cats

Woke up to the 7 degree sunshine, blue blue skies, the rusty pump call of the blue jay, I searched around but couldn't find it. I just realized I can't know the difference in sex; do all blue jays look the same? Males are larger, but they have the same plumage. My female cardinal is bigger than the male, but there is also a smaller male although I haven't seen him in awhile. The cardinals have gotten very puffy, and very, very red lately. I watched two cats fucking today. They were on the little shed roof to the yard south of us, and orange cat and a white cat I thought cuddling, I thought how sweet, cuddling in the sunshine cold, but then I saw his teeth were sunk in biting the fur on her back, and she was just laying there, both nearly falling off the precipice legs sometimes sticking out trying to keep balance. After, she kind of growled at him ears flat and they parted. I could hear wailing yells from her from off a bit, then saw him stalking her on a fence and she taking a swipe at him. It was over for her, and he looked like any dumbshit creep just hanging out for no reason being scary and overbearing. That was the part that made me most uncomfortable, the white cat frozen on a fencepost while the orange cat just glared at her, not letting her move.

acetaminophen

there are so many other words I'd have used

let's get real

it's still thanksgiving

you know thanksgiving, the whole day you're thinking how you want to break up with your boyfriend. do you ever look at yourself

and not out of self depreciation, or self pity

you look and you think, now honestly

let's be real

how do you like me? what have I for you? and there truly is something, then, isn't there. isn't that something. so driving around new orleans on a cold day, and tearing up with headcold, and disgust and fear and hate for someone to love, and the streets are bare and cold. I like that everyone seems to have a place. too many places for us. it took hours to finish the cranberries, the green bean casserole. aunt sue always calls them greenie beanies, which I'd forgotten all day. 

I'm going to wake up tomorrow    a  new   woman   I think

I can be so mean, I can be so very ugly

  you're right about that

things we talk about

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

obvious tryings to get out of it

(songs of yesteryear)

wednesday 25 october 2006

Look here. It’s obvious, all the same. A journal entry is a story is a dialog is a poem. A poem is a garbage can for the brain. And yet, when I sit down here to the blank slate, I have nothing, nothing comes to mind. Gargling gerbils is all I can do. What about abstract expressionism? no, not the movement, but you sitting here, defending yourself, making excuses? Hey, what’s with the bitter attack?

I hate it but really I love to think about these things. When I ride my bike home from work sometimes I pretend I'm showing you around. "Quickly, turn here, yes, see that? That's the beautiful cement factory. Isn't it rugged? Isn't it romantic? I climbed to the top with someone I was in love with a few years ago. Watch out for the bridge; when it's wet your wheels will slip around. We should try not to go down that street. It's full of potholes and there's a trash dump there, too, and sometimes the smell is too much. That place is nice... I'll take you there for coffee later... I know it's a long way, but we're almost there..." And then the ride goes by really fast.

I recently began corresponding with a boy I met in my home town during the first winter when I returned from college. We were together only for six days, and we fell in love. We drove in my father's car up to the foothills. We parked in a scary suburb that's miles and miles up, it feels like a strange, perfect town in the middle of nowhere… a train set. An old-fashioned gas station with pumps that don’t work. A red fire station. Perfect lawns. Tiny, sporadic trees. We parked and drank beer and listened to Built to Spill and I kissed him- it was his first kiss- and then when I left a few days later, hours before I went to the airport to come back to Chicago, we had sex…  orgasms, though it was his first time… We talked on the telephone over the next couple of months… he thought he could get a scholarship to the university of chicago, because he shared the name of one of the main college founders... they said no... we stopped talking, and have only just begun communcations again… But now, since writing, I’m taking him on those bike rides with me, I’m remembering the details, the ways in which we fell... And I love these as I hate them; they’re ridiculous and ill-timed, but I know that I have to have these secrets, and that’s why I am thinking about it all again for the first time in three years. And I'm feeling thoroughly there.

I just got a job at a lingerie store. The bras cost $150. It’s called Trousseau. Ha ha ha. We’ll see…

I hope you’re well, and I thought about you on the 16th of October. You & I, blushing on wooden stools after you guessed my birthday…

I’m afraid, very afraid… but only in the surreal way. In ways where there’s no worry. Of the unreal, impossible.. but this music is no good, here, to describe it at all, and then I think, people actually made this art that is affecting me so, and people are still doing it. and it can be done. I’m thinking these things with a dry enough throat and alone in this dark house, but it isn’t very cold outside, so I’m not afraid for that, and I wish I was more beautiful, same as always, thinner face, better in red lipstick, hair bigger and fuller. And I think, do I really want to go and...? Do I really want to go outside? Aren’t I afraid a little of outside? Yes, a little. Unfortunately… it’s nagging at me, to do that, so I think I will.

Monday 8 October 2007: 10:03 am

My bedroom smells like camping and there’s nothing to do about it.

She was innocent and I was unsuspecting

april

brevity

corolla

deal

erect

fugue

goods

honey

impudent

just

laconic 

melody

naked

oven

prostitute

ribbons

succinct

syrupy

universe

valuables

whorl

yellow

She was innocent and 

I was unsuspecting

She was innocent and unfriendly, detrimental through and through. An antagonistic, cold heart,  immoral. Indifference choked me undaunted. I listened to her inconvenient beauty, her odious tale winding me safe.

I was unsuspecting, hostile, contrary. And frosty, held iniquitous and fearless. She was the girl I'd seen, courageous, insulting, unfairly discriminating.

When we met she was ruinous; temperament most adverse... malefic and inanimate, more brave than history. Standing there, painfully watching, hand held abusively mine. Her unjust sunglasses caught her hair.

When we met, I remember myself as pernicious, one might say malevolence insensate. My sinking heart bold, the difficult breaths coming critical, free .

an hour and years

songs of yesteryear :

2008, 27 august

An hour, a little under two, in a life what to remain. awake, Tucson time. underwearclad, we’ll never sleep, we’ll touch the sky, a perfect down blanket. freezing cold here. It is warm there. My heart will burst into flames and I can make a home from it, camping. Cuddle up to a fire. not smiling still smiling. Everyone looked at me impressed, all of them pleased at my pleasedness. like a gift just suddenly deserved. mustn’t be loquacious. Be laconic. Ooh, reticent, taciturn. to hear him talk for ever for once, his sweet pretty voice and the truths about him. I could hardly know. I awoke and hearts falling out and dying. fret about its immanent end, fret about its immanent end, I have the pleasure. excited beyond compare, thrilled oblivionward, obsessed capricious. I could have become so frustrated to destroy everything, letting it go, it all. I will give of myself openly. So much of everythings. In so soon, beautiful agate eyes, profile, face against smooth neck, eternal smile, arms around, one of the only two blissful people for miles and years.

a quiet blanket around a quiet shoulders

Some if on an evening wait, and look up and to see in the surprise of a crystal solid darkness through an ice a star alit, about only millions if not trillions of miles from the eye. But through just such a dark quiet cold, wondering here, just further west for a body to live than ever, if such descriptions surprise, even... in a winter a wind expects me when I leave a house. On januaries it blows an ice arm over to clothesline a whip at me. I slap it until my hand is froze, thick with red, and slap sommore until it's thawed. a little chunk of wind warmed.

And so surprises saved for spring.