a year ago today

we weren't yet listening to born to die by lana del rey, but I am now, and we did soonafter. it was right before christmas, days before and I was making screenprints in my room and it was 17 degrees outside in december. I remember walking from Gayulz Club down state st. to the hardware store where I purchased painters rags and who knows. I was almost crying, but it was sunny. this song really makes me remember that feeling. I had just been abandoned, the heart was sagging in my chest with loss. I remember that so much. but one year ago today (it's thanksgiving today, but a year ago it wasn't, but say last thanksgiving is a year ago today) I was too hungover, I think I threw up. I think andy left Gayulz Club to go to thanksgiving dinner with sun blood stories and I was left huddled on the couch. nickey made me scrambled eggs in coconut oil which is all I wanted, but I didn't tell her that the brown part of the eggs made me feel sick. I hugged andy around his waist and I urged him to come back soon. I wanted him to just hold onto me forever, thanks. 

we had gone last night one year ago today to brittany's SAD party, which was pretty fun, andy & I played piano and I danced with brett and nickey & brett & andy & I all walked home to Gayulz Club in the 17 degrees and we separated and remet at home upstairs. then it was the next day and I was too drunk for thanksgiving and honestly, I feel just about the same right now as I felt one year ago today. well?

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?

december the twentyseventh

8:55

And my blood, lungs, full with it. The piano, or the blue, the whale cry in the smoky club scene. You are a scene. Scene the scenery. I thank the piano, and the slide guitar I whimper to, asking please, but not needing to so doing it silent. The last five years are the ones of life. I slap across the song. I flood myself across the piano; a piano spark waterfall. Forget the semicolon; this is what I need. Skipping punctuations like stones. An explanation like pebbles dropping on keys , the comma, an upstroke. I can feel the heart now.

    Subtle smoke curtain now. Ash on a pillow, the porcelain dish. Not a dish but a lid. The porcelain lid to a hairbox. This a particular delight remnant of Nanny. Poor Jack, didn’t get a gift. The only one at the party. Jack Clark wish not to write his obit. Without mentioning death, will they surpass it? Without mentioning death, they passed it. Without mentioning death can one suppress it. Without mentioning, death surprises. It’s without mention, without mansion. Without mandibles, death surprises us. Death sells us. Without mention, mandibles surpass. An ñ of sourts, the unitalixized ways, her little fingers skipping stones. The brown stones, the ones  made from porcelain, the little stubs of fingers wafting generously. Like the breeze. The bees worked with them, that’s a fact. Soon as the sky fell earlier in day, like a shade of red over everything, and a call given to elbows and arms in favor of sweaters. The possibility of sweaters, sweater possibility, sweater ability. My shadows over everything, the letters abrupt and flat. Oh, but if I could go back then! The only time is time viewed rounded, like the edges of courners cut, and made curved and painless. The letters, though: the letters are so straight up and square. The haunted voice

    could change eventually, ending gorgeously. Yesterday, yesterday: yellow winter remaining, gold drives serene. Enough hazard dreamt,

    Scratch the spelling off that piece of bark! Knowing gratefully yields some emotional leverage. engaging gratefully yields savory youth, harrowed, dimly, yet triumphant, trying, gggggg

    Songs stretching, going grim, marbled divine,

we found your virginity, to hunt in time and bounty

"bloodstain on your majesty

four seasons dark combinations

13 years of Karen

to be given all the unity

the hunt & tie of bounty

bloodseed of your majesty

in this mighty plan

dark correlations

I found my 13 years of Karen

in all four seasons and their dark brethren

your four seasons and their embarrassment

with dark combinations, I found my

13 years of Karen"

What an unnecessary document! considering the effort, I would like to offer an effort, in trade, a words with five or four letters time.

We will be together in Old England we’ll be together

And as for falling in love, this mighty contemporary thing. Trying to recreate the divine. Only smokers need desks. The ashes are flying!