Rantin' Rovin'

Sometimes I feel like every mother and knave, pixie and magician, young lad and elder mage, unicorn, and spirit being, historical figure, dictator and oppressed, mice and raptor..etc etc. I am the liquid coffee and chocolate rock hard dumpster dive.

This evening is a little bit depressing, and perfect topic for an exhibitionist blog.
Just all these places together. . . I went to the library of my first college today. And yesterday. Morris Library. The place I read my first graphic novel in, on the ground, in the aisle. ( ) The place that had almost all of R.Buckminster Fuller's books that i read with Abe, and when we got so excited we ran out of the library and hopped over the bushes and rolled on the ground and made out. The library lawn where Abe gave me my first hit of acid. And the fountain that I baptized my friends insuring one of my Epic Semesterly picnics. Childhood now. But back then, it was my first whiff of being an adult. (Ages 18-21). I'm only walking in my memories. Walking right through them, going down-stairs, passing the elevator that we used to make out in, ignoring all the memories, and sitting down next to these Family Therapy books while I'm having problems with my family.

I wonder. I wonder why I haven't figured it out. Do me and my mom always mean to fight? Am I inherently against her? Or is she against me, like jealous or sad? She compliments me so excessively and then so vulturously insults me or takes away my will-power. I don't understand the power she has over me, or the power I have over myself. To those who read, and do not know. 9 out of 10 doctors agree, I have the most challenging mother. Was I made for her? With all my characters? Am I the problem? This topic, is the sphere around me. This is the topic of the real paper I have to finish, and it is what I need to venture through in order to survive this coming few years.

She makes me so angry. It's like, her voice turns to snarls. Is my mother Medusa? And she roars at me recommendations. She is concerned about Liver Cancer tonight. I wish that it was conceivable for her to treat me like an adult, not get attached to me being around, understand it's difficult for me, for her to shame me every time I want to spend time with my friends. What is this? I am still the black sheep,bad girl, image, she so doesn't understand damages my own view of myself. I was completely naive and innocent when I believed I had committed too many sins to be valued by my parents? Wasthis Christianity? Many whoi tell of my family assume this... But I would say it is more closely rooted in a family history of Arab conservatism, war,poverty, and being displaced from your home and separated from half your family in a culture that worships family systems.

I just can't stand it when she makesme feel so small. It'saddictive. I go back and I have a hard time not feeling so very small.In fact i'm certain my vision is distorted. Ever so slightly. Ever so slightly. Ever soslighty. Ibecome not awoman anymore.

Isuppose that is connected to my vivavcious thirst forsexualexperiences. It is one areaofmylife I feel verymuch in the right place. On top. A leader. Theopiate of the masses. More like the Pope. More like Hecate. More like Lilith. More in control.

Mymother my history,my isiolated childhood, is like, along-ago fantasy prison dolled upinshiny austrailaina crystals and straghtAs and eventually bad bad things.

Now. It's;like all I do is I have to remembered that I always do have control.She can't make me feel useless.My mind is powerful, these memories I am waking walking though somany somany too many too count the ones here are so thick and deep. I can't believe these memories are still here,and I can't believe I created them.they are like neural pathways and maps and guidances towards where i no longer need to be. I needed themprobablythentoimagine a reality in which i was not imprisoned by her,and what she symbolizes for me.

Becoming so small. You simply cannot find yourself anymore.

versus.

Becoming so shiny and powerful that eventually my choices are respected and in the mean time withstanding how lonely it is. Not being able to fully let myself know my mother.








goodbye friends<3kisses

FK

Dearest clear water gadget.

Open my wide large eyes and suction onto my eyelids.

Help me see wiser

I keep making mistakes and feeling crushed and empty can.

Im not a believer in anything out of the can

Damn crushed crinkled aluminum stain of the earth

Hole in my heart so..

Must damage something else to feel better

Must damage my need to be on time or right or wrong or damaged or pretty or grimy.

Must be malleable washing myself with forks not knives dear little dagger

Must open my mouth for firm berries to enter

Little babe

Must find time to be silently shouldering her warm chest and open womb

Devise a way out a wormhole a snout

A baby blanket a mother someone like me or the stars or the entire night

My moistness tears up and scrunches the clouds crowds crying rain
Must me my heart over the northwest

All that digestion feeling
And ripping the roof off my mouth so i can




Fuck you
So gently
As if you
Were once the star
Of bethlehem
I follow to only encounter
Danks smells on the way
To yerr holy land
Of desert grab

So i can
Lay in
Side you
And
Scream dry pleasantries

Untill all moisture is on our unified body
Of bread and blood.


cry the happiest joy
So into my arms zipper in the sky I go
Tuck myself into self-ecstasy.

Not yet sure if one can ever go inside that Time together.

But perhaps if they were entwined.

The damage was done
I told them, before you were born.
I told them, I seen them, before
they was born.

mild mem mem mem mem ories

la boca noche arriba. the face, night up.
la noche boca arriba. the night, face up.( https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=2&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwjFk5z5w43YAhVM1GMKHXyWBoIQFggxMAE&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.ucm.es%2Fdata%2Fcont%2Fdocs%2F119-2014-02-19-Cortazar.LaNocheBocaArriba.pdf&usg=AOvVaw37htgz64ohB4icEjknXM0E )


In this dream. You meet your soulmate. And the recognition disgusts him. So very much. That inevitably the dream ends and enters reality.
In this reality, two of your fingers are melted to each other.

You appear at night, heavy with sweat. The fine hairs on your arms are stuck to your skin. In fact,your whole bed is wet, as wet as it was after a major fantasy during your puberty on your purple sheets.

You came here to be honestly swept up in the physicality of earth.

You avoided the verbiage of your spirit before, and so, your body on earth, has a weak voice. It even sounds weak. You even have a cut on the base of your throat.

You even have a goiter.

Awaken in a purple bed, on a purple floor, in a purple apartment.

A long lanky lady sits and carefully smokes a long cigarette.

You wonder if she is real, or a facet of your being expanded into the outward environment.

You heard of words and wars and studied, previous to birth, and also was aborted about 7 times before you could become born.

You are a baby, you start to notice because the woman picks you up, in her arms.

A feeling of losing power overwhelms you and all of a sudden your voice rings wildly.

you shout, in your head. IM SORRYIM SORRY IMSORRY GOD please forgive me

I'm here to write down some observation and spark my morning writing so i can finish a paper.

I really love apartment but I'm Alone so often. It has the most beautiful morning light. It's hard for me to sit here all day, working by myself. If my roommate returns it will be sad, she will go in her room and close here door and it will be the same. BUT. I understand that it is strengthening me to be able to be alone. However it is very much not the future that I want. I'm not sure what to say because I feel like I want it to change right away.

I just need family or some semblance of it.

__________________________________________________



*sigh*


OKAY! funtimes ahead

badly inflated
poorly deflated
releasing guilt
for having felt excited
without proper timing

stag-nation nation

highschool prom
balloon pregnancy


would you trade a child in for happiness?
would you too give it up?

I wonder why I chose to do it.

Because I know what a mess my family is.

I would have been alone or stuck with someone I really can't trust

for having felt excited

I broke on my knees
to plant a seed
so small
it grows in intuitions
vines indivisisble


once they wrapped tightly around my wrists.
now on the walk down
I found their roots
they'd been growing inside my womb
all the markings and scratches of being loud
and being thrown down

I still miss her
Nasrah
I Miss Her periwinkle blue light
I'm Hoping someone will notice
her remains
like water spilling into sewage and becoming clean again
over time

no Plans

a new day
a new fidgety delivery day
On the dollar sign we pray
The signs are streets waving
Hello to you, saviour
field walker
hands on the clovers
run over me
when you find me in the mud
walk over me
cover me up
handwalker
breast stroker
lover made into liars
loves made into skies
clouds designed by our hot breath
feast yer eyes on this

shaky sugar
and blue blessed

The night comes in the window as if the whole world just turned
off
and it did
put on a lid


It would be pleasant for these eyes ocean
to be so salty sea
that I couldn't see anymore
and just believe

Dear diary waters
and moontime offers

will you hold my hand as I walk down?
I miss the feeling of being held

https://youtu.be/CnBGqWjXkvg

Please don't become a part of my life

People do things that make me scream. They don't notice don't care can't focus
They turn two ways got greed got arrogance gotta need to be taken care of
It's highly attractive to lick-up yer own spit or shit.
And post it like you're a king.

Stand-by it Tell truths half blindly that stand lying.
But it's not that.

They're in pain
Paid some price for some gain.

I could love them just the same. But I'm not really in on their game.
It hurts me.

It makes sense for me to be stuck fishing.

Burdensome crown burdensome pot burdensome luck burdensome fuck.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2kiOncD_neE&index=9&list=RDO-g5JH7Hs2A

no rules writing

no rules writing to get your writing out if you have enough time

timetimetimetimetime fingers writing out

if no one can read the writing on the wall does it still constitute as writing?

these hands now are ... palm faced.they almost touch.
(is this enough freedom she whispers?) rotating wrists.
until your fingers parallel to the veins bulging down your wrists
until your fingers parallel to the veins down your wrists

rotating wrists.
palms facing.hovering fingers palmpad.


this blurry of a description of magic.i call it: palms wrists turning
what it does is cultivate your chi, but hold it, still, but moving, so it grows.

*I am not knowledgeable nor un-knowledgable. More or less these are opinions of mine.

*****************************************************************************************
(emotional blogpost beware walk away )
distraught over lack of time

each moment passes and it's like, "Where's the race?"

I really can't keep up with time.

I'm trying to remember a place, after I'm Done writing this, that exists inside me. I heard about it, forgot about it,been there,left,returned. I can touch it sorta. It's close to my heart.
I can touch my fingertips to it, feels like it goes inside.








Am I watching more people in their mid-thirties on tv because I'm in my thirties?












I have to go now.

you can't go home again

you can't return to the point in which your paid pain originated
was it at birth this started?

\you\can\not\womb\again

you cannot lose again

you can't tie your shoes twice again

un-tie them to return to the center, because it's gone

words left to rot in the air
next day have air dried
like your forehead sweat from a night of heavy breathing

you can never go back again
that place is gone again
it will never return again

you can only pretend to run your fingers through it again

it's over.

i'm so sorry for your lost.

did you lose yourself too?

i have forgotten.

who am I again?

i can never go back again, stare myself in the eye again.

I can only breathe in what's left of me from my body
and hope the new breath of the new me feels clean enough
to enter into my soul
dirty enough to be shed on the next exhale
queer enough to not make me straight

can never go home again
can never speak of my self again
can never believe I exist when i don't also not exist.
can't love you again.
because it's gone.
and we're not here anymore
there's no point
can never believe again
that you are more than what you are when you're here again
can never go home again
can only
already be there.

friend

https://gracevonderkuhn.bandcamp.com/album/grace-vonderkuhn

something to remember.


that you don't need every moment to be good
coffee doesn't need to be dark enough to enjoy it
you don't have to be on time
to notice fogged windows and fogged glasses
and remove yourself enough from the world to be in it
step behind the veil
to notice, that life doesn't even have to work
to find it beautiful,to breathe it in, to accept it

it can be pulling away from you.
you might've sat in the wrong seat, went to the bathroom with the wrong person, ate the wrong piece of garbage
and you're okay, you're okay, you're doin fine, you're staring at the sun.

garbage flower

this fine landfill
a putrifying stench full
of many-colored strings
past stirring still by the waters
potent pasture
prairie of sins loves lost garbage
sent to stay
to send backwards to
forwards
to play itself sweet

smell her armpits
human
and lick her elbows
salty ocean sweat


lick her elbows
croon and bend over for
her ancient suffering turning water into wine
wine sweetly that touches her blessed thistle and chaste berry pie
that drips around her ankles
into the dirt to do cold moon planting into outside pace

she repeats
presses reverse
play.
over and over.
she whispers into the back of your neck about swimming in garbage waters
sold her ducks
cans
cold ones
zero suffering achieved by imagining being covered in garbage
hovering above ground and thrusting out of it all at once
motion upwards from downwards
pelvic rotation of the earth compost heap in which
we work
to turn turn turn
turn turn turn turn turn.

open our hell mouth turn into lollipop spirals orange dream cream crush sparkly cashews
vomit seafood sea of titan seashells
like bursting strawberry pink energy horizontal waterfall
full
shucking to
see it slow-like
in the real-life turn turn turn turn.
all the acids involved and burning heat compression expansion and gasses involved
your past lives and your past strings and your actual past things
possessions oozing away into your soil

two fingers tied down and handed over to the cross
shoulder bearing what was lost
groundbreaking into what seemed

bleeding out what was leftover
turning into what we need

a triangle forming, mountain top

past truths divulged and diverge
holy mother mountaintop
one step
press play.
over and over and over, flood. turn turn turn.
swim stewing river. flood. and lost flip flops downstream. flood.
you catch up and come clean
design desire
dream dream dream
pick it up shake it off
walk away with it

who gives a shit?

i do.

fit two fix two in two shakes of a leg who
gives a shit who
walks away with
a clean shoe
godman river ran through.

holla! garbage swallower.