Oh heavens.
the stars are my eyes widened and cracked,beyond knobby knee'ed boy who pokes holes into our ceiling screen
(weknow behind it there are people wacthing, our future past selves, the size of cells, the size of our screen eyes)
screen eyes scream eyes protruding eyes
windowless fingers to the salvage yard
better have a back up plan when you lose your spot, how you gonna give away all the stuff you got
only a slight imbalance leadens the weight of our material items
a persian rug gets as heavy as a piano, and it's such a slave to sling, that little piece of gold bought you something heavy something sticky, some little burden you can't keep in your pocket.
oh all the fantasies human bear on their membranes then wonder why they can't sleep when they've fried themselves with wonder and worries.
who do i love?
how do they love me?
is it real?
will they ever allow themselves to bleed?
with a blood thinner it could be easier.
a lot of talk. and a lot of disintegration
can we hold it together we imagine it's stronger than a bubble.
stronger than your tongue on ice
a warmer summer so we can stay swimming till dawn
a warmer distant mountain
a father's smile.
we hope our worries are in vain,i mean i do.
when at the end of the day I take my armour off, i take my amor, off. i take my face off and i breath in hackmy chest up so it fills withlight
and all the marbles i removed but still carry around in my backpack often will tumble out and fall like crinkling rose petals from it. and it will take all night and day's work to gather them again, for tomorrow.
well, goodbye tomorrow.
i hope you die in a way. so i don't have to bear this circular movement of earth, we can only move one square inward at a time, and one square outward. the spiral is slow.
and the sun is hot today. my feet are tired,so I wore sneakers.
but my shoulders which carry the weight of the sun. transfigure my face.
and i'm in love again with my life,simply because im inside of it.
like hey there's me
im in that little embryonic sac
hey there's me, just hanging down.
i come from the sky.
i'm trying to be made of love.
and my fingers get dirt in them easily when i walk with my family it's like walking through trenches of public suffering, then I hope one can recognize my ocean of patience.
maybe he really does love me like i think he does
and when he things too much he gets stuck, i do too
well. open palm until i figure it out.
so much love
sorry bunny
Wednesday, August 31, 2016
14 minute free write
Oh heavens.
the stars are my eyes widened and cracked,beyond knobby knee'ed boy who pokes holes into our ceiling screen
(weknow behind it there are people wacthing, our future past selves, the size of cells, the size of our screen eyes)
screen eyes scream eyes protruding eyes
windowless fingers to the salvage yard
better have a back up plan when you lose your spot, how you gonna give away all the stuff you got
only a slight imbalance leadens the weight of our material items
a persian rug gets as heavy as a piano, and it's such a slave to sling, that little piece of gold bought you something heavy something sticky, some little burden you can't keep in your pocket.
oh all the fantasies human bear on their membranes then wonder why they can't sleep when they've fried themselves with wonder and worries.
who do i love?
how do they love me?
is it real?
will they ever allow themselves to bleed?
with a blood thinner it could be easier.
a lot of talk. and a lot of disintegration
can we hold it together we imagine it's stronger than a bubble.
stronger than your tongue on ice
a warmer summer so we can stay swimming till dawn
a warmer distant mountain
a father's smile.
we hope our worries are in vain,i mean i do.
when at the end of the day I take my armour off, i take my amor, off. i take my face off and i breath in hackmy chest up so it fills withlight
and all the marbles i removed but still carry around in my backpack often will tumble out and fall like crinkling rose petals from it. and it will take all night and day's work to gather them again, for tomorrow.
well, goodbye tomorrow.
i hope you die in a way. so i don't have to bear this circular movement of earth, we can only move one square inward at a time, and one square outward. the spiral is slow.
and the sun is hot today. my feet are tired,so I wore sneakers.
but my shoulders which carry the weight of the sun. transfigure my face.
and i'm in love again with my life,simply because im inside of it.
like hey there's me
im in that little embryonic sac
hey there's me, just hanging down.
i come from the sky.
i'm trying to be made of love.
and my fingers get dirt in them easily when i walk with my family it's like walking through trenches of public suffering, then I hope one can recognize my ocean of patience.
maybe he really does love me like i think he does
and when he things too much he gets stuck, i do too
well. open palm until i figure it out.
so much love
the stars are my eyes widened and cracked,beyond knobby knee'ed boy who pokes holes into our ceiling screen
(weknow behind it there are people wacthing, our future past selves, the size of cells, the size of our screen eyes)
screen eyes scream eyes protruding eyes
windowless fingers to the salvage yard
better have a back up plan when you lose your spot, how you gonna give away all the stuff you got
only a slight imbalance leadens the weight of our material items
a persian rug gets as heavy as a piano, and it's such a slave to sling, that little piece of gold bought you something heavy something sticky, some little burden you can't keep in your pocket.
oh all the fantasies human bear on their membranes then wonder why they can't sleep when they've fried themselves with wonder and worries.
who do i love?
how do they love me?
is it real?
will they ever allow themselves to bleed?
with a blood thinner it could be easier.
a lot of talk. and a lot of disintegration
can we hold it together we imagine it's stronger than a bubble.
stronger than your tongue on ice
a warmer summer so we can stay swimming till dawn
a warmer distant mountain
a father's smile.
we hope our worries are in vain,i mean i do.
when at the end of the day I take my armour off, i take my amor, off. i take my face off and i breath in hackmy chest up so it fills withlight
and all the marbles i removed but still carry around in my backpack often will tumble out and fall like crinkling rose petals from it. and it will take all night and day's work to gather them again, for tomorrow.
well, goodbye tomorrow.
i hope you die in a way. so i don't have to bear this circular movement of earth, we can only move one square inward at a time, and one square outward. the spiral is slow.
and the sun is hot today. my feet are tired,so I wore sneakers.
but my shoulders which carry the weight of the sun. transfigure my face.
and i'm in love again with my life,simply because im inside of it.
like hey there's me
im in that little embryonic sac
hey there's me, just hanging down.
i come from the sky.
i'm trying to be made of love.
and my fingers get dirt in them easily when i walk with my family it's like walking through trenches of public suffering, then I hope one can recognize my ocean of patience.
maybe he really does love me like i think he does
and when he things too much he gets stuck, i do too
well. open palm until i figure it out.
so much love
Monday, January 18, 2016
lists
hello world
today I am human.
(the computer i'm using stick fromtime to time are you okay with that??)
Hey dues and dudettes im here right now to write a list. a scriff of the wrist spliff of the jig kinda list about my dreams and goals
RIGHT HERE and NOW:
1. I'll work this job for at least a year
2. I'll see if a Montessorri certificate makes sense
3. I'll do STARS education uppers
4. Take college classes one a semester in Anatomy & Physiology 1 & 2, then Organic Chemistry 1, 2,3
in terms of creativity:
1.imgoing to work on sing songy sweet songs this week (Jan. 18 - 25
2. I'm going to research and plan my recipe for making lotions for skin care, for next month
3. I'm going to work on my poetry
4.T shirt ideas
5. Podcast with News
6.
today I am human.
(the computer i'm using stick fromtime to time are you okay with that??)
Hey dues and dudettes im here right now to write a list. a scriff of the wrist spliff of the jig kinda list about my dreams and goals
RIGHT HERE and NOW:
1. I'll work this job for at least a year
2. I'll see if a Montessorri certificate makes sense
3. I'll do STARS education uppers
4. Take college classes one a semester in Anatomy & Physiology 1 & 2, then Organic Chemistry 1, 2,3
in terms of creativity:
1.imgoing to work on sing songy sweet songs this week (Jan. 18 - 25
2. I'm going to research and plan my recipe for making lotions for skin care, for next month
3. I'm going to work on my poetry
4.T shirt ideas
5. Podcast with News
6.
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
onwards alley-way shift to the side
comatose peg-leg man, woman, child, step to the third right behind the others
the food lays on the floor and it's upside and i don't care i'm right here i'm sitting down i'm wrapped around some small animal maybe even my own soul.
comatose afternoon banana
comatose after dinner mint
and we're right here we got a banana we're doing things we're moving forward we're living it up
what did i learn in those years of wastelessness
hovering in the trees
an imagine-pattern turning like the waves in a river
reflecting it's pattern bounce bounce bounce
i dip my single finger in circles bounce bounce
cling.
sure sure sure sure sure.
cesure cesure cesure
happenstance brings two robots together on a street corner minding their own business on a street corner at a bus stop
looking neck dipping too low into a journal, big enough for my face.
and we're right here we're doin' it we're movin' forward we're livin' it up
i'm sitting up i can eat my own food
"i sit up. i want to eat the sun. i am going to fly. i am going to fly to eat the sun. i will try to eat it with my big powerful mouth. it will taste good sunshine cream."
"heavens to Betsy! well we may try to come with you then. To make sure you're alright."
"nonsense outta my way."
"i didn't care anyhow not as much as I thought, i must sit down. lay on the floor. everything will be alright."
[they face one another and go about their separate tasks facing one another rather closely. just going about their business.]
comatose peg-leg man, woman, child, step to the third right behind the others
the food lays on the floor and it's upside and i don't care i'm right here i'm sitting down i'm wrapped around some small animal maybe even my own soul.
comatose afternoon banana
comatose after dinner mint
and we're right here we got a banana we're doing things we're moving forward we're living it up
what did i learn in those years of wastelessness
hovering in the trees
an imagine-pattern turning like the waves in a river
reflecting it's pattern bounce bounce bounce
i dip my single finger in circles bounce bounce
cling.
sure sure sure sure sure.
cesure cesure cesure
happenstance brings two robots together on a street corner minding their own business on a street corner at a bus stop
looking neck dipping too low into a journal, big enough for my face.
and we're right here we're doin' it we're movin' forward we're livin' it up
i'm sitting up i can eat my own food
"i sit up. i want to eat the sun. i am going to fly. i am going to fly to eat the sun. i will try to eat it with my big powerful mouth. it will taste good sunshine cream."
"heavens to Betsy! well we may try to come with you then. To make sure you're alright."
"nonsense outta my way."
"i didn't care anyhow not as much as I thought, i must sit down. lay on the floor. everything will be alright."
[they face one another and go about their separate tasks facing one another rather closely. just going about their business.]
Thursday, September 10, 2015
Friday, September 4, 2015
i feast on your flesh
inspeech signals equality divulges a basin
wrappedin flowery lace curtains divulges a window
peering hands on the glass and morning cool breath
we make hearts on the way to work
kiss unto the air our dreams and let go
the fantasy life that lives on when we step out in the morning air to exchange seats
rips out of our embrace like wildfire smoke up into the cosmos
the reality life we return to
could be a wet coffee stained car seat
i go home and pull my morning dress above my head throw it to the ground. drink more coffee. fall asleep
in dreams i follow jobs of work-destiny
jobs like mountains
work like ice cream
opportunities like cash flow-berries out my fingertips
growing trees worth of values into the soil underneath trees that already are grown
waking up to no one i realize that in a way no one but me was ever there
i'm not going home i'm there
it's me there in bed naked alone my home
my gaze out the window seeing brief images of strangers, bars of legs crossing by, hiding from me their whole
work with fingertips
they say it's not work
my job inside my body
i gave to myself
racehorses die each year to save lives from
being without racehorses
the commodity i serve as a body
i die alone
then i get out of bed, throwing the covers off in a flurry and run naked to bathroom
to sit and ponder on the best of thrones made for such muttering
my skin belches forward and swells with the discovery of my eyes, how tender flesh i am
to serve
a life of service my eyes crossed the lovers bent over
my stomach bellows in the morning wind a half-mast flag rises overhead
a twitch awakens a voice
a bell from my bosom
i go a'wandering in a crowd of no ones not anyones no hows and follies
feather-leaves fall in colors
"you haven't changed in years! what point is it to love you?!"
colors stale and bright, not new england brightness, a mixture of sad atlantic ocean duff and happy green north west ever-growth
"you haven't ever changed and i have."
how can you not work?
what could work with fingertips be?
if it is non-work, non-commodified, not even nearly a body
from which your value is devised
in response, "but i am happy with my opportunities."
i am happy with my work
i feast on money signs
i feast on your flesh.
wrappedin flowery lace curtains divulges a window
peering hands on the glass and morning cool breath
we make hearts on the way to work
kiss unto the air our dreams and let go
the fantasy life that lives on when we step out in the morning air to exchange seats
rips out of our embrace like wildfire smoke up into the cosmos
the reality life we return to
could be a wet coffee stained car seat
i go home and pull my morning dress above my head throw it to the ground. drink more coffee. fall asleep
in dreams i follow jobs of work-destiny
jobs like mountains
work like ice cream
opportunities like cash flow-berries out my fingertips
growing trees worth of values into the soil underneath trees that already are grown
waking up to no one i realize that in a way no one but me was ever there
i'm not going home i'm there
it's me there in bed naked alone my home
my gaze out the window seeing brief images of strangers, bars of legs crossing by, hiding from me their whole
work with fingertips
they say it's not work
my job inside my body
i gave to myself
racehorses die each year to save lives from
being without racehorses
the commodity i serve as a body
i die alone
then i get out of bed, throwing the covers off in a flurry and run naked to bathroom
to sit and ponder on the best of thrones made for such muttering
my skin belches forward and swells with the discovery of my eyes, how tender flesh i am
to serve
a life of service my eyes crossed the lovers bent over
my stomach bellows in the morning wind a half-mast flag rises overhead
a twitch awakens a voice
a bell from my bosom
i go a'wandering in a crowd of no ones not anyones no hows and follies
feather-leaves fall in colors
"you haven't changed in years! what point is it to love you?!"
colors stale and bright, not new england brightness, a mixture of sad atlantic ocean duff and happy green north west ever-growth
"you haven't ever changed and i have."
how can you not work?
what could work with fingertips be?
if it is non-work, non-commodified, not even nearly a body
from which your value is devised
in response, "but i am happy with my opportunities."
i am happy with my work
i feast on money signs
i feast on your flesh.
Friday, August 7, 2015
private into public
the jaw opens and the hinges almost pop off to yawn
this morning i woke up feeling sad. because i talked to N. on the phone last night and everything was sweet at first and i think i wanted to further explain my previous anxieties abut a trip we were about to make, and upon further discussing them, i brought them out again, because this time i discussed them in far more detail and emotion, especially since i had drank one hoppy but only 4.9% alcoholic beer.
last night the feeling was slim. It was meeble and it came out sliding sideways. Through teeth. through breaths i could not here over the distance that was not covered by the sort of frequencies that phones are allowed to emit. i heard a sunrise in the background. perhaps the sunrise made the excess sounds neutral.
i had some interesting dreams i can't remeber they were about driving i think. sliding, crossing, like frisbees.
i think. well i started t cry on the phone. i was crying because i din't want to upset N. and i was crying because how i felt and what i was describing was inherently upsetting to N. and what N. was saying, how he felt I wasn't being inclusive was particularly upsetting to me. Actually it was upsetting because I felt like I had previously tried to be more inclusive in my time living with N. but could hardly find an outlet for it.
No this must be the outlet.
Apparently, I have become very afraid of doing wrong. And very afraid of upsetting my friends, and secretly holding.
i have felt left out.
i have felt confused by my friendship with others
i love you N.
i love every part of you.
i dont feel comfortable. id ont feel like i understand much, or at least i dont understand in the way i am supposed to.
evrything feels sad and mixed and mixed and mangled and sad and obtuse. I feel alone outside my family. i feel alone outside my friends, but maybe, maybe they are more inclusive than i realize, and i am not accepting it.
i feel eternally rejected.
and it's okay i really hope that.
i figure out some greater love and acceptance today
- Nur
it think that part of it is i don't trust people to consider my point of view and emotions or to believe i am working for theirs as well.
i feel like everyone gets this entitlement to feeling things and having things, and i am pushed around.
i don't know what this means.
this morning i woke up feeling sad. because i talked to N. on the phone last night and everything was sweet at first and i think i wanted to further explain my previous anxieties abut a trip we were about to make, and upon further discussing them, i brought them out again, because this time i discussed them in far more detail and emotion, especially since i had drank one hoppy but only 4.9% alcoholic beer.
last night the feeling was slim. It was meeble and it came out sliding sideways. Through teeth. through breaths i could not here over the distance that was not covered by the sort of frequencies that phones are allowed to emit. i heard a sunrise in the background. perhaps the sunrise made the excess sounds neutral.
i had some interesting dreams i can't remeber they were about driving i think. sliding, crossing, like frisbees.
i think. well i started t cry on the phone. i was crying because i din't want to upset N. and i was crying because how i felt and what i was describing was inherently upsetting to N. and what N. was saying, how he felt I wasn't being inclusive was particularly upsetting to me. Actually it was upsetting because I felt like I had previously tried to be more inclusive in my time living with N. but could hardly find an outlet for it.
No this must be the outlet.
Apparently, I have become very afraid of doing wrong. And very afraid of upsetting my friends, and secretly holding.
i have felt left out.
i have felt confused by my friendship with others
i love you N.
i love every part of you.
i dont feel comfortable. id ont feel like i understand much, or at least i dont understand in the way i am supposed to.
evrything feels sad and mixed and mixed and mangled and sad and obtuse. I feel alone outside my family. i feel alone outside my friends, but maybe, maybe they are more inclusive than i realize, and i am not accepting it.
i feel eternally rejected.
and it's okay i really hope that.
i figure out some greater love and acceptance today
- Nur
it think that part of it is i don't trust people to consider my point of view and emotions or to believe i am working for theirs as well.
i feel like everyone gets this entitlement to feeling things and having things, and i am pushed around.
i don't know what this means.
Friday, July 17, 2015
Thursday, July 16, 2015
well, im going to memphis
gary gray goose gary
fine leather he gave to me
laced it, made a purse for my lips to swallow
these fine small palms made to glitter
nails so oily, excrete oil
sold in bottles, pre-mixed martinis
with olives
they float near the top as buoys for my death
the head lies under
above water
i can't handle the meniscus
it curves whilst i see a line
six feet under,
it curves,
six feet above
i swear
the angle seems buried
but to me
well these lips aint aimed to please
anyhow
as soft as they might be
anyhow
diverted energy
anyhow
true love as rough as keying into
it hurts
they bleed
keyed cars do underneath
poor babies
i wonder as this formative coming into age true story embarks
how his grave might feeel
i mean the dirt
will it still be soft?
i don't remember kissing him ever
not how his lips felt
or his arms
but i remember the soft Tennessee grass
the ground that bounced
i hope some remnant pain is removed
when i see his face
etched in the soil
where once we both stood
and the locked gate
white
i was blind.
now i've forgotten.
this is true.
upon his grave i will kneel
maybe actually not at all, drive. ball.
my eyes out in a bathroom stall.
now.
that's my style.
to cry and hide.
in a bathroom stall, piss and all.
hide.
shy eyes
eylash eyes
cry cry cry my eyes out
see i'm b;lin d
cry cry cry
until im black & blue
under the new moon
and the only hope is
i'll be alone
it's only right
like a march you almost die with
alone
well. he never even believed in a soul.
but i am so determined.
i'll meet him yet. again.
dearest
aaron.
fine leather he gave to me
laced it, made a purse for my lips to swallow
these fine small palms made to glitter
nails so oily, excrete oil
sold in bottles, pre-mixed martinis
with olives
they float near the top as buoys for my death
the head lies under
above water
i can't handle the meniscus
it curves whilst i see a line
six feet under,
it curves,
six feet above
i swear
the angle seems buried
but to me
well these lips aint aimed to please
anyhow
as soft as they might be
anyhow
diverted energy
anyhow
true love as rough as keying into
it hurts
they bleed
keyed cars do underneath
poor babies
i wonder as this formative coming into age true story embarks
how his grave might feeel
i mean the dirt
will it still be soft?
i don't remember kissing him ever
not how his lips felt
or his arms
but i remember the soft Tennessee grass
the ground that bounced
i hope some remnant pain is removed
when i see his face
etched in the soil
where once we both stood
and the locked gate
white
i was blind.
now i've forgotten.
this is true.
upon his grave i will kneel
maybe actually not at all, drive. ball.
my eyes out in a bathroom stall.
now.
that's my style.
to cry and hide.
in a bathroom stall, piss and all.
hide.
shy eyes
eylash eyes
cry cry cry my eyes out
see i'm b;lin d
cry cry cry
until im black & blue
under the new moon
and the only hope is
i'll be alone
it's only right
like a march you almost die with
alone
well. he never even believed in a soul.
but i am so determined.
i'll meet him yet. again.
dearest
aaron.