Wednesday, April 29, 2009

chap chap chap

these are just ideas i need to put somewhere where i can stare at them for awhile that's not a word document i can't seem to be creative in those things anymore i just get panic-attack feelings that accompany beginning an assigned paper

between us there is
a screen which is
a cup which is
a chasm which is
a line which is
a twisted umbilical
of red and yellow wires
in our mouths we must
keep swallowing 
though the length
never lessens,
we are full up with
the casual persistence
of distance

(this is often mistaken
for a wound to suture)

this an animal
which sounds like
a child

Can you look at 
your grandfather 
without crying?



Monday, April 27, 2009


This morning I woke up at 6:30 and was unable to
A) Go back to sleep.
B) Properly self-assess.

It was one of those awful twilighty hours where you're stuck in uneasy consciousness.  Your apartment is cold and your knees hurt, why do they hurt so bad, was it a childhood and adolescence of soccer, is there permanent old-person damage to the cartilage.  
Uninvited, social scenes from the past few days begin playing in your head.  In each of these scenes, your retrospective self is completely unlikeable.  She is too much in the face and the teeth, braying know-it-all-ism and generally irritating.  
There is a growingly bitter loneliness coupled with the feeling that unless life feels like a movie, full of excitement and emotion and laughter and color, your time is being wasted.   

(I took a shower at 9 and am chipper as hell now though.)

Saturday, April 25, 2009

sleep and comics

Ray gets me, man.

Is it okay to write a dang blog entry this short... is it allowed?  I want to
get over here let me
entertain you
let me i am
so so so so

Friday, April 24, 2009

i slept

too long
i dreamed
in cinema
it's hard
to explain

Sunday, April 19, 2009

sucking the venom

Still perhaps the sexiest thing a person can do to a person.


"You're hiking with a friend. The sun is shining, the birds are singing -- you're feeling one with nature. Then the unthinkable happens -- as you step over a tree log on the trail, a snake beneath it lurches out and sinks its fangs into your calf."

"'No way, man! Then we'll both die.'  Is he right? Or, is he just a big coward who should be crossed off your friend list?"

"Non-venomous snakes have round pupils. Venomous snakes have elliptical pupils, like a cat's."

"Of course, this information implies that you're supposed to bend over and peer into the creature's face, which wouldn't be very smart."

" the venomous coral snake and the harmless milk snake, or scarlet snake, look nearly identical, except for the order of their red, black and yellow bands. To tell the difference, children are taught the rhyme, 'Red touch black, venom lack. Red touch yellow, kill a fellow.'"

"You might be wondering how long it would take a venomous snakebite to kill you."

"Tip: If your snakebite kit contains instructions for making an incision on the wound, throw it away and buy a more current kit."

"Using a tourniquet can damage nerves and blood flow. True story: In Tennessee, a well-meaning passerby used a tourniquet to help a farmer who'd been bitten by a snake. When the farmer arrived at the hospital, his blood pressure was so low from the tourniquet around his arm that he was only minutes from death [source: UPI]."

"Be careful -- due to reflex, a snake can actually bite for up to an hour after it's dead."

Saturday, April 18, 2009

window go home

Window Kitty won't go away.  S/he started visiting last week, coming by way of roof to my window to peer curiously inside and enrage my two cats, sweet and loving and dumb.  Window Kitty loves to be petted, and I am a sucker.  It seems like s/he has a home, not bony or very dirty.  S/he came back tonight and I said hello, gave him/her a treat, laughed at my cats' hissing and general worryworting through the screen.  Now Window's just sitting out there, occasionally staring in sadly at me.  I keep saying "Go home, Window."  S/he's laying right outside the screen right now, I can SEE YOUR EARS, GO ON, GIT.    

Today I went to the zoo.  It was wonderful.  

I have taken up the harmonica.   I will keep you updated on whether this mild obsession continues to fruition.   

Now I have to watch some crazy neo-western that stars Courtney Love.  If that bitch had an ounce'a'class I'd admire her spirit.  (She doesn't.)

Thursday, April 16, 2009

I lied

about the feelings.  Where else do they have to go?  To get them out of me I've got to tell you fine people.  Even if some of you are not so fine, and not so much people I want to tell.  This cannot for me be a hole carved into a tree, a secret whispered into it, covered up with mud forever.  I am not unless I am connected to another, whoever, so.

I still get my nicotine but my body misses the specifics, I think, of the brand I gave up a week ago, the $6.12-a-pack "addiction punishment" price drove me away.  I like the activity of rolling, now, the craft of it, the simple origami.  I like the taste that doesn't leave me nauseous.  I can never spell "nauseous" on the first try.  Anyway, I keep trying to explain to people that I think I'm detoxing from a few years' buildup of whatever was in the old ones.  I'm off.  
I seem to be mired on a surliness of disposition which I am loathe to impart onto others.  There is an ache in my back from sitting too long in my kitchen.  There are the regular down feelings that trail me always (futility of future, boredom) that drag away my desired veneer of joy.  Every day it seems some corporate giant demands money from me, there are these demands of me, this feeling of failure.  There are gnawing feelings that any pleasure I feel is undeserved, and I'm slowly running myself down to nothing instead of building upwards towards "something," like my Little Honda, dented and scarred and robbed and never destined for repair.  There is longing, and frustration, which used to make me seem more alive but now aches like an old wound that I won't allow to heal.  There is my body, my goddamn body.  
It is not really a big deal, but the strange new chemical-less me feels these blades of annoyance more deeply.  This is how I'm feeling.  I will be optimistic soon.

Yesterday a rotten, sweet smell seemed to follow me everywhere.  One week ago I ate a pear in class and put the core in an unsealed plastic bag in my backpack.  I found it today.  This leaves me feeling as though I have more rotting things to discover and purge, not literal things, but you know like how you have a worsening headache for days and start hallucinating deep voices saying your name and then discover a carbon monoxide leak.  This gas leak is hypothetical.  Undiscovered issues, unresolved.  You know.
I have a strange relationship with my intoxicants, as I wish to blame them wholly but also require them to combat the boredom.  When will it be summer?

My NPR Name is Sajrah Rhinecliff.  I had to go with the smallest town I've visited in the U.S.  It is actually a "hamlet."         

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

this place

There is a sunflower seed stuck under my "T" key.


That was me trying to get it out.  I think it's gone now.  

Coconut Milk & Ginger Iced Cream.

I don't really like talking about my "feelings" here anymore it's not safe, not a safe place.  Scrutinies.    
Let's talk about 
things I did and

I just picked five Westerns from the 1980s to write a paper on for Tuesday.  I will be watching a lot of Westerns this weekend.  I tried to get a "variety:"  Straight to Hell, The Last Days of Frank and Jesse James (starring Johnny Cash, Kris Kristofferson, & Willie Nelson!?), Pale Rider, The Long Riders (I may change this one), and Man From Snowy River (Australian lovey Western I watched a lot as a child).  
Go Go Netflix Go.

Friday, April 10, 2009

guard llama


creation of the antichrist

1/2 onion, caramelized in butter over low heat
remove onion from pan, spread out in bottom of small bowl
add 1 middling hunk cream cheese into pan
add 1 large spoonful of chunky peanut butter
stir and melt, removing from heat if things get too... hot
add cumin, curry powder, paprika, whateverthefuck else
dash of rice vinegar
spoon over caramelized onions
chill, or don't
spread thinly on toasted pita bread
take one small bite, this is all you are allowed 
of the antichrist

i need to find a way to make this less plebeian.  fresh jalapenos?  use as pasta/noodle sauce?  

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

"sometimes i wish i had a farm where the only pollution is your cigarettes"

Lately I can't ever decide what to feed myself in a reasonable amount of time.  I don't eat all day and then come home and stare in my cupboards, and fridge, and do all the dishes, and sit around thinking about it, planning, then get up and stare in the cupboard again and examine the nutritional content of my dry goods, then close the cupboard.
Then later in a lightheadedness I eat sour gummis (worms or octopodes).  And sunflower seeds.  And fruity alcoholic drinks.  And then just sweet alcohol, until sleeptime.
This isn't a big thing.  I eat other stuff when I'm with people, like I have to have guidance on what to purchase or make for myself.  I make things for myself when I plan them well in advance and work myself into a longing for them.  But otherwise, it's like nothing sounds good enough.  Like, why eat unless it sounds really, really good?

I do a lot of that lately, relying on other people.  "I don't care what we do.  I'm up for anything."  Because it's true.  I don't know how to make plans for myself.  I don't know how to gracefully instigate minor social events.  I just want to be doing things, always, with people I like, like I've been missing out for way too long, sitting in a stupor.   

I was just looking at the sugar insanity I've been eating and remembered writing about the things I was mildly obsessed with last summer, when I was in the garden and going to Beat Poetry class and happy: Orange soda, red vines, and pistachios.  And rum.  I am anticipating the warmth.

Today when I got home there was a box outside my door from Hawaii containing eight pounds of various Kona coffees.

Life feels so good to me all the time lately.  
I smile every time I walk up the stairs to my home, seriously, it is weird.  
There's a Ben Kweller song, "My Apartment"...

Thursday, April 2, 2009


When you've forgotten your lighter and haven't had a cigarette yet though it's after noon and you're hunting for a smoker, prowling for a stranger putting a thin white stick to their lips to bum a flame from but there are none, nose in the air for a hint of acrid burnt tobacco but there is none,
and suddenly there's a full fresh book of matches on the concrete right in front of you,
you feel like everything's going to be okay.   


I was born wired
to shockbuzz and bristle
at the sight of a snake in the grass.
I can temper myself to the 
notion of maggots, 
"important ecological component,"
"kind of like baby bees,"
but when confronted with a frothy mass
things get confusing;
Are they gorging on rotten meat,
or boring through the soft flesh of my cheek?
Every fear is a superfluity of staying alive.
The beesy bees soothe me with their
beeswax and honey and smoke-addled drone.
Fruit and grain left too long 
warm and fulfill in tricky ways, tricky tricky
sticky liquor, a fine and funny friend.
If I said I could know you by the smell of you,
the way my hips know they need to move
like a sweet polleny buttercup to a bee bee bee...
What if I bristled and drank and said I could know you
by the smell of you?    

This bitch in the next cubicle in the stacks won't shut the fuck up about how blackout drunk she got and roommate drama whine whine whine I'm thinking about ripping a loud fart, one like you can tell is totally on purpose, just for fun.  
Oh cooool now she and her boyfriend are kissing and whispering a lot.

Oops I forgot to register for fall semester.
Okay that's done, rock and roll.  Pretty sure I'll be done at the end of it.