Wednesday, September 28, 2005

if you come looking...

Peeka: Lucky Charms?
Igby: What?
Peeka: Fucking - Lucky - Charms!
Igby: I don't know.

i get this reeediculous urge to watch Igby Goes Down approximately every two months. i have no idea why. absolutely no idea. i've seen the movie about 14 times, but i never get sick of it. maybe its because igby reminds me so much of holden caulfield, or because kieran culkin is adorable. possibly also because of the soundtrack [which i love. stones:coldplay, the weight:travis. the two that come to mind. ] regardless, i can promise you i'll be tempted to watch it at least three times in the next week. whether or not i actually do so, all depends on the busyness of my schedule. which looks like its going to eat me for breakfast three times before thursday at the moment, so yea. we'll see how that goes.

wrists, ankles, neck. you want me? that's where i'll be. get my attention. you're half way there if you come looking...

. stargazer lilies .
. raspberry cocopuffs .
. serpentine: ani difranco .
. people who wear BRIGHT GREEN .
. thirty-two minute naps on the floor, no pillow, on my stomache .
. watching love actually instead of doing my homework .
. sophisticated grown up food, old worn in stains, 137 gilman .
. tanzanite bobbypins .
. frappuchinos .
. full house at lunch, specifically uncle jesse .

But I would not sleep
in this bed of lies
So toss me out
and turn in
And there'll be no rest
for these tired eyes

Wednesday, September 21, 2005


wracked by aches...i can feel each and every one of my bones when i move.
prickles - shivers, drive the hairs along the back of my neck into oblivion.
the hard back of the chair is pressing my ribcage into my lungs... wracked by aches.

lying on the ground, attempting to get comfortable - knees up, arms bent, hands on my stomache. legs unshaven, sleep too vital. ants crawling, making their little black way into my little black pants. ants in my pants! and a smallish green and orange, which glows like an oil spill.

the chewer by the elm tree...packing and glinting in anticipation. the blue tin lying in the grass, i can almost smell it from here. disgusting.

wait...that's not tobacco... it's tuna. he's not a chewer, he's a hippie making a tunafish sandwich on the hill. funny how your impressions can change so quickly.

black ink stained into the skin like its become your very blood...staring out at the world from the inside of your wrist, quietly waiting to declare its presence - when shirt sleeves are lifted, when the hand is extended to shake, when arms are flung wide in expectation of a hug. it'll begin to fade, never fear. eventually the water will wear away, taking bits of the black when you least imagine. and it's over time, really... the grand canyon wasn't made in a day. but what am i saying...tattoos have nothing to do with rocks.

our relationship consisted of opening doors - that's it. that's it...opening doors. the span of human interaction is fascinating. conversations and love affairs, friendship and kindness on the bus, right down to the smallest of gestures. made with the glance of an eye or the upward twitch of the lips... how complex we primates of the metropolis really are.

i have irrational fears about my health. i'm liable to claim i'm coming down with a bone disease when my shins whince, and any sniffle or tickle in my throat quickly morphs into a horrendous case of yellow fever. call me a hypochondriac, but sometimes i think i might be right, that for some reason my immune system has obtained super-molecular powers, and i have managed to fend off any number of dreadful diseases. i can feel my t-cells at work, armed to the teeth and snarling in the general direction of any virus they come across while traversing my bloodstream. it fucking hurts! when they battle, i mean. sort of gives me an empathetic view of conflict - i'm inside the body of a civil war victim.

'cause when I look down,
I miss all the good stuff,
and when I look up,
I just trip over things.
- ani.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

invisible blackbirds

"In his time, the old man had often seen paradise: jagged panes, lightning angles, the unformulated glory of smashed leaded glass. In Paris in 1924 he had watched a workman accidentally drop from a second-story scaffolding a windowpane, which had broken on the stones of the Quai Voltaire. The shattered glass on the sidewalk contained the geometrical shapes of paradise: transparent isosceles edges, razors: glass made beautiful by fracture and accidents of force. He had wanted his poems to be as beautiful as that broken glass. He wanted them to cut into the skin and evoke the bloodflow."
- Charles Baxter, excerpt from The Old Fascist in Retirement.

may possibly be the most beautifully depressing short story i've ever read. gabriel garcia marquez does often evoke such emotion in me that i am unable to explain myself in words...but baxter's story about the struggle of old Ezra Pound and his circling descent into dementia even managed to describe the sensation of being without words; there is a passage in the story which depicts the actual inability to speak...the writer's worst torture.

to the beautiful man who looks similar to omar epps: do not be so melancholy. your eyes carry with them a certain levity that cannot be escaped, and i felt in me a desire to erase every hurt in your body. it passed eventually, after you had been gone for awhile. its funny how someone i've only even seen once can have such a great impact on my whole day - mentioned in my online outpouring of thought, even. there was the faintest hint of cigarette smoke hanging in the air along observatory dr. last afternoon. it stirred memories that did not exist; nose in the air, eyes closed, breathe in and in and the smoke that contained so many years of wishing for something better. ironic, because i've never wanted to smoke. at least not tangibly...but somehow it seems like the cigarette-smoking boys always have more intriguing words spilling from their mouths. perhaps it's just the husky-voiced vibrato that lingers behind in my ears after they've explained why the vacant field had more soul when it was covered with invisible blackbirds. and instead of being blackbirds, they were men. men in black woolen suit jackets, carrying black umbrellas through blackened naked forests. the light was shifting, squinting and blinking between the crooks of the branches, leaving a lasting impression of orange and yellow on the skeleton of the trees nearest the fading sun. the men never had faces. they were all striding towards a staircase, which was crumbling and missing three steps. cobwebs. a door at the one ever opened the door. they all just stood in a line, staring towards the ceiling, which had been gone since 1973. this is the story smoky-voiced boys tell me from time to time. the details change a bit every now and again... but the men never have faces. and they always start off being blackbirds.

- having random spanish conversations with a grizzled old cuban man on a bicycle in the middle of state street
-dark chocolate covered raspberries
- ani difranco's 'looking for the holes'
-literature raptures and philosophical quandries on porches in the evening ['you buy my book and i'll buy yours!']
-dance parties and singalongs
-death cab for cutie's new cd, specifically 'i will follow you into the dark'
-rum and coke(s)
-being excited for the following upcoming events...
a) All About My Mother (Todo sobre mi madre), Rize, and Me and You and Everyone We Know coming to the Play Circle Theatre
b) ben folds on october 26th
c) the visit of kristen marie barnes to madison, WI.
- green apple gum

this was a work in progress. of approximately three days. forgive us, we're rather flaky. [and also apparently schizophrenic. ]

If heaven and hell decide That they both are satisfied Illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs If there's no one beside you When your soul embarks Then I'll follow you into the dark

Friday, September 09, 2005

to newport beach we go, post haste.

can i just say amazing?

yes. i can. The OC returneth, and oh how wonderfully the trumpets blazed upon its entrance. introduction of glorious new music that will be spinning about in my head for days? check. reference to the [other] show which makes my life complete? check. (justincases you hadn't realized to what i am referring, this means sex. or, to those even more ignorant, sex and the city. carrie bradshaw is my hero. my heart rests in New York.) cohen and his adorkable self making witty retorts at every turn, including self deprecating idioms and a mention of chrismukkah? check! and the high point... of the whole episode... at which moment i fell completely head over heels in love with the show all over again...

"cohen... i can't believe you did that cohen"

ryan atwood makes a joke! and he's grinning! ryan atwood is grinning! and making jokes! oh goodness. the emotions! the intrigue! the rollarcoaster of drama and chaos and melodic human interaction! julie cooper is still the most psychotic evil beyatch on television; and it appears she has been joined by her evil blonde stepsister/pseudo twin, come to ruin the lives of sandy and kirsten cohen. trey and his heart-wrenching guilt...cue hide and seek:

mmm whatcha say
mm that you only meant well
well, of course you did

lordy! those few moments are only the most astounding in a veritable hour of healing for my sanity. now that The OC is back, happy thursdays have returned. and if nothing else, i have this to look forward to.

you think i'm crazy. i know you do. 'anyone who refers to a television show in such great detail, as though she actually knew the characters - emphasis on characters - is obviously crazy.' and you've caught me doing it not once, but twice. for two different shows, one of which is no longer even on the air. well, if this is the case, i raise my hands in defeat. they are stained with the rouge and burgandy of the SoCal sunset [thereby making me...redhanded. you've caught me redhanded. eh? eh?] i would rather be named a lunatic than give up my reeediculous adoration for The OC. that is all.

"well you gotta admit Coop, no matter what happens - Ryan facing off with Trey to avenge your honor? It's pretty freaking hot. In like, a mythic biblical samurai western kind of way." - summer, on the tragic events of season 2.

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

seeing passed the decrepit palaces

...that the sky has been so neatly reflected in
the waters of the lake
means nothing.
perhaps man finds beauty in this merely
because it allows him to feel
to the heavens.
But. this is a ruse, an illusion...
an Allusion to the vast expanse
of the universe in the microcosm
created by pooling water. here,
between the bends of the trees
[covered in cobwebs, filled
with moving,
brimming with life unseen]
the lake appears to go on for miles.
not unlike the ocean.
if one neglects to admit the horizon,
refusing to acknowledge
that there are boundaries, definitions,
actual spatial limitations --
it could be believed that this bend
in the trees is the corner of
But! this is a ruse, an illusion...
no man has stood at the edge and shouted,
fearing no depths, finding no end to his vision.
at least, not yet.

tentatively, [the ruse of reflecting or the ephemeral quality of the cosmos. ]

i wrote! my brain feels better now. as does my fine point black sharpie marker. (things always look better when i handwrite them in fine point black sharpie on plain white paper. perhaps if i ever publish anything...they will allow me to publish in handwritten black sharpie. although my writing can become slightly difficult to read (for all except emily, who always manages to decipher it, somehow.) i think this is a sign that i'm settling down again. always have a hard time writing anything that isn't shit when i'm surrounded by chaos, which is frustrating really, as those are usually the times in which i need it most. but the words just won't come, and so i wait. it's really more physical dysfunction that smites writer's block on my hand and on my head, rather than chaos in the more personal world of everyday life. moving. disruptive things like that. good thing i wasn't born an army brat, or i'd be screwed. all sorts of thoughts and no way to make them come head'd come near to bursting! or maybe i could just talk to kristen all the time, as she usually gives me some peace of sanity to carry around as brickwall of sorts so as to fend off ugly monsters rearing their wretchedness [i know i used the wrong form of that word...i meant it as such. leave me alone.]

"she is a friend of my mind. she gather me, man. the pieces i am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order. it's good, you know, when you got a... friend of your mind." - toni morrison, beloved

Friday, September 02, 2005

maybe this just means we're used... no longer new. a boulder where he'd been invisible,
or just longevity reflecting on itself
between the sky clouding over and the lightly ruffled
this was the morning after your dream of dying, of being held
and told it didn't matter.

- eamon grennan.

green twining like a mass of snarled poofy hair, attention drifts to aluminum accented by the sprinkling of red and orange lights. through the crack in the glass, beyond the height, lies one...tall. along the ledge inside... here is green tea and gray tea, sicilian bergamot earl pure leaf tea. herbal and black tea, vanilla and chai tea, rooibos red african blend tea. manhattan and the sarangheti meet in the middle, telling tales of taxi cabs and waterholes, although the parallels between the two are almost invisible upon first glance. scribbles. black ink dripping in to pages...curling like barbed wire and wrought iron gates.

i'm all sorts of off balance. although usually when this happens i get this sort of uneasy i think i might vom but maybe i'll just be uncomfortable for two and a half hours feeling...the type that causes me to become painfully obviously anxious at social functions and in the midst of ice breakers. but i'm not getting that feeling right now! its sort of weirding me out. i'm still in the awkward situations. still don't like meeting new people [not the actual knowing them...the meeting them part.] and i definitely haven't become more talkative than i used to be. but i'm so much more comfortable in my uncomfortability, it isn't freaking me out nearly as much as it used to. i think i'm off balance because of a) the transition to sophomore year [which is inherently uneven... do i or don't i want to major in this? will i or won't i finally find a place on campus? is this or isn't this what i want to do with the rest of my life?!] and b) the realizations that i've made about myself over the past three months. i think i changed more over the summer than i did over the course of my first year of college, although without those nine months, none of the changes would have taken place, as they did lead to most of the influence that caused them. but being back in the roch, with the people that i am most familiar, caused me to recognize the truest parts of my personality and the aspects of others that i respect most. so now that i'm back in madison [tangent: isn't it strange how you can say 'i'm back...' in reference to two different places and mean basically the same thing? how can one have two homes and not attain an identity crisis? the application of andrew largeman's wisdom in garden state is becoming even more glaringly obvious...] i feel like i can really get what i want out of the illusive college experience, if only because i sort of know what i'm looking for. at least on some level, the definitions of my dreams are clearer. the pixels have become smaller, the view has become wider, and when i look out on library mall, i don't see a photograph in a pamphlet, i see minutes and hours and days of my life. which is pretty mind-blowing, when you really think about it. to be able to see whole bits of your life in a photograph. a moment, captured in a flash of light on reddish-bronze film. but that moment can mean whole years to your existence, depending on the epiphanies that you can have inside them.

three things i'd like to say blatantly:
my hair looks sexy when i've got it pushed back with bobby pins and a headband, tied in little pigtails at the base of my neck. especially when the part is a little crooked and chunks are coming out every which way. also... i look hot with an eyebrow(n) ring, and no one can deny that. [ a) i'm not conceited, i promise. i just love my little silver facial piercing. its what i've been looking for to complete my face for my whole life. and b) i called it an eyebrow(n) because my father likes to remind me that i referred to my eyebrows as such when i was small...amusing him, and therefore, amusing me in my wisened old age. and by old age, i mean approximately two decades.]
i want my book back, dammit. this means a heartbreaking work of staggering genius. if anyone knows me at all, they know that i am obsessed with that book. and it's been missing from my possession for over three months now. causing me to have heart palpitations and small seizures. dave eggers is my god! i need his satiric wit and charming, effortless observations back in my life. and also all musings about toph are hysterical, thereby causing me to laugh, thereby causing me to live longer. (it's been proven that if you laugh more often, you add years to your life.) i'm dying sooner everyday that the book is missing from my being!
i have a green thumb. my bamboo plant is huge, the oregano plant i bought for a dollar fifteen at shopko has turned into a small mess of vines on my window sill, and don't even get me started about the spiderplant i raised in a milk carton from the tender age of five til approximately fifteen. professor sprout would be begging me to be her assistant if i were to be taking herbology. [is it bad that i just referred to harry potter as though it were a real place? is it worse that i doubted its existence?!]

I don't know what's happening to me. I seemed to be unraveling.