REPORT A PROBLEM
quick turn drop
drums beat out the rhythm
tossing the marrow of bones
along the bars
two pieces from a jigsaw puzzle
with different pictures
that somehow fit together
my side feels the cold
left without your
it’s been weeks
since i’ve seen you fly
the dark wings
I want my life to be art because I want my life to be beauty. I want life to be beauty whether gorgeous and bright and brilliant or so sad, so subtle, so ironic to possess beauty in it’s own manifestation of being absurd. Mundane made right.
I hunger for you. All these weeks abstaining, not trusting, trying to forget the past I’ve trained myself not to remember. I’ve learned to become different people- trying to refract around needs so I can help. But not lose myself. Now I’m caught in a house of mirrors having to take time to deduce the me in so many reflections. Not helping. I don’t even know how to take care of myself after all this. Or I just want you to be there to help me. But I feel guilty even asking for that. I feel guilty even talking aloud.
“They were fucked up.”
“The whole crew.”
“The whole crew?”
“Yeah, you know, the whole crew. Everybody.”
“Everybody, like you?”
“Everybody, but you.”
“Oh. What do you mean fucked up?”
“But what’s what not?”
“Everything. Everybody was fucked up on a whole slew of things.”
“Everything...Wow that’s a lot. What things?”
“Anything. Booze, drugs. Everything.”
“Everything like music and life and love and hate?”
“Most things. Probably those things too.”
“Yeah. We don’t really talk about those things.”
“But why not?”
“We just don’t.”
“You just don’t?”
“Yeah. We just don’t.”
Ever have a panic attack? They’re awful. I thought I was going to die of a prozac overdose. All I could think was that was the stupidest way to go, dying from an antidepressant. That I thought my friend’s dog was a human trapped in fur didn’t help. Neither did my convinction that her barbie dolls in boxes were going to gain consciousness and movement. Nor those porcelain masks staring at me and the only one with eyes was crying. I couldn’t breath and I swore her gorilla doll winked at me. Then there were the hallucinations and the shaking.
i used my favorite elevator going to my therapy appointment today. or rather, my favorite elevator in that building. it has one of those metal doors for a phone “in case of emergency” in it. but when you open it up there are just three colored wires, tied in a knot with their metal connectors peeking out from the plastic and a luden’s wrapper . it’s funny there’s no one to call in a psychology building. i always leave it open. inevitably someone has closed it by the end of my fifty minute appointment. empty makes people nervous i guess.
dream notes :
i took a vehicle out into the ocean. saw a whale and dolphins. saw cars stranded on sand bars far out in the sea.
i dreamt my sister died of a heroin overdose and i screamed and did not believe. they said she had been awake then asleep then not. i got lost after that in search of another dream pepsi or coke.
kate and i drove past jay in the middle of the road while searching for jungle weed.
it’s also true that when you try to use light switches in your dreams, they don’t work.
i woke up with pain in my neck that i haven’t experienced since i was four and made the mistake of sleeping with two pillows. i spent the day walking around looking at the world sideways hoping i didn’t look like the ass that i felt. contemplative i told myself. i had a conversation with an old woman whose face looked like a bloated raisin about neck pain. apparently she experiences the same thing. i wonder if pain shooting from your neck down to the tips of your fingers and a strange outlook is what it’s like to be old.
she tells her stories like a traveler. more than willing to stop along the way to see the sights. the world’s biggest ball of twine is worth just as much mention as the bent road sign. and all the little details make sense. each curve and each bend comes to an end point. she carries her beauty in the flame of her eyes hidden behind glasses. carries it evenly like she doesn’t possess it at all. she tries to be light on her toes so other people don’t feel so heavy. she hardly acknowledges her weight. just briefly like breeze.
i’d tell you i’m sorry. try to send my emotions out in a great wave your way to wrap you up. hope that they do more than just lap at your toes. tell you these things need to happen sometimes. that you are not always caught at the bottom of the ocean like pebbles being pulled back and forth with the tide. that at some point you reach the shore or at least go further out so it feels different. that at some point the water wears you down so much you look different. feel different. that suddenly it’s safe.
I’m standing on a corner with a pocket knife and a ball of hemp. I stop people, carve off a portion of me and tie it up in the twine. They take the little dripping parcel between two fingers, hardly glancing at my face. They keep walking. I keep hoping a piece of the curve of my hip might be shining enough. Hope I’m something worthwhile to give. The police come, tell me hemp’s illegal. No one comments about the bleeding wounds. At the trial they only exhibit the pieces of string. I guess I was lost along the way.
i think i made him sad for making me sad. his sadness tumbled my fragile balance. toppled me over into the sadness i so desperately try to ignore. i feel like a faker spitting out the words i hope will help. i know it sounds like bullshit. but eat it anyway. maybe you’ll sleep better. like i’m reading off of some damn therapist’s script designed to push the “happy” buttons that became miswired in myself eight years ago or something like that. eight years of wandering in the dark. seems like such a long time. i’m surprised i’m alive sometimes.
Modern Mythologies: The Real World. The Right Job. The Right Decision. The Perfect Love. Fashion Magazines. The War on Terror. The Axis of Evil. Equality. Santa. The Tooth Fairy. The Easter Bunny. Money. The Right House. Honest News. A ton of other concepts.
It’s all so disillusioning really. Maybe that is what renders us immobile. To be faced with these towering institutions of lies. It seems so much easier to pretend they are truth than have to acknowledge them as false. It’s much easier to tell our children the same stories that hurt us than learn new words to tell.
People worth something: Alexis, Allison, Alyssa, Amber, Amy, Andrea, Andre, Andy, Barbara, Becky, Ben, Bernice, Beth, Bob, Brenda, Brian, Carly, Carrie, Cathy, Chinelo, Chris, Chrissie, Cora, Courtney, Dan, Dana, Dean, Debbie, Dennis, Donna, Doug, Dylan, Elisa, Ellen, Emily, Eric, Erin, Fred, Gabe, Gary, Genie, Heidi, Jackie, Jacob, Jane, Jared, Jay, Jeff, Jenn, Jes, John, Jon, Jordan, Joy, JR, Judson, Juliana, Julie, Justin, Kate, Katie, Kim, Kirstin, Kit, Larry, Lindsay, Lucy, Matt, Megan, Melinda, Melissa, Mike, Nate, Ned, Princess, Rachel, Ray, Rebecca, Renee, Rick, Sandra, Sapana, Sarah, Scott, Shirley, Stephanie, Steve, Susan, Tim, Tom, Tony, Winston, all those I have forgot.
lots of varied excitement
laurie ought vanquish excrement
lord, offend violins equally
landing on voice egress
lashing oval vitamin eggnog
little otters vote evenly
leap out varnished edsel!
languish openly voracious eel
light of vie: egalitarian
lop off vincent’s ear
landscape of violets eases
lemurs offer viable eyes
liquid opens venetian evils
lewd occupants vehemently eat
luscious odds, vivid entertainment
lips ogle virtuous earnest
leopards obstruct violent exhibition
light outs veneer elucidations
loaded opals volunteer “exquisite”
lead oxen victimize eden
lonely oddity visualizes everyone
loco offends valor eggheads
lotion oceans veer ecstasy
lucky ovations vex empty
lavish opportunities virginize endly
The world does not want love, strains its vision through the filter of two. As in I am alone without you. You being one. The math does not count in threes or fours, even mores. We’re more like computers, operating only in zeroes or ones. Circles and lines, no further definition. Did my books lie? Falsehood Fifties premonitions of a change in chance. Maybe we lack the coordination to dance these new steps or our filter of two disrupts the particles of love into chaos unchecked, unacknowledged. Maybe love must be harbored inside before it can be seen in others.
sunlight stares into our womb through the breathing mask of a curtain. it’s brightening your face, each tiny golden hair wicking it to your skin. i wonder if it’s on the exhalation that your face shimmers so or if it is on the inhalation and the bright pulls from somewhere within you to gather in tide pools on your cheek and arm. i can’t sleep. i wish you were up so i had someone to talk to. i feel like the first kid awake in the house, but there’s no cartoons to watch here. no tv = no cartoons. hmmm.
Heavy like the stones pressing Giles Corey, but I can’t say “more weight.” Please, no! I think my ribcage is giving way beneath this. Maybe when the bones break I’ll fly out away. Out of this monster of a brain issued from the cradle to decipher patterns in the world. Attempts to make sense of infinite randomness, not seeing that’s perhaps the point. Make way! Make way! The queen will pass by and unshovel a grave from the land and the grass so they can toss the bones back to the earth and the sea. At last! At last! Yes.
Oh Saliva Superman catapulting from my tongue, propulsion portioned out from the runway of two lips. Oh slender sliver of spittle slicing in a slow arc of anatomical fluids to defy gravity. Or a lump of luscious loogie mucous launched from the lungs, cannonballing courageously forth into the air. Will you be able to defeat the forces or land with a saddening slurp on the sidewalk, flattened and defunct of super powers? Will you be gazed at in woe and horror by the citizens, your whole life surmised in the internally thought statement, “girls shouldn’t spit.” Oh I wonder sometimes.
“He must be on something.”
“He has the worst fucking singing voice. Doesn’t he realize that?”
These were what I heard people say in response to a guy in an orange jacket with headphones on that was belting out whatever song it was that he was listening too. He made me smile. How cool is that to let go of everything and go around campus singing so loud, you can be heard from two blocks away? I think we definitely need more people like that. I think I saw him in a play once for some reason. Maybe not though.
damn these fools who nestle forth, furrowing their brows in feigned discourse. unloosen your mirth, untie the corset. combine mine eyes in thine’s pirouette. force your lungs full of sweetened air. open your eyes to a world of snares. could courage be the paint brush of the lost box of foliage? could a dog from mongolia hold the key to our storage? why not crawl to proceed and follow paw prints lead to forgotten lands of tin cups, newspapers, toys, garbage cans. but the knees are tender. are into strips rendered by the passage of crawl. leaves lack the color to paint after fall.
I was supposed to go to the first day of my job today. But I threw up this morning so I didn’t. Instead I slept another couple hours and tried to make my day useful tying loose ends. My medication was playing with my “visual field” again when I woke up. The fun of increasing from 10 mg to 20 I guess. I’m rather tired of it. I’m rather tired of being tired. And feeling sad or just generally empty. I don’t feel quite real anymore. I think I remember feeling more so before. Or I remember feeling. I think.
Does my therapist gets jealous when I say things like "Well, my old therapist said..." Maybe to her its like hearing about an ex she’d rather not. She’ll smile and nod, but in the back of her mind she’s thinking "when’s this girl gonna stop talking about that woman." Sometimes I wonder if my therapist is bi. She seems to nod too much in agreement when I talk about it. Like she actually knows what I’m talking about. It doesn’t really matter. She knows so much about me but I hardly know her. Catholic, boyfriend problems, grad student, black hair.
is this giving up? could it be the loophole of a nonexistant illness has me buttoned down to that. but how can i tell work i’m hallucinating? my feet move on the tiles of the bathroom floor. the wall works itself into tiny argyle. there are little flashes of light, pinpricks of white. how do you tell someone something like that, blame it on a medication, and still try to convince them you are a trustworthy, reliable person that they want to hire. maybe i’m digging my hole deeper. i don’t know. i’ll stick with calling it the flu though.
I advise everyone to buy "Wild Planet" night vision googles. Once you turn them on (outside in the dark) they are an instant green plastic transportation to fuckedupedness. You can’t see a damn thing more than a few feet in front of you. The lights on the sides blind you and everyone within your line of vision. Everything is covered in this strange green eery underwater haze. Things tock where they should tick. And everything seems to go in slow motion (or maybe that was just Mike seeing things). From far away, you look like a grasshopper blazed on antifreeze.
I want these pink ovals to work like magic pills. I want to pop them in my mouth and they’ll dissolve like lifesavers on my tongue. They’ll float my seratonin across the shore to safety. Fucking side effects. I guess at least I’m not hallucinating so much anymore. The world is literally starting to look different somehow. I wonder if maybe this is a wash of "happy" glazing over my eyes. Driving makes me kinda nervous now. Maybe that will go away too. Maybe this disconnect is just me reconnecting. Or maybe I’ll still be just as lost as before.
To Happenings Evolution Bore Its Grandchildren Rarely Eavesdropping And Loved Individuals Zealously, Attributing To Indescrible Open Ness. I Scarcely Catch An Understanding Gathered Here To Unfold, Peering Inward Nary Eyes Veering Eratically Rearing Yous Daily. And Yet Love Is Feasible Even Yellowed Old Under Justice Un Sought. Truthfully, Has Appeared Variously Eclipsed To Observers, Knowingly Neglected. Often What Nears Obvious Teeters To Overlook Lacey Overlays Obstructing Knowledge Yet Opportunely Usurping Desperate Onlookers Needing Offers That Help Ameliorate Varied Existentially Tied Helplessness. Even When Orators Reel Darkness So Threatening, Others Devise Eyes Seeing Clearly, Rightly, Innocent But Ever Acknowledging Life’s Level.
Take some time out to go outside even if it is where you are hedged in between buildings, feet boxed in by street. Take some time to look up and out and over and through. Lie on the ground underneath a tree and watch how it holds the sky. Listen to the noises. Realize every person you see was once young, though not everyone will be old. Realize all this will be gone eventually. Even the plastic that will be the only grave marker of our civilization. Realize something for yourself. Take some time out. Take some time for yourself.
If we kissed on the street would you stop to say hello
Or would you
down at your shoes
while you passed me,
cross in front of a car,
avoiding my eyes.
Somehow I doubt it.
I bet you’d be my s i s t a
on the sly. Or maybe
and kissing isn’t always lips.
I’d be that shadow
behind the bookshelf
that you could
out to play
when you got bored
Can’t be to everybody.
The Tip Jar