confidence mustard

christmas 2013

I did the same thing they do, how many years, teens in the street, thin merino wool caps and northface jackets, shiny pillow coats filled with weightless goosefur. gray earlynight light, bald trees and trees few in leaves, silhouetted always, for daily we're twilighting. the dog moans, the house is empty save for us. all of the windows seem uncurtained, meaning there are curtains but they're heavy, and folded or shoved away, impossible curtains. I'm leaving Idaho in the morning.

I moved my goodnight

I moved my bed so it's parallel to the wall, between the two windows, still. I thought I would go to sleep with the red notebook, the one without lines. I used to write in it round my birthday last may when I lived at kari's club, and I was drawing pictures of flowers dying every day, and I was really stoned all of the time & I'd go to bed alone because I wasn't allowed guests. I would read kafka's blue notebooks until I got too bored or distracted or tired and then I would write a little something in the book and I would fall asleep. An example:

   19 May, bed

      You've a lot of work to do. Read    deal   finish/throw away  your library         move to New Orleans

I started again, writing in the red notebook, and it produces similarly, only I am not the devastated one I was in may. I am still sad to report that may of 2013 was historically one of the worst months in my recent years. it remains cloudy and dismal in my memory, and it has cracked something of my view of idaho or of impending summer or of love or hopefulness or something of those natures. I am still sad that I can't laugh at that. I had the sweet depressant in my skeleton. so many questions. I had begun to see luke and he knew me enough, made me come in the park, screams echoing and I snuck him in kari's club afterward but then in the morning I wanted him so gone. I was like that guy, we all know. I felt like the truest broken thing. it was late may by then. I was a dead finish. r

I made some apologies to them. I was sorry that I wasn't going to fall in love anymore. I was sorry that a whole, flat bland vacuum of the country was off limits to my wandering brain heart fingers breath. my best friend moved away, I moved away. I haven't smoked a real american cigarette in days, just the herbs of the world, it seems better for your health and for your pocketbook and for your roommates and for the smell of the world, right. I like to smoke while I cook, like while cooking things like chicken noodle soup for my boyfriend because I want to reach out to him, and he is sick, and I want to prove that I am good & careful & capable. there is science in the chicken soup thing, and I believe usually what I hear right away as the truth. why lie?

which reminds me I wish I had a cigarette paper. I would roll one of these good smokes. I have these little butts, but I, too, am ill. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be smoking, I almost almost even considered quitting smoking for someone this spring. may2013 killed notions of that, so I must have smoked 100,000 smokes over the last 6 months.

I liked smoking and cooking. I spent four hours in the kitchen, four hours at least maybe more. we have a nice big kitchen, and a table ben secured from a house where he was working, it came from someone who overdosed, he told us. it in the sorry for him, lucky for us voice. it's nice to sit at a table. I watched project runway and I ate sweet potatoes and rice from louisiana, and arugula from louisiana. I asked ben & colette to get me some rosemary from the store, and kayla looked at the show with me and we all tried my smoking blend. dan came in and he tried the soup and he told me not to overdo it with the parsley. we don't like to fight but somehow we are fighters.

I'm listening to rumours, which I'm waiting to remind me. ever listen to music expecting it to shock you back into something? after justin left boise I listened to all of the music he sent to me. he sent me music over the internet, and he sent me flowers once, which he probably purchased over the internet. we had an internet relationship & so I listened to rumours on the internet. it wasn't ruined for me, I keep waiting for that. I don't feel anything about it either way, the sting is gone. somehow that's a little disappointing to me, like it felt like so much back then and now it's almost as though nothing ever happened. like it should remain important? sometimes I'm such a dreamer.

I haven't been drinking or doing drugs or anything. I am trying to drink tea & lemon & ginger from louisiana. I have never lived in a place where I could eat ginger grown from my earth here. it feels lucky, but also like an of course kind of lucky.

I think the cigarette paper is the toughness I appreciate. I really shouldn't be smoking, but I feel justified. I still wonder. I met someone in florida named justice and I told him about things a little. I'm glad I love the south, and even though it bums me a little to feel so little, I'm glad to not feel the pull sting anymore.  goodnight

no prob

hey pretty getreal
we have to $$ too much
I always hated air conditions
but I moved to the south, to the endless summer so
we pump her up
I don't like to sleep enclosed is a room without windows
is hard for me, for my want of fresh breaths but
the buggies
they fly invisibly in
and suck at my ankles
at the underside of a toe.
so seal up we do.
but we can't afford it anymore, controlling our climate.
so now it's a heavy 85 degrees
both in the house & out of the house
at 74 percent humidity
rains in waves
I don't mind it at all. covered by 150 yrs of balcony
but
inside my skull it's humidest
and I can't defog it
I don't bite my fingers anymore, too relaxed to chew me up.
leave that for the buggies.
I've got nothing wrong. I'm adaptable, you know.

i woke up here, today

finally coffee & roses, a wide old stoop. nickey had to move out from the mansionhouse. I slept so as not to be too far away, ever. in a cornerroom, many windows, and I feel like all I do is mention windows. I feel like my relations are sort of bedlamy. there is no adjective for it, maybe. uproar, confusion? scenes of madness? it must be me, I'm the common denominator. ha ha it's all about me. when I moved to chicago I went to my first urban outfitters. wait... no, I went to an urban outfitters with my dad when I was 15 in bend, oregon. I was grounded so he forced me to go on a ski trip with him over springbreak, which was actually quite fine, we listened to the wall in the car and I read all of the lyrics, and I was like, man who knew pink floyd was so relevant, I just thought dead kennedys and anti-flag were relevant, and afi who helped me veer in later years to some emo place. we went to the urban outfitters, I had a meager allowance at the time though I doubt it was terribly meager because my mom gave it to me so it was probably pretty hefty. I mostly spent it on pot. but I bought a blue skirt with birds on it. birds on clothing and tattoos has been done for hundreds of thousands of years. it's one of those eternitrends. we went to portland, too, and I'd never been there before. britta was there, her brother bought me a pipe & a blue plastic bong (with my allowance). I named my pipe princess symphony and I named my bong sgt. bongo after my friend stacie. my dad let me drive the car awhile on the way home. I got ungrounded when I came back to boise. for a little while, like a couple of weeks. but in chicago I was never grounded again, so I went with this girl named cindy who I thought might become my best friend. she was like, Let's go to urban outfitters and I was like, Ya, that sounds pretty cool. we met a girl named mary who was with jean, who immediately became my best friend. jean told me a couple of weeks ago that she is pregnant. the year after I met jean we moved into a brownstone on kedzie blvd in logan square and she was the baby machine for halloween. she had babies all over her, and she was pregnant, and she had this phone cord attached to her and was dragging around this baby that we'd covered in fake blood. I was a dead bride. at the party I made out with two boys and fell in love with one of them. he was my best friend for awhile, but I was always terribly in love with him. at urban outfitters, the day I met jean, I bought a book called ALL ABOUT ME. you answer questions like who do you love what are your favorite colors, etc. I think I threw it away after I filled it out because I thought it was embarrassing. the things that don't embarrass me that should make me wonder, sometimes. I don't wish I still had it, I'm sure it was hopeful & maudlin & very, very teen. can I blame my parents? did they not teach me to think of others, ever? when I was a kid my grandmother told my dad that she didn't think that I liked her and my grandfather. my dad told me, and I felt this feeling I'd maybe never felt before. I think it was regret. I'd already felt guilt one million times. it was likely a combination of the two. from then on I tried really hard to show them that I loved them. I think it worked. I still can't imagine what I'd done as a child to make my grandparents think that I didn't like them. the thought makes me feel creeped. I must have isolated myself & never smiled. but what's smiling, anyway? when I moved to highlands elementary in the middle of 6th grade my mom told me that she thought I'd make friends at my new school if I smiled more. I thought that sounded like a reasonable plan, so I tried, I really smiled, I smiled a lot at everyone, I was friendly. but I didn't make any friends. in fact, I had enemies which I'd never really had. one of those enemies was kari, with whom I am temporarily living now. her friends monica & teri & jessica-marie would dare kari to do things, like cutting her hair and taping it to my desk and writing cryptic notes to me. I didn't know how to react to that, so I hung by myself on the playground. on the first day of school, the popular girls asked me to sit with them at lunch. I smiled a lot, but I was very shy. I tried not to be weird. jessica opened her milkcarton and asked me if I knew megan, who went to my old school. I don't think I could smile, then. megan was my archrival since kindergarten. jessica asked me if I thought she was a bitch. I said yes, I did. it was over for me with the popular girls. jessica would come to school and yell across the playground, Molly, I heard you dye your hair. I totally did but I said, No, I don't. none of them really talked to me after that. I stopped smiling pretty fast, decided again not to brush my hair. it wasn't very fun at the new school. I wanted to write stories and plays and have my friends act them out at recess like I used to do at roosevelt elementary. but all everyone else did was play tag. I didn't like running, or being chased, or feeling like I was losing. so I would go and sit on the hill and watch the two groups of girls who hated me. but they also hated each other. I would listen to them talk shit about each other. jessica would laugh at how kari was a cow and how jessica-marie was a stick figure. I thought it was mean, but that they deserved it. 

I've liked the album the wall for my whole life. it's one of kyle's favorite albums, we listened to it on the way back from raunchfest, we listened to it when he came to family dinner. I haven't been into urban outfitters for awhile, I tried to steal a bra from there but I got nervous and just paid for it. I also tried on some stretchy floral pants to make bikeshorts from one time, but there was mad blood in the crotch and I was so disgusted I just left without telling them. it did make me laugh. I feel like everyone then had a convoluted idea about who they were & we're a confused people, but it's all about us. 

like everyone

like everyone you cry when you are kissed
  especially in the dark, a tear falling silent from each little eye
down each little cheek
flat on your back, a body
hanging over you
  like everyone does
you think abt love
abt how to kiss without sound
escape
without tears audible
to keep your kissing audience
  in the dark
you definitely don't want a conversation here, now about that
  and you remember the chill of connectionless
  and going in a motion of
no-I-really-do-want-you
just like you think I do want you
  with the windows open & naked
like two kings
  in one kingdom
  trying to share a body
but without that kingdom-brain
without anything for striving
  it's chilly
  & you've got to chill
to flat-on-your-back relax, now
  because kissing is not for minds
  or saving-for-loves only
and loneliness doesn't it save
  you from dying, touchless?
you would cringe for weeks at being touched
  building your fortress
  around your rancid heart
    to keep it all from taking you to war
and like everyone, you try to buzz it away
  with fleets of imagined fire
    and the knowing
  that a body
and a mouth
  can be healthily penetrated
    
     but a brain,
oh
     but that still makes your moats flood out
   and the road is washed away
  so no one can get to us
at all
  anymore

what are the chances

that at any given moment someone somewhere is having the same thought as you?
is someone thinking abt driving in a red car through the middlewest with you
or maybe someone somewhere really wants a tunamelt, too

how likely is it that someone has invented you
and someone's laying around
imagining the two of you together
even though you'll never meet
and chances are
you aren't imagining them, at all
or, you don't feel the same way

one of my old boyfriends told me that
I wasn't his type
he told me that he didn't know who she was, this dream girl
that he had never met her
or anyone like her. he just new I wasn't she

when I was 18 I wrote on the cover of my diary
  everyone loves someone who loves someone else who loves someone else who loves someone else
I thought it was pretty poignant at the time
I was listening to a lot of modest mouse
and was dying my hair blonde and wearing white cargo pants

I don't really think abt that anymore
its just degrees
& timing
  aligned for two
and how often that happens, that two times converge
& then go along for awhile
it's probably as frequent as someone
  somewhere
envisioning a red car travel-companion
in shades with the windows down, hands on your knees
who'd love nothing as much
as sharing a tunamelt, too

blanket

millions of pillows, windows open
  we have had an excellent try, molly
  we went to a movie
it was made by those who brought us the twilight saga
  bc all I wanted was some icecream
  to solve my 29yrold headache
I brought the leopard lisa frank blanket
  and I wore it to my legs
  and snugged with my milkshake.
I sat with nickey, and britta, and that tall one with the sparse face hair
  and the long feet in long shoes
    that's my favorite thing on him
  besides the 13 inches he stands over me
but he doesn't know me very well
  he had changed into a handsome date sweater
  but I'm guessing he rarely wears it
    rarely dates in it
we didn't hold hands, or touch or anything
in the car we leaned toward one another
  with a seat between us.
he knows enough, maybe
  like that I won't ask
                 I won't try
who knows, can you hang?
  I had a crush on him because of 7th grade orchestra
  he played stand-up bass
  and I was usually last-cello
    so I'd get to sit by him.
  he never talked to me or looked at me.
he was a skater boi
  he'd dyed his hair black and he'd headbang while he played.
  he doesn't remember the jr high me
    so is it cool or not
that he wants to hang 17 yrs later? with old-new-me
  I guess
    I live in boise, so
on our first date we went to the gasstation
  there were 5 dudes, all posing toward various audiences
  one bro was absently chewing a box of nerds he was about to purchase
  and I was able to look around at each of them
  bc none would make eyecontact with anyone
he bought me one of those giant glitter-fleece roses
  and he held up the line while he filled out the card
  he spelled our names phonetically
    which I found pretty endearing
       even though the flower is hideous
         and it makes this gross crumply sound when you spread open its petals
  I guess when you want to be a good date you do things like that
I had a dream I was going to nebraska
  and someone said, I heard you got a bus ticket back
  are you really sending me a mixtape?
  is it going to be a lamentable one? are you an across-the-country date?
  is that something to look for
when I came home, I asked my new landlady
  how she felt abt overnight dates
  she really doesn't like the idea
no smoking pot
  no sleepovers
     is this the kind of adult I'm expected to be?
fun
  I guess at 29 I'll become like you, then
paranoid
anxious
and lonely
with no one to share
  my millions of blankets with

summer in you

I wanted to write a poem called

I'm having a better summer than you

I was sitting by the river

after having sunk myself in

you know, the short breaths,

the regular too cold for you water

and I am warmskinned, pink,

imagining how you're not  

we noticed the sand

smelled so bad that

I would eventually say, I have to walk home

because I thought a hot day walk from raniers

and doritos and the slow moves of summersoaked kids

laying your head on my pelvisbone

soft of my stomach 

quaking with laughter

under the big tree, spring leaves falling on my body

which I celebrated & you mocked me for it

a lone walk home could be.

but then they all said, it smells like shit here

let's leave

gross beach

dog eating wing

you rubbed my head, my hair which was

just it

more human touch, I am a touch-me sort

out of the muck sand,

I moved a bed to the backyard

but no one bought it, or

I knew I wanted to sleep outside

I made it with quilts & pillows

and Nickey & Ida came in & we talked how we talk

& we smoked & drank whiskey in the dark

and a pine dangled over me.

It was the best sleep like windows open everywhere

I was in a breeze, and everything left 

but I always have the best summer

even when the birds don't wake in my ear

even when I leave the elements alone

even when I have to drive a car

with one window down

because I like a long distance

& something in summer is 

always to be looked forward to

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.

Dear diary, the sun is shiny through me, from windows... oh! the moan from my right! A matutional cry-out? Whence! Alak. Ohhhhhhhhhh kay. so Here, drinking coffee, thinking about the jobs, the jobs, the jobs, the collie dog. And My mind wasn't made for such stuffs.

a brain is simple and tough

1 November 

Finally, isn't it better. Wondering about the chain, the delicate filigree of onehundred years ago. It is true that the brain dies, but you see, giving sustenance till the end is righteous. It will matter.

The incest of a body alone. Empty of others, the hands of legs or the wrapping in a bed together. The door from here is too far; the brain is actually dead. Just still moistly warm. I could drift away right then & there! The flickering four candles emitting their faux vanillas. My own true lavender to light me.

The lights on one, the closed windows, another. The better friend vegetarians. My cells growing, the thick of arms and shoulders. I am awake alive and it tastes hungry in me.

o cry out, a suns!

Los suns multiples. The arrogant whitewash and the shadow trying for harsh. But a soft trickle through a tree. Outside there, and across, though the cars go by so to see it I still a park, a lot, and many too. The greens of the lawn and all the things to take with, the scent, the steady rush hush purr of sizzle stove things like onion to like and garlic to push into oil, make a stir up a sense.

Oily branches dipped to sky, little arms little ripples little brown wove to a softer antiquated blue. of a powder blue, of a sky not to become paired to! Nothing be compare. just the two the boths and the forever seconds twined like of brown thick. The park sits still, the windows still, the cat on fence, still, and through one opened up to me. To us appear, to us, a pair. To a rightly paired pairadice. A little us stand captivated, the chop of hunger smell through to deeply make smiles forth.