REPORT A PROBLEM
"i see honesty in the tenderness of young and awkward lovers," a nice quote from the song citrus by the hold steady. i'm only half a fan of that band, but the song is great. i wouldn't say it's exactly about love, though. because it also says "i've had kisses that made judas seem sincere," which i can totally relate to. i think the song is about wanting something much more than what you've got. but the music is so sweet and innocent that you get tricked and think it's a song about love at first. clever guys, they are.
to pass some time and catch up on the beginning half of my november batch i'm going to use some excerpts from "How to Tell Your Friends from the Apes," a funny book by Will Cuppy. here's what he has to say about lovebirds:
The Love Bird or Connubial Parakeet is one hundred per cent faithful to his mate who is locked into the same cage. They sit close together on the perch, partly to keep warm and partly for want of something better to do. If anyone is around, the male Love Bird twitters sweetly into the ear of...
...his mate, who responds in kind, sometimes adding a furtive peck in the posterior mandibular process. When they think they are unobserved they kick each other off the perch and sit in opposite corners making horrible faces and insulting remarks. They are known to insiders as the most pugnacious of all birds. During adolescence and nidification Love Birds talk baby talk. The female will believe anything. The brain of the male Love Bird weighs two milligrams more than his mate's but the female is better at nagging. They breed readily in confinement, almost too readily. Strangely enough Love Birds have...
...no merrythought or furcula. Both sexes spend a good deal of time in molting and the female complains of draughts. None of this helps in the home. The Blue-rumped Love Bird of Namaqualand is a little too much. If anything happens to one of the pair the other instantly expires of inconsolable grief. Now you tell one.
One of the footnotes to this little story states "No useful purpose would be served by running on about this animal. Whole libraries have been written on the Love Bird and much good it has done. Besides, the subject is very difficult."
here's a fun poem i found called "on drunkenness" by a guy named andrei codrescu. makes me think a little bit of bukowski (and sometimes myself and my sweetheart).
I write my poems sober
I read them drunk
Unlike many poets
Before me who wrote
Them drunk read them drunk
And even stayed drunk
During other people's
Readings and in this
They succeeded admirably
They are mostly dead now
In poetry we call this success
After we die people read
Our poems to their sweethearts
X X X X X X X X X X X
unpacking, i delved into the depths of the infamous and somewhat ominious "light-bright box" which, apparently, is where i keep all the details and most precious things about my entire life, as well as my deepest darkest secrets. i.e. that's where all my old journals are. i am so excited because i really thought i lost all those between the move up from asheville and to my (now) third place in harrisburg. this is such a trip, i mean HOURS of entertainment. and for me to find these now, of all times, is something in and of itself.
a bullet blew the boredom from his brain
now lodged in its infernal secrecy
it lies alone, oblivious to the stain
of dark red gushing fluid. peacefully
he sleeps and dreams atop a starry sky
thinking of a world the world forgot.
a divine place where all the answers i
have ever needed, now are needed not.
a lover's tear drops from her eye to his:
an eye which, when the mortal body died,
looked upward to a place where no man lives
while living. there his spirit flied.
bullet set the soul from body free
and, finally, he's where he wants to be.
yes, well i suppose i could sit and write volume
of neat and tidily organized little boxes of words
containing my thoughts
that some like to call
but often i find my thoughts are not so controllable.
oh and i'm sure it would be filled to the brim
and rhyme scheme
and alliterated consonant sounds
and alliterated vowels
not to mention images and symbols and
dissonant chords and
painfully sharp contrasts.
i could even pretend i'm in love and write passionately about birds, or i could
pretend (?) i'm bored and write about...
and as i wipe my nose (one of my favorite un-artistic activities), i think of that first (always the most difficult) volume of words
and realize that reality tells me it
and snot is gracefully trailing down my face like all the glory and passion and misunderstood prowess that is running so close to my lips i can almost suck it in
and taste it.
last year i bought my little (then 6-year old) cousin isabelle a notebook for christmas. very cute, it's teal with pink and black accents. the front has a little fairy in a tree with some birds flying around. i think there might also be some glitter involved. i was hoping she might write in it like a journal, although in hindsight i'm pretty sure 6 is a little young to start keeping a journal...just learning to read and write and all. well, i got sick with the flu xmas morning and never got around to delivering the gift...
...i must have thrown it in the basement and forgotten all about it. came across it when i was moving a few months ago, all wrapped up in xmas paper so nicely. i opened it, of course...unsure of exactly what it was. once i figured it out, i wasn't too sure what to do with it...throw it away, regift it? ultimately i decided to use it myself and dedicate it to her. kind of like a proxy journal with a filter. i named it "a children's book, of sorts." maybe when she's older i'll let her read it.
in an attempt to find a song i once knew in high school, called "bells on," i am downloading the whole entire sloan discography. sloan is the band who sings it, according to my journal, and the song is on there, but i can't just download the one song, it's gotta be the whole discography of this band or nothing. my computer is running really slowly tonight (adware, malware, virus, etc...) so it's taking FOREVER. i'm dying to listen to this song. i know i used to love it, but cannot for the life of me remember how it goes.
here's more from our old friend will cuppy.
to the seeing eye life is mostly sparrows. the average sparrow is something of a bore and the trouble is that all sparrows are average. the sparrow has been called the bird in the street because he sits on telephone wires. the early morning anthem of the song sparrow tells us that it is time to get up and close the windows and go back to bed. the english sparrow drives away our native songbirds. he is regarded as a pest by those who like our native songbirds. the social...
...or chipping sparrow chases insects on the wing and seldom catches them. he goes
chippy chippy chippy
. the white-throated sparrow goes
old sam peabody peabody peabody
. other sparrows go
tweet tweet, tsip tsip
. the ipswich sparrow is found in ipswich. the ability to distinguish the different kinds of sparrows is believed to be an inherited character. the sparrow is very keen about you know what. to the male and even in the greater degree to the female love is all. for other important things here below, if there are any, he doesn't give a single
...when a sparrow comes to die, at least he can say that he has lived. there is nothing wrong with his corpus striatum. sparrows all roost together in large trees because they believe it helps their mental development.
the hummingbird flits from flower to flower like some exquisite jewel, filling his little gizzard with ants, snout beetles, thrips, spiders and plantlice. he has long served as the symbol of innocence and a splendid example to american youth. of the committee of nineteen appointed to investigate the private life of this feathered sprite, eight fainted dead away and eleven...
...went native. the details would have to be printed in a book for men only. hummingbirds work on sunday, carry pollen between male and female flowers and indulge in mixed bathing. they have very deep carinae and their faces lack expression. the male is colored much more gorgeously than the female so that he can be shot and made into feather embroidery. hummingbirds can fly backwards and sideways. they are ferocious fighers, weighing in at about twenty-five grains. the ruby-throated hummingbird is a don juan type. he has a slight squeak which is said to mean
in the middle of making kahlua for the holidays. on my way upstairs for a sharpie and a beer. i have simon and garfunkle going on the first floor, jay-z on the third. i am currently on the second floor so i'm hearing a strange mix of the two. i'm thinking we need a stereo of some sort here in the craft/computer room.
i used decaf coffee in the kahlua this year so me and my relatives can enjoy a white russian nightcap without having to worry about the caffeine. old unadventerous fogies that we all apparently are...
I try to memorize every word, every detail- a wisp of hair, fingertips in fingerless gloves. I study them as she talks and I file all the data into the great whirring database in my brain unit. How can red songs be so adorable? I think this but she's talking so I don't want to miss it. The great database recording and processing endlessly into the late night. Every detail is new and wonderful. She falls asleep and I listen to her breathing, trying to memorize that too. My only worry is I missed some detail. I hate being human.
an old fling is trying to come back into my life. he's being very sweet. i relate to him completely. it makes me feel bad because i already have a boyfriend. a boyfriend who i thought was perfect for me until i found out he doesn't want to spend any time. a negligent boyfriend. like the boyfriend before that. things tend to come in twos for me. like in triage today i had two flu symptoms who i thought were bullshit til i found out they were tachycardic. back to back. and two pediatric kidney stones right in a row.
my negligent boyfriend is coming to visit tonight. i'm not sure what we'll do. we don't really have plans, but i'm determined to have a talk. things are not good in my head and haven't been for a while, but i wanted to talk face to face, and seeing him face to face is quite rare. so i've been doing lots of "small-talk-and-pretend-i'm-fine" phone conversations. he knows i want us to be on the same page, that i have some feelings i want him to know about. that i want to know what he's thinking.
well the weekend's come and gone and the talk still didn't happen. in my brain it's already over. i can't take another fear-of-intimacy fling. they depress me and do nothing for my self-esteem. not to be unfair, but my fear-of-intimacy issues are enough for one relationship. i've got the quota filled. but i fear it because that's the only thing i really want.
a head-shrink once told me not to look at the emotion as "fear of X," but as "excitement for X." so i'm diagnosing myself with an excitement for intimacy.
below is possibly the only beautiful poem that i can take credit for. although, to be honest, i probably stole some of the shit from somewhere... let's be PC and call it inspiration.
today i take god's place.
i dream about
and i think about nothing.
at night i live in the dark spaces
between the stars
and my tears
a mud puddle
that bathes the feet
of small children.
z z z z z z z z
i'm into the abbreviation B.F. because you can't tell if it stands for boyfriend, best friend, bologna fiend, or something even better.
bleeding festering (rotten wound)
oh shit, i don't think roman starts with an F. i'm done. over and out.
"you'll need a psych nurse by the time i'm done with you."
"oh shit is that a promise?"
"a threat. HA."
tribute to bf:
i get on here and say every little thing i wanna say but unlike love and the universe, which is infinite, this forum only allows for 100 of these things. so i keep it brief, run out of things to say, and then it's 100 minus what's already been said which equals FUCK times 57 at this juncture. (at that juncture).
it's t-minus twelve and counting, folks. and now to quote a phrase, "i just need sleep, and the occasional piece of white pizza. but not everyday."
FUCK FUCK FUCK
people who take paxil on a daily basis scare me. actually half of those psych meds scare me. although i'm curious to know what a medicated life would be like, i'm not willing to take the risk of becoming boring or getting fat. tell you the truth, i'm not 100% convinced i'm even depressed, despite what i've been told by other people. i occasionally get depressed, but who doesn't? i kind of enjoy myself. besides, paxil makes your pupils dilated and makes you feel like you're tripping all the time, from what i hear. i'm already fucking weird enough, yo.
pulling a 12 hour shift out here in triage on thanksgiving. looking forward to the free buffet in the cafeteria. curiously awaiting the afternoon to see how many people come in with chief complaint: "i've got turkey stuck in my throat." i think last thanksgiving i worked there were 5 of them in the department all at once. everybody i love is out eating with their families, but i'm not down about it. i got a weird kinda family at work here too. we're all a bunch of adrenaline-junky weirdos with inferiority complexes... gotta go here comes a patient
i'm not sure i can call my negligent boyfriend a boyfriend anymore. the other night i texted him and asked him if we could *really* talk. i hate texting that type of shit, but i could never bring it up on the phone because after hearing his voice it broke my heart to hurt him. we had a few more text message exchanges where i told him i feel really alone in this relationship, to which he replied, "i have to go cook dinner." i then said something to the effect that i'm knocking myself out early tonight. so goodnight.
the next night we actually talked on the phone, like real adults. i told him a bunch of shit about how i was feeling, that i didn't think me and him were gonna work out. he said he wanted to try and work on things, but he would think about it and maybe we could get together saturday to talk in person. i agreed. he then said, "not to cut this short, but i'm at the bar and i really wanna go back inside."
we've had small-talk since then, but now its 5pm saturday and still no word.
breaking up is really not so hard to do. i would know because i just did it. i was mildly upset, got angry on the phone (the face-to-face thing never actually happened,) and then the anger turned to sadness and i cried a little bit. and by a little bit i mean maybe 10 minutes. i already had my cute outfit and make-up on to go on my first real date with the old fling (i know, i'm awful) so the crying didn't help my appearance at all. but i got over it. X X X X
i'd say november 2009 definitely had it's ups and downs. here's a semi-detailed list of events: i ended things with my negligent boyfriend (down and up). i started things with the old fling (up up up). i missed thanksgiving with my family (mostly down). i got a boot on my car (embarrassing, expensive, and down). i drunkenly climbed some late-night scaffolding without getting hurt (what goes up...). and i found out my dog may have kidney problems (down down down down forever down).
i'd say it was a big full month either way. let's see what december brings.
The Tip Jar