12/27

for the past couple days i've been sort of jogging to/from work, in a fit of missing the exercise from and swiftness of my bicycle.  there is still so much ice everywhere.  the running is kind of awkward in my work clothes with a jostling backpack but it's okay, it feels like i might be starting on some kind of quest.  too soon the flesh in my mittens is wet and there is a steamy halo spreading under my fur hat.

today on my way home i startled a hawk a few feet to my left.  it was first just a curt whoosh of air and a cloud of gray feathers, from the pigeon he'd been eating.  he landed nearby on the overpass and regarded me sternly before continuing to eat.  where he had been was a patch of bright red blood and yellow corn spilled undigested from the pigeon's gizzard. 

that's pretty much all that happened so far today besides staring at tumblr at work (and working some).  i guess we'll see what else happens. 

fermata to solstice & farther

do you remember how many moths there were last spring
someone said they blew up from down south
there's something off with the climate now
as we cruise gravity-less further from childhood;
last spring it was moths
and explosions of roses

my seasons are eating each other but not like
fish eat each other, in slippery gulps, more like
a lion eats his own cub

i have long found it
difficult to focus.

and everything
else is eaten by boredom.
i can steel my ribs well enough now
at least.

and i crumble now and then from
this lady body or
because of a typical dad-given unease
i don't know
do other dads give their kids eating disorders??

sometimes i can imagine
my spirit animal is a shark
when i put my black eyes in
smelling blood

bleeding like a stuck smiling
tell the world
i'm sorry it's so easy
to love me

because imitation
is no different from authentic
in the water

and it took/is taking me longer to learn
how a natural animal
should want to

spooky poem 1

a wet itchy dock and a bark-boat that
will maybe be our vessel bound

for seams, slots for my pennyfingers,
weeping botfly holes.

i've been accepting my death already in dreams,
mom hands me white handfuls of pills.

swallow gnats mouthing in your voice
the fine gentle names for me that settled from the silt-stir.

i've just been looking for
slits to dip my penny painted fingers in.

lashing on heavy bundles to
be fed to the portal.

tenth month

i dreamed my cat dandy had kittens but something wasn't right and nobody would listen.  she had birthed two and i knew one at least was still inside but nobody would listen. i could see it through her belly skin which was milky semi-opaque like dough stretched thin.  eventually i could poke my fingers in through a hole in the skin and pull the gray mouse-sized kitten out.  things were okay then.

life is good.
though the day-job lately leaves me feeling like a half-thick undergrown fruit at the end of the vine that's decaying to a shriveled umbilicus.  stunted. 
i feel ready to feel the readiness to slip down another channel.
once i you know figure that shit out.

my energy is shunted elsewhere.
i meditate by cooking.
i day-dream about my good man.
i try to keep feeding my friends
as we meet in this day-waning landscape
amidst a variety of simulated warfares.
us vs. them in high definition.

how many good days do you think we'll have.

religion

anemic dreamnotes

i dreamed that a small leopard owned by my sister came in my apartment through the window, intent on attacking my cats.  i was sluggish and couldn't stop it in time and it mutilated one of their hindquarters before i grabbed it by the neck and hurled it back out [the way wild animals are solidly muscled under skin].  i dream about my cats when it feels like i have a lot to take care of, life-wise.  or i dream about kittens or birds, dozens of them in fantastic colors that i am now in charge of looking after.
when i have a fight with close friends i dream about my sister.  when i fight with a close friend i usually dream i am beating the fuck out of my little sister, except my fists are slow and mushy.
i guess i'm writing about dream things.  i have not been dreaming much lately, but it's starting to pick up again and sometimes leave me feeling a terrible implacable sadness that lingers into the day like smoke.  these are autumn feelings maybe.
i dreamed the apocalypse again the other morning, it started in the rocky mountains and a widening hole opened up in the earth that grew.  when you're on top of a mountain the rest of the world feels impossible to grasp; the chasm was like that but a black anti-finality plunging downward, growing.  you're with packs of people [the way eyes look in disaster scenarios]. at the end it began to rain, and the rain turned to a soft white slush and the only sound was the hushed pat-pat-pat of precipitation over the dull throaty wind noise of the chasm.  i woke feeling sad and accepting about the end of the world.

it took me a month to get my car fixed.  this was a discouraging mental block i'd like to avoid more, seeing an easy solution but being paralyzed by some unnameable sluggishness.  i am checking many things off of many lists with tenacity.  i am really "manifesting" in ways i find pleasing, i like to think.  i am turning twenty-six years old very soon, this is mostly just fine.  things are pretty eerily great and i feel pretty solid in the world.  just great. 

  

HI IT'S ME // SOME KIND OF BANDIT

i am writing more.  it's autumn/september when my poembrain starts crackling into focus.  i am going to post some of the "chain of thought" type things i've been writing lately to get me going.  it's been a push for me to like begin describing in expressive ways how much these past months have changed/grown me.  and how pleased i am with life in gen.  for this writing however i could not be more humble/shy regarding the quality hi welcome to my blog.  here they are, here i go.

i want
rough paws
I want to always like myself this much this
goddamn much
I want everyone to know
I am frequently thinking of them and ways to make
them happier.  I am
trying hard to shake off
my hubris; jealousy. It
has not been too hard I just
have to keep saying "quit
having hubris" or "quit having
jealousy." IT FEELS SO FREE

I also found one of the
only things that has really
helped has been to stare at myself
in a mirror and repeat
the words
AUTONOMY
FREEDOM
RESPECT
until i feel better

Less REAL TALK.
More nonsensesense.
Sandwiches.
Eyewhites.
Mand shaking a jug o veg.

Smoked cigarettes for
five years.
Obsessively hated my body
and threw up a lot of food
for 8 years. 8 8 8
hated me. so strange.

It feels nice not to have
to carry anything so heavy.
The years i lost
went by troubling swift.

and it's still hard.
recently I ate too much cheese
or talked about eating
too much cheese.
Last year I started
Chinese class. There
is not much cheese in
China, but they do like
rotted bean things --
fulfill our human love
of the unctuous rotting
food thing.  Lactic fungi.

My hair is at least
doubly long.  Lightest
blonde at the ends where
it was once dyed black.
I have let several people
touch my hair and mouth.

I have learned some measure
of patience, tho suspect
it is a middling measure.
a patience on a short leash.
OR this may be a
summer that stretches
pinging through my decades,
like a novel with many
misunderstood wives.

I can calmly accept
change sometimes,
firm myself in calmness
for the wringing I'm
undoubtedly set to face.

Either i will be crushed
or I will crush myself
with wanting.

HEMORRHAGE
a fly on the
leaflitter.
cashew gingerbrew
soon you'll know all i
know about trees and
what then.

Only speak in fingers.
I once knew some shit
Once only I knew
some shit I knew, there
were thousands in red.
We couldn't compete
but kissed fondly instead.

I only speak in orgasm.
the others
wasted me.
Yes okay so I needed
rescuing but if you
show me how to
shoot I am sure to
be invaluable to the
rebellion effort.

Nobody taught me about
machines but I can
see how they work if
I look I just don't
know the names.

expecting to be
disappointed
may be cruel.

I am cruel.
No.
I am self-centered.
I want a story.
I want to get off.

DO I DESERVE
KINDNESS?

caught the first of the
winter screams these
past 2 days --
put me down more.
I want to hear
my faults and fix them
with love
I am fatalistically
calm.

I need to be coddled
sometimes especially when
I am feeling jealous
and anxious.  I try
not to feel these things.

I am enraged by
the failure of others
to be as attentive as
I am.
I am enraged? idk.
I want to hurt
them to make it
"fair"
because i hurt
exquisitely.

I can eat you
so slowly you won't
even notice.

Swaller. er.

I am cold hands playing
in yr noodle stew.
Clinical excision
on a whim.

by January I
am astride the roaring
king dragon
of feeling too much.

Super stuff it down
time.  A red fly eye.
Young girl thighs.
Competition, Alpha
bitch.  Love me please.
Magnolia leaftongue.

There is no thing more
maddening than
a fly who keeps landing
on legs.

Like a fly.  Like rubber
colored flies with red
eyes tonguing the
magnolia leaves of my
legs.

Like get up,
Sorry these bitches don't
take your subtle
neuroses into consideration.
Sorry some stuff about
you sucks and yr bored
bored bored as a kind of chronic
affliction. 

Be less careful.  Care
more.  Consider
how many girls had
young hard thighs
under magnolia trees
with a jay sing-songing
above, two notes, high-low.

Was it a windy day
when. When. When.
When. When. When. When.
When. Can you let go
of who
mishandled and crushed you

Have you stayed too long
in lincoln? did you not
get taught how to pursue
an exciting and fulfilling
career being cool?

HEY LONER

Hair and flies tickling everywhere
in the winter i want
to be clean of these

bench bush. bare asses.
the wind magnolia
skitter leaves. splinter.
you killed yr brain with
drugs and computers.
you suck at everything now.

Everyone will only ever crush and bore you so keep
yourself entertained.
it's not a fault.

The earth wad.
Sick hilltop orgasm.
Months go by.

There's probably a song
about it that does a
better job of explaining.

Seek further inspiration.
Be so confused by yr
femaleness.  Ask for
help but not really.

Give and give and give
and give and give and give
and give and give and give

what sticks anymore
ya lint logged.
Stuck a fur of splinters
in.
Easy like ***

I am so bored with being
self-obessed
I am bored by the
limited imagery
available to me when
I seek it in my
head space.
I approach gathering new
imagery as a translation
of sensation to language.

i want to write beautiful and true things
but don't know if i ever have or will.

how do i outsmart myself.

series or gears
smells of rain
should go

hibernation

the only pornography i've ever paid money for was bad hentai on vhs when i was 13

you've been given
a hival outcasted mound lobe
to gut around in

this foundling
reached up to an udder,
blighted rosegold rimmings nipped
all swum eyeball-deep
down access channels
sniffing for a kind of chemical
an unmother sourness
that you once suckered
in little solip clusters

start a feisty beg and chew 
you deuceface
muster a caterwaul of
how now to produce
who am i in a clench
and sowing and sow
or go bust

drought-rot

hotel california

cher with her mother in nelson, ne, looking out the window of her mother-in-law's kitchen after planning larry's funeral.  i don't know why i took this on my phone but she had been standing there for awhile and it was very still. 

these are strange days.

whet

i blister prettily,
delineating 
who i used to be
 
chew down to verbs,
a lot of itchy shedding,
icy cabochon eyes under
unclouding meltwater

tried to
trust in my mouth parts,
tap accept, accept
on the window milk,

so eschew me,
chameleonness  
sink holing or swole

under young leafs i
sat and sang O give me
a home
in autonomy
ever more, a-
men

and i like you blowing down
on me softly
while i dance off these legs

self portrait in may

i wrote a bunch of semi-apologetic/deprecating/gender/edisorder and explanatory words under this blurry photo of myself, but instead: here internet, enjoy my back and bad-ass crusher arm, i like to imagine the other one's tiny and shriveled like i'm a fiddler crab. 
i like changing.

film-stills: the seven year itch

spider comic

click for big

a thing i saw a spider do today.

this comic is pretty indicative of how my work/life week has gone.

carrying on

a distillation
patience for favor

learnd i'm my own
ace up my carapace

everything i keep
under my skin

feeding shred
to baby bruises

on my biceps
where i bite myself

and brave enough
muscled up to hammer

just an american body
not even hiding

approaching a big moon

feeling kind of i don't know
cocky or
invincible, but antsy
and cautious
the season is ripening
i bought a big map of the world
like i just went online and bought the
biggest one i could find

i've been spending too much time at work
watching the live feed of the hawk nest on top of the capitol
and now where-ever i am
it feels like my brain is perched up there
in the central skyspace with them
in the thin fast air
for awhile there the rest of me felt like i was kiting
and now i'm feeling a weird in-between mixture of
possibility vs. caution
i wonder how hard other people pay attention
if it's like being me at all

i feel deeply curious and impatient
fuckin gregarious
but annoying and offensive
letting dumb shit leap out of my mouth
late for/missing all the rsvps
able to lay in bed for hours more than i need to
spend lunch laying in the grass by the manse
or feet in the union fountain
daydreaming about hands
and soft smiling purrwords
and when i sleep the world is ending
and i'm shopping for chanterelles
and i wake up coming

regular/decap

if you're able to wake
make your way to the front

rodent teeth bore into palms
keep the sharp door shut

worry the stuck brass clasp
sink among gray soft

succumb to the
visions of brown arms

struck with a loose-claw
a swift buttery hack

what a ball the head becomes
lacy purple gargling

in a hallway they're leading a black horse

my big roundness cries
for the want

since

i haven't been very productive lately, here's some crazy stuff i found when i started looking at the gibberish-titled .txt documents from march. the majority of this is literally just stupid shit i don't remember writing, and some of it is more journaly.  happy day to you, enjoy:

idea:

story based on family who does intervention-type reality show

the dad is a secret coke addict runner

the mom is a religious self-martyr

etc.

at the end the dad's heart explodes

____
the islands that worship technology left behind by temporary military stays/operations





i should learn to ask for what i want and be tender to others; i should not ever hurt anyone on purpose but should be less overwhelmingly sensitive to my inner drive to be very careful with these things.  i don't know
??????

___
why do i always feel like asking people to watch david lynch movies with me is "taking our relationship to another level... perhaps too far"
 _____

one thing that makes me smh real hard is when dudes with emotional problems announce they think they'd be a good dad

___
i feel like i have to ask your permission still to dye my hair red, i never could have done it with you.  i wanted to leave that line cryptic but i always worry somebody will take what i write the wrong way (or, often worse, that somebody will take it the right way).  and that sounds ambiguously as though you were controlling or something about my appearance but you were not.  you are sweet and earnest and handsome as the devil.  but i couldn't dye my hair red because it reminded you of the person who sexually abused you as a young child.  i don't know if you'll still be grossed out by me if i do it.  i would just hate that.  i can't be with you, but i only want us to feel love toward each other. 
___

looking out of windows
hating the group because you are an outsider
"if you came back a an animal"
they all chose wild and strong, monkey, white tiger, eagle
the animals around them are chained to man's will, horses, dogs, hamsters, fish
he caught the fish with his bare hands

girls feeling trapped, young girls with more magic and power than anyone around them who are still somehow powerless

because you're so good at p

__


i often feel like a blind spot in the gaze of people who fear me

___

just heard someone in a neighboring apartment having a great orgasm
i am so fucking bitter with jealousy
no really i feel irrationally sad
that others are being loved around me
it's weird
___

leaving chicago I saw two herons over a river and felt something new, i can't really pinpoint it but inside it was as though i was suddenly confident that what lies at the end of my path is going to be as amazing as i could have ever hoped; i will have such dreams and see such beauty in my life that there was nothing to be fearful or resentful of.

i should move forward with openness and as much clarity as i can grasp.

i think i might be an artist but i don't know what my game even is or how to hustle it/myself.  i'm scared of the debt and school and jumping into a risk when i'm so unsure if i even actually want it or
if it's just a path i see others taking so it feels like i should too or i'm missing out.  am i?   will i?
right now supporting myself soundly feels safe and i am very proud.

love is not what you thought it was and never will be what you think it is
but it's happening all around

spring journal

my poembrain is entering a new season.
it's like the winter sends all the words roosting into my head, crammed and sharp and tornadic.  they uncontain themselves from pressure.  when the planet swings back around again they warm like honeysap and drip down the inside of my shell.  they're throbbing and resting in my limbs and torso and face now like singing birds in my branches and it feels so nice, but they don't go to spitting out my type-fingers much.  i feel like everywhere i go lately people can sense this change about me.  strangers snapping at my heels.  i don't mean to have hubris. 

my haunches twitch when i am still, lurch when i'm walking, trying to run.  i have swinging skirts and can be kind without being stomped over.  i can love without being a crutch/martyr to someone.  i can listen to all kinds of music lately without it hurting too.  or it hurts but not bitterly.  i want to romp with friends like young coyotes.  i want to be on my bicycle and tear into the ground all day.  feel the muscle get hard again.  put my hard muscles to loving.  be sweet and hard and mostly true.  it's okay to be these things i think.

gray day comic

(click for big)

here's a second comic ever, it's about today so far.  later i'm buying a nice bike from some awkward dude on craigslist.  i wish i did not feel so anxious about that.  i kind of feel like eating french fries at some point.  MAYBE A GYRO.  

comic notes: i like making diary-type comics about nothing in particular.  i feel compelled to mention i like most coworkers & it's mostly about how i'm loathe to make others feel the wrath of me having a shitty day.  i would def erase the half-assed box i put around the last panel as an afterthought. i need to invest in some non-lined paper.  scanner.  more than one mechanical pencil.  fonts.  fonts!  i need to learn MORE FONTS.

i listened to fruit bats while making this.  here's a good song by them:

goose comic

i did a comic.  it's the first comic i ever did and it will not be the last.  it's obv very rough/ugly still but i am posting it here because when i post things here it's a weird incentive for me to do more.. doing things.  and posting them.  
i honestly just wanted to see if i could do it.  something i've been thinking of a lot lately is the main requirement of illustrated stories/animation is consistency in style; it doesn't even matter what the style is or if it's particularly refined.  second is the pacing/story; you can be an amazing artist but if the story/joke (however brief) falls flat then the whole thing deflates.  in critiquing my first attempt here the worst things are prob the barely legible font, the scratchy inconsistent lines (tho if they were inconsistent in a consistent way it'd be different), and etc. it's pretty bad but hey. here's a dumb dream i had i drew a comic about and then talked about too much in my blog.  i also need to find the power cord for my scanner instead of taking photos of drawings.

i've also been drawing a lot of weird cartoons of myself.  woop.

a

shoots

see the hull has got to crack
have sinusfuls of sun

emotions that can only
be adequately expressed
through pop music

maybe absolved by
eating alone with hands that are clean
but smell like dirt

girlfriend could be a lilac bush
boyfriend perhaps a fir

try to learn some new songs
but sing the same old one again

calliope/leviathan

last week i said to someone harmony is my gift,
they said, you're good at harmonizing, and i said, it is my gift.
i was joking like most things i say
but i keep thinking about how
context-less i fold in on myself
and without someone else's well-being
to worry about, the sensations/memories of things that really plowed deep scars through me rise again, gently this time, almost sweetly.  lately all of these things point back to my womanness in the world.  it's surfacing like a long-sunken battleship whenever i write.  it doesn't feel like i should stop it.

i feel so threatened and ecstatic every day i live
I AM DYING WITH CURIOSITY
i have never not been an object
even to my own self
it's troubling

i started a list titled "GOALS"
but so far it's only
errands and consumer goods

gems benign

the crop sown in hard soil flowers
my brain is white ice cream

or coconut rum and pineapple juice 
sipped talking to cher about
our abortions

i can see you drink she said
in your face the blood has
nowhere to push through
and i'm laughing

purgation

golly
don't you love the first
magnet pulse

don't look like the devil
at all

muster up a
boast about ways it used to
be, or never was

my voice is changing on a broad scale
mouth can never seem to close
around an agreed-upon space

a rope will choke it for awhile
burning in a deja vu of
murky cell division

PRETTY SURE
i'm throwin up my ovaries
just wanted a squeeze is all

the most small and feeble start of a profound apology or similar

SO i had to grow my own--
i don't know
how to write this.
let me give it a go.

i couldn't claw into the picture
where you're a baby eating ice cream
and unmolest you.

i couldn't brick them in the face.
i mean -- in the fucking face.

told my friends i was sad
and they said "why"
so i stopped.

sorry about
my imperial ennui;
the time i clocked your jaw in dallas.
IAMSTILL STUPID

and my body has never felt like mine but
some guy told me i had
a gnarly soul.

shinytown

(haiku ambulance)

back in my terrarium
never small enough
meanwhile burst magnolias

stop glaring
i just wanted to feel
the sun on my tits

eliza frye - "Regalia"

this week i picked up Eliza Frye's "Regalia" at AlleyCat Comics in chicago, and read it on the bus ride home.  i really had a moment with this book (which she funded with a kickstarter i'm sad to have missed); it's a collection of eliza's short graphic stories and other tidbits, and they read like the enchanting "love letter" she purports the book to be.  i think she loves me.  there's one in particular about a tiger i felt jives with how i describe my dreams; her illustration style is strong and intoxicating, and makes me want to start drawing again.  anyway go buy it read it rub it on your skinnnnn

i will maybe talk about other lady comics i dig on here sometimes!  that sounds fun.  xxoo

coming lin g o i ng

i dreamed i went to stay in this abandoned barn in the country, to find it had been taken over by a violent gang of criminals who were hiding out there.  all ruddy faces and scraggle hair.  i did not really mind, and stayed with them for some time, exploring the old wood barn.  then, it was time for me go to, and all of the criminals had a small party for me where they gave me a gift and sang a song they had written for me in loud off-key voices.  the song lauded my kindness and gentleness, comparing me to a small bear in their den of bears.  i hugged each of them and it was strange to feel the different shapes of their large, sweaty torsos.  then i drove away with you and you were mad at me for something.
 --
there are times when you enter violent new states during which you don't even get the hazy emptiness sleep offers.  you are so wholly drenched in the state that you're robbed of the few seconds when you wake up before you remember who you are.

it's not pain like usual that you can saddle and ride.  it's heavy black tentacles that reach up from the ground and wrap you and pull down hard.  distraction is the only balm until the clock catches up to your time warp to weird town.

i am marbled.  i am made of marbles.  they are lolling and clatter.  i'm too dry inside and too wet outside. 

you start thinking about all the coulds.  i could dye my hair coppery red.  i could.  i could just

hahaha

oops i literally just posted this random blog post by accident

but while i'm here i'll say i just went back and read the first post in this blog (may 2, 2008) and it made me love me a little in a distant fond way

i am going to be okay great

di version

 

god i feel like a freak

cowboyface

i'm anchoring chains
in crumble edge mud just

sit on my shoulder
reserve for me your most dire       sighs

wrap my little neck
with a green switch tail whip

these dreams sap me:

watch
my toes clutching shale
where yours almost        touch

the wind gnawing out my ears

i snatch loose flying paper, pry open
notebooks, find vast grids

my name
scrawled in every cell

re:volver

middle times 

                                       gold child perfume that 

hurts some people just 

                                    eat parts of their       bodies 

                                      if you touch it they won't take it back

rocks i mean rots in buzz 

                                merchant telling me i cannot silver as i

 please                     they worried about trains 

going too fast and creating a vacuum

   12 steam mph

                        a body used to get sick at 

                                                                 such speeds

now we kite astride bullets and sticky bombs

                                                                 begging 

be faster                                         core every last

rippling bloodbeat

-icious

mostly i just can't stop giggling at this

grew eyes maybe

jawspring thrall
was a longed way
under silver low shell
horde rotor
                shoal billet
                a rope to lean on
                moleculoop style
                fodder
broan to unfurl
red fans fanningly fan
eke the polyp bow
erosion on rivet
sucker pops
                down mown
                fresh like vernal
                gets to cahoot

&sic

march feels alright on me.  usually it's the first break of cold times but this winter has been strange.  there have been squirrels losing hair in my neighborhood because it was too warm/wet for whatever fungus to die, i think.  (i get so unsettled by these things.)  the hot belt january tightens around my skull is loosening, anyway.  semel in anno licet insanire.  the leaves will be back soon, again.  i can be in the earth with my hands growing things.  i'm fixated lately on how the years are piling; the pattern and repetition and flow.  three years ago when i moved into my current place.  smith.z was with me for a month and helped me heal.  how callouses of abuse can melt away into strange new formations of you.  jessica became my first best friend since i was a kid.  i could have friends and go places again and not be yelled at.  the last poetry class i ever took when tony gave up on us (no blame).  i gave up on poetry for awhile because it only made me feel insecure and upset.  i never had a loyal mentor or knew how to find one so i would just yell apathy into my own face so i didn't have to feel lost.  i still feel insecure and upset sometimes, but i'm learning to be more bullish, maybe.  keep presenting myself to those i want to be around.  just keep being around.  just keep writing poems.  keep writing crap poems.  keep writing about strength and bravery and animals and love and lust and insanity and non-fucking-sense.  keep writing.  keep wanting to.  keep being around people who want to make things.  keep trying to be friends.  keep singing.  keep singing love songs.  keep being aware.  keep mentoring each other.  i want to be like paul and announce "i'm here if you need/want me."  keep being here.   

it's maybe the longer days, but i get awareness of the developing debilitating postures.  mine lately is that my hands always ache because i sleep with them curled under me in knot fists.  i straighten them out and try to relax, treat them like birds.

when i look back on the year piles i want to feel them uncurl fern-like into some satisfying narrative.  or at least something that would make you laugh.

viscid ingenue

there are canny tests --
the data is slavering.

     it's not what you can make
     but what you can bear.

built a fourteen-ton typewriter out of
soak rags and car parts,
             -- you can use it but i can't
be here all day to help you key hop
                your recipe for a napalm sugarboil.

to avoid getting pinched
drink glass marbles in milk,
disguise self as a semicolon,
                       or, demurely, demi-.
stay under the gossamer tarpaulin.
tape those nipples --
perma slick.
 
nestle in Lt ripley's heaving ribs,
tongue battery temple,
                         bob for apple sacs.
apropos our scopophiliac
                        less mirror! -- more mirage!

this black casing

i'm careful
cher got me drunk
this time but not too
wasted
i only lost a few hours

i toss my phone down and
it accidentally plays one of your
screaming messages from last week
threatening suiciide and i go whoa
paw at then it
vibrates once like barking

and i remember nights
and nights and nights and nights
and laughing laughing laughing
skin important/utmost

jonny poem

my best bastard
sprung from
devil town

saw you a
baby nest eagle
in cedar

when beatrice sunk into
the graphite of our
bone pencils

grown-ass now and howl
proud pale sequin eyed
screams like laughter
and blue grass hustle

the rivers
the rivers
the slide fiddle rivers
of shitty liquor and
rogue shadow medicine dust
dismantled the other kids
left us to leave and return and leave
the corroded rodeo junkyard junction
so sad you could just write a song
about how it feels to be
lighter and heavier and alive
grinning bigger than the sky

hey sturdy fencepost i love you
i'll keep tracking your miles
and you keep clocking my luck cause
blood never made a truer brother

& i ain't a fuckin mind reader

i walk and walk and

come in smelling of ozone
like my sister always did after playing outside
i don't know why but the smell often
enraged me, filled me
with some slow fire like jealousy

like she was a little animal i had to attack
for being somehow wholly freer
than i could

we were all and still are little animals
i can't even shut up about it
i work very hard

and i never was
here to hurt
no body

lode/vigil

i started dreaming again
mostly i'm in houses
demanding information from
smiling people

how did i get like this
which of my actions
matter

did you
feel like you were better
at flying off mountains
than climbing them

was listening to buddy holly and realized
i've never been in love with brown eyes
someone who had them, i mean

just a bunch of seas and snakes
and frank o'hara skies
i guess, sorry bud

lesson 1: stay in the saddle

lesson 1.5: be true be true be true

in high school we got keychains
i didn't do drugs
but i had a buddy holly keychain
and put safety pins through my wrist skin
and i once stood on a table at lunch
just stood
until the principal demanded me down,
told my parents i was on drugs

and i was like where's my fucking breakfast club

we like haik us

pull the strings apart
muse a sad ukulele
do we lie to us

~

stay and you can sha ke/me
things that suck about knowing:
lick your wolf head clean

~

stomping dark circles
i like how you pronounce it
can we hear again

ars amatoria

when i think about loving some people i think about holding them strongly

when i think about loving some people i think about them holding me strongly

when i think about some people loving me i think about them holding me lightly while i shake with sobs
             and how that's pretty weird, i'm not used to touching my friends because i'm
sensitive
             but i did kiss mand at 12 on new year's, that was a fun small thing
             remember when we all were kissing that one time
             and i kept telling kan                                       you're so beautiful

and did you know my fingers type your name compulsively like 50 times a day

i have future voodoo chants

champion tendons

dormant oases

o boy

not a poem

i haven't written in this blog in a non-poemvoice for awhile; it makes me feel kind of mentally hobbled.  this is also how the internet is making me feel lately.  it's a sensation i generally experience around the beginning of march, the need to be outside in the air, to be meditative and benign and to soothe the frayed edges of my winter brain.  i've been zipping through this short, closed electronic circuit in frantic loops and now i have a desperation to bust out for awhile, maybe.

everything i write lately seems to be all dire direness (though i am stronger than ever and still my wry merry self amidst the deep important sad feelings).  i often worry about burdening whatever audience i may have with this; i have the sensation of burdening a lot, and being burdened.  i think this is a personal anxiety i have, but i also think it's probably true that expressing depression/distress publicly can solicit such a reaction whether or not one intends to.  i mean: when i think someone i like is sad, i care a lot.  

i'm not going anywhere with this.  just typing it out because it's what i want to do, and i don't have any conclusions yet.  may there never be conclusions (maybe).  my raw tiger flank is stiffly healing and nothing has felt so good or made me so pleased in awhile.  i want to be among friends and eat and talk and learn about everything they are thinking.  i want to be deeply alone.  i want to be such a good animal.  i am so sincere and full of love.  i want to read all the novels i started and never finished in school.

poetry

will might ruin your life.


poetry

will ruin your life

but it's okay if your
life is just a tv show you
watch sometimes.


poetry

i've been bored since i was born.


poetry

at xmas my aunt gripped both arms
asked me how i was and i said           the same
she eyed me grimly and said
good
the same is good
it can get a
lot worse


poetry

my aunt did not molest me

like if my life was on television

that might have happened

like
        i'm sorry


poetry

this is a joke.


poetry

i remember sitting in trees
climbing into the greasy dog house
twizzler pull and peels


poetry

bffs bffs bffs bffs bffs bffs bffs

feed me
everything you know
about secrets.


poetry

narcissism.


poetry

i didn't spell narcissism right on the first try.


poetry

i just learned my kitchen table that i got from my grandma
was actually the table in our kitchen when i was little,
the white table my dad butchered a deer on
in my earliest memory.


poetry

why is my affect ablur

i'm joking

summum bonum

 and so and so what

that one foot will always be

planted where nobody can see.

i want to tell you a story             about

the first time tom robbins did acid,

about this book i read where there's a lion made of flame

who bounds over desert sand and each dune is a different color,

or about how things are                 complicated,

and enduringly ambiguous,

i am at once so many ticks on a spectral lattice

my genes maybe too distilled from that inborn unrest

up the branches on both sides of the tree,

i worry i might
i might be "actually crazy"
am ecstatically lucid
need to be better
i am not my father
my poetry sucks
and is whiny
i'm cruel
nothing hurts
i am brr serk
the kindest
i am like 1/4 gay
is it okay to say
that i am so good
i can do every
thing feels too much
i am rapturous
furious god
it hurts do you
like me i
want to hide

all of this radiates

from my animus in widening deep-throb circles

like elephants calling to each other across miles

in tones too low to hear, like

the earth itself is sighing

i love

everything

i read this french book about a woman

who kept turning into a sow -

i am number

today i think it is

just one & how nice to be

curled in the brain basket

dreaming softly of

the shape of time

over great bounding arcs

tree poem

i am never lighter than when i hold tight onto a tree,
press my head close and feel the strong fiber circles
plunge down
deep; syrupy wet cellulose. 
it can be still and safe then.
pull smooth green bark twigs to my lips; consider
quietly with my tongue;
whisper hi, hi, hi, hi,
                                        tell me about being

all the mom voices on the phone are almost crying,
want to be crying but won't, i absorb them
into my black hole of holding
whatever hurts.

pack it up

every ginger door
splinter sore slams
                           o-shit structural damnage
blow grit out
orbiting tinny feedback loops
nuzzle all the rubble

i can't carry:
this
                  all of it i
mean       i'm going to kansas city
with a rocket for a spine.

& die because my giving floats astray
                               i miss cigarettes
miss my dragon drug
want my fucking
CIGARETTES CIGARETTES CIGARETTES CIG-
ARRETS

but i don't write much about things i used to do.

& don't worry i'm used
to it like i'm used to feeling used to feeling             my own tits.

a team of kind spiders
is already weaving my new hide,
                       built-in acid panels
solar self-soothing                    
                         
but allow me to wish for
                                     just one body
                                     i could trust
to be wiser than i:
because i find i'm often kind of fucking dumb

artifice of cold

i wonder if i failed you because
my distress signals emerged as sarcastic gestures.
i should definitely not have made the jerk-off motion,
or tongued the cleft of my finger-v,
or flipped you the stiff double bird over my shoulders
all those times i fled down the stairs
to antarctica.

it is quiet here and the rope muscles
ache along my spine
but the wind feels nice
on my dumb puppy skin.
i don't miss the internet
kind of. i can play all this hot tv
in my head           i do miss feeling like
there was a second where i could have
slipped out the side door unnoticed,
kneaded the smudge of me from the ether,
stepped slyly from frontier to shining frontier.
instead now i'm
spear hunting                 or forever
wandering sad distant whiteout circles,

i'm so alone and i wish i
could have gathered with me from my spam folder
all the sweetly pining fake russian women,
                                                             whisper you are safe, i love, you are safe.
over the next few months they metamorph
into dark-furred huskies, my vyki, my nika;
at the cusp of perma-night
in our glow tent they curl with smile eyes
in tight knots against me

cessation

i will not read

the comment section of

the daily sun the article about

my dad's "retirement"

i will not let a sudden train blast

make me cry

i will not crumble and seethe

a little, inside

when coworkers gossip about

their nanny's eating disorder

i will not play with magic

i will not tear the delicate

origami leash on my

white throat

i

any poem

[Richard Brautigan]

we made it through january

just in time for the most romantic kind of romance

update:

today just before 3 at 9th &O there was a woman two men and a police officer standing in the middle of the intersection, just standing while traffic laced around and then the woman was screaming and her knees went out and they were grabbing her and dragging her to the curb and her shirt came up revealing a black bra and they carried her and sat her down and she rocked and heaved, and i have felt pretty weird since seeing this

peals

i mostly enjoy self-locomoting but lately every time i touch the wheel of my car i just want to drive and drive and drive and drive and drive and drive and drive and drive and drive and drive and drive and drive and drive and drive and drive

haven't seen all the stars in a long time
so full of this ache man
i'm bailing my vessel
as fast as it overflows
feeling like johnny cash
singing like a ghost
what darling are we gonna
what darling can we

today's spread

like butter

1. 3 of cups (me)
2. ace of swords (obstacle)
3. death (goal)
4. the magician (roots)
5. the hanged man (past)
6. 6 of wands (future)
7. 3 of swords (inner disposition)
8. 7 of wands (environmental influences)
9. judgement (hopes/fears)
10. the empress (final outcome)

i mostly don't believe in cards or
anything but also i do
or maybe myopic introspection
keeps the boredom at bay

blood is thumping up in my chest
i've grown a purr muscle

oh you're

still looking at
me cher got me
so wasted i'm
told i introduced
you six times
there are parts missing
where i came
across the street
and woke in my
bra lips partially purple
now i'll eat this slab of
deer while you sleep
watching quietly
and soon will do
ten push-ups and be
covered in tigers

vex a scout

muffle the skull perimeter
wind tight lace bandages
swallow your fingers

plow and rake a scape
cut you a hole in the sand
lean forth carefully and wail
and wail and wail and wait

you have reproduced by budding
spin an arrow on your palm to decide
where to send the fresh tiny new you

mantra

here comes the

boot

i have marked out in foot-prints
the square mile
i prowl daily
plotting how to best
attack passing cars
first show them my teeth
my teeth
and my      stride

i end slumped in
beds of
crumpled perennials

fitful
wondering/worrying
what noise i will make one
day when/if a sudden train horn
shreds my psyche

and i am crushed to my knees
and howl and
perhaps howl

and we're trying to
hide in this forest
we are born seeing
born without wisdom teeth
and are
modern medical miracles

i'm whispering secrets
into holes in trees
covering them with mud
and moss, desultory

fuck these trains are loud
who gave you that right
why didn't i get
what you got
i was given no weapons
i grew them with my chest

want to mohawk
my silky hair want to
grow it long and
devastate

i could get on one train
and/or another
i could pilot myself
to the ocean

sun sets in purg atory

let's self-vivisect
it's okay to be laughing

you poets
want to feed you pizza
in the alley
where golden cheese stretches
and never snaps

quickly do something
anything natural
so long as the current runs
bypass these piss channels
give me a splice

advice: watch out for january
january: shit girl

◕‿‿◕

[The Thief of Baghdad, 1924]

i am trying to be more beautiful

when i remember my friends
i am a giant
looming the room
my giant thumbs all over
giant eyes thumping into corners

my pigments bleed until
i fill this space

don't you dare
get your love
on me or i'll
dissolve and
respawn atomic

i did not ask for
this task of biblical frantic
info curation

these small acutely essential
endeavors

when i see you next
i'll realize that you're taller

jam time

       insert layer
visual interest
color
saturation
finely etched faces
filed with care
under ground          i woke
with dirt in my feel pits

behold, reticent timbre
taming and trying
to keep from getting so dang
crushed this month

look you probably
have nothing to fear
or you have pressing air drama
to tend to, you are
needed
in another galaxy
and chosen

i'll be walking
and the pigeons at dusk
billow in wild circuits
against pretty little lincoln's
red purple sky

all is and will be for ever
a knot or a
tutorial endlessly
redrafting

sometimes i go weeks without seeking out music to listen to because it makes me feel too much. 
right now i am feeling strong though i think. 

let's have a january jam