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the void whispered in my ear awhile back. he gained footholds in the holes i pierced in my lobe. elbows resting in the fold, he leaned in with a smile and started to talk. should never listen to voices so close. i said, please dear. do be quiet. but somehow he knew the song i like to play, piping it with his lute underneath the currents of his voice. i suppose he held the thing up to his nose. circular breathing or something. mother dearest, i do not like him coming over to play. please tell him i’m not home.
What the hell is up with eyebrow hair anyway? Those little fuckers grow back soo fast. I feel like I’m tweezing everyday. I AM tweezing every day. They just sprout out while I’m not looking, like graphite being pushed out from mechanical pencils. My floor is covered in a year’s worth of eyebrow bits. I’m lucky it’s not windier in here. Otherwise, the June Bugs would be riding around on millipedes, herding the fruit flies across the carpet, meanwhile dodging eyebrow tumbleweeds. Actually that might be pretty damn cool. I could charge people to watch the rodeo. American Western Modernized!
tick tock rock my block don’t forget to make the stock
throw in chicken, throw in peas, leave it there with your front door locked.
turn ticca turn ticca turn ticca t oowww
fourteen ballistic missiles felt to rhyme quarter match quarter match dime
don’t give me no children this world’s not mine someone’s decided i won’t have the time
there’s dirt collecting under my fingernails
streaks of brown and gray stuck at the bases of each, unreachable. there to stay.
go go go pretend like it’s true. oh girl, pretend like there’s hope if you want to keep walking.
come on over baby. we’ll put the past behind us like the tags on our tshirts. long as we can’t see ‘em who cares right? that’s what i always say. like the tags on our fucking tshirts. you know what? fuck it. let’s cut those damn things off. i’ve got some scissors on my desk. the tags always irritate my neck. here, cut mine off first..
who the fuck are you? get out of my house. is this my ... where the fuck am i? get the fuck out.
all right you can stay. i love you. you know. love.
Confession: Forgive me self for I have sinned. I have kissed at least thirty four people intimately in my short years on earth. I have fully laid out the alter of my body to at least twelve of these people. Many of these individuals I have never, or at times didn’t, want to do so and did anyway in torture of my mental self. I have not granted myself the worth to live and consequently denied myself food until I could hardly stand to walk. I have smoked innumerable cigarettes, decreasing my life by an undetermined factor of seven minutes.
I have screamed at my siblings. I have thrown out instead of recycled. I have wasted food. I have scared my fellow human being. I have flirted with hate. I have said things only to hurt. I have been jealous. I have. I have become bitter. I have expected too much of myself and others. I have expected too little of the same. . I have littered. I have given up at times. I have done things I shame too much to even write. I have not given where I should have. Forgive me self for I have sinned.
and today was a day like any other the up the down the over
back street beach
air conditioner ocean
motorcycle water skies
sparrow seagulls, sparse
vomit soaking tides
cell phone children shrieking
check the message
check the message
check the message
is it time
turn off tune in to the broadcast
gobble up the truth
turn to purchase
pure bred dog
turn off tune out the self
turn to purchase
time to purchase
tune to purchase
tune to love
don’t forget to
unearth that bulb
before the coming of may
when blossoms beckon
to pull their shoulders from the ground
their faces before the daylightened god
night time dreamer
I’ll be your concubine beneath the sheets
keep my flesh infertile
Fuck my lovers in my sleep
so you can sleep
a little better
Waking you can say
you like my breasts
like a gay man would
to a woman
I’ll be the nude model to the world
the only one to lay myself bare
Paint me, photograph me, talk to me
but do not love your concubine
a big cyber high five to chris erickson who i once knew as a friend, but now speak to rarely at best. he has written beautiful music that has kept me company at the right and most unexpected times. i hope he keeps writing and playing. i guess it doesn’t matter so much if he “makes it” or whatever in regards to music. i just hope he does his thing and other people get to hear him, too. if i could just sliver a little bit of his energy off and needle it through my seams, things’d be better .
I have the test results.
What did your team find?
People vary really. There is no solid reaction.
Could you make any determinations based upon dress style?
Not really. There was a slight pattern regarding those in certain age groups.
Interesting. Please clarify.
Those in the “twenty something” bracket seem less likely to respond in the desired manner. Do they react at all?
Mmm, somewhat. Often times the experiment elicited a slight frown. Mostly the individuals averted their eyes.
Most certainly. Our field agents attempted to determine if there was in fact something that these people were looking at.
Perhaps a strange insect on the shoe, or a bird across the street.
Nothing. The reaction seems to be random and unprovoked, externally anyway.
Do you think they are perhaps of two different tribes, or species undistinguishable to the naked eye?
We’re not sure. That was a thought. The thing is, certain individuals reacted differently depending on the day. Maybe there are two species which can interbreed slightly, so it is the half breeds who vary. I’m not really sure.
Further research will be put under consideration. In the meantime, please keep the results of this experiment to yourself.
The children do a wave for the flowers that go by in the scoop of a miniature bull dozer. It raises its arm in salute as it goes between street blocks.
A small girl holds her hand up expectantly as she examines the shoes I ordered for her to wear to a wedding. When I realize that I am supposed to take it, she proceeds over to the mirror to look herself over.
A pregnant woman glows when she comes into the store. She needs a pair of comfortable shoes. Oddly, she picks the flattest and hardest ones we have.
every time i look at yahoo personal ads, more and more people i know are there. it’s sort of sad maybe. or rather, a testament to the loneliness prevalent. maybe i am worse in that i don’t have an ad up, i just read them. i don’t even know what i would write. looking for foot and back rubs, if not total massage. must be extremely liberal. must be happy. prefer a messy person. intelligence and cynicism. like reading and writing. cooking good too. must like armpit hair on women. tolerant of rants, bizarre sleep schedules, and need for love.
a gaping black hole of mouth soft slab of tongue beef pushing around inside my mouth. hand securing my head in place for the side attack. get the fuck out. let me leave your goddamn musked out apartment please. no i don’t want to hear another one of your songs. no it wasn’t the picture of her ex that made me want to leave. please do not touch my back one more time. do not grip my neck. this is not relaxing me. coffee does not mean date. it does not mean kiss. it means coffee unless i say otherwise.
They are both scared. They wait uncertainly at the door. One of them reaches up and knocks lightly. Glancing through the window, the knock becomes firmer. No answer. He stops. She reaches a tentative hand to the doorbell, pushes the button. Once, twice, three times. No answer. She stops. “This is stupid,” one says. The other nods. She fumbles through her purse as he digs a hand into his pocket. They both retrieve a set of keys and look at each other. They remember where they used to live. The keys to their old houses are still on their rings.
so many excuses as to why not
to simply be
but it’s all creeping up on me again
just two weeks without something being pumped into my system and i guess i’m just crazy
i’m trying to smile
and suddenly all those years come flooding back
push themselves into my dreams
that used to be my sanctuary
where i could meet the ones i needed
i wanted to be able to do this by myself
but all that strength got taken away
trying to keep kids in line
to impress a world that just didn’t care
I was falling into a deep sleep in Mike’s bed when I realized my upcoming dreams would bring memories of being molested. I pushed myself up with my elbows. Matt was downstairs speaking loudly, off to some other party. He had a friend over. I heard the front door slam shut. I couldn’t turn on the lights in Mike’s room and figured they had somehow came unplugged because the alarm clock was still working. I got up and felt my way down the steps to use the bathroom and smoke a cigarette. As I shut the bathroom door, a ....
force pushed against it from the outside. A guy in a towel came in, hair still wet from a shower, and roughly shoved me into the tub. I tried to scream for Mike but no sound came. I only heard the words forming in my head. My throat seemed to close up. The guy reached for my clothes, yanked my tank top upward. I struggled. My elbows flew in all directions. My feet kicked under his weight. I landed an elbow into his gut and woke up suddenly. Awake, in the bed at my house. Mike asking what was wrong.
Go ahead. Have your fun. Just a common slut she is. Easy as the egg you ordered last Sunday at the diner. She don’t no emotions. Right perfect she is for that sort of thing. Doesn’t know a damn between up and down. Or not in a metaphysical sense of the sort. Certainly a physical sense. Ha ha ha. Mmm. Surely boy though. You’d do well by her. Will listen too. You can talk her goddamn ear off bout just anything and she’ll listen. She’s a giant ear that opens up to you too, if you know what I mean.
A man at the airport gives me some Drum tobacco. I could have fallen in love with him. He pulls a Tolkein book from a briefcasesque travel bag. He wears nice large grained black leather shoes. He is dressed darkly. He is quietly reading a book while I quietly read across from him. His light hair falls slightly in his eyes. The eyes behind his glasses smile. I want to start a conversation out loud but don’t. I have to go. There is a plane back to State College to catch. “Have a peaceful day.” he says. “Thanks you too.”
Started working at camp today. My kids are all cool. Josh is more than willing to throw himself on the ground at any given moment. Mary Kate is serious but lets herself go. She’s the only one trying to keep magic intact. Jonathon is quiet but deeply caring. Rebecca has a nice smile and makes peace. David says he can’t blink and was daring while playing museum. Amanda is a bit on the self important side and bossy, but she is honest which is good. I hope they all like me. They described me as Super Silly Simply Smiling Sacha.
Found a dragon fly today at the entrance to the school. A beautiful thing as big as my palm. Brilliant blue streaks. I ferried it down to the field to show the rest of my kids. The uncupping of my fingers left them in awe. But when I went to let it go, it flew strangely and fell to the ground. I picked it up again to take it away from trampling feet. It was missing half a leg. Could that do it? But then. Half its head missing. Whiteness showed. I screamed at my children not to come near.
confusion is often breed from purposeful blindness to an actual situation. so fuck it. there is nothing on my mind other than calm, patience, and a general willingness not to expect too much from anybody. spent far too long expecting too much from people, mostly myself. this was a big mistake. i have to lower my hopes lower than the ground. that way i can be surprised if anything actually works out. otherwise, i can remain content in just simply being. like i said, forget it. i have plenty of other things to occupy my time. teaching, living, earth. ha.
There’s an invisible person sitting on the left side of my head, flattening the hair. Maybe it’s one facet of my inner conscious telling me to stop putting so much shit in my hair, goop pointing it upward at the sky like a town full of steeples raised from my skull. It’s saying “Yes, you have a boy haircut because it was the only way to repair that awful mullet thing from Supercuts (Do Not go to Supercuts again). And yes, Dan says it’s not feminine. But so the fuck what. That doesn’t change who you are. What’s ‘girl’ anyway?”
I’m between two worlds. One foot is awake and the other is still in bed dreaming with a pillow over her eyes. They’re having a fight somewhere in the middle of me of where we all belong. Certainly I can see advantages to both, but I’m going to sit back and be quiet while they decide. Better not to interrupt when they’re arguing. Besides, they should be the ones to decide. They’re the ones who are going to have to do all that damn walking. I wonder where we’ll end up. I hope somewhere soon. The gravity here is oppressive.
Was that stupid of me to have walked out to go home? I should have stayed to talk, to joke, to sleep. But no, I needed to leave. I needed to squish my toes in thick mud, cry walking home, walk across black rocks, sing a song to the moon. I had a demon to face. My friend needed to sing me asleep from the cd player. My fitful dreams are not conducive to sleeping near others. Maybe I would have embarrassed myself. I wake up making strange noises, a shadow of terror fading. I had work in the morning.
Don’t show me your tears
I have never seen
Where would I leave me to go
I could tie myself up in a bundle of cloth
to wait for parents to pick me up
But I’d untangle myself
leave the nest behind me
Start to walk
Sometime I would tire
Maybe rest on a door step
to catch my breath
Watch the people walking by
for a little while
Then off again to find that face
I’ll leave a trail behind me
in case you get lost
My lips are stone
Nothings gonna slide by them
I’m not going to do any of this again
Don’t call me darling
This body is part of a thought
that can sustain without touch
I’m just going to let go and slip on out, leave it on the ground
beneath the trees
I’ll pose before Medusa
let the mirror fall from my fingertips
She’ll finish me to stone so I don’t have to keep hiding the truth
Can’t touch me
I can’t even touch myself
I’m so far away from these hands
let alone yours
I’m going away
crazy, sir. she headed there out of town, oh, about three days, four hours, twenty-two minutes, and forty six, make that forty seven, seconds ago. not sure when she’s going to be coming back. i heard she hitch hiked actually. your guess is as good as mine when she’ll be able to catch a ride home from that place. people don’t usually leave once they get there. last i heard nobody even drove cars. they all ride unicycles, crawl around like bears, that sort of thing. not a clue why she wants to go there, to tell you the truth.
we speak in half sentences so nobody will get hurt i guess. i’m rather bored of it though. maybe that is a sign, how easily i am deterred. or maybe a testament to passed i can’t choke out of my mourning self. so i’ll be the killer of the earth then. in the same ranks as those i suppose to detest. i am thinking i need to be back on my medication. suspicions are rising again. my voice is getting lost in my throat. i can’t make conversation. maybe i just need to get some sleep. down time. mental space.
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