biology

is it just me

or has everything been a little much lately

september is the best month. this time though i stopped drinking. for september. i thought i would discover something horrible about myself like i was actually an alcoholic but it turns out i just like drinking a lot. not drinking has not been hard except for the initial prosaic and ox-like determination to prove to myself... something. mostly i am more bored, and slightly more settled into my bones than i remember.

also i have found more fear in myself, of general darknesses that loom. i feel overly crude and clumsy, unable to see anything but someone dull, obese and middle-aged in the mirror, and howl at the awareness of my incessant dysmorphia while not being able to quiet it.

this got dramatic. i am really quite happy. i fear the slope to dark times is downward while grasping my hilt to battle. i have been baking more. i feel like my writing is always too prim, even when i say fuck and shit. i don't know how this got to be my inner voice. i am gearing up to be social again i sware. my birthday is next week. it is usually a day on which i end up feeling stingingly sad for no reason i can discern. twenty-five. my fortune cookie told me to go for my dreams but i am so afraid of student loans guys. news/thoughts of the future in general makes me want to go live in the hills even though laughably i am as much alive on the internet as i am off of it. avatars, etc. you start to feel the big furious boil of generations tumbling over each other. you get a little of the old fear.

boredom gnaws and prods. it feels ultimately indulgent to sate it. i have been reading about alcoholism and cultural alcohol consumption and discovered the most important thing booze does is promote myopia, i.e. it is so nice to shut my brain off to the noise and watch this tv or listen to this friend. the noise is so much. i was born near-sighted as hell, not as bad as some but worse than most. my natural state and ostensibly my formative infant state is/was characterized by myopic vision (a lot of meditative time has been spent studying the thread patterns on sheets). it is obviously not ideal but this macro-lens vision when i'm not wearing correction is deeply comforting.

i am really excited to have a drink when september ends. maybe i will crack that cider in my fridge on my birthday. for now i am boring. winter is coming, the time when i can think best in pictures and fetal twee poetries. that's okay.

fat athiest bridesmaid

I've covered bones already

a stain or a chemical
change, it sloughs or
leeches
I am not exerting any force
this voice dips and holds

unfold an old decalogue
mould the wire frame

run to safety
everything dilates
a round compass, a plus sign

injury from others
thrust yourself toward
a series of thrusts
a regular delirium tremons of a day

get aligned
spend years aligning
suffer from the animus,
mistake it for love,
mistake love for a self-fetish,
suffer from mistakes
pull it all down, break it

the trouble could be breasts,
cut off one tapioca pudding cup/bowl
to draw your bow string back, cut them both
so you can run without
a heavy flesh echo

snow dream

I was on a ski slope mountain and there were black birds flying up in the gray sky. One got closer and when it landed on a nearby pine I could see it was gargantuan, the size of a manatee, with a long magpie tail. I called to it and raised my arms coaxingly, it seemed to grow further, a megafauna, big and pleistocene. Its black shining eye regarded me as it leaned over, bending the pine tree down, and it dipped its slightly spoon-shaped beak into the snow in front of me. The beak was as long as I was tall, but I did not feel scared of the dragon-bird. It flew away in a numb spray of frost, its wingbeats like paralyzing vacuums. Later when my friend came by on skis I tried to show him the marks the beak made in the snow but they were smudged and lost.

[via]

lissen forra minnit

[via]

铜

virginity poem

body muttering a new language
a novel power in knee-high leather boots
freshman spanish estoy estas
estamos estamos estamos

terribly symmetrical aquiline half-egyptian
fucker in his giant matte black truck
that rumbled you from throat to hocks
when he said
cute.

fishnets fourteen and flailing
ghost pilot at the wheel of the
hormone fugue,
the year everyone thought you
and were the german girl,
welcome, your english is so good,
do you like it here,
september 2001 a gray bright
shining crumbling deviant
demi-god throws a chair into
a bank of computers and
meet me in the empty hall let's
go let's go let's go let's go

to his old wood musty-porch house
on the couch kiss me it is raining outside
softly on the windows so
sitting at the piano play moonlight sonata
up on the wall is a framed white
square scrawled in blood
"i <3 u guys"
from his little brother in my class
who four months before had
stuck a rifle in his mouth
left that last message on the wall &
sent us reeling

O I don't believe there is a god
any more
was i born with what you like
do you like my

the sunken center v where my ribs go to my heart
i know you know i knew you
wouldn't love me longer joking
how many girls' virginity you took before
but it's just a bitter joke
like it all is
you'll call me sweet
i'll miss it always