Sunday, September 25, 2011

I read this book once.

I was in a bookstore. Killing time. Waiting on a friend.
Well the book was good and I wasn't finished so I bought it.
I'm glad I did.
I was introduced to Goethe there. In a book titled "Three Philosophical Poets."
The book used three primary examples, Faust being one of them, as a means of showing how deeply related philosophy and poetry are. Extraordinary reading, really ... for a girl with very little formal education and even less connections to people who provide this sort of enlightenment.
I read Faust aaaages ago, but never read any more of Goethe's work for a lack of time and a massive obligation list.
Then today I was wandering around the flea market and spotted what you see ^ up there. Yeah, right up there, in my lap. :)
The irony is so think it could drown a fish, BUT I won't get into all of that. There's a back story to the Ginsberg thing too, but we'd be here a century if I attempted to explain it's importance and relevance to my current state of bewilderment, excitement, intoxication, and attachment to this new literature in my possession.
I figured since my last post was all about how I don't have time to read the books I already have I might as well point out that I'm just insane enough to keep doing the thing that I know won't change but continue to expect to, but only because I want to. Whew! Dijya jibe with all that?
No? Well, it's okay, I think I might move to Mexico anyway. :)

Monday, September 19, 2011

Sincerest apologies

To my dearest friends,
I've left you forsaken in that underworld
I've let you become another dusty corner
In a world where apathy reigns
I didn't mean to... you see,
Life grabbed me by the toes and
... excuses
To forsake you is to give to another
and there's only so much time in a day
only so much space in my brain
and as time slips beyond my reach
I look at you, you made time enough to make it
to my wooden shelf
And there I let you lay
The remains of a life not yet lived
the wasted words of discovery
How could I ever leave you?
My drunken bedfellows and bosom buddies,
Waiting, as steadfast as I.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Once. An ode to personal history and irrelevance

Once I ate organic peanut butter.
Once I investigated the innards of a cat, and did not shudder.
Once I tried to sleep upside down.
Once I moved to a new town.
Once I tried to knit a pair of socks.
Once I took up collecting rocks.
Once I walked six miles on my knees.
Once I made a souvenir out of fallen leaves.
Once I drove head first into a giant snow drift.
Once I held out my hand for another to uplift.
Once I loved someone I'd not yet kissed.
Once I threw my phone at someones head, and missed.
Once I gave birth to a dismembered fetus.
Once I made out in the back of a school bus.
Once I believed in sin.
Once I lied my way out of a psych ward, which made sense, since I lied my way in.
Once I knew what fiction was
But eventually it all became fuzz
Once I understood everything but didn't try
and couldn't die
But now I know better...

We are just a bunch of narcissistic assholes, trying to get by.

Saturday, September 17, 2011


That's kinda what it's like you know. A nagging gnawing.

They're all busy and happy and doing what kids do. The neighbor comes over to get a hug, and the birds keep pissing me off with that constant chirp chirp chirppery that they do at this time of year. I think they're fighting over who's going in what flock, south, for the winter. Lucky bastards.

It's almost 7 now and the sun is on it's downward creep, sinking for the moment into oblivion to illuminate someone elses darkness. Isn't that nice?

You know what I miss? I miss the ocean. I miss the mountains. I miss the caverns. I miss adventure. My school schedule wouldn't allow for much of it this year and that's exactly what this gnawing is all about. The need for flight.

Long-haul. I'm forced to keep this whole long-term objective in mind, and I am wired to live as if the long-term doesn't exist. Put a lion in a cage to get it to safety, and it paces back and forth as if it just knows it'll be in the box forever... even if there's a sign on the bars screaming in bold red print "YOU WILL BE FREE IN 4 SHORT YEARS" That's not the whole truth though.

4 years til' I've my Masters, 2 for my bachelors, and just a month for my Associates. The internship is less than a year regardless of masters/bachelors... and after that student loan repayment. So I figure ten years. MINIMUM. It's enough to make me quit, sell everything I own and load the kids up in the first rusty RV I can find right now and go see some shit, do some shit, experience something other than contractual allowances and staff annualization.

Who says what we have to do, to do what we need to do, to be successful. Who has that authority? I'd like to meet the jackass who makes all these fucking rules up. Smack him across the face, feed him a bottle of viagra, and hire a thousand angry whores to fuck him silly and watch gleefully when his head explodes. Providing it is a man... though whoever it is is just trifilin' enough to be a chick.

So there it is. Stuckery.

OMG. My neighbor is singing I believe I can fly.... at the top of his lungs. All the kids are cracking up. How ironic. I wonder if he knows how miserable his wife is. Oh, the lols of life. They just keep coming.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Be caused

It occured to me this morning that this place is a place of selfish indugence for me, and selfish indulgence doesn't reflect my life or who I am at all. It's just easier to mope here so I can go be bright for everyone else. A girl has to have someplace to mope after all. Not fair to you, is it? Sooooooo I thought I'd share some inspiration instead of my downtrodden bits of crazy. :)

Here they make solar light bulbs out of plastic bottles. NO SHIT!!! Just watch.

And here they make stuff to sell (VIA CROCHET!!!) out of garbage bags they find floating around the everywhere.

Yup. Happy thoughts. :)

Dead heat

Silent solitude, quiet mind, and shallow breath
Disappearing acrobats from behind my eyes
Swinging songs of spoken verse again have left
Diverging arrows pointing the way to incognition.

Tis not heaven nor the barren earth
Bridled and girdled and swept from the start
Tis only what all must face from birth
Betwixt us lay a local form

And we shall finish adrift in the same sea
In a similar boat with a familiar shoe
All of us prisoners and all of us free
Needlessly silent, forever quiet.

Without breath or sound or name
Drawing from this dead heat
Spiraled emotions and love in vain
The base of the underbelly -- humanity.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011


If this day had been any more awkward. Uncomfortable. Insane. or strange... I might've thought I was dreaming.

I'm glad it's over.

The night falls like an old enemy.

Familiar comfort.

Soothing crickets singing for my insanity.

Can you hear them, too?

Oh there's great poetry to be had in the song, but it's going down in ink, where it belongs, not here, no, not here, where you'll defile it with all your misunderstandings and inferences... No, it's going where it's safe.

Friday, September 9, 2011

Criminal Reform

What of breath
of breadth?

Have we no song to sing
Have we no shared remembrance
Of dreams held loosely
Tied to wishes and love

Have we only this cold stone
rolled between fingers
and fallen to the quarry
masked by so many


Like us.

So far gone
Ever removed
Ever halted
Hardened by

. . . life.

An innocence you can't return
Non-refundable aftermath

Orange suits and stale bread
Stale breath
eventual death

Sentenced for an act
never committed
Committed to white walls
and paper shoes.

Reform the criminal,
before the criminal reforms you.

Another fragmented process

Forgetting impossibility.

It's impossible.

Remembering possibility.

Also impossible.

What we have here is an unlikely return to a time in my life that I'd just as soon remember as a nightmare, and the fight to forget. Which is silly, at best... I've come so far, and gotten absolutely nowhere.

The rolling grape is leaking it's black blood.
The heating element is burned out.
Nothing gets dried here anymore.
Damp and musty inability permeates the atmosphere.
The front door has holes in it big enough to let in spiders and frosty air,
but too small for a single thought to escape.

The struggle is constant, and that's never changed.
The attitude changes like day to night
In and out
A beam of white light at midnight
A total eclipse of the sun at noon

Another liar in my doorway.
Another milky promise gone to spoil.
Another collision of hearts
Another clearing of debris
From another wreckage on another bleached shore

Another assembly of hope
In a painful era.
In a tearful time.
Soaking the wetland.
Salting the earth.