Monday, August 28, 2006

unstable catharsii is beautiful if you can find the words.

my feet are covered in mud.

people are returning to this city by the sea [ok, so mendota isn't a sea. i dearly wish it was...but if wishes were fishes - and i am understood] and we are the same, but we are all so very different. funny how three months can change perspective, change eyes and hugs and truths. some things are lingering, and i'd thought they'd gone, and their ghosts are giving me a headache. terribly depressed inside milliseconds, but mostly happy.
but it breaks my h-h-h-h-heart. and it breaks my heart.
saying farewell [ farewell is so much more elegant than goodbye. goodbye is melancholy and overused, like cheap wine. farewell embodies fancy crystal champagne and pearls.] to mis chicas a espana, with cosmopolitans on porches in rainstorms. pobre mi, pobre mi. my boys are bodyguards. which, of course, is why i adore them. obviously. tangential conversations of hilarity in the backyard of the hippies, surrounding: marietta the spy, subversive water antagonisms, ground black pepper, and 'finding tennytown'. WRITERS GROUP on the roof, dangling precarious over the edge five stories high and yearning for the time (and the inspiration) to pour out the words of all of the stories in my head. did you notice that 'stories' was used in twice different context within one sentence? surely this is not that impressive, but it struck a chord. and i pay attention to the chiming in my head when it hits. 'tis rather distracting. hence: my reign as the tangent queen continues.
just to break my f-a-a-a-a-ll. just to break my f-a-a-a-ll.
headless mice in darkened dirty stairwells. i drank the last of the beautiful, orgasmic, organic chocolate milk, and i am unabashed. the fountain at the center of library mall broke my heart on friday afternoon. having rained for days prior, the pooled water had all come from the sky, and it was littered with smallish bits of the atmosphere, and of the city. but there, at the very bottom, right near the edge, was a single drowned daisy. i am doomed to remember this until my brain goes blind (as is my fate...hearing more about the descent of my grandfather makes me think of two things: the white bone and the elephants who have lost their memories, and the way that unknowingly disappearing from the world around you is so terribly sad).
i got lost. in the sounds. and i got lost.
i'd like to think that the following is false, but in all possibilities, it is entirely true. the last time i will see amsterdam, the secretary of war, and the assassin, they were marching angrily and in black, waving flags and wearing masks, protesting the flailing, floundering nazis. it's fitting, though, that this might be my last impression - a. we are the sidewalk revolutionaries of the yellow traffic lights, and b. summer is an inherently fleeting season. many things are contained within summer months that are not meant to be stretched, not intended to continue into the cooling of the earth. people love to forlorn the loss of summer, supposedly because of the temperature change. i think, on some level, it is because what they are actually missing is the freedom, and the heat [which is subconsciously linked with passion] and the raw energy that comes with the temperate vernal expression. there are feats and adventures and anecdotes of mythic proportions held beneath the hours of our summers. i relish these; i mourn their passing; i cover myself in their memories like rubber cement, like sun-bleached cotton.
i hear in my mind. all these voices. i hear in my mind all of these words.

i am a breadmaker, a heartbreaker, a chaotic [mental] rolling stone.
i am threadbare, heartbroken, infected, detected.

there is a snaking string of colored lights emblazoned in the corner, glowing:
suit jackets.
cellar door.
folding chair.
copper jewelry and black ink.
memorizing the history of the entire world.
ivory and ebony.
rainy sundays.

i'll be outside in my two-man tent. leave me to the warrings of the world, and go.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

sparrows and screws

screws the size of men,
most of them bigger.
symphonies, in the background,
and gravel.
the smell of sulfer,
burning cold like the blood red end
of a match
fills the nostrils
of soldiers marching
passed the chain links.
[or are they mirrored there?
are these fences bound together
like the bones of our
corpses killed and lying in
faceless boxes? they are
as indeterminate, exact replicas.]
violins in the barren bellies
of the warships send
tattered waltzes to the fishes
that lie in coral,
sleeping, beneath
rusted iron, and old cannon
fire, having long forgotten its gunpowder.
the space is now covered in seaweed.
on high, they sing hallelujah. in harmony
with the chords of flailing
bullet casings,
and always marching.
marching skyward!
those in planes, hovering over the land
like seabirds
waiting for the scent of
carrion to reach them
on the wind.
do they sing for revolution?
their words are lost in the
synapsis of their warheads,
falling toward the rising
of some map torn mountain.

they're like mice with wings.
and curious eyes.
they come in waves. quickly. suddenly, like a rainstorm over the lake. but quiet!
and they're alive right now, but maybe they won't be tomorrow, maybe there will be a dog, too friendly, and young, too friendly and strong for its own good, and the dog will want to play, will take the sparrows between its teeth, like a tennis ball, but birds are not made of rubber, do not bounce. the dog will leave the sparrows on the sidewalk, damp, and limp, small balls of dead feathers.
but they are alive right now.

you.shall.know.our.velocity. [dave eggers]
ice cream for lunch.
seeing those i haven't in a while.
butternut squash ravioli.

you're the reason why i burst and why i bloom

Thursday, August 17, 2006

and it breaks my h-h-h-h-heart

Look into your heart and you'll find love love love Listen to the music of the moment maybe sing with me A lá peaceful melodys It's your God-forsaken right to be loved loved love

ah, gravity. gravity!

black eyeliner. sleeping 'til noon. vanilla yogurt. escaping on backroads at 70 mph + blasting folk music. returning to the bench, in daylight (and possibly finding matty?) espresso shots. wasting time in walmart, while yelling loudly of its horrid nature. kate, and her 21st birthday. waking up on the barren floor of an apartment in a pile of friends. being car-less (ala 8th grade). understanding arbitrary technology. spelling. french toast, 7 hour busrides, and gas station cappuchinos. having the 2 "big brothers" of my house back. underground hip-hop + dishes + industrial kitchen + perfect summer weather. inappropriately friendly little girls and unnamed baby dolls with newly coined monikers. light wash jeans. four dollar t-shirts and marker martinis. dreams about being blind, and the returning ghost of former infatuations. movies that make it impossible not to dance. CHANNING TATUM. photography among friends, [ghetto] amaretto sours, fresh cut grass, and clean showers.

i'm yours (jason mraz)
evening chai (blue scholars)
step up (soundtrack)
fidelity (regina spektor)

its your god-forsaken right to be loved loved love.

Wednesday, August 02, 2006


it must feel good to stand above me | while i make you so proud of me

riding in a train, passed the calves of long horned cattle, and the winding river zumbro, and an old truck stop. there is a mound of earth a mile wide, and it has been silent for so long, the roots of misplaced rainforests have begun to sprout and grow wild. we are doomed to remember them as the bones of the earth, but as we melt into the atmosphere in pieces of translucent mica, i wonder if that smile you reflected in the glass wasn't made from something more.

interventions. the viewing of a chaotic summer, colors inverted and reflected in the eyes of family members unrelated by blood. unexpected coffee visitors. choosing caramel instead of chocolate, latte instead of cafe, and being all the wiser for it. early morning breakfasts in an attempt to escape into normalcy and ignorance. hugs necessary for the continuation of being. karma. unwanted white lilies. newspapers. sleeping during the day instead of at night. recounting winter escapades. dreaming of houses covered in moss, terrorized by storms, inhabited by faceless lovers, and surrounded by ugly memories. heartbreaking voices reverberating from stellar satellites. chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies with [regular, non-organic skim] milk.
taking care of each other. traveling long distances for painful reasons. parking garages. the evolution of the meaning of a room. loveable assholes. the overheating of the planet. contemplating the beginnings of knowledge, and wishing for roots that were never there. old soft spots that will never rot. ice cream. sleeping open-mouthed in moving vehicles amongst strangers. heat.

and if our always is all that we gave
and we someday take that away . . .