I don't know and I'm not crying .. laughing mostly... as you can see

 I DON'T CARE IF MY WRITING IS GOOD I DON"T CARE IF MY WRITING IS GOOD WELL DO RIGHT FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU I DON"T CARE IF MY WRITING FEELS GOOD TO YOU IF YOU GET IT IF I FOLLOW RULES IF IT LOOKS NICE I JUST CARE IF I OPEN MY MOUTH_SPIGGOT AND HAIR BONES TEETH FALL OUT AND I RINSE REPEAT RINSE REPEAT RINSE REPEAT VERBAL GARBAGE UNTIL IT RUNS CLEAR. UNTIL IT RUNS CLEAR UNDER HOT WATER AND I WRITE EVERY DAY LIKE DADDY JAMES TOLD ME TO. I DON'T CARE IF MY WRITING IS GOOD. I JUST WANT MY SMALL BABY HANDS TO MOVE TO THE MELODY MY FINGERS MAKE AS I STAB THE KEYS WITH THE PADS OF THEM WANDERING JOINTS. I WILL MAKE ALL THE MISTAKES AND STILL LOVE MY WRITING. I ONLY WANT MY MOUTH TO LAY OPEN IN MOIST TEMPERATE RAINFOREST MIND (UNDER MY TONGUE IN SOME CREVICES OF THE FOLDS OF MY >> >>>> >>>> > >>> > >>> INNNER FOLDS OF MY >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>CORPUS COLOSUM>>>>> A PLACE OF PEACE LOVE UNITY RESPECT. I DON'T CARE IF MY WRITING IS GOOD. BEAUTIFUL. FORMED. UNFORMED. I DON'T CARE OF MY WRITING IS GOOD. I DON'T CARE OF MY WRITING IS GOOD. I DON'T CARE OF MY WRITING IS GOOD. I DON'T CARE OF MY WRITING IS GOOD. I DON'T CARE OF MY WRITING IS GOOD. I DON'T CARE OF MY WRITING IS GOOD. I DON'T CARE OF MY WRITING IS GOOD. I DON'T CARE OF MY WRITING IS GOOD. I DON'T CARE OF MY WRITING IS GOOD. I DON'T CARE OF MY WRITING IS GOOD. I DON'T CARE OF MY WRITING IS GOOD. I DON'T CARE OF MY WRITING IS GOOD. I DON'T CARE OF MY WRITING IS GOOD. I DON'T CARE OF MY WRITING IS GOOD. I DON'T CARE OF MY WRITING IS GOOD. I DON'T CARE OF MY WRITING IS GOOD. I DON'T CARE OF MY WRITING IS GOOD. I DON'T CARE OF MY WRITING IS GOOD. I DON'T CARE OF MY WRITING IS GOOD. I DON'T CARE OF MY WRITING IS GOOD. I DON'T CARE OF MY WRITING IS GOOD. I DON'T CARE OF MY WRITING IS GOOD. AS LONG AS I CAN MAKE A RHYTHM OUT OF THE PATTERN OF THESE KEYS AND IT FEELS AND SOUNDS GOOD TO MY BEING.

open mouth open source

 GOD if I stab this blood root with a kitchen knife

why tendrils of pea shoots out

why my hair grows long into the ground

why cilia stretches

how will I be protected by these thorns on this one 

beautiful red

rose

I call my mouth

(whispering)

why is my face wet

why is the sun so sharp

I can't sleep anymore

the spigot of cerebral water won't shut off

and my breath a whole ocean

stuttering with dog dreams

dog breath

and god eyes

a cord through my noggin

 more wine berries

some orange some red

some fake flowers one orange one pink

a gentle thorny raspberry branch reaching towards my body

my body emptied

needs to be filled

excrement into gold

dust into form

running a calendar

through my skin

a cord through my noggin

soldier string and juicy folds

 purple pumpernickel bread wafer

soldier  string

tiny growing balls of plump

jeez my skkin is bleeding

juicy

folds

whet with grip

whet with expectation

a drop of saliva falling from the corner of your mouth

stirring something inside you

stillness 

a poke

under the bedsheets

and rainbows of flavors of the

amazing zinger! opened doors to the masses

to see... the amazing zinger!

in all its rainbow colored

foxy methoxy

glory

outside of time

i go

outside of time

some lint here in the pocket

the squeaky wheel gets the grease never

met my mouth

or my gnarly teeth (crush bones crush paper crush..)

fire/light/hell

a thousand specks of colored light from one or a hundred raspberries

3 days of fasting

valerian root tea

sticks shaped like a womb

and vomit

i exit

into the bathroom

the most safe space i can think of

lil boy knobby knees 

a'shakin still

is this how you can tell I was born in a hospital? that safety is aloness?

that safety is 4 walls and a closed door

and a mirror

Post-Birthday Weather

 I cut my nails earlier today, washed some sheets, then I threw the blankets out the window and doused them in 2020 corn-based hand sanitizer mixed with tea tree oil.

I burned them to get the stain out.

It got the stain out.

Punched several holes in imaginary walls

and cried on my sheet-less bed as the laundry machine chugged underneath my feet from the basement

I don't think our bodies connect too easily

there is some difficulty there

I have been positive

confident

and i'm not positive

nor confident

I just can be sometimes

"not since yesterday!"

this is probably too much for me

kind of disappointing looking at this unstained wood

falling apart more everything it rains

raw

and

carpenter ants gnawing around its

rusty bolts

[response to noticing internal parts of self no. 1] June 16 2025 10:47 am

 [response to noticing internal parts of self no. 1] June 16 2025 10:47 am

Nothing 

New

Old bones dry and dirty

Grimy oily with rainbow tears

The kind from an overly optimistic eighth year old

Hair down to her butt

And soon to be cut

Who pees fast

And wonders

When her Dad will come home

And why doesn’t he live with her?

And why did the girl on the stairs run away when she kissed her?

And only if I look deeply into the sun long enough

I could become blind enough to see again

More making public, what is private

 I am writing more even though I feel like my writing is a farce. False. Ugly. Empty. Too serious.

This week a friend who I wish I was closer to broke into my other friend's apartment, kind of for the second time. It made me feel empty and viscous and sad and lacking the skills to really help or change anything or even be there for anyone but my daughter.

Is this stalking now? What makes an act malicious? Does one really need to understand what they were doing? What stopped them developmentally from not noticing when they are doing harm? How does a person learn the harm they are doing to others? Do they have to hurt too? Should someone break into their home? Or break into their mind which may be their real home. . .

I came up with a lot of reasons why this makes sense.

developmental gap, some problem in childhood which can be fixed except by therapeutic play

spoiled brat, doesn't know what it is like to suffer, so internally challenged by this incongruence so he plies himself to acts of harm to punish himself and take away the privileges his life is littered with

obsession, a new obsession a new gateway to control, an escape from the hell of past obsessions

ignorance, pure ignorance, not understanding what he is doing

malicious intent, knowing what he is doing, and doing it to gain closeness, attention, love, togetherness, attachment (however secure or insecure, reparative or destructive)

delusion, psychosis, and requiring some professional help to avoid involuntary institutionalization and to avoid the common institution for those with severe mental health issues, the streets, a true home for those whose minds generate fantasy-like spaces in the crevices of concrete reality

I have been thinking and observing, and as I think and observe, I shrink and fall faster away gaining distance from my sweet squishy beloveds, friends, and friend-like matter, and joy, comfort in being with. Being WITH!

but my eye bulb bulges forward nonetheless

the solution is simple. just create safety. just create structure. routine. normalcy. same old same old. get boring.

It might suck to be controlled by medications which bluntly mend your misbehavior, quieting the very things about yourself you love like extra cheesecake icing on a egg-free cupcake

but is your mind's freedom worth another's fear? Now we are talking feeling targeted, feeling, watched, feeling like no space is private. AND not involved in the harm the individual is feeling: tired, empty, lonely, lacking community, everyone already having a pack, and alienating those who love you Brilliant! Artist! because you showed them you are willing to hurt them to get what you want.

So how do i teach my daughter? to not get what she wants all the time? How do i provide her with the right developmental pieces so she doesn't think it's okay to harm other people.

That just seems more important than learning how to read. (And she has two parents who read in front of her, and as a parent who learned how to read at age 4, it seems that, she probably will absorb early reading without me trying that hard to initiate that).

anyhow

harm

is avoidable

in not every situation

Now I have observed and distanced myself.

Now I have disappeared.

Wetted my paper enough to dissolve it.

Gone.

I don't even remember who I am. I am nothing.

I don't even remember my own private thoughts to be made public.

Something about disappearing into the yellow wall paper? Remember that short story? Written by some mad woman? She might have also walked into the ocean.. If ocean was breath it might be okay...

Reminder for the things I want to do this week:

- Explore becoming a brathworked who mixes it into Expressive Arts Therapy (which is combining Drama, Music, Art, Poetry, Narrative, Dance/Movement therapy in one session, including at least one, transfer from one modality to another).

- How to gain confidence? I just remembered my own therapist is a somatic therapist.

- Figure out ways to sew someone in fabric on stage. How does one appropriately mic a sewing machine? 

- Is it possible for me to organize my things better for performing so I don't get confused?

- Check on LAPC licensing

- Sign up for Coop Shift 

- How to have moments of mindfulness in nature, when nature represents not needing to do anything but simply being? 

how to be how to be how to be

be beat

how to beat beat

beat yourself stronger

- Can we dance? Should we dance?

JUNE 21st DANCING MUST HAPPEN

karaoke must happen

I WILL NOT BE DISAPPOINTED
I WILL NOT LET YOU DISAPPOINT ME
YOUARE NOTHING BUT DIRT CAUGHT IN THE CREVICES OF MY SOLES
I MUST FLY AND LEAVE YOU BEHIND
YOUR ANGEL FACE HAS TURNED GARGOYLE
I CANNOT BEAR TO BRUSH YOUR HAIR AWAY FROM YOUR FACE
YOUR EYES HAVE BECOME EMPTY TO ME
YOUR MOUTH IS JAGGED

I AM NOTHING IN YOUR CONDEMNING PRESCENCE
THERE IS NO JOY IN YOUR FIRE

YOU MAKE ME ALONE IN BEING TIED TO YOU
I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO LET YOU GLOW

I AM INCENSED DAILY
AND MY CIRCLE DRAWS MORE NARROW WITH EACH FOOT STEP

MY LOVE FOR YOU DOES NOT absolve THE HARM YOU CREATE BY RECKLESSLY

THROWING YOUR BIG HEAD AROUND AS IF IT IS TOO MUCH TO HANDLE

we all have big heads that are difficult and strange to control

we all lost the instructions

we are all similarly lost

we are all similarly condemned

we are each other

we.

escape snake trail over the valley a hike during mid pregnancy

 licking up my arm a small caterpillar dines on the fuzz of my skin

some way of describing my obsession with my feelings

incessantly scratching me in my sleep, under my sleeves, in my hair little bugs

little larva spilling from my hairs

growing invisible dust like spider webs which you can see in the right angle of sunlight

or with a flashlight

or with these glowing scleras eye-shining

lucidum lucidum dum dee dum dum

death lip cracks and no legged fish

 death

death

death death

aching begging death fingernails scratching kind of death

on my dry lips cracking

broken communication spackling 

white wall which consumes and smothers and suffocates

with the cotton

"she takes the cotton and stuffs her throat with the missile shaped fibers from the nasal inhaler"

"she takes the cotton and rises to the roof to see the stars at night, as her body just..."

I am nothing

You are nothing

and everyone who has big hair with nothing inside, just standing up with excessive air in between 

such few strands held together with more hair spray than hair

"she takes the cotton and she wraps it around her neck"

for warmth

in winter

"she takes the cotton puts it in her ears and muffles the sound of her body"

she can only see its tears fall whetting her lips

tasting so salty

appetizing

salient

she immerses herself in the cotton

in the muslin

its fibers loose       she can spread them apart with force even when her nails have just been cut earlier 

that 

day

"she takes the cotton and puts it in between her teeth"

stuffs the cotton in her mouth

both tubes

swallows the cotton and floats to the ceiling

shhhh

let me tell you a secret

my nails digging in the dirt for fun turning black the way i like it

dirty nails

smelly girl

and clay that gets stuck in the crevices of your worn down antique rings

it could be we are all running in a three-legged race

and we share a leg

and we also do not share a leg

and it is hard to even walk together

let alone

scream

when one of us is in pain

but it is easy to fall

like a limbless fish

shhhhhhh

                                 in every poem i am always trying

to describe a complex (simple?) feeling that is located

deep, inside the center of my chest

it tends to feel empty, dark, abysmal, open, wound-like

it comes to point somewhere infinitely inside to a place

that i haven't been to

(ever 

not ever

not ever

maybe before

but not ever)

at the same time

it's a place of death and smells like dreaming

sticky

walls

that squeeze and stretch the spot out farther. inward.

and you think this, the unknown cell-covering you go to when

you have forgotten to pay attention

that "other place"

and you aren't noticing the present moment

in time

we danced

once

and you threw me in the air so that

my feet knocked out the light

and that's all you remember of me

kind of place

that's almost nothing

and almost who you really are

vacant silhouette of your own memory of yourself self

and it squeezes 

it squeeeeeeezes

tightens

like a

hemorrhoid

but inwards

pulls

that black-hole spot

through the center of my chest

squeezing and tightening my soul out the back

(the inwards backwards that never exits)

i thought we were all born with one

the thing that disappears you

and you

the thing that fights against becoming disappeared

a body

and the hair that grows that is not your self

and the nails that grow that are not your self

and the body you grow is not

your

self

or,      i might've just been disappeared

clear.

[motion of getting the charge ready in the air]

CLEAR!

<3