i might have stayed on with him there but my heart cried out for you

i am leaving with less stuff than i came here with.
i don't know how this happened, but
i am calling it a good omen.

i have my books and my poetry to protect me

it's really funny
all of my anxiety has just been completely eclipsed
by joy

the moon is getting full.

this may or may not account for my current emotional state.
butterflies in my stomach
moths in my mouth.

far away, my well-lit door

i spent the majority of my second-last afternoon at work drawing
portraits of paul simon and art garfunkel on our manila delivery tags.
they're not bad, though garfunkel
suffers from minor water damage and simon
is particularly jowly and both
of their faces are slightly elongated
but considering they were both done from memory
during my brain-dead hours of the day

i've had this obsession with them lately
they harken my mother at forty
and her blonde nylon string guitar
plucking out her rocky rendition of i am a rock

and they harken you
your crooked fingers
your wavering alto and
the first verse of you can call me al

this is regression, i suppose
these are things i can't have
because my mother sold her guitar years ago
in the bargain finder and you
are so far away
but this is what i want

i want to hear you singing
a man walks down the street
he says why am i soft in the middle now
why am i soft in the middle, the rest of my life is so hard
i know all the words now

one of those in between days

i am alone in a big house.
all of the rooms are dark
but this one.
it's only nine thirty but i'm going to bed
to read david mcfadden poems and try to predict the future.

this is me
without my hair
welcome to my open stare
i got nothing to hide no more
why disguise what isn't there

bring diamonds and rust

i think pms is starting to get the better of me.
it's a good thing my father is actually going to work tomorrow
(for the first time in four and a half months)
because if i woke up and the first thing i heard was
chels, i need you
to paint the basement floor stain the baseboards sort through this big bucket of mixed up nuts and bolts to find exactly twelve three quarter inch washers and use them to screw the new guttering together etcetera etcetera
i would just lose my shit.
one of us would die and it would probably be me
because his seemingly innocuous request would result in a paroxysm of psychosis
so acute i would eat the bristles off the only three brushes
that have been soaking in paint thinner for the last three days
just to get out of the jobs.
however, since none of that is going to happen, tonight i am being a good girl
and sedating myself.
mary jane
take my word
why are you so sad? selected poems of david w. mcfadden

i am being quiet.
there is way too much noise lately
in this house
this heart

you ask how my day was.

ok. seriously, all this home improvement is making me a mad cat.
i'm pretty sure i'm going to have to spend the next three weeks bathing in paint thinner, and i'm even more sure that my skin cells will never recover.
on the bright side, in three weeks i will be in chelsea hotel. i will be at the sea.

a cryptic message

i am smoking old roaches.
roaches that, once
upon a time, belonged to us.
i don't know how i feel about this.
actually,
yes i do.
i feel like a thief. or a vagrant.
a gypsy.
or something.

i may be late, but i'll be up to date.

i'm pretty sure my entire life trajectory changed today.
this is both thrilling and terrifying.
tim would call this sublimity.

as long as you play that game, you're never going to win.

there are moments when i get so excited to go back to victoria that all i can think to do to release the tension is stuff my comforter into my mouth and scream until i have no breath left.
all these distractions are wearing so thin.

oh, and

sometimes i think my life would make a much better screenplay than it does an actual life.

i am so high that concrete poetry is starting to look like scrabble.

these two things must mean two more things: fall is coming. words are coming.

who am i to keep you down.

nisha is trysting with her boyfriend.
i am tired in my eyes.
i have enough extremities for the countdown.
for several reasons, this is sort of making me nauseous.

summertime is falling down

ok.
so facebook is ruining my life
and saving it simultaneously.
sometimes i think life was better
before the internet.
easier.
harder.

i'm so tired and i'm up in the air,

i'm up in the air.
someone is pressure washing the front of my house.
this is giving me a migrane.
my plan for the next several hours involves cleaning my bedroom and watching the l word in the dark because that's pretty much all my cerebral cortex can handle right now.
i'm starting to think i should probably just give up on going out because even when i jaunt off to the gay bar i wind up seducing men. i'm starting to think a lot of other things, too, but they are dangerous blog fodder.
ok.
incense burning.
laundry folding.
bed time.
right.
also, i could really go for one of those curry-stuffed bagel things from bubby rose's bakery right now. sigh.
sigh.

like a hundred knuckles cracking

there is a storm blowing in.
we have no panes on the windows, no bolt in the door.
dear potential natural disaster,
our home is your home.
or something.

i am eating apple rings after a long hot day
on the set of this old house.
my ears are burned and my sunglasses have paint all over them.

i am thinking apocalyptic thoughts.
smashing the fly on my ceiling.
double beds.
whether people on ferries might be more or less safe during an earthquake.
whether people on planes would even notice.
are there people who live on planes?

you know,
sometimes i wonder if airplane hotels are feasible.
like cruise ships. only more expensive and with more tourist destinations.
around the world in eighty days style.
our favorite poet of the skies could be the evening entertainment.

yes. apocalyptic thoughts.

secrets in the silos

today at lunch i went to kalamata to buy a can of ninety nine cent arizona iced tea and they didn't have any. they did, however, have jones fu fu berry soda. i was like, cool man! i haven't had this since i was twelve! so i bought a bottle. and when i opened it, the fortune under the cap said: a distant romance will begin to look more promising.
and i was like, lol universe. el oh el at your cruel and foolish games.

all that stays is dying and all that lives is getting out

i've been having interesting revelations lately.
potential physical manifestations of the hypothetical homosexual gene.
sociological repercussions of a five hundred square foot all-women workplace.
(female lobsters in a pot full of boiling water)

all i can say about this is twofold:
one. the tarot cards don't lie.
two. none of it matters because there are twenty seven days left.
(i checked the tsawwassen-swartz bay schedule tonight and cried)

i have no perception of time.
maybe it's all the marijuana and my subsequent loss of short term memory.
maybe it's because my brain is not operating in the third demension.
(maybe nobody's is)

this hasn't been so bad.
that's what my ego is saying post repression, anyway.
and even if it was, the light at the end is mesmerizing me into submission.
(except when the defense mechanisms fail and i remember)
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