With new vibrance, she put forth her boasting left foot out into the place.
She assessed the color of the sky and began her brief minutes home.
It seemed as if it would end on a Monday. And she recalled to the windshield the remission of a great cancer that heavied her words and made a fool of her at seven and twelve and eighteen.
The woman studied a list of words followed by various three digit numbers.
[Most of the words foreign,
consisting of x’s and z’s,
that must translate to words about risk,
and time, and chance..]
the girl presented the idea that it was time. And that a plague had been masking her normality.
That she had been untruly accused, and furthermore, that erroneous tendencies had been assigned to her of no warrant..
That un asked for colors and flashes of light had fallen into her head at night accompanied by stories of tall universes folding into themselves and becoming one single cell.
That the list of words made hot, white noises crash into her skull.
That something would shake and twitch her at her greatest attempts at still.
And finally she explained that perhaps she had been, and she used this word eagerly, “normal” for years now. “maybe my head has fixed itself.”
The woman corrected the list on paper and begat her one so weak it almost paled in view and color.
With new vibrance, she put forth her boasting left foot out into the place.
And her pineal gland began to un-slumber.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
HOMEsick.
I’m starting to get in trouble again..
I do not manage my 24 allotted hours well, they say.
My boldest, or my most unthinking, flare up?
I was visiting the memory of an empty, snow covered town when one of them oozed out of the snow.
She seeped up.
in heavy, draping ruby.
unhurriedly made her way towards the abandoned café terrace I loitered..
I did not offer peripheral awareness.
But an odd thing, as she arrived at the gate her crimson cloak became a small snow vest and she converted to a woman. A normal woman.
And she opened the gate. And she stood facing me, studying my bottomless gaze into the vacant street.
She took a moment to turn her face towards my interest, and again my face.
then sat down..
We, there, almost as friends.
Almost as if she knew. I took a packet of sprinkles and tore it into the hot, sweet beverage I knew I could not finish.
And in silence she explained that she carried understanding for the things I must have bore inside about here.
And in sounds like heavy sheets of glass collapsing she said,
“you cannot stay here.”
“I know.”
“Not other days.
Not times after now.
Not in seconds or years.
You cannot come here..”
And as each word reached me, I could feel the first time my mother had dropped me off at daycare, and how the recognition of truth arrived at me identically.
And she conceded me moments, and we waited for the memory to perform and parade its’ climax in notable detail.
[The little red-headed girl exploded out of the heavy metal door
and she fell into the street.
She made a laughing sound and smiled at me.]
My secret, my desperate denial. I would not tell.
The woman took me by the hand and blinked slowly,
“ you need to keep your eyes open so he can remove the tubes.”
I do not manage my 24 allotted hours well, they say.
My boldest, or my most unthinking, flare up?
I was visiting the memory of an empty, snow covered town when one of them oozed out of the snow.
She seeped up.
in heavy, draping ruby.
unhurriedly made her way towards the abandoned café terrace I loitered..
I did not offer peripheral awareness.
But an odd thing, as she arrived at the gate her crimson cloak became a small snow vest and she converted to a woman. A normal woman.
And she opened the gate. And she stood facing me, studying my bottomless gaze into the vacant street.
She took a moment to turn her face towards my interest, and again my face.
then sat down..
We, there, almost as friends.
Almost as if she knew. I took a packet of sprinkles and tore it into the hot, sweet beverage I knew I could not finish.
And in silence she explained that she carried understanding for the things I must have bore inside about here.
And in sounds like heavy sheets of glass collapsing she said,
“you cannot stay here.”
“I know.”
“Not other days.
Not times after now.
Not in seconds or years.
You cannot come here..”
And as each word reached me, I could feel the first time my mother had dropped me off at daycare, and how the recognition of truth arrived at me identically.
And she conceded me moments, and we waited for the memory to perform and parade its’ climax in notable detail.
[The little red-headed girl exploded out of the heavy metal door
and she fell into the street.
She made a laughing sound and smiled at me.]
My secret, my desperate denial. I would not tell.
The woman took me by the hand and blinked slowly,
“ you need to keep your eyes open so he can remove the tubes.”
Sunday, December 13, 2009
i can rarely move. and i need to to be part of this place.
they explained at the window that i require circles and trinkets, and several other tangible items that make a person real.
That I hadn’t been born with it, but they couldn’t cut the malfunctioning part out..
i get up, and it gets down. and i remember that it gets up.
when i was three and five and six. when i was in my room.
drawing pictures of people i have never met..
writing your name down and talking to you.
that they like me when i show them how confident i was born.
here.
and how i smile and boast and say how silly words seem.
And they like the way I look.
and several other things about serious behavior and how our calm makes us real;
that they do not loose feeling in their limbs; awake.
They do not shake and scream while dreaming..
They do not hear words that come together about yellow trees and dry people,
Andveryfirmlytheytookcaretodescribethattheirdaysdonotfollowoneanotherbutaregentlyanddistinctlyseparate.
As if a line were drawn between sleep and sun.
Where I am only a few days old.
a sense maybe imminent for people that aren’t born. [and I imagine them wise and calm. And real]
and they hear the music I do that is not there.
And they can feel the vibrations of people that they have never met.
And know feelings and the waves of bumps across your arm from the way your mother stroked your hair.
[no matter how silent time had made it]
But opened in my book are words that have been read and re-read so numerous of times that the letters have been near faded by my eyes..
“and people came from all over the land: a woman who since birth counted her heartbeats and had run out of numbers, a man that got up at night to undo the things he had done while awake, a man that couldn’t sleep because the noise of the stars disturbed him, and several others with less serious ailments..”-Marquez
they explained at the window that i require circles and trinkets, and several other tangible items that make a person real.
That I hadn’t been born with it, but they couldn’t cut the malfunctioning part out..
i get up, and it gets down. and i remember that it gets up.
when i was three and five and six. when i was in my room.
drawing pictures of people i have never met..
writing your name down and talking to you.
that they like me when i show them how confident i was born.
here.
and how i smile and boast and say how silly words seem.
And they like the way I look.
and several other things about serious behavior and how our calm makes us real;
that they do not loose feeling in their limbs; awake.
They do not shake and scream while dreaming..
They do not hear words that come together about yellow trees and dry people,
Andveryfirmlytheytookcaretodescribethattheirdaysdonotfollowoneanotherbutaregentlyanddistinctlyseparate.
As if a line were drawn between sleep and sun.
Where I am only a few days old.
a sense maybe imminent for people that aren’t born. [and I imagine them wise and calm. And real]
and they hear the music I do that is not there.
And they can feel the vibrations of people that they have never met.
And know feelings and the waves of bumps across your arm from the way your mother stroked your hair.
[no matter how silent time had made it]
But opened in my book are words that have been read and re-read so numerous of times that the letters have been near faded by my eyes..
“and people came from all over the land: a woman who since birth counted her heartbeats and had run out of numbers, a man that got up at night to undo the things he had done while awake, a man that couldn’t sleep because the noise of the stars disturbed him, and several others with less serious ailments..”-Marquez
.ara batur.
I was running through a field.
Yellow strips of bang glided past my face as it became a memory destined to befall all of my childhood. It was all yellow. And as I defeat the grass it crunched and gave way to my galloping pace. A charge similar to that of a patriot; intentional and with feeling. And God crept beneath the tallest layers of the sky, where I could breathe him in the atmosphere. And the branches stretched and reached up, as if to touch him; beckoning..
And in that moment, I could not remember etched marble. I did not feel I was late, or out of time. There were enough numbers for all of the stars, and I could remember the sound of the room the night I dreamt about you.
Yellow strips of bang glided past my face as it became a memory destined to befall all of my childhood. It was all yellow. And as I defeat the grass it crunched and gave way to my galloping pace. A charge similar to that of a patriot; intentional and with feeling. And God crept beneath the tallest layers of the sky, where I could breathe him in the atmosphere. And the branches stretched and reached up, as if to touch him; beckoning..
And in that moment, I could not remember etched marble. I did not feel I was late, or out of time. There were enough numbers for all of the stars, and I could remember the sound of the room the night I dreamt about you.
Friday, December 11, 2009
diet coke vs. coke zero
Have you, yourself, found [yourself] face to face, at a McDonald's, wondering why on earth Coke A Cola would spend the money on having two different types of diet colas? or why haven't they phased out the old finally..
I, myself, have pleaded with the lady at Subway to disclose with me the difference and after many futile attempts i began to wonder:
"am i stammering upon some ever-lasting gobstopper grounds? will Slugworth confront me in a dark alley and tell me to stop putting my nose where it doesnt belong?"
I pressed forward.
i pulled together many different answers from the web and this is what i suppose is the best answer:
1. diet Coke is not made from the original formula Coke a Cola is made from, also artificial sweetener.
2. on an advertising hand, men are more likely to buy something "out there!" rather than a safe diet soda. Coke Zero sounds more neutral, thus more appealing to men.
b. also Coke Zero is, in fact, made from the original formula and is said to taste more like real Coke. (THIS, HOPEFULLY, MEANS THE ORIGINAL FORMULA THAT SUPPOSEDLY HAD COCAINE, YA!)
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
you don't smoke cigarrettes.
you get scared when you guess things right.
but you do smoke cigarrettes. and youre thirsty all the time.
furthermore, you stood at the top of the playset starring at the top of a tree with its roots sticking out and naked and twisted about the ground. and as your lips twitched you wrote.
you wrote about age. and fast words.
pacing. running. ridiculously ill attentive.
does not play games that require time.
you change your clothes twice and day and have never felt safe.
and sometimes when you feel bored you feel that you need something.
and calls and lose your keys and phone and jokes.
and even when you sleep you cannot still.
but twitch and kick and lay wide awake motionless, certain that you can hear music that is not there.
It doesnt matter about the paralysis. or the shocks at night. or the cold feeling in the morning.
or the writing or guessing things and people. or the other thing.
your head lights up wrong colors. and when you go to shows you do not tap your foot.
you get scared when you guess things right.
but you do smoke cigarrettes. and youre thirsty all the time.
furthermore, you stood at the top of the playset starring at the top of a tree with its roots sticking out and naked and twisted about the ground. and as your lips twitched you wrote.
you wrote about age. and fast words.
pacing. running. ridiculously ill attentive.
does not play games that require time.
you change your clothes twice and day and have never felt safe.
and sometimes when you feel bored you feel that you need something.
and calls and lose your keys and phone and jokes.
and even when you sleep you cannot still.
but twitch and kick and lay wide awake motionless, certain that you can hear music that is not there.
It doesnt matter about the paralysis. or the shocks at night. or the cold feeling in the morning.
or the writing or guessing things and people. or the other thing.
your head lights up wrong colors. and when you go to shows you do not tap your foot.
but tell them. not fast and aching.
tell them about the beginning and the end.
and how there was a girl that rearranged the stars with her fingertips.
and how the ocean fell in love with her.
and how the sky would burn intself to calm her.
monsoon and bilateral winds.
and you dont stop talking to God in your head. and outloud.
and how there are no marks on your skin.
but guts.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
b.
It’s quiet now.
There are people and children and strangers collected and sitting and circling words with days and years and past about them that aches at the bottom of your stomach;
colliding at your ears in waves like sound.
And gazes about you like shame, or sorrow. Empathetic and unknowing.
And friend you carry it like earth. Alone and together.
And love I know it is not the keys you cannot find.
It is not the first day she left you at school.
It is not a heart-like feeling.
It cannot be undone or revenged or hated or blamed like a stolen thing.
It is the nights you cannot sleep.
And these few new days are heavy.
And the sun seems dimmer in its daily devotion.
And even now you’ll hear a distant voice that’s familiar.
But the people give out identical apologies. And empty comfort.
But love there is this.
The way she brushed her hair in the mornings.
The smell of her skin.
The pitch and falter in her voice.
The sounds and touch youre imagining now.
And the empty and undone bed where she did sleep.
And she was two and five and seventeen.
And now she is only a few days old.
Because there are going to pass days and years and age.
And her hair is beginning to grow out of your head.
And specs in your eyes are turning.
And even now as you bow your head, she is changing the skin that you are in.
And you’ll grow. And as unbelievable as it is, the sun will rise again.
The days will up and down again.
Until one day the sun and amber will dart through the slits in the wallAcross your face and hair Where she has climbed unto your mirror.
And she’d never been away.
And she was brave.
She is here now.
And today they are not here because she’s passed.
But because she won.
There are people and children and strangers collected and sitting and circling words with days and years and past about them that aches at the bottom of your stomach;
colliding at your ears in waves like sound.
And gazes about you like shame, or sorrow. Empathetic and unknowing.
And friend you carry it like earth. Alone and together.
And love I know it is not the keys you cannot find.
It is not the first day she left you at school.
It is not a heart-like feeling.
It cannot be undone or revenged or hated or blamed like a stolen thing.
It is the nights you cannot sleep.
And these few new days are heavy.
And the sun seems dimmer in its daily devotion.
And even now you’ll hear a distant voice that’s familiar.
But the people give out identical apologies. And empty comfort.
But love there is this.
The way she brushed her hair in the mornings.
The smell of her skin.
The pitch and falter in her voice.
The sounds and touch youre imagining now.
And the empty and undone bed where she did sleep.
And she was two and five and seventeen.
And now she is only a few days old.
Because there are going to pass days and years and age.
And her hair is beginning to grow out of your head.
And specs in your eyes are turning.
And even now as you bow your head, she is changing the skin that you are in.
And you’ll grow. And as unbelievable as it is, the sun will rise again.
The days will up and down again.
Until one day the sun and amber will dart through the slits in the wallAcross your face and hair Where she has climbed unto your mirror.
And she’d never been away.
And she was brave.
She is here now.
And today they are not here because she’s passed.
But because she won.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
this old post i found that i like to read.
and so i had my head on your chest listening...your heart thumped just for me it seemed. i really like that. your hands made me feel warm and cared for, like i was more than a sister, a daughter, an aunt, a friend. right then i was something else, something new. my skin felt tingly, just to hear you breath made me feel comfort ive never had. right then i realized that it was too perfect, this isnt constant and that it would be gone. and so i pleaded "God please stop time...let this last forever". maybe for that night it did, memories do last forever. i just remember you kissed me and even if it didnt last forever, i didnt regret this and i would always be content with that.
The Sea Thing.
on the beach that night, a man was steady standing behind me.
in black, i slide my eyes slow. so that he may not move.
and i watched him.
watch me.
the waves lapped up, closer and closer as the nerves and sacks inside meexpanded and deflated. salt in the air.and i slid the tips of my hand towards the sand, slow.
soft in the shallow sand.the silver beams dancing unto me, unto the frail, cream skin i have been given. by this man and this woman.
and the echos of many dead stars dominoed across my face. the blue specs faded and lit up, faded. just as the lapping of the ocean black.
just as the air entered my chest cavity.
and in the blood i felt the silver, and the black, and the salt.
and the more i focused on it, i could almost feel tiny pieces of sand and salt riding in my veins, flowing there, and maybe scraping the lining of the vessels in my skin, and eyes, and hands.
the sound of it.his boding form. ominous in his stature, and deathly in his demeanor.
i felt the stiffness in his knees and other joints that make you tall.
towering over me. maybe in his neck, or jaw, but i felt it. i understood his place here. his jaw, or his neck. a bit too stiff. he was the type of man that could carry outthe most terrible things. sane. but something animal.he did not know my age, or the name i had been given. my size had been cruel. the nerves responded to the synapses. the hand obeyed.
and slid one inch. and the wave hither in correspondence.
he did not know.
and my hand slid further past.
and the water, there below the old dead and dying stars, flickered and rose.
expanded and came close. close to its true body.
the body i know not to be my own. because he did not know my name.if i coerce a single drop.what world have you given me?
in black, i slide my eyes slow. so that he may not move.
and i watched him.
watch me.
the waves lapped up, closer and closer as the nerves and sacks inside meexpanded and deflated. salt in the air.and i slid the tips of my hand towards the sand, slow.
soft in the shallow sand.the silver beams dancing unto me, unto the frail, cream skin i have been given. by this man and this woman.
and the echos of many dead stars dominoed across my face. the blue specs faded and lit up, faded. just as the lapping of the ocean black.
just as the air entered my chest cavity.
and in the blood i felt the silver, and the black, and the salt.
and the more i focused on it, i could almost feel tiny pieces of sand and salt riding in my veins, flowing there, and maybe scraping the lining of the vessels in my skin, and eyes, and hands.
the sound of it.his boding form. ominous in his stature, and deathly in his demeanor.
i felt the stiffness in his knees and other joints that make you tall.
towering over me. maybe in his neck, or jaw, but i felt it. i understood his place here. his jaw, or his neck. a bit too stiff. he was the type of man that could carry outthe most terrible things. sane. but something animal.he did not know my age, or the name i had been given. my size had been cruel. the nerves responded to the synapses. the hand obeyed.
and slid one inch. and the wave hither in correspondence.
he did not know.
and my hand slid further past.
and the water, there below the old dead and dying stars, flickered and rose.
expanded and came close. close to its true body.
the body i know not to be my own. because he did not know my name.if i coerce a single drop.what world have you given me?
pt 2.
Armageddon: Part Two
When she had been reborn, for the first time, the surviving civilization and remnants of that time had long prospered and forgotten.
as a parabola of collective eras of history cultivating and then collapsing into sleep.
This time, she was birthed like us, small and seemingly frail. But this did not change the depth of her power, or of her purpose.
Because our children cannot master speech at birth, or step or sleep, or calm, she could not.
but it was not so simply the danger of hunger, or developing the equilibrium to stand and join in the ever cascading generations of civil men.
she was the end.
and in little effort, with great misunderstanding of her motor ability's and that of the ripples of her minor details, a whole nation could fall into the black abyss of history.
into the hundred billion wombs that have formed quietly with their thumping intimate company, and their brief journey to death whom have no names.And in the moment she was upon us,from the womb itself,
Devastation came with her.
Because there is no story to her birth,
Only that they found her small and screaming in the center of a circle three miles in radius.No hospital, or fathers, no mother, or houses[whatever had been there before]it was fate that, even in her age, she be the one to destroyany human similarity, such as a guardianor a fountainhead to her origin, or of fond fastenings to humankind.
as for her previous existence, the many years she spent hiding in the sea,or her rein among the beasts of earth, or that of the tree that broke her,they accompanied her.this time they were not enveloped in memory,but programed as instincts, a primal protection from her elaborate existence.and she was loved.
it was a desperate reach into her acknowledgment,that the wind and the atmosphere would attemptto catch her eyes with a tsunami,a violent sky, or in aurora.and in its admirations, the sky would try and try its best to capture a rouge star for her.to burn and scar itself,just to plead its diligent devotion for her.and she was just as persevering in her unrequited interest.as she would spend her nights laying a field,rearranging stars with her fingertips.
When she had been reborn, for the first time, the surviving civilization and remnants of that time had long prospered and forgotten.
as a parabola of collective eras of history cultivating and then collapsing into sleep.
This time, she was birthed like us, small and seemingly frail. But this did not change the depth of her power, or of her purpose.
Because our children cannot master speech at birth, or step or sleep, or calm, she could not.
but it was not so simply the danger of hunger, or developing the equilibrium to stand and join in the ever cascading generations of civil men.
she was the end.
and in little effort, with great misunderstanding of her motor ability's and that of the ripples of her minor details, a whole nation could fall into the black abyss of history.
into the hundred billion wombs that have formed quietly with their thumping intimate company, and their brief journey to death whom have no names.And in the moment she was upon us,from the womb itself,
Devastation came with her.
Because there is no story to her birth,
Only that they found her small and screaming in the center of a circle three miles in radius.No hospital, or fathers, no mother, or houses[whatever had been there before]it was fate that, even in her age, she be the one to destroyany human similarity, such as a guardianor a fountainhead to her origin, or of fond fastenings to humankind.
as for her previous existence, the many years she spent hiding in the sea,or her rein among the beasts of earth, or that of the tree that broke her,they accompanied her.this time they were not enveloped in memory,but programed as instincts, a primal protection from her elaborate existence.and she was loved.
it was a desperate reach into her acknowledgment,that the wind and the atmosphere would attemptto catch her eyes with a tsunami,a violent sky, or in aurora.and in its admirations, the sky would try and try its best to capture a rouge star for her.to burn and scar itself,just to plead its diligent devotion for her.and she was just as persevering in her unrequited interest.as she would spend her nights laying a field,rearranging stars with her fingertips.
and if I had your faith.
There a string. It attached to her chest, interweaved and strung as if the skin was pleated. Imagine the tug. So with each puff, a corresponding body inhales in an ironic attempt at breath. She gasps its hurts. The near nylon thread pulls hard and close her soft skin until a liquid finds it way through and drips down the clear line. Her voice heightened by each jerk as she cries. Sharp lightening branching out into her heart and shoulders piercing in pulses. Rips and tears Make believe it to unhappen. Pretend there is no one on the other end; a cause to the effect. Her hands are clinched desperately to the blankets she was wrapped in for relief. Birthmark-like countries of red across the cotton. A girl, another with knots around her fingertips: ten fingers, ten strings, ten years. Source: lifts her index for a parallel reaction, a matching tangible sound for her harmless curiosity. The wounded body shakes a little and she can hear hissing whispers. Its making sound now. A giggle here and there, but mostly outdated voices. These things have no purpose she saysAnd its louder now. Lines are stretching, pulling, till the twine threatens a final snap.
A deafening saturation of the air with sounds and voices and singing and thoughts never mouthed and earsplitting sun that melted the blinds. Faster and quicker and sharper and louder, leave her alone let her go where you found her. love her ya know? quite insanely she says over her shoulder to nothing. Then she leans in and catches her red wet eyes to clearly vocalize: always loved you, doll. I was just intrigued, I wanted to know what would happen, I had to see it for my own eyes, I had to touch the fire, curiosity killed ya know? .stop crying. The wounded remembers to forget English. Her lips firmly shaking closed. She lifts her shaking hands with spotted red across her palms. Her fingertips sliding up the thread, a grasp. She pulls til the line is thin, an increasing radius of the audience lids from the black whole inside the hazel and gold. The intertwined lines shred the edges of skin as the watching face is splattered and blemished. And blood rises to her lips, riming and sliding down her chin, she wipes it with her hand ,leans forward. She skims up her neck and her new steady hand proves determination. Slightly choking the aging threat she closes in and says sideways in her ear: You're nothing.
A deafening saturation of the air with sounds and voices and singing and thoughts never mouthed and earsplitting sun that melted the blinds. Faster and quicker and sharper and louder, leave her alone let her go where you found her. love her ya know? quite insanely she says over her shoulder to nothing. Then she leans in and catches her red wet eyes to clearly vocalize: always loved you, doll. I was just intrigued, I wanted to know what would happen, I had to see it for my own eyes, I had to touch the fire, curiosity killed ya know? .stop crying. The wounded remembers to forget English. Her lips firmly shaking closed. She lifts her shaking hands with spotted red across her palms. Her fingertips sliding up the thread, a grasp. She pulls til the line is thin, an increasing radius of the audience lids from the black whole inside the hazel and gold. The intertwined lines shred the edges of skin as the watching face is splattered and blemished. And blood rises to her lips, riming and sliding down her chin, she wipes it with her hand ,leans forward. She skims up her neck and her new steady hand proves determination. Slightly choking the aging threat she closes in and says sideways in her ear: You're nothing.
If 6 were a 9.
and they stuck the tube in to your throat,
to your chestbut the blood, it bled fury,
they swore it their best
but i cant have you behind me,
in walls, empty dreams
i dont so often now, cause i escape in a scream
i became the thing i feared as a kidthe horrible, numb things that they did.
and my mother, she'd yell at me and say to stop crying
theyve been dead for a while, youre not even trying
so i hid in that room, the white and the pillsthey help with medicine, its the pain that they kill
they kept dying, their bodies not bound
but God they would not keep, in the dead, in the groundcause they sit beside me, in chairs, and in walls
i try and walk faster, but their waiting in the halls
faster and quicker and sharper and louderleave her alone,
let her go where you found her
to your chestbut the blood, it bled fury,
they swore it their best
but i cant have you behind me,
in walls, empty dreams
i dont so often now, cause i escape in a scream
i became the thing i feared as a kidthe horrible, numb things that they did.
and my mother, she'd yell at me and say to stop crying
theyve been dead for a while, youre not even trying
so i hid in that room, the white and the pillsthey help with medicine, its the pain that they kill
they kept dying, their bodies not bound
but God they would not keep, in the dead, in the groundcause they sit beside me, in chairs, and in walls
i try and walk faster, but their waiting in the halls
faster and quicker and sharper and louderleave her alone,
let her go where you found her
He wouldn't see my face.
Allocate me favorable settings; an environment in which my hair is soft and white.
Please do not touch my shoulder if i feel angry.sometimes it begins to tingle at my fingertips and my skin starts to glow; the things i try and control.I
am not for anyone.
"she is a slut, but x thinks its sexyshe goes above and beyond her call of duty"-BK
Please do not try to apply comfort here.
Even if you could, it would be a de-volving action; something dangerous to habit.
I do like the thought of you sitting on the edge of my bed while i try and try to catch my breath. Please do not touch my shoulder, but i do like you sitting there.
But it is my secret that i would pretend you are not thereso that the day i am alone is not so surprising or new.
where my greatest company is my own.and my greatest downfall when i was young.a soft, small girl with white hair.
who slept at nightand loved, and reloved.
and hugged her mother and fatherand did not recognize deaths blurred, matt facebut i have become the thing i feared as a child.
where i am well versedand utterly void of love.or maybe it is the capacity that i am lacking.
[it is something that she would spend the nights, rearranging the stars with her fingertips...]
Please do not touch my shoulder if i feel angry.sometimes it begins to tingle at my fingertips and my skin starts to glow; the things i try and control.I
am not for anyone.
"she is a slut, but x thinks its sexyshe goes above and beyond her call of duty"-BK
Please do not try to apply comfort here.
Even if you could, it would be a de-volving action; something dangerous to habit.
I do like the thought of you sitting on the edge of my bed while i try and try to catch my breath. Please do not touch my shoulder, but i do like you sitting there.
But it is my secret that i would pretend you are not thereso that the day i am alone is not so surprising or new.
where my greatest company is my own.and my greatest downfall when i was young.a soft, small girl with white hair.
who slept at nightand loved, and reloved.
and hugged her mother and fatherand did not recognize deaths blurred, matt facebut i have become the thing i feared as a child.
where i am well versedand utterly void of love.or maybe it is the capacity that i am lacking.
[it is something that she would spend the nights, rearranging the stars with her fingertips...]
Laurie.
it was in the room that is now Gavin's, when it was a guest room that i woke up in a place id escape to.
I had walked down the street, in the dark, barefoot, crying because i had lost my best friend. it started then.
but i remember when i could first drive i would go down I-10 over and over, to bryce's games, to play with him. i cannot explain what you are to me. all of my family stood and held me up. you took the liberty, you gave the energy to give me stability and structure.
i had no idea what to do.
i feel that in some way your baby sister did go.
and i could only be happy to take her place, feeling like "how lucky am i to be in this family".
you didnt just give me a place to live.
with all of the things you carried, you carried me.
you gave all of your heart into all my heartache, pain, and you stood behind me; stayed up with me at night. and i remember though we are the same size, you picked me up and carried me to the car to the emergency room.
and right then, right in that exact moment i knew God named you. i knew, then, that you were my family, my relentless family, my heart, my blood, but more than anything my savior. i dont know if you know this, but out of all my angels you are my greatest one. you are the nights i fall asleep, you are when i dream, you are the days i do not struggle, you are the day when i am old and grey; you are why i will be old and grey.
and i cannot tell you what that means, or how you've had the ability to give it. and how my nephews healed me.you are the nights that i sleep, you are the bias that i need, you are my laughter, you are the strength inside of me. you are why i am learning, and growing, and alive. thank you.
-b
I had walked down the street, in the dark, barefoot, crying because i had lost my best friend. it started then.
but i remember when i could first drive i would go down I-10 over and over, to bryce's games, to play with him. i cannot explain what you are to me. all of my family stood and held me up. you took the liberty, you gave the energy to give me stability and structure.
i had no idea what to do.
i feel that in some way your baby sister did go.
and i could only be happy to take her place, feeling like "how lucky am i to be in this family".
you didnt just give me a place to live.
with all of the things you carried, you carried me.
you gave all of your heart into all my heartache, pain, and you stood behind me; stayed up with me at night. and i remember though we are the same size, you picked me up and carried me to the car to the emergency room.
and right then, right in that exact moment i knew God named you. i knew, then, that you were my family, my relentless family, my heart, my blood, but more than anything my savior. i dont know if you know this, but out of all my angels you are my greatest one. you are the nights i fall asleep, you are when i dream, you are the days i do not struggle, you are the day when i am old and grey; you are why i will be old and grey.
and i cannot tell you what that means, or how you've had the ability to give it. and how my nephews healed me.you are the nights that i sleep, you are the bias that i need, you are my laughter, you are the strength inside of me. you are why i am learning, and growing, and alive. thank you.
-b
The Most Enormous White Room.
The sweeping tight cotton crisscrosses as it creates a curious silhouette in the doorway, pauses, then pivots to another room.
Break.
Rewind.
The double doors boom as they are undone, the thin girl take a look back realizing that this must warrant an acknowledgment; something apropos.
"I love you..."
and she stands next to a kind, strong black woman who looks up into the corner of her eye as if reading numbers etched into the inside of her skull, then punches them into the wall.
a red button and digits contains them there, in between these places.
Facing the next set of twin doors, they part.
They sound throughout the hollow halls.
Break.
She could breathe it in the air; these molecules of serotonin. and as she passed the threshold the nerves within her head cringed and withered in horror;
The would be utterly defeated.
Because her hair retained the color of a young child, so were her eyes.She was a small form, if only in hersize.
Her sockets might contain things much heavierthan the addict tapping at her temples, scratching ather thigh, waiting for a cigarette.
There would be no cranes, no men, no 'hero' to lift the world from her, and there had yet been a way to cut the malfunctioning part out...An older woman always, or more correctly, chronically Begins with "hun.." as she explains her life, the dangers of carbonated sodas and the answer that she has never had children...and something about
"if the good lord, i asked him not..."Another explains that yesterday was so hard because the voices were all so very loud.There was no magic in the voices of the black haired girl who could not void them.
BUT it was something for her to explain that she incessantly believed there to be a figure sitting there, next to her, speaking very steadily.
To interrupt i must explain that the older womanhas subsided herself with the words: "now, no more talking.."and i watched her, with both hands, hold her own mouth shut.the girl with dormant voices quickly stamps her white sheet vigorously, as if to busy to sleeping persons in her eyes. she breathes heavy, as if breathing for seven.
-"And hun... any kind of green vegitables, salads...all of the medications, they take all of the wood out of your body...water, water, water, water, water.."
and she perches her lips together shakes her head left to right for the twentieth time as if it made the world right. then i believe she told a story to the thin girl about a diabetic with no parents as she continued with the history of a bloodline of a woman she had never known. i heard her say..
"I declare..."
Break.
Rewind.
The double doors boom as they are undone, the thin girl take a look back realizing that this must warrant an acknowledgment; something apropos.
"I love you..."
and she stands next to a kind, strong black woman who looks up into the corner of her eye as if reading numbers etched into the inside of her skull, then punches them into the wall.
a red button and digits contains them there, in between these places.
Facing the next set of twin doors, they part.
They sound throughout the hollow halls.
Break.
She could breathe it in the air; these molecules of serotonin. and as she passed the threshold the nerves within her head cringed and withered in horror;
The would be utterly defeated.
Because her hair retained the color of a young child, so were her eyes.She was a small form, if only in hersize.
Her sockets might contain things much heavierthan the addict tapping at her temples, scratching ather thigh, waiting for a cigarette.
There would be no cranes, no men, no 'hero' to lift the world from her, and there had yet been a way to cut the malfunctioning part out...An older woman always, or more correctly, chronically Begins with "hun.." as she explains her life, the dangers of carbonated sodas and the answer that she has never had children...and something about
"if the good lord, i asked him not..."Another explains that yesterday was so hard because the voices were all so very loud.There was no magic in the voices of the black haired girl who could not void them.
BUT it was something for her to explain that she incessantly believed there to be a figure sitting there, next to her, speaking very steadily.
To interrupt i must explain that the older womanhas subsided herself with the words: "now, no more talking.."and i watched her, with both hands, hold her own mouth shut.the girl with dormant voices quickly stamps her white sheet vigorously, as if to busy to sleeping persons in her eyes. she breathes heavy, as if breathing for seven.
-"And hun... any kind of green vegitables, salads...all of the medications, they take all of the wood out of your body...water, water, water, water, water.."
and she perches her lips together shakes her head left to right for the twentieth time as if it made the world right. then i believe she told a story to the thin girl about a diabetic with no parents as she continued with the history of a bloodline of a woman she had never known. i heard her say..
"I declare..."
Who is, Who is she?
there is a black, hard backed bible that lives on her night standand it is something that she wipes away the dust from its thick spine and facebut the pages are still crisp and undone.
as countless sheets have never been undressed;
naked and seen.
some of the words seem to fall away from the columns of the white pagethey distance from their accompanied symbols and in their darknessdo not tell about the light anymore.
but as a child she would, at night, caress the thin silk with her fingertipsmaybe making sure that they were real.
and read and re-read them with fear, and with hope, and with admiration
ideas that had already been born into her;
familiar and archetype
and the words, they would wake her in the night, in the dark, and in the stars
bouncing off the sky and into her.
dreams about falling to her knees
and forming words from a language she had never heard, had never known, and feeling senses she could not fathom.
so it stood tall and calming in its' stance by the place designated for rest
but it had been years since she did.
the human things had begun to fade and mild.
and the things he had given her cracked at her skull and grew into space
so she's try to capture all of the stars and count them
so it wouldn't seem so infinite.
but in parabolas the sky and planets and spiraled life would crush hertight, matt, and frozen.
sometimes dismissing its entirety, then overflowing in agony, redundantly and in enormous white rooms she would try and write it down
pleading with the ceiling, begging for naivety.and the human voided and inanimate
her hands would move like magic and the old things, unseen and gone
swelled inside her skinwhere she would walk along the early morning road
telling her father the holocaust was within
and all the people, and all the pain
raced inside her nerves and brain
and every story played again
so maybe if she knew all of them, they wouldn't have died in vain.
cause there was a little girl and fifteen older boys, there were dogs and german men who made screaming noises
she could feel the fumes touching the heads all full of curls
the dropping, falling bodies of old women;
broken pearlsso she pretends to laugh at television
and blushing at young menbut things too big envelope her,
and no one can get in.
as countless sheets have never been undressed;
naked and seen.
some of the words seem to fall away from the columns of the white pagethey distance from their accompanied symbols and in their darknessdo not tell about the light anymore.
but as a child she would, at night, caress the thin silk with her fingertipsmaybe making sure that they were real.
and read and re-read them with fear, and with hope, and with admiration
ideas that had already been born into her;
familiar and archetype
and the words, they would wake her in the night, in the dark, and in the stars
bouncing off the sky and into her.
dreams about falling to her knees
and forming words from a language she had never heard, had never known, and feeling senses she could not fathom.
so it stood tall and calming in its' stance by the place designated for rest
but it had been years since she did.
the human things had begun to fade and mild.
and the things he had given her cracked at her skull and grew into space
so she's try to capture all of the stars and count them
so it wouldn't seem so infinite.
but in parabolas the sky and planets and spiraled life would crush hertight, matt, and frozen.
sometimes dismissing its entirety, then overflowing in agony, redundantly and in enormous white rooms she would try and write it down
pleading with the ceiling, begging for naivety.and the human voided and inanimate
her hands would move like magic and the old things, unseen and gone
swelled inside her skinwhere she would walk along the early morning road
telling her father the holocaust was within
and all the people, and all the pain
raced inside her nerves and brain
and every story played again
so maybe if she knew all of them, they wouldn't have died in vain.
cause there was a little girl and fifteen older boys, there were dogs and german men who made screaming noises
she could feel the fumes touching the heads all full of curls
the dropping, falling bodies of old women;
broken pearlsso she pretends to laugh at television
and blushing at young menbut things too big envelope her,
and no one can get in.
Videotape
the tree bodes and gapes.
all i can remember is sitting atop a table. and he beckons at the edges and at my feet.
he is underneath and in between.
and the sky is void again.
dry and grey and the branches stretch out to the sky.and the shadows stopped dancing in the light.
and his hands were there.
and his words were stressed and starvingand in the night i hear themwhen i try and sleep.they crescendo.
they climax into abrupt flocks of screaming.
and he falls into the groundi walk past it.
the thin, frail arms stretch towards me and break.
the bark begins to crumble off and i can see its skin.
underneath and in between.
and he falls into the place, where the ground and stone is cold with namesand you are my greatest company.
because he begins to mortaland weak and fall awayin the distance i cannot make it outthe things he must conveywhere it begins to tear away my lids
so that i cannot sleepstarring at the ceilingwith the God that i am pleading.because you are my greatest company.
and he grabs at me and tears away my clothes
and the tree black, it aches and bodes and gapesit knows.at the table
i stay and pale and fade
he said [in words like rain],
"this is where love was made."
all i can remember is sitting atop a table. and he beckons at the edges and at my feet.
he is underneath and in between.
and the sky is void again.
dry and grey and the branches stretch out to the sky.and the shadows stopped dancing in the light.
and his hands were there.
and his words were stressed and starvingand in the night i hear themwhen i try and sleep.they crescendo.
they climax into abrupt flocks of screaming.
and he falls into the groundi walk past it.
the thin, frail arms stretch towards me and break.
the bark begins to crumble off and i can see its skin.
underneath and in between.
and he falls into the place, where the ground and stone is cold with namesand you are my greatest company.
because he begins to mortaland weak and fall awayin the distance i cannot make it outthe things he must conveywhere it begins to tear away my lids
so that i cannot sleepstarring at the ceilingwith the God that i am pleading.because you are my greatest company.
and he grabs at me and tears away my clothes
and the tree black, it aches and bodes and gapesit knows.at the table
i stay and pale and fade
he said [in words like rain],
"this is where love was made."
Dec. 16, 2005
"Everything happened so fast and I cant recall
Tell me everything’s fine, tell me that she’s alright."-HOH
I walk into the white florescent reflecting floor, it rewinds and displays fast pacing and yelling and screaming and silence in pixels red.
My foot sliding past the grey streaks where the rubber fought the ground; panic.
Hotel chairs.
White coats that promise and claim and determine.
White walls.
White beds.
I create the vicious race behind my eyes and breathe in the cold, sterile air that proves you were here.
“Room 219.”
The door clicks, the machine raises your chest as your body complies gratefully in an up and down motion.
Your breath was announced by colored lights and noises.
The comforting fabric on the chair as I gripped it tight. Somehow an awkward silence, electric companion;
“it told me things about you.”
Nothing said no harm done.
You were my inanimate body.
I pretended a flashing, flickering light above your mind.
Fixed to prove your inner thought and constant dreaming.
I watched each parabola of your life on the monitors, glowing with memory.
A beam of noise proving you were seven and ten and three and one.
I pretended you heard me and I leaned close to ensure a calm voice.
I paused, slowly began and wiped my face so I would seem a big girl to you.
I left it in your head, so maybe if you woke up you wouldn’t forget.
I felt around the blanket to find it.
I starred at the freckles on your face like a map until my hand recognized the correct tube-like curves.
It didn’t give at first:
Disconnect.
Loud.
Repetitive.
Alarm.
I walked out, I passed the door frame like the air escaping your body.
I heard running, and screaming, and yelling.
I walked past the gray streaks where the rubber fought the ground.
I heard silence and a long drawn out note.
It told me things about you.
Tell me everything’s fine, tell me that she’s alright."-HOH
I walk into the white florescent reflecting floor, it rewinds and displays fast pacing and yelling and screaming and silence in pixels red.
My foot sliding past the grey streaks where the rubber fought the ground; panic.
Hotel chairs.
White coats that promise and claim and determine.
White walls.
White beds.
I create the vicious race behind my eyes and breathe in the cold, sterile air that proves you were here.
“Room 219.”
The door clicks, the machine raises your chest as your body complies gratefully in an up and down motion.
Your breath was announced by colored lights and noises.
The comforting fabric on the chair as I gripped it tight. Somehow an awkward silence, electric companion;
“it told me things about you.”
Nothing said no harm done.
You were my inanimate body.
I pretended a flashing, flickering light above your mind.
Fixed to prove your inner thought and constant dreaming.
I watched each parabola of your life on the monitors, glowing with memory.
A beam of noise proving you were seven and ten and three and one.
I pretended you heard me and I leaned close to ensure a calm voice.
I paused, slowly began and wiped my face so I would seem a big girl to you.
I left it in your head, so maybe if you woke up you wouldn’t forget.
I felt around the blanket to find it.
I starred at the freckles on your face like a map until my hand recognized the correct tube-like curves.
It didn’t give at first:
Disconnect.
Loud.
Repetitive.
Alarm.
I walked out, I passed the door frame like the air escaping your body.
I heard running, and screaming, and yelling.
I walked past the gray streaks where the rubber fought the ground.
I heard silence and a long drawn out note.
It told me things about you.
Fire
it was different.
when they cut me open, there was light.
it shines from the sides of my eyes and the arch of my back.
and sometimes when i walked, it would line the imprints in the soil there.
but you stunned me still.
cause you were bursting on the floorand when you cut its fire.
things ive never seen.your fire and my light.
but when you yell the walls expandand you love me too much.
cause i try and dim me down.
to quiet the noise of fear.
and in the night my dreams ignite the sheets and burn my skin.
in the morning the shadows stay on the ceiling from the fan blades.
and its too bright just now, but i calm and close my eyes.and the tips of your hands singe at the arch of my backand i would shine but your lips keep me quiet, my lips quiet.
and my light flickers and fades cause you love me too much
but in the morning, when the sun stopped rising
you hold me down and burn my skin again
cause you love me too much
you hold me down and my light flickers and dances on the arch of my back;
escapes through the sides of my eyesbut the flames roar, and tear, and scream.
holding me there, and i cannot moves my eyes, or lips, or hips...
and in the morning the blinds are melted to the windowthe sheets are black and broken.
the walls have bleached the color of God
weightless grey rises and falls.
and there was never a mark upon me.
when they cut me open, there was light.
it shines from the sides of my eyes and the arch of my back.
and sometimes when i walked, it would line the imprints in the soil there.
but you stunned me still.
cause you were bursting on the floorand when you cut its fire.
things ive never seen.your fire and my light.
but when you yell the walls expandand you love me too much.
cause i try and dim me down.
to quiet the noise of fear.
and in the night my dreams ignite the sheets and burn my skin.
in the morning the shadows stay on the ceiling from the fan blades.
and its too bright just now, but i calm and close my eyes.and the tips of your hands singe at the arch of my backand i would shine but your lips keep me quiet, my lips quiet.
and my light flickers and fades cause you love me too much
but in the morning, when the sun stopped rising
you hold me down and burn my skin again
cause you love me too much
you hold me down and my light flickers and dances on the arch of my back;
escapes through the sides of my eyesbut the flames roar, and tear, and scream.
holding me there, and i cannot moves my eyes, or lips, or hips...
and in the morning the blinds are melted to the windowthe sheets are black and broken.
the walls have bleached the color of God
weightless grey rises and falls.
and there was never a mark upon me.
.BlackMelody.
It lingers.
it pulls at my eyes and steals all of my thoughts and whatever i might have been without it.
i can t say it, but i feel it has a name.
because if we had no eyes, we would never know to see.
we are here and we touch and feel and grab at it.
we speak it and it is hard and bright and when we push it, it moves. we would never know to see.
we would feel and walk and huddle in places, safe.
and the sky would never blue.
or grey.
and we would use our hands to know space and trees and judge.
but we have eyes.
and we see.
something like eyes, then.
something like seeing.
cause i see and i dont breathe.
and pause and still and pale unto the ground.
and the stars become unique.
and the black in between. iit pulls and i fall up.
and it makes me still. and it feels like music.
like waves of strong voices setting in the sun.and they count the stars.
and i can understand.
how big time is.
and how we are already gone as we are here.
and our bones are resting and we are sleeping and safe.
and hurt doesnt matter.
and we were always going to be ok.
and i count them.
and recount them.and run out of numbers.
and it plays in sounds like rain.
and i calm and close my eyes.
there was never a mark on me.
it pulls at my eyes and steals all of my thoughts and whatever i might have been without it.
i can t say it, but i feel it has a name.
because if we had no eyes, we would never know to see.
we are here and we touch and feel and grab at it.
we speak it and it is hard and bright and when we push it, it moves. we would never know to see.
we would feel and walk and huddle in places, safe.
and the sky would never blue.
or grey.
and we would use our hands to know space and trees and judge.
but we have eyes.
and we see.
something like eyes, then.
something like seeing.
cause i see and i dont breathe.
and pause and still and pale unto the ground.
and the stars become unique.
and the black in between. iit pulls and i fall up.
and it makes me still. and it feels like music.
like waves of strong voices setting in the sun.and they count the stars.
and i can understand.
how big time is.
and how we are already gone as we are here.
and our bones are resting and we are sleeping and safe.
and hurt doesnt matter.
and we were always going to be ok.
and i count them.
and recount them.and run out of numbers.
and it plays in sounds like rain.
and i calm and close my eyes.
there was never a mark on me.
ugh...
" 3:14pmBrittanymy phone has been on and off dead for the past three days
cool me too
3:15pmElijahyou still have the iphone?
3:15pmBrittanyno i broke it
I AM SO IRRESPONSIBLE"
1. my room is a mess
2. i get mad and mean too easily
3. i have used someone that is a good friend to me
4. i miss being close with my roomates
5. wish i didnt ever speak hatefully about anyone, it just makes me look stupid
6. wish that maybe i was less silly so people would respect me more
7. I WANT TO BE MORE MOTIVATED ABOUT SCHOOL AND GET THINGS DONE
8. I NEED TO GO TO CHURCH EVERY SUNDAY!
9. i do drive on "E" dad, sorryyy
10. i should be fluent in spanish by now and i am not
11. i party all the time. ["party all the time, party all the time"]
12. i embarrassed myself a few months ago and didnt know it til today because i didnt remember the whole night. high five bri.
13. i sometimes push what i want to do because i can be selfish, when i should want to do what other people want to do so theyll be happy
14. IM SO HEDONISTIC
15. i need to call mum more16. i need to makeover my life.
17. the only thing i keep up is my appearance. a. my hairb. makeupc. workoutd. clothes (even though i have a ton of dirty clothes i need to was right now)
18. im too nice at work, i joke all the time. i need to be more reserved, I DEFINATELY WOULDNT SEE ANYONE RESPECTING ME AS I JOKE ABOUT KILLING SOMEONE WITH A HANGER FROM THE GAP.
19. i need to go home more.
20. i say bad words.
21. and i have NO filter
basically i feel like a mess.
i totally need to vent.
i think the only way i see myself that satisfies me is the way i act when you first meet me and im just me, just natural me. ok so if you made it to the bottom please dont reassure me about myself, rather, give advice please.
cool me too
3:15pmElijahyou still have the iphone?
3:15pmBrittanyno i broke it
I AM SO IRRESPONSIBLE"
1. my room is a mess
2. i get mad and mean too easily
3. i have used someone that is a good friend to me
4. i miss being close with my roomates
5. wish i didnt ever speak hatefully about anyone, it just makes me look stupid
6. wish that maybe i was less silly so people would respect me more
7. I WANT TO BE MORE MOTIVATED ABOUT SCHOOL AND GET THINGS DONE
8. I NEED TO GO TO CHURCH EVERY SUNDAY!
9. i do drive on "E" dad, sorryyy
10. i should be fluent in spanish by now and i am not
11. i party all the time. ["party all the time, party all the time"]
12. i embarrassed myself a few months ago and didnt know it til today because i didnt remember the whole night. high five bri.
13. i sometimes push what i want to do because i can be selfish, when i should want to do what other people want to do so theyll be happy
14. IM SO HEDONISTIC
15. i need to call mum more16. i need to makeover my life.
17. the only thing i keep up is my appearance. a. my hairb. makeupc. workoutd. clothes (even though i have a ton of dirty clothes i need to was right now)
18. im too nice at work, i joke all the time. i need to be more reserved, I DEFINATELY WOULDNT SEE ANYONE RESPECTING ME AS I JOKE ABOUT KILLING SOMEONE WITH A HANGER FROM THE GAP.
19. i need to go home more.
20. i say bad words.
21. and i have NO filter
basically i feel like a mess.
i totally need to vent.
i think the only way i see myself that satisfies me is the way i act when you first meet me and im just me, just natural me. ok so if you made it to the bottom please dont reassure me about myself, rather, give advice please.
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