dear diary,

This is what the diary is for! For diarrhea! Diarrheaing. Fuck it, I will be alone or surround myself with others I might find, and eventually I’ll get the hell out of this two-bit town. 'Let’s get the hell out of here.' It isn’t all that bad, Molly. So what if you haven’t, like, any accomplishments? Ooh, your only achievement thus far is your greediness to fall in love. And you think you’re really good at it, and so honest who couldn’t love you back. But! I think we all know what’s really going on here. It’s true that people don’t want that much truth. If I’m operating at 100% honesty (which is, of course, an exaggeration/lie, it’s actually at about 97%, ( or 88%, to be honest)), a lot of potentials just won’t “hang.” And who can be blamed. Everyone’s been deceived, remembers how easy it can be. We’ve never recovered.

But! when did this turn into my problem? Oh it has been, clearly, for about as long since I began beginning every sentence with, I never lie and that earnest, earnest expression.

Cut it off when anxiety is foremost.

Sentimental fuck!

TOday

Luckily I got something new at christmastime, a new dress with dragonfly print & it hasn't come off since, can't. When you go to bed dressed you wake up so. Easily, with layered tights & socks kicked off beneath the soiled pink wool & soiled down & soiled 500-thread-counts. Never to sleep without someone in the proximity, but keeping a dog as a wall between he & me. Everymorning waking up before dawn, yawning wondering, whose fingers are these? whose knee haphazardly pushed in the crook? 

The colors of my hands, royal blue chips, the copper, puce, cadet blue. The cardigan accused of being 'mustard' when mustard just isn't olive. The forest green. I crocheted a shoelace; they thought I was out of it. The neon baby stuff I have around me, the notion that honey in my espresso is what's for me. I am learning to devour a little. An omelet here, a slice of green pepper/jalapeno there. The cans all aligned on my perfect big table. I want to write about the internet, because it is finally immanent. I think that could be somehow even boringer than this all.

didn't I

So I wore the same things all week long, and my smell was radiant and the polyester boiled on me and I got flirted with hard. Everything went away after I remember that I have thousands of sweaters

did I die

What's up, I hurt myself again. All I wanted was raw oysters, so I ordered a sauvignon blanc & Gayle cried out, well get the FRENCH one, duh, and then my brother asked her how do you say purple in french and she sort of gave an answer with an accent I could have better done but I've never been in any sort of immersion course, not to say I am a natural, but I can pronounce using the int'l phonetic alphabet, but how hard is it to learn this?

So I got it out, and I started this teen diary to help me forget the confident amazing woman I "am" and so I can just be a heart on legs or on sticks, walkless. Stupidest gusher! I am a jellyfilled sac, emptying of everything allover the sidewalks. I make myself vomit whenever a thought comes in me.

for you

#37

I was yours, but once
you said that if you
lied I wouldn't even know


precious try liar
I asked you never to
you were a nevershould
I was a whynot
because I was
awilling to

for you

#32
remember we met.
we shake & wonder,
can you ever kill it off?



#15
to climb that body
like a tree. golden
retreiver face, bored even still

things we talked about

eyes, colors, nausea, autumn, showers, blood, being Irish, come, stubble, being Turkish, being Canadian, lying, misuse, anxiety, border collies, language, love, fear, drinks, smoking, hands, feet, newness, comfort, guilt

just a couple of times

things we talk about

leaves, disease, sex, scarves, goodbyes, anxiety, hangovers, houses, furniture, cars, moving, music, crashes, the cold

ooh dusk

Months. I found two welcome-home pinecones on the patio. Brown and yellow beds everywhere. I can't kid it, there is piano, the music of one I think, and it's one of those songs I've long chided myself for keeping around. Surprises happen all over. Can't draw the shades completely! The autumn is out there. Watch her come and go. I've got to use the heavy woolen hooded coat. The one I'd dreamt about, but in plum. And then the voices! 

My friends are listening to poetry tonight. Some of us admit not to be. I'm having hard enough time keeping myself company! Like an argued room with distant relatives, we talk. Make faces. Feel the rush through. Little waterslides of blood. Maybe it's because who would read this, anymore. It's like an end to it all (oh, no, I've unpacked all of the grocery baskets and suitcases! one was filled with costumes, and just in time for halloween), or rather I will somehow find something better to do, a waste making sense. Where is everyone?

list of things I wanted this year so far

I would give him real hair should I have the choice, but I haven’t, and I’m learning to be more accepting.
I want to quit smoking and I want to run, and to dance. For my whole body to be sore for days and I'll feel like a billionaire.
 Stop drinking the tea.  
Pay all outstanding tickets.  

Eat Food.

Go to all the things.

I’ve got to write, right now isn’t so necessary. Keep a clean room, and rid of the mold in my house. And get some time to be alone, alone alone.
I still have many things to do. But I know one thing. I do not think that… No… I erase that.  
 Find new place to live.  
I will move away.
I can see myself alone. I can see myself having sex. I can  see also not doing that.  
I want relentless passion, empathy, intuition, curiosity, creativity, understanding. Good lovely bloodflow.  
 I need my place, I need to have a home. My own home indeed. With my girlie, a consistent environment.  
And to be independent, I want to go off & do these things because I’ll be 28 this year and it’s time to grow up, to grow a pair.  
Make Boise work because you are here, and no matter the glory of it, New York City is very, very far away, and Ida is the best thing in the world and will she appreciate a New York City, I can’t see it.  
Make the art, work the places, show the things & talk to the people, and see what’s important & do it, and remain alone if you must, if you must. I want to.  
 I have to talk to him about it.  
 I will concentrate on maintaining my health & being strong for me, and making everything I want to be, be. I will be gone during days, and if to write or research or read, then so I will, here and away.  
The honesty I want so badly is only for one.  

remember how effulgent I was in August? but then the last weeks of it, I sucked back into myself and radiated nothing. sometimes I am too vague; I intend to work it out, work it out & workit back in again. I am in denver now, sitting here in perfect denver mansion, thinking denver thoughts after a first night of sleep, alone in a house different that I'd never before been to. sleeping on someone's denver bed, and I had an anxiety dream that seemed to last all through the 9 am alarm up until the 9:45 alarm. dream about stealing, shoplifting from an albertsons type, a broken claire's accessories necklace, using the guise of purchased saltines packets (3) and the dream wore on. we were able to fool them, though. it was my old boyfriend kelly, #1, and he would mirage into another old boyfriend (#32) and he sort of saved the day at my request. I was up then, and decidedly stinking, and I walked in the denver sun past all the other denver mansions, past the denver hipsters and the denver vintage & record & bookshops, and I snuck myself into hunk manor, and who was sleeping on the bed but shirtless, underweared hunks and their hunky labradors, and I went unnoticed (luckily for me, for they would have wailed and snorted at having their little hunky sleeps disturbed) and rode my bike to drink coffee outside. everyone was smoking cigarettes. the girl behind the counter stared long & hard & it seemed everyone was, like, what, you haven't seen something like me yet before? I have many ones-of-a-kind, but I am also very easily dismissed. I am working hard, working working working on being agreeable. whatever you want. it is difficult to deal with men sometimes, with hunks. I know what they want for me. to not argue, to understand, cleverness, feminine comfort, agreeable agreeable agreeable. you want to play pinball? sure, honey. how about seeing some professional sports, live? oh kay! anything you want. I am getting good, but at the risk of caring less & less. whatever I want, whatever I want, there is no more. until I am back in my own surroundings, with the things I throw around me. labor day, labors of love & I am in it. but the love is just some stupid shallow beach, with puny little waves licking disinterestedly. way to go, colorado

what can't I say?

when I have all of the words? your songs make me butterfly in all of the tips of me. the rush of paper wings in veins. I am so in love, all of the time, & with everything. here I sit, in unionbay tee, with hat & frenched braid through the hole, listening to a song that MIGHT make you happy, MIGHT make you cry, and we both be nostalgic. & still we never, ever, ever meet. I have the regular liquors, the cocktail, the bourbon, the herbs from your crying garden. stay here! you wail, shirt longer than your shorts. but of course, I have to go now. but why? you cry out, as I pull those plump little cherry tomatoes from their vines. bye    bye

o god, o no

things we talk about 

sex, quesadillas, nostalgia, shirts, buttons, sweat, hair, sandwiches, swimming, drinking, dogs, smoking, love, breakingup, drugz, shoulders, legs, popmusic, lust, depression, beards, loneliness, julia roberts, sleeping, comfort, salad, tuna melts, football, stars, family, shoes, feet, eyes, bazooka joes

when i am 28

mine sky is falling

...it will end, but not this second. they remain! & I thought all day, what next will I do? I'll have to start to try. It'll start to try on me. all the anxiety at where will you go & are you gone? & then the popmusic station plays the right track, and I am right on track towards home, and then I see the familiar whip and finally I let a tear fall, in thankyou, in why oh why. & the smiling faces of my familiars, my little sweets still here. How lucky to have it still. I won't be worried anxious again until tomorrow, it means. one more night of longhair, of beards, of feasts. of warm thick shoulders. no one ever reads me, & if you did I'd tell you the same, anyhow. just glad you get to be together, again. to have your thick shoulders to hold with one another, again. & how I wish I could be sandwiched between all of the world's thick shoulders and locks and beautiful, varicolored beards.

until tomorrow, & the crash of the smokyblue idaho sky on mine wet old face.

I'm popular

I have about five friends, and they're all absolutely stunning
they dress in the old tie-dyed dregs of the cabin
and they get slammed
by each other
("is that where I got this bruise?")
bologna? clamsauce?
these days on constant repeat>>

on watching the bodies move, live

I ask So Many Questions! it's true. but right now I haven't any questions, I've the goldens here, Gayle's goldens, & i am wearing the pink flowers dress that is worn for sex, for going to work, for sleeping, for swimming, for switching into metal outfits, for sunning & drying nice slow in summer. the kids are all watching tv, because football is on. I can't watch it right now, and am so tired, so tired once more. the summer is a blanket and it smothers and floors me. my eye are always dried-up little beads. my skin is the color of worn white girl skins/. with freckles. "ooh a bears game is on" cries a child. I let the child eat chips. the children bought & paid for the chips. the fridge is full with beers, with rolling rocks & pabst blue ribbons & of course the frightening necessary steel reserves. the chips fall across the glass table, and little riverbeds left marking from a thumb and greedy little pointer. some have hats. "kyle, stop" cries a tiny voice. "there's a fucking door, go outside and fart" it goes/. my mistake! impossible to repeat! the sideways braids on us, the girls out of us, allover the place. I want my new york song, but I only get it in an advertisment. Atdvertizmunt.

did I do that?

I amn't burned. I heard you like your titles but didn't always. I heard you listed them off. I didn't see this, I heard it, & not from me but from others who also watch for what you do, and hope for me. There isn't anymore sun/son, they are long missing. But right now, in my stomach clench from all of the iced coffee the world has known, there comes the new clench, the clench of orange-peel tofu, and who could care about it. I am almost a vomit goddess. But why lie?

I'd die for her & she'd live for me

I did my best twenty hours ago. "Travis?" calls the lady in palepink tshirt, arms akimbo. "Yeah MOM" Travis the teen calls across. "We're leaving." Where do the tourists come from? I am afraid when people visit Boise. It makes nothing from them, to visit. Nothing for me. There is a woman sitting behind me on a booth. She is making sounds while she knits, something like a choke, a giggle, a sob. I don't understand but it gives me chills on the back, and I feel like I do. My dog puts her head in her bag; I have a bag, too. The reusable kind from winco. We are both ladies of the bag. I will stop everything now, you've said it. What I've already said in a sob, a giggle, & a choke. You are something, and I don't want you. Most of you are.

There is the one from last night. With the hairline's always been the same. You were eleven when I was born. What were you doing when you were eleven? you were wearing zippered pants, breakdancing. Smoking weed at the end of the culdesac. Taking acid. You had thin white-blond hair, you began to grow it out long. It takes you longer. I'm too there You know how to do it. Your bed smells nice. Your neck smells better than ever. My shoulders have it all over them. I defined metathesis for you. But I had to tell you again the next day. We drank ranier with ice cubes out of seahorse-adorned plastic cups. You want to ravage. I am thinking about you, about everyone else. You look like keifer sutherland, and I've always hated 24 even though I'd stay up all night to watch it. 

There is the one from nights & nights before. That one is faded away. That one knows everything, with another sweetsmelling beard. No heart on. Nothing left for it. The months have changed, haven't they? What more can we do?

There is one who hasn't ever been, and I will quit for you. But that is the only thing I can do, do for you. I am going to drive, but it won't be for you. You needn't worry. I won't ever hate anyone, unless first I love them. So instead I fade myself off & disregard. This has been weeks, week, any-number-of-them. & I'm getting number than them. 

Everything is so sad. 

not

Compliments Received In The Last 24hours:

even though it isn't it, you're still a really cool gal

you look like... whatsername... dana scully

I do take comfort in you

yeah, I knew your ass would be perfect

yeah, you knew it

yeah you knew it

yeahyou knew it

who cares, I'm goin to feed my meter & move into a new room in ONE WHOLE ENTIRE WEEK

I went home to the other old tiny home, and there was he with wildflowers he'd picked and fruit from the stand, and I was handed a glass of freshmade juice in the tiny mexican cup from chicago, and in it there were jalapenos & tomatoes & kales and my stomach just creamed confusion & he said, here I will put them in a vase for you. I try to explain this sometimes to you (of the other yous) and you couldn't care less. & how could I blame you?

old relevant

I don’t even need to kiss. But I do anyway? & I showed late to a dark lawn with a poet reading from the scrolling light of a smartfone. I was quiet, in ambience. eyecontact unwavering. And sitting next to me, introduced, and lovely because from us the conversation then readily flowed. In the grass with jars & cups of wine, like oldest friends sharing knowings all together too easy. Maybe it is easier with a boy. I haven’t met anyone like that who I’d like to just sit by and keep talking to; the girls I know in some sorts because of how easy it is for us to just be. But he it was like a lost brother of mine. Then breakfast, sleepless, and it was a depressing breakfast, in that the breakfast was depressed. Eggs in a weird isolated pile, a couple of biscuits that didn’t fit anywhere, some sad potatoes. We only go places for geriatrics. And hopefully will. It is exciting and we can’t be. We are a secret, a secret shared with bars & the heavens & some select northend streets. Our bicycle seats & our diaries. He asks me questions. No, he just listens. We can’t talk anymore about the good that feels, or the beauty of faces. I can’t think about the feeling of a hand pressed hard against a low-back, or the clench of small arms. Golden beard, Nordic eyes. But our smiles! the best, contagious. Not for those long distances and uninvolved. I got through a day of clenching my lust-carved jaws, of hiding my heartattack chest. And just the saying of the bare-minimal, just that I like it, I want to be best friends, I want to. I have blood-filled veins, after all, and a heart that shakes and pounds, and legs which want to wrap around, and a mouth that kisses with all of itself. I am not there, there, there. I am older now, smarter. I am not in love, I am in love. I am in love with every second, sometimes. Since Sunday night. I am in love with time elapsing, with an everpresent future, with the thoughts that a body feels! The movement, the passions, the lust embrace that I KNOW isn’t gone, has just been hibernating, has not been there, at all, real. It might not be he; he I like so much and feel so connected to, really, like everything is just there and so honest & obvious.

It’s 28 or never baby.

bash

I am mad because it isn't about me

the turns you take, aren ot to find me

and out of All of the whips to take, yours is the kind I like most

and 

and 

and I won t pretend, anything

and sometimes I say, I won t pretend anything

and sometimes, sometimes, I don t 

but, also! also! I won t promise

because promises, promises, promises! something I got to know earlier! hello, promise, hello my little sweet, like the icecream you want me to, oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh 

just take yer top off!

sorry, sorry, I got another call. hold on...

okay, hey sorrrry! o god, are youstill there? bushes

hmmm bushes,
o god irrelevant

but see, sometimes I stay at Gayle's, and I always throw the scraps of vegetables into her bushes

and this is my mother, of course

Gayle. & how I'd destroy her.

It isn't late enough, I've realized. so, apologies! once, I made someone fall in love with me through apologies! & through the promises, promises that we wouldn t. watch how we died back then? 

goodnight, & good for us. I won t try to promise,
I promise to not pretend anything
and I promise to promise to always fall in love with you when I will. & I don t mean iff

bedtime

It's true, even though I say no, that I am hurrying around and it really doesn't look good. I always tell myself about patience, but I am so heavily off the edge that waiting for anything seems like a deathpush. I just took a shower and how unfortunate to bathe off the Payette from my hair & skin, and all are looking red & pale & curled & summery and also, I make all of these promises, and I have to keep them

to never tell them about you

to never tell you about me

to never talk more than I ought to

to never say a thing

& so unfortunate to be back, because there, I can remain resolutionless... but now I am naked, & under sheets, & with a fan blowing over me, and no one to joke with

for me

I was drunk last night-

 this one’s for me. do you ever think about it?

do you ever think about it?

do you ever think about it?

Sometimes I think I know everything,

sometimes it’s later at night, during the time a moon normally shows,

especially when on nights before so strong a moon shone,

and sometimes, too, it’s distracting when everyone else can say it earlier than I, and

who cares? the smell is there, and I have the olfactory moments in me thick & true,

and by the by telling you that I am here in the woods, with a laptop

which somehow seems perfect

because I am no earth mother

I am a Typist

and the delete key, the letters lit up, are the tools that keep em going

when I could just sleepingbag out right now on a T on a lake, waves lapping

lapping lapping sloshing, all night long

Instead, I am here, soberest, knowing. You know, I know.

But sober enough to know that you don’t really know.

I see better with my eyes closed,

with my head sort of

with my heart an open hand. if that would near it, what I try to say

OH

and fail to say.

Sorry if you don’t, because I always will. & so glad you don’t, so I’ll never have to.

My dog has these

these

these

these words are so unimportant to her!

o nevermind, the world won’t end before I remember what I was going to say.

you're so reasonable & I'm so maudlin

I'm a model. I moved to New York City to walk down the sidewalks in towering alexander mcqueens and nylons ripped at the knees. I'm so modeling right now, it's insane. EVEN under the thunderstorms, here in the city, right next to the piers where the concerts glow at night, and the summer-stench crawls from beneath chinatown drains, with the women whispering from staircases, the escapes from fires don't pull down, that never seem to work. The women here are talking bored about child support & doctor's bills, and I am wearing too much copper so rains like these move my skin off, they patina my bones and veins. But since I am so modelin' right now, I am all ribs and clavicles, and my jutting hip on which a trouser-waist sits hangs like a hanger, as I am. I'm a model, and I moved to New York City to stumble down the streets in the earlymorning dark, after salons in my prada pumps. I'm sooooo modeling, but then there is you & you are so able to reason. You aren't even here in New York City because you couldn't exist here, because the beach touches the asphalt and the flowers are spare and wispy, and my hair never ever tries to grow here because only the molds and bugs and beauties of the undergrowth underbenches underground can grow, and my one face melts into nothing with the splay of the city, the stupid subway stench in identical nostrils, and we all evaporate simultaneously. You can't be here, because no one is here, and you are so real, so reasonable. Those days (these, of summer here) are entire worlds, are lifetimes and the end never darkens, just turns to puce & salmons & body-odor vermilions, and the sun rises unobtrusively and casual is the steam from the jamaica bay fog. A man in a yellow convertible comes to me, hawaiaan shirted, and I begin to fall back into the walk I do.

talkaway the nighttime

do I know what to makeout of you? not even trying, but desperate to. I have the familiar glasses, the quench, and maybe the too-many mentionings, but I am still in one place, and you have left already. but my place is still on the warm, late-night pavement, and my heart still beats beneath a barefoot, but yours has wilted in the slightest in the clearest, and it has begun some slither towards away. even the foods I want don't exist. is it the overabundance, the apostrophes, the apostrophe's. I don't remember you like I should, only I could see perfectly in gesticulations, in caricature. this looks french. your beard in your bathroom, in your couch, in your shower making your hair in snakes, your sad mouth, your eyes looking because they do, right. I can answer that question even if we never speak anymore, still. did we argue into the morning? did we disappear into the morning?

tell me I'm right tell me I'm wrong tell me there's nobody else in the world & who could care? longhair, louisville, mymorningjacket is playing on tuesday

how many of us are there? & you do sometimes tell. but it's cryptic, it's deathly, it's in the ground for you already. but I amn't. & I will try to never will be. I will outlast the saddest-most, the fingers-through-my-hair-most. the ones with the eyecontact, the ones with the hands twice as big hands, long & thin ones too. tendrils in humidity. fine in the talking small. & I know not how to hideaway.

fuckturds of the world be gettin it ON

last day of july

& why? Where are you going this weekend? It isn't to where I be going, is it? The lady with the vermilion fro walks in, sandalled, with sparkle-gold bag. She drinks the beers on the half-off, and writes in the little spiral-bound. & I am up over here, tryn to get hung, and the buzzing happens, and it makes my stupid aggressive heart swallow in my throat

this morning I am

I'm the type who puts the caramel in the coffee in secret, and in doses so small the doses are invisible. It's the kitsch outfits all lined up from bottom to top: silver shoes for dancing, soft-shoe style, though I haven't seen it. I get distracted when I think of shoes and end up looking at them for days, and now I have three documents to write about it all. Moss-green tights accidentally bought, footless, and some cheap fake-denim number withe elastic waistband perfect for sitting here & not walking, not moving because I've pain in my uterus, or in my ovaries, where little cysts grow their little houses. I want to move in. And upwards, pictographs, and an indian-head cardigan. Nailpolish remnants like lichen on tips of fingers. Open something else up; wonder who will know about any of it.

Do you see how that went? how in the morning, early like this, drinking the coffee & sitting half-outside, I'm wandering, two eyes different-pointing, directionless. The familiar music, the familiar mood of the familiar mind, doing its memorable thoughtless moves through.

and there you are

dear diary


I don't! So if she does, she does. Yes! & almost nothing better than. Listening to (don't look back in anger) oasis with kycraw, and he is there, red scarf tied around his head. are we the only ones here, he asks. I'll bet oasis is more cohesive than smashing pumpkins, he says. 11 seconds. Nice nice nice. Now the verve pipe. do you remember? the freshman? do you ever ask aloud walking with friends on the sidewalk when will i fall in love? & some laugh, or shake heads singing the stupid stupid lyrics. you will, you say. I will! you say. we must have listened to the alternative rock station at the same time. I swear by punctuation, and I yell around inside with the dots, the dots, the tailed-dots & little lines & &mpersands.

hahahhahahhahahhh runaway train never goin back wrong way on a woneway traq

boughtaticket 4 a runawaytrain, like a madman laughingattherwaine
sorry, we fell asleep and fall began! the worse-life nightmare


goodnight, and nice to see you
yours,

words of the day

It isn't so long ago, and there are enough to do. It has been awhile! I know, but then you have to get opportuned. & can't ask. Following the only question without crushing it. I wonder, and everyonceinawhile receive a clue that I am not the only danger the world has worried. I think I am almost as tall as you! Capacious, long-dogged. Captious, capricious. Some of the things I know right. The making of mayonnaise, the charred perfect. The ownership of being older. The repeating of your self-affirming mantras... just ten seconds, and you're mine... And I will repeat myself, too. To just let me agree, as far as it takes.

from january

Ameliorate! the sun, hips to go against, 

think to make something care
a waist, a neck, & everything attempting. Someone to see better.

Sweating myself, a finger behind the ear

at just this moment, find me amity explosive.

Stroke a stubbled chin, could be interesting

Grease congeals me cleft, to lower myself to myself and 

begin, anathematic. To this and then that,

the most useless of positions

strange & heated.

Relating. Spills, drips down, goes away and 

he shouldn’t have given me his 
conversation

Something me, onto me. 

Remember me in me. 

Vehement, hurry before I bed me
true enough

in the middle to explain what I'll do

prettylittle 19 - 21

In the middle, I spied him. How I do, & does everyone, remember us at an early morning escape, ascending from all between & this that in the dark. Driving that night, in from the drunk-stench, wearing black knits. But now as always... aphonia. Your father’s long journey home with a poolstick as prop. I suppose this loss of voice, I think of it as explanation. The only song is organic, & so we were. I feel like I recognized him. He looked on my nerves, as functional disturbance. Driving down, that’s worse than staying nervously around, wondering symbolic. The vocal organs, late at night. About this, persuade me from the feigned passionate speechlessness. 

It was in January, simple. Having to enter, that sadness expressed by muteness. Days after we met, staying nights. Loss and apoplexy, and I, sitting over there. Of course he used longing as his sudden loss. In the passenger seat, be tempted, and see someone, relate to the song. Body function turquoise if he comes. She has since asked him never to. To all the impunity we were listening; we asked him to leave, return, and he agreed. Nothing but things I doubt presently. I know, knowing it. I’ll throw approbation. 

Before now I’m hungry for it, all terrible habitations. I’m serious this time, approving, and we both want sex badly. He wore black when I announced that formally, officially; we looked over to the left at the same exact moment. Sex loneliness at the risk of a tune. Praise the empty, even. Maybe I won’t as I don’t believe, I had the arboreal lot. Any sex that’s pleasure, chiefly empty (it was usually empty). Maybe the desire will be what they were. Right now animals caught our eyes, overwhelmingly. Not altogether uncute. I have made it, living in trees, empty, but filled platonic. He looked quietly in my trees; hundreds of you are thinking unimpressive. This was less arcanum, tiny, I suppose, still very pretty. But should one need a secret, a mystery lines up in rows to explain what I’ll do.

sitting casual before bedding true enough

prettylittle 9 - 14  

       

He just sitting casual makes me from parts into a whole

within windows & radiated anymore.

Enjoying I think the condition of being so collected.

Yours and maybe you I want,

if I should ever be to commit here in the light.

Ahead of it this anxiety-feeling I’ll just call of hostility

while in a daze for you.

Mine is to see & feel ecstatic,

to make awake to be whom I will,

immediate.

An attack, killers to kill each. Obvious. They are, prompt, & being. You never see, actually. 
In response you are awake & throwing still. Probably never I can see the readiness & you suddenly feel that too much. In my life from where I’m sitting formal, suddenly into sleep.

To talk to him… I only think I see speech especially. Your wisdom okay for that truth. Why aren't you oratory in nature? I remember that there is no reason to talk, to please. I want to make: that heat running me up & down. 

Now forget that plans for us wait. Denoting the talk, he... I. 

Love bones. 

People exist for this. That contains, it will get hot enough to have. 

Of course I’ve the upper teeth to blow through

it’s fun to won’t, 
it’s black, 

with you a consonant through at me. Get in bed

and for that, just for us to foam on our tops. Pronounced when my head reaches to. 

Enter tip of tongue, temperate as the gazing fact: 

I’m sitting alone, at or on or near this ridge

the sun. And the hands on him now be large. 

Ameliorate! the sun, hips to go against, 

I keep thinking to make something care. 

Waist, neck, and everything attempting. Someone will see better. 

I’m sweating myself a finger behind the ear. 

At just this moment find me. Amity explosive. 

Stroking a stubbled chin it would be interesting. 

Grease congeals me cleft to lower myself to myself and 

begin anathematic. To this and then that, 

the most useless of positions

strange & heated.

Relating. Spills drips down goes away and 

he shouldn’t be given me his conversation. 

Something me, onto me. 

Remember me with me. 

Vehement, hurry, before I bed true enough.

this new year of mine

some revolutions


MAKE ART

I know how to sew
screenprint
paint
draw
color

MAKE BODY

I know how to forget to smoke
forget to drink everynight
forget to lose mind on drugz
I know how to eat delicious
to walk
to ride
to dance
to drink tea
to even drink water sometimes
to never get sick

MAKE LOVE

I know how to!
how not to fight
hug & kiss & make it
to talk

MAKE BRAIN

learn with all the teachers
I'm already a genius
just ask Gayle.



BETTER YEARS AND GOING AHEAD! make it all proof.