensnared in the comforter. My side of the bed is somehow higher than his side of the bed, so I fit myself the best I can in the strange uneven gap. My hand snakes around him to pull me closer. A blast of heat and wet sweat comes from him. He went to bed wearing his thermal shirt, which is now roasting him. I caress the part of his shirt just under the neck with my mouth, and kiss it loudly. The kiss doesn't make contact because of the waffle stitch, which makes my kiss sound shallow and light. I redo my kiss harder to make the right sound. I close my eyes and match my breath with his, which is what you do when you are loving someone. There is hardly a shred of me that can imagine tomorrow being a better day than today. I fear the sunrise for this moment is unequaled.
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| on living:better things |
[17 Mar 2009|07:36pm] |
i leave for iceland on monday
there are better things out there
long vast stretches without any people
just a highway and a broken gauge on the gas tank
i know this is where I imagined I'd be at the age of 24
It is where I will live when New York gets too cold.
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| 6th |
[10 Mar 2009|02:03pm] |
You roll up on your bike, the sun blaring like it knows I am not prepared.
I wanted to continue to look dainty while waiting for you, but I can't. My eyes light up and I get tingles up and down my spine.
still uncomfortable with your live-ness
never a familiar voice or scent, I take the helmet from your hands and slowly squeeze it onto my head. taking my time getting reacquainted with your heat. It has been too long.
your legs are mine to rest my hands
they are my legs too.
I pretend they are my own and clean my fingernails at the seams of your pants.
gripping and groping your clothes, I caress the fibers.
anything but your body
I don't want to have to tell you or show you I want your body.
behind you, so close
touching but not touching
"I can do anything back here"
I can smile and I can giggle, close my eyes and pray to the vibration, thanking it for this perfect weather of this perfect day, which in turn has made a perfect moment.
I look at the reflection of you to see more of your face in adjacent vehicles.
Still can't see you, but I feel you.
I probably shouldn't have talked and kept the same respect as before
our hearts rekindled
sandwiched between the same mystifying sheets of metal
looking back at you with the same smile and panicked quickening searching for my heart that 546 days ago I had let fall out by our first caress
"It must be here somewhere, I know this is where I left it..."
these pieces are completely out of place here in LA
here for just us
it's comedy to feel this real
wanting to eat more, could have eaten the whole table
getting my wind with me again, finally
not taking it slow anymore
faith, first.
thought. second.
give me a little give me a whole lot
I'll never know you
we both wanted that kiss
our last caress.
Let it not be too long, lover, for me to hear you again.
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| The Moustache, the Fish, the Grey Matter |
[09 Mar 2009|04:36pm] |
There was a time when I was in love with a Moustache. I forgot who it was attached to. I loved it in it's entirety, through my sleep it would leave moustache marks up and down my legs. It was a silly Moustache, it had curious smells and tickled and hurt most of the time, but I loved it so. I opened my mouth early evening to find I didn't love the Moustache any longer, and I didn't know why. At that time, I loved a Fish instead. This Fish loved me back, he needed me and would wake with me every morning. Three drops. Only three drops into the bowl and just like that the Fish would love me. Plop plop plop. He'd forget me every time he saw me, but once I dropped three, no more, only three, into the water, he was mine. It was the most simple equation for loneliness Brooklyn has known. I found Grey Matter shortly after the new year and had to tell the Moustache again I didn't love it the way it thought it loved me. The Moustache didn't believe me and waited at my doorstep a fortnight until coated in snow. The Fish had been forgotten, but still given the drops every morning, but without the same passion as before. I would sometimes not be there in the morning to perform the task, and the drops would be given in the afternoon. I was spending time with Grey Matter more often than spending time with myself, and was comforted that I did not see the Moustache any longer. I thought about the Fish, and felt warm, but it was only a passing feeling. I leave them all behind and play in sand for a week, leaving my roommate to take care of the Fish. After I tire of playing with myself, I come home from sand to Gray Matter welcoming me at the bottom of an escalator. Grey Matter had not groomed, so I did not recognize him, but loved him anyway. He takes me home to find that my home had frozen over in my absence, and the Fish had died from the cold. I asked my roommate if three was still being dealt every morning. He was in fact, being fed only three but perhaps died from a broken heart. It is true, I did not love the Fish as I had. I didn't ever love the Moustache, but hair grows back, and the Moustache is ultimately resilient. After seeing the Fish floating nose up touching the surface of the water the in the tank, I took a razor and shaved my beloved's face. I saw the true Grey Matter again in his skin, and loved him more than before. During our lovemaking I often think of the Fish and hope the Fish will find my attention again.
The next morning while Grey Matter rests, I finally fit into my Great-Grandmother's clothing. Like a woman should. Curves are nothing but complimented by vintage lines and crude zippers. I will stand hard on mountains so all Fish can see my breast and blood in my Great-Grandmother's slip dress. Four inches by Five inches, the perfect fit.
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| ruins |
[23 Feb 2009|03:45pm] |
ruin everyhting
make mistakes so i learn something
i make coffee these days
i make love in curious ways
i want to lead you on
i want to give you
then take away
get into debt
do something i can't do
and pay for it later
It is the only future I can provide for myself.
It is certain that chaos is always the best answer.
"Improvements in your health habits, your daily routine, your work
responsibilities and your environment by eliminating lifeless elements."
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theholgaqueen's journal