June 2009
“
I have a pack of letters,
I have a pack of memories.
I could cut out the eyes of both.
I could wear them like a patchwork apron.
I could stick them in the washer, the drier,
and maybe some of the pain would float off like dirt?
Perhaps down the disposal I could grind up the loss.
Besides — what a bargain — no expensive phone calls.
No lengthy trips on planes in the fog.
No manicky laughter or blessing from an odd-lot priest.
That priest is probably still floating on a fog pillow.
Blessing us. Blessing us.
Am I to bless the lost you,
sitting here with my clumsy soul?
Propaganda time is over.
I sit here on the spike of truth.
No one to hate except the slim fish of memory
that slides in and out of my brain.
No one to hate except the acute feel of my nightgown
brushing my body like a light that has gone out.
It recalls the kiss we invented, tongues like poems,
meeting, returning, inviting, causing a fever of need.
Laughter, maps, cassettes, touch singing its path -
all to be broken and laid away in a tight strongbox.
The monotonous dead clog me up and there is only
black done in black that oozes from the strongbox.
I must disembowel it and then set the heart, the legs,
of two who were one upon a large woodpile
and ignite, as I was once ignited, and let it whirl
into flame, reaching the sky
making it dangerous with its red.
fishing with peter #9: great american films
- peter: i went to see "My Sister's Donkey", it was terrible, but I still cried the whole time.
- me: wait, im sorry, i have never heard of that film. is it a sequel to the oscar nominated film by Carrie Underwood, 'Loser's Weeper'?
- peter: no, its an original classic American film with Cameron Diaz and alec baldwin...
- me: never heard of it
Listen
Clean Getaway- Maria Taylor
Listen
The Ongoing Horrible-Maps and Atlases
“Writing can be a haunting, I said, and you said that was a cliché. I protested. There are few things you can say about writing, I ventured, that are not clichéd. When you laughed again, I persisted. There is something haunting about it, I said, perhaps because of that heightened sensibility, because you spend so much time listening for the words.”
—Rebecca Stott
bathroom graffiti by me
other random girl: TINA WAS HERE!
mine: I had a miscarriage in this bathroom stall.
responses (with arrows): WHAT? THATS FUCKED UP!
mine: I know, ryte?!?!? xoxo
fun facts re: Brigitte Bardot, 'animal activist'
She once had a neighbor’s donkey castrated while looking after it, on the grounds of its “sexual harassment” of her own donkey and mare, for which she was taken to court by the donkey’s owner in 1989
Listen
Nighty Night- Jenny Owen Youngs
definitions of words I already know the meaning of : parent
- a father or mother; one who begets or one who gives birth to or nurtures and raises a child; a relative who plays the role of guardian
- rear: bring up; “raise a family”; “bring up children”
headlines that make me sad
‘Magic Fingers Vibrating Bed’ inventor dies
“I am inhabited by a cry.
Nightly it flaps out
Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.
I am terrified by this dark thing
That sleeps in me;
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.” —Elm by Sylvia Plath
Nightly it flaps out
Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.
I am terrified by this dark thing
That sleeps in me;
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.” —Elm by Sylvia Plath
distracted texts during movies: valkyrie edition
me: ‘you should come over and bring beer and nazis.’
me: ‘….I mean nachos…’
me: ‘that was awkward….’
heavy breathing, heavy thinking with donny: child porn
- donesh: OF COURSE the holocaust museum shooter has child porn
- me: OMG is his name peewee herman?
Listen
One More Time With Feeling-Regina Spektor
Faith in Loss, Faith in Lack
(tell me how it began)
the cradle
imploded.
I did not fall into
the inviting arms of
the giving tree,
she did not love me
more than herself.
(tell me how you decided)
my cradle fell,
baby and all
into strangers’ arms.
I am the worst,
a cranky bastard
with a wealthy
patron.
(tell me why you wanted)
I am a poor investment,
faulty wiring, less than stellar recommendations,
my body comes with a warning label,
‘Damaged Goods, Self-Destruction Imminent’
(how could you have known?)
my suicide note reads, ‘I’m sorry I was a waste of money.’
that’s all I have to give—
apologies.
I’m sorry I was an accident, cosmic retribution.
I’m sorry I was not wanted,
I’m sorry I did not want myself.
(tell me why)
I, too, was an absent caregiver,
a greedy orphan,
reaching, reaching,
asking, asking,
thinking I needed,
thinking I was owed.
(how could I have known?)
I’m sorry I learned to speak
and to want
and to love
and to lose.
I’m sorry you were my teacher,
I’m sorry you were my architect.
I want to scratch out
everything in me, mother,
that makes me a part of you.
I want to disfigure every photograph, father,
those happy childhood memories
that no longer apply.
I want to cut the sick
straight from my flesh,
organs crashing and collapsing,
get another chance,
petition the gods to place me in a new world,
as a new girl
unbroken by the simplest of trials.
because this life is a grave
and I know of only one way out:
take me to the curb,
(mother)
(father)
to be burned
with the rest of the trash.
(tell me how it ends)
heavy breathing, heavy thinking with donny: mommy dearest
- me: i hate my medicine. it makes me so sick
- donesh: what's it for?
- me: oh just one of the many ridiculous diseases I have, thanks to my faulty genetics. THANKS MOM!
- me: when i see that woman im gonna punch her in the fucking ovaries.
- donesh: and present her with bells
- me: no, present her with a fucking gift certificate to get her stupid tubes tied
“Why am I so anxious? And then it hits me. I’m not anxious, I’m lonely. And I’m lonely in some horribly deep way and for a flash of an instant, I can see just how lonely, and how deep this feeling runs. And it scares the shit out of me to be so lonely because it seems catastrophic - seeing the car just as it hits you.”
—Augusten Burroughs
Listen
Postcards from Italy (Beirut cover)-Florence and the Machine
call the A&E show, Intervention.
I am addicted to listening to the LAPD police scanner on iTunes.
this is OK and NOT OK at the same time
Wait. When where and how can I listen to this??
You can find it under the ‘share in my addiction’ link on my page…its rad.
“(What are your ghosts like?)
(They are on the insides of the lids of my eyes.)
(This is also where my ghosts reside.)
(You have ghosts?)
(Of course I have ghosts.)
(But you are a child.)
(I am not a child.)
(But you have not known love.)
(These are my ghosts, the spaces amid love.)” —Jonathan Safran Foer
(They are on the insides of the lids of my eyes.)
(This is also where my ghosts reside.)
(You have ghosts?)
(Of course I have ghosts.)
(But you are a child.)
(I am not a child.)
(But you have not known love.)
(These are my ghosts, the spaces amid love.)” —Jonathan Safran Foer
I am not equipped to deal with how badly my head hurts right now. time to put me out of my misery. Bud, get the shotgun.
call the A&E show, Intervention.
I am addicted to listening to the LAPD police scanner on iTunes.
Listen
Brain Damage (Eminem cover)- Jeffrey Lewis and Laura Marling
things you should know about me
when I was two, my favorite movie was a tape of a performance of Puccini’s La Boheme.
because I was so little and clearly simultaneously Disney obsessed, I thought Mimi’s name was Minnie.
So I’d say ‘Minnie loses her key! Minnie loses her key!’ whenever I wanted to watch it.
does anybody in LA
want to ship me coxinhas from bossa nova?
I’ll pay you………
“
Reverie intrudes at intervals.
She imagines him imagining her. This is her salvation.
In spirit she walks the city, traces its labyrinths, its dingy mazes, each assignation, each rendezvous, each door and stair and bed. What he said, what she said, what they did, what they did then. Even the times they argued, fought, parted, agonized, rejoiced. How they’d loved to cut themselves on each other, taste their own blood. We were ruinous together, she thinks.
” —Margaret Atwood