Monday, May 29, 2006

bottles of australian chardonnay contain stories on the label.

Six o'clock in the morning
You're the last to hear the warning
You've been tryin' to throw your arms around the world
You've been falling off the sidewalk
Your lips move but you can't talk
Tryin' to throw your arms around the world

my favorites in roch. traveling to wisconsin. a room in a house full of maps and wafting music and mary jane. humidity. finally getting the techno-ballerina some loving. madison by night. and tofu.

and he asked me where i was going
and i said i didn't know for sure
but one thing was obvious
the ocean wasn't going to wait 'til kingdom come,
i said
there's no time like this time
ready or not...

Monday, May 15, 2006

i miss the way you sing low

i give you major
you give me minor
don't fade away

she looks to me all right
Went to descend to ammend for a friend of the channels that had broken down.Now you bring it up, I'm gonna ring it up - just to hear you sing it out.Step from the road to the sea to the sky

favorite things:
techno love songs
$5 skirts
sleeping for 11 hours (guilt free)
the zumbro river under the railroad bridge
kiedis/flea/frusciante harmonies
finding my [kate-made] earring

non-favorite things:
dust + asthma + neverending cold
moving out w/ the parentals [= stressful]
missing o-house
skipping cd players
cowardly lions
being the last one
broken gears

and that they hadn't heard us calling. Still do not hear us calling them from out of those rooms... where they went to be alone for all time... and where we will never find the pieces to put them back together.

Monday, May 08, 2006

what happens when i find things in random places.

i updated forgetting gravity (because the story changed.) it's still under the same post, except it's called forgetting gravity (revised.)...i believe that is around the beginning of march, if you really want to re-read it. i added 3ish pages, edited a lot. hopefully it's better. i dunno.

now here's another piece. aha! much shorter, much more abstract. really very random. apologies.

the way jellyfish slide along glass, and also the reason raleigh talks too much.

i like it when it rains through the windows and everything becomes slightly ravaged by the water, she tells him while riding the bus from Darcy Point to downtown Seattle. She's just met him [just meaning three hours earlier when she'd run to catch the shuttle as the doors were closing on her ankle and he had been the only one with an empty seat. his name was jonas, which did not fit him. his nose was too large for a man named jonas. possibly nelson, or raymond, although neither of those really fit him either. definitely not jonas, though. she does not tell him this.] my favorite kind of paper is always notebook paper, you know, college blue ruled with red margins that feel like boundaries on some sort of strangely radioactive map, like as if the map only shows up when it gets wet, she says. which is why i like it when it rains through the windows. he doesn't say anything, but his eyes move back and forth for a moment, as if he were trying to gather the floating bits of her words from the damp mid-evening air like pieces of electric wire, tangled and caught on the humidity. i'm raleigh, she says, with her face turned away from his, as if it were a side note, like she didn't really want him to hear, because if he heard it that means that he would have some minute piece of her identity to take with him and do what he would. this left him the freedom to ignore her, refuse to acknowledge his recognition of the back of her neck in a crowd, and she would know he was refusing because she knew that he was carrying that little piece in his pocket, twisting it between his thumb and forefinger like a rusty penny, as if he were contemplating whether or not to throw it into the gutter and reveal her to the rats and the concrete, and the mud which gets trapped between the souls of your shoes.

she didn't want him to forget her, like loose change in shallow graves, but she wanted even less for him to discard her like a useless shard of broken glass, as if he were afraid that she would draw blood, slice through the tips of his synapses like a razor in the brain, deathly terrified of the claws masquerading as eyelashes . that is why she whispers her name into the darkening row of uninterested strangers. self-preservation, she thinks. she can't see him anymore, except the silhoutte of his nose and the whites of his eyes when they pass under a glimmering street lamp or an all-night gas station offering a free carton of cigarettes with every fifty pound bag of ice in neon letters like a cheap vegas strip. she can't see him anymore but she knows that he's still listening to her, hearing her insecurities as they seep out like oil through the lines in her face. wondering whether or not to respond, whether or not to become involved and question in return, ask her why she didn't want to let him reject her. she does not give him time. she says, my parents got caught in a hurricane when they were driving to Georgia and they decided the best way to pass the time besides doing their laundry in a seedy motel basement was to have sex on top of the rumbling washing machine. they were in Raleigh - she tells him this and immediately regrets it, knowing that this detail is obvious, that she did not need to elaborate further on a story that was already sufficiently awkward and not the kind of story you tell a stranger on a bus during the night. it is really not a story you tell a stranger on the bus during the day either, but she's never had good timing or a sense of social regulation, and she was really becoming quickly infatuated with jonas. i was adopted, he says. she is horrified. i love you! she bursts out, and immediately regrets it again. she was only trying to make up for the sense of misplaced affection she had decided he felt towards the enigma of his origins, but somehow it only came through as a ridiculously outrageous statement of adoration. he looks at her for the first time, turning his head quickly to find her blushing and biting her lip, although he can see neither clearly because this stretch of highway is dark. thank you, he says, and looks out the window, the rain sliding like jellyfish across the glass, singing indignantly about their loss of memory and about why they couldn't wait to get free from the side of the bus.

you make me really uneasy, she says, and he grimaces. but quickly she stutteres it's not a bad thing, it's like when the waves break sideways and you can tell it's going to rain because of the way your brain prickles. my brain doesn't prickle he says and she says oh, maybe it's just me.

there is an invisible man standing beside you holding a mouse in the palm of his right hand, he says suddenly. how do you know he's holding a mouse if he's invisible? she asks. because the mouse is invisible too, he explaines. but if they're both invisible, how can you see either of them? easy, he says. when the mouse tells me where to look, i let my eyes relax and see through the atmosphere. he's real easy to see once you let the oxygen and the nitrogen return to their natural states. they aren't always so clear, but since that's how we've been told they look, we see through them. that's crazy, she says. maybe. what do i look like then? she asks. he tells her that it depends on the light, but sometimes she reminds him of barbed wire on rose petals, and sometimes she looks more like fire coral. she doesn't know how to take this, so she nods. he says that it is a good thing. then the invisible man puts the mouse on his shoulder and walks away. she still can't see him.

Thursday, May 04, 2006

midnight [a meditation on the lotus kids]

The only girl I've ever loved
Was born with roses in her eyes
Now she's a little boy in Spain
Playing pianos filled with flames
On empty rings around the sun

it's so very close to being the end of things. i can feel it in the way we move together, the way our eyes are constantly meeting, hoping to express that constant aching feeling that this is the last time for anything, for everything. it isn't, but we feel that way now, with the urgency of it all. things will be different of course, but when we started all of this mess, it was a different thing for us then as well. and now look at it. now, it is this big beautiful chaotic thing, of all these ridiculous people with their ravenous emotional eyes and their hearts full of bursting turquoise adoration and their ambivalence [strong ambivalence] towards life and where it is that we might be going, it is this big beautiful chaotic thing of all these ridiculous people trying to BE. people are clamoring for room to breathe, and filling all the empty space with words so that they don't waste precious seconds, because this is it, these last days. with the knowledge that we will never be here again...we change. we open, like the magnolia blooms that fell for six days from the sky, and then we let everything in. there is an orgy of souls. there is time spent, and reminiscence, but mostly it is just these people, panicked and terribly desperate that they will lose something of them when everyone else dissipates from their atmospheres, and they've all got their arms wrapped around each other, letting every possible inch of skin and bone and flesh mingle, and melt. so that maybe, just maybe, it will retain. they're afraid to let go, to come apart, unravel. to let in open space, because it will only grow larger, for some. but they are magnetic, these people, and those that have too many gaping holes, too many missing pieces...these people will not lose their fragile grasp once the holes have formed. they will live in them, and under them, floating inside the white noise and empty translucent silences. these holes will be filled with people! we are these people.

Let's do it all this time.Into the shadow showing.Enter the rolling tide.Over the ocean so wide.Let's do it all this time.Everyone wishing well we go and.Everyone knows anything goes.We are the lotus kids.So better take note of this.