under the thick dome of white jasmine

i have a huge effing crush on alice. this is so hilarious.

joke about the status quo

ok.
there was this movie
a really long time ago that i want to say was based on a stephen king novel even though i don't think that's true
but anyway,
it was about these three people
who are the only survivors of a hideous apocalyptic nuclear explosion
and they walk across the whole country, town to town,
in search of anyone else who might have lived.
one of the main characters, i think, was a little mentally disabled
and he thought em oh oh en spelled every word known to him in the english language.
i feel like him. right now i am under the misapprehension that
all of my questions have the same answer.

it's like this.

i'm sorry i can't help myself, so don't look at me that way.

just want to stand where the sea spray gleams like fire with you

i'm pretty sure roberta is dying.
calgary is making it really difficult for me not to hate it.
something about being overworked and underslept and undersexed and underread.
on the bright side, i'm slowly cutting ties with my vices.
(and i don't have to tell you why.)

i've been having revelationsssssss.

therapy plus being high equals me typewritering things like
chelsea, you have the whole bed. don't save room for her.
at one am.

my job plus my father's back injury plus emotional turmoil equals me
never sleeping again, i'm pretty sure.

but i never see you, and i still look when i go out.

dear calgary weather patterns-
here is what i need you to do.
stop snowing.
srsly.
this is ridiculous and you know it
as well as i do.
love,
-chelsea

anyway.
now that we've got that cleared up
(no pun intended)

on tuesday
erin gave me a worry stone.
it's beautiful.
all mottled petrified wood
in shades of rust and ochre and dirt road landscapes
at twilight.
this was a much appreciated gift
considering my last one broke
in half when i put it through the wash
at the cook street village laundromat.
lately i've been doing too much worrying
and not enough writing
(not one word of poetry in seven weeks)
and the stone is a good place to start.
i guess.
besides,
it's slightly more comforting than twisting my ring
around my thumb during therapy.
therapy. o therapy.
when i told her i have issues,
i think she underestimated me.

just a couple things i'd like to know

it's snowing.
snowing.
may is officially no longer my favourite month of the year.
christ. this is so depressing.

stand in for the unremitting smell of your skin

it seems like
all i ever do anymore is:
work
smoke
cry.

this wouldn't be so bad if i could include
sleep
in that list.

every time i think about my life
six months ago
i want to vomit.
this has happened
almost a hundred times
today,
which would account for
my telling everyone
i have the stomach flu.

(interesting fact:
since i returned to calgary i have lost
approximately seven pounds.)

oh, just lol-ing about,

-it was getting, you know. really hot and heavy.
-what, like a copper frying pan?

the deep fryer's always on.

nothing makes me more exhausted than the hospital.
three hours at the hospital.
not even home depot.
all i want to do right now is watch the l-word.
this is all i'm going to do right now
because guess what.
it's summer.

when the sky is the colour of a hundred dying salmon

it has come to this.
i am eating a frozen dark chocolate kit kat bar
for dinner.

this city.
i don't know.
externalization?
maybe
(i should stop pretending).
i don't know.
i don't know what to tell you.
(it's kind of like our running joke,
but it's really not funny.)

i'll leave it here when i go.

several thrilling things happened at work today:
-marika called me jackie-o.
-marika told me i'm her right-hand woman.
-there is a rumor we are getting a shop kitten.

in other news,
i think i'm moving
again.
maybe i should just ditch university
and use the money i make this summer to buy
that westfalia van.
those jangling anklets.
this is starting to seem like
an increasingly good idea.
for several reasons.
let's be honest:
this whole poet thing
isn't going to work out anyway.

i miss my typewriter
even though it's sitting right here.

(revelation: empty negative space = positive space)

also
do you think there are actually people out there who read their spam email?

god.
i don't know how all of this got so out of hand.

words like that don't matter.

sometimes the whole universe makes me sad.
if i could articulate my life in ani lyrics without officially becoming the most tragic person on planet earth, i would do it.
all i want right now is my big spoon.
unfortunately, georgia will have to suffice.
there is more, i guess, but it's really not worthy of elaboration.

it can't clean the dirt off of me.

someone has a crush on me.
lol.
except now that i think about it
it's less lol
and more
lolita.
lol-
ITA.
that's how it is.

anyway.
agh.
i am so tired
i don't even want to be alive

listening to the low moan of the dial tone again

today i was the biggest retard.
so big i burned my thumb on the car's cigarette lighter.
my writing thumb.
this is not the whole story.
it's so ironic that when i actually want to go to therapy for the first time in my life, there is no money for it.
they are still here, these dresses. i am still putting them on
and putting them on.

maybe i'd tell you all about it if i thought you'd care.

i should have been in bed hours ago.
i am being a bad, bad cat.
partying on a tuesday night with a girl wearing a short black dress and no underwear.
when i have to work in the morning.
my fingernails are caked with garden grit and my hands smell of eucalyptus.
i am so ravenous.
there is one box left of imported bunny pasta in my cupboard. i told myself i'd save it for emergencies only and i don't know if these are dire enough straits.
my jade plant is wiggling and i don't know why
oh
LOL
it's because of my typing.
oh fuck.
life.
anyway
where was i?
oh right! bunny pasta.
so right.
i should probably make some real food for dinner so i can take it to work for lunch tomorrow.
there's this mouse problem
apparently
in the block where the shop in which i work
and it's a real shame because there's a classy diner right next door that serves MONTREAL SMOKED MEAT and now i don't want to go there and eat it
because of rodents.
?????121!!?
oh right
and because i'm supposed to be a vegetarian.
i really hope calgary transit doesn't go on strike.
the poet in me is slowly escaping after several weeks of solitary confinement.
every time i see an old grey volvo i think of you.

two different fronts of the same war

after several days in limbo i have returned to the land of red-lettered licence plates. there are boxes and carpets and towels and chairs and old purses everywhere. the journey back to heterotown has taken long enough to remind me that this is all only temporary. a one-night stand alone in a heritage hotel room. or something. i keep forgetting that i'm not about to pack everything back into the car and turn around to go home. i keep forgetting that's not allowed. i keep forgetting this is what i wanted. this is what i wanted. what i want is all so relative.

the last days of my vacation have been spent in various states of restlessness and anxiety and hysterics. some combination of the full moon and a particularly nasty case of pms and all of my material possessions in boxes and crates and bags in the backs of cars and the bottoms of buses in transit across british columbia. i am not cut out for the life of a vagabond. not right now. give me a pumpkin coloured westfalia van and a couple of jangling anklets and maybe. maybe.

everything in this town is still brown and i'm beginning to feel like i haven't had a decent night's sleep since october. this, now that i think about it, is probably true. last night i smoked a bowl at two am and read high school yearbook scrawlings before i went to bed. this was intensely amusing,
(-um, mr. lailey... i think some people thought the acid was waste and they put their waste in it.
-what?! like who?
-well, i did...)
but it probably wasn't a very good idea.

in the dream, we were in a dim antique warehouse with a high, industrial ceiling. i pulled a sepia crocheted cardigan with mother of pearl buttons on a thin wire hanger out of nowhere. i wanted it, but so did you. i let you have it and kissed you against the counter while the cashier counted your change. your mouth tasted like cinnamon hearts. i could feel you grinning against my lips.

sigh.

this afternoon in the mec parking lot, i looked skyward and said ok, calgary. let's make the best of this. this is what i'm trying to do. o god, i'm trying.

house of bone and thunder

i would be really interested to know how many starbucks locations there are in vancouver.
this city makes me homesick, but i don't know for what.
i'm having an identity crisis.
roger.