get up, get out, and GET THAT PUSSY

dear diary, 

goodmorning! and such a promising morning. sitting out on sparkle porch, three days from it never being mine again. oh why do I keep my alarm set for 7:30? as if I'd need it! there's a squirrel chewing seeds and chuckking, Ida is keeping it together but she wants to destroy that shit & I'd like her to. such is life, never getting exactly what you want, am I right? so I've made some coffee, and I've got the morning sun kissing allover my skin, and the sounds of rich people's yards getting mowed around me, and that damn chuckle squirrel. I have much to do today. everything for the sale. I made $8 yesterday, diary. I sold neon yellow dirt shirt that advertises a company called knife river and on the back it reads like Singin' and Diggin' Deep. also, a faded glory brand child's bomber jacket, the "hipster vneck" - heather blue dyed purple-orange like pollutant sky, with triangles sewn around the neckline. and the weird robe dress thing, called Models Coat with the pearl snaps & giant pockets & paisley meant for an elementaryschool art teacher. I wanted to write the six-pack story, but a friend came over and then more so I drank the fox beer, 3, and a half of a sweetgrass. then I had a watermelon and a giant glass of ipa. that's nearly a six-pack story there, isn't it. I also made some hummus which the stoners were titillated by, but there is something not quite perfect about it. oh well, dinner: over!! for days!! I had some dreams I don't remember, the cabin of a sailboat, maybe, the caress of a hand lost to me. the thankfulness I have for friends who came by- that isn't a dream- Nickeys shows me a hand not lost. the ones who haven't heard, but who listen. Ian said something like, I don't mind a relationship that's a theater of pain... it is a theater of pain, and a theater of happiness... sometimes someone has to bang their head on the carpet, and then they stop, and then you watch terminator 2, and go to the bar and go to bed... and I'm thinking, it isn't so hard, is it? Kyle & the akron family would urge that love is simple. but I still haven't any choices so I will read a short story in my pretty last-days-of-cougar-den as romb, toom? ooh. 

I will wake up, 

I will get up, 

and I will get out, 

and 

things we do to damage ourselves

   put your head between the two speakers & lay upside down so your organs can slide back, loud as you can
   hold the knife blade in, but gently
   never quit
   never quit
   never quit
   take drugs that half the time urge you to kill yourself
   tell your friends you want to kill yourself
   let music & only music hold you
   lament the past efficiently
   get pleasure from tears
   destroy yourself for crying
   give up
   forget someone you thought you'd love forever (a celebration in this like your very last birthday maybe)
   starve
   stay up
   fall in love with your own heartbeat
   let your own heartbeat drown the world out
   isolate yourself in you, as if you're the best hiding place
   dislocate
   disavow
   distrust
   promise
   expect
   forget why you came, pretending you never intended to
   keep your heart a secret
   keep your brain in your throat
   keep your mirror as a pet
   wish
   hope
   look behind you with watery eyes
   call the best poem you've ever written a tear-stained page in a diary
   forget your own beauty
   call yourself a genius
   call yourself a retard
   kiss anyone who holds your hand
   make truth out of whatevers
   say I don't know
   tell someone that you do, and they won't
   watch yourself go
   write bad poems
   thinking they're like a bath
   thinking they're just words
   try
   stone face smiling
   ignore
   revenge

oozehair

Tonight I went to a dinner party for a best old friend

and he made chicken in the oven and with tiny tomatoes and tiny asparaguys

and I sat across the table from an old still someone from teen years,

but with his two parents flanking us,

and I practiced with knife & fork to shred the thigh

this little juice thigh, and I also thought I don't know how to cut meat from the bone

because I was so meatless for so long

& I like chicken only twice, now

so nothing I think like would be perfect bacon

I listen to this song by adele a lot

where she walks through paris

on the rain bridges

with the jawbone & the cheekbone & the buttchin

looking sad like crying sad

like sad crying sad

sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead

The dinner conversation, how to kill a chicken how a grizzly kills a fish don't you gut a fish before you eat it, don't you pluck a chicken once it's dead?

I thought your parents were great. I liked the creamcheese frosting

My eyelashes rainwiping the insides of my glasses

if you call me I will answer,

if you call me I am calling you back

and I am talking to you for a million years

I came to my room & opened the door

and I found a smell to trap

sorry if you think that's gross, but the odor is in my top five.

I was afraid of the bedroom, waited till 9

I was afraid of the bed

I was afraid of the bedside wine box

I was afraid of the pillow, the pillow we stole and wanted & somehow sometimes shared

I was scared of one side of the bed

I am afraid to go into it

but I came and in the dark breathed it all in, pillowed

& filled with scents of another other than me

and you & me
and I am afraid more that should it not become an artifact
a museum room
in all its dust
and fur
and hair
and debris, and all of the soak in it
I'm taking pictures with the fingers on my face
& the fingers in my nose
in snaps and little licks

I washed my hair today, but it is not a better person for it

it is better though