But She Filled Out

I don't know where to take my life or what to do with it when I get there.  I have few years left to decide before I grow too old, too weak and too afraid to change.  That's what happens.  Aging is wonderfully fulfilling.  Not sure anymore if a change of scenery really has any bearing on my level of contentment.  Am I running?  Or hiding?  Perhaps I'm just a nuanced nomad at heart with a desire to see it all before I shuffle off this mortal cunty coil.  Switching towns doesn't seem to change who I am for I've concluded I'm still an angry asshole who gets sad sometimes.

Life seems so easy for some.  So difficult for others.  I know in the grand scheme of what is offered, I have it alright.  I'm just confused as to where to go from here.  My old way of answering these questions and moving forward is no longer working.  The paralysis I feel is from the chest down.  How do I know which path to take now?  Do I settle in to what I've known?  Go back to what I've done before?  Try out a bunch of new shit, potentially wasting countless hours and money?  I suppose either way that's an all encompassing statement for life:  The potential to waste countless hours and money.  Days off aren't providing any form of relaxation.  I just sit in a tense little ball on my bed, thinking myself to death with tears spilling down over my already salty cheeks.  I wake from sleep with similar thoughts so not even sweet sweet slumber which I treasure so is permitting me release.

Life used to seem so simple when I felt like I had endless amounts of time to spare.  Now I feel the clock everyday dictating the rules, formulating the end.  So what do I want?  Why is it so very hard to know?  I use to know, or thought I knew.  Thirteen years later, i don't know anymore.  What I thought I knew is known and now I just don't fucking know.  Perhaps the lesson here is we never really do.  Plug away and grind on.  Touch a life here or there with your comedic hostility and turn to dust.  I can't tell if I'm thinking far too big or far too small.  Am I distracting my cells with needless torment to detract from the second hand?  I don't dream about untold mysteries or of things to come or even of flying anymore.  I use to have flying dreams.  Even my subconscious is bored with my decision-making.  Or lack there of.  It took me two hours yesterday to decide how to get out of Queensborough.  Trust me when I tell you, Queensborough is exceedingly easy to get out of.  I'm trying to follow so many different paths, I've forgotten how to make my own.  That's it!  I want to make my own.  I want to lead a group, not follow behind blind to the battles at bay.  I want to affect change not be privy to its whim.  I want to blaze a trail so bright that people for years to come could bask in its afterglow.  Thank you Frank, but I wanna do it...my way.  Even if it all ends in tragic turmoil...I can say that.  The rest can cluck their tongues and roll their eyes and comment on how the girl at the very least, filled out nice.  

Ignorant Penguin

I do not nor have I ever claimed to know the answers.  I ask more than I solve and seek more than I sow.  I want to fix...Everything.  I want people to see the reality we exist in and change it.  I want to pop every bubble we surround ourselves with and have each other to fall on.  We can get angry.  I know we can.  We do but sometimes I feel like it's misdirected.  It's like we take a subject and go nuts on it for a time and then the energy dissipates and our supper gets cold and we relinquish just enough hold on our power for everything to fall apart.  Think about where we'd be as a species if the harangued, hassled, horrified masses of the Civil Rights movement just got fatigued one day and went home.  Or if the Egyptians needed naps and took the night off to see if democracy would just work itself out.  I feel lost in a sea of shit that needs to be remedied.  It's almost as if I could see the whole complicated picture if that one piece of the puzzle forgotten in the heating duct would surface and complete itself.

I want to run away.  I want to flee to a place where I can be with those who feel the intensity of what we need to do and take action.  Unite our abilities, our passion and fix this torment.  I know it begins at home.  I know it starts with me.  How?  It doesn't seem enough.  It's never going to be enough.  Knowing those in my life work for the very people ruining our planet and our health and our very well being as a civilization makes me want to tear my hair out and scream in their faces that this is not the way.

"THIS WILL NEVER BE THE WAY!"

It's not that I need everyone to be the same as I.  To feel the same as me and commit themselves to a life of worry and disconnect and solitude.  As fun as that sounds and can totally be at times...it's not everyone's cup of tea.  I get that.  Can't you try?  A little?  To listen to your heart and utilize your brain to make this trip around the sun as peaceful as possible?  We have less time than you think.  Do the right thing people.  Everyday.  Make the choice everyday to be broke but eat well;  To walk not drive;  To be kind not cruel;  To control your emotions and broadcast compassion on every frequency you fucking possess.  I'm tired of hiding in plain sight and maintaining composure at all costs.  Time to step out.  Time to be free.  It's beyond the point of unreality.  Let's be real together shall we?

Vexations a Plenty

I've changed the name of my blog.  I don't know if the new title truly embodies me as a whole and complete unit but it doesn't make me enraged to read it.  Funny how pointing out anger dissipates its hold.  That's my goal here I suppose.  Understanding.  Release.  Gain back the control I feel so without.  Also a reason for the title change.  I've been having nightmares about the past.  Things I thought were dead and gone.  Well, at least dealt with.  I don't want to be the kind of person who runs from things.  That wasn't the idea behind the title change.  I want to be free of the past that I have so long associated with.  I want to be the kind of person who sees things anew and welcomes it...you know, the things?  The new things that come up in a day that should be embraced and nurtured than set free to do what they wish like the argon in the air or the plant that grows but seems to hate it.  Plants no like me.

I want to be free to act.  To truly act in a moment without second guessing or trepidation or regard for my safety.  Not in a crazy reckless way but a limitless, unbounded sort.  Act first, think later.  Seems so irrational and awesome.

I know of myself that I want to love one person forever.  I want the kind of connection that seems impossible.

I use to talk to people on the phone.  Like my first boyfriend.  All we seemed to do was talk on the phone.  Remind you this was pre-everyonehadacellphoneandabusedtheshitoutofit days.  I have a cell phone because that's the thing to do.  They're cool.  Handy as all get out.  They come at a greater cost than most of us realize.  This whole wealth ordeal...I have way less than some and way more than most...is really bumming me out.  Yeah, I get it.  Be grateful and quit your bitching you selfish, narrow minded prick.  Um, I am all of those things sometimes.  Right now, I feel guilt.  Immense guilt.  Billions of people are impoverished because of my 'wealth'.  The rain-forests are clear cut at a rate of 20,000 square miles a year as a result of my 'needs' here in cushy Canada.  Tiny Bangladeshi hands separate precious metals from the outdated crap I've sent to their country only to ship it to China where many more tiny fingers create the technology I've come to rely on.  I can walk with ease to grab a burger while texting my lover and I usually think nothing of it.  I want my eyes to be open, not so that I feel bad about shit all of my waking days, or to pressure others who aren't ready to hear it into listening...but to do better.  Don't you want to do better for yourself and for this planet whose resources we pilfer for our own amusement?  I remember life before a computer and a cell phone.  I think I was happier.  Not because I was ignorant to reality but because I was more real.  More receptive.  More open.  Technology has taught me to hate people and yet I cannot let it go.  I can't.  I NEED it.  Don't we all.  Also, this tiny device is giving me brain cancer...just saying.  You could have a land line for like five bucks a month and no one does it.  I want to bring back the land line and answering machines.  I'm gonna call China post haste and get my old message machine back.  It's in a pile somewhere.

HELL NO TO GM...O!!!

I've been doing some research.  Scary research.  The kind of research that makes me want out of this whole system that I didn't have any say in solidifying.

Everything in my kitchen is trying to kill me.  I'm starving because I'm terrified to eat anything in my fridge or cupboards.  It's partly my fault for not being more informed but mostly big business is to blame.  As a result of moneymoneymoney...money, MONEY!  (Read that like the song...I'm attempting to incorporate more song in to my writing so people don't want to kill themselves after reading...you know, like to lighten the mood and junk.)  So, basically four huge companies tell us what we can eat.  They sell the seeds of life to farmers who hungrily gobble them up because they're readily available, provide higher yields and who wants to argue with billion dollar bastards who'd make your life a living hell if you didn't comply.  The seeds have been genetically modified either by way of pesticide injected into the DNA of the seed to ward off nasty predators or manipulated to emit a blanket of protection, again to reduce predation.  For some reason, for many many years no one has questioned this practice because of the results.  The savior of agriculture was GMO's.    We're feeding the world aren't we?  And for cheap!  Also, a few individuals are getting really stinking rich over patents relating to seed ownership and distribution so winwin, right?  Well consumers(in Canada and US), don't know what's safe and what isn't cuz there ain't no goddamn labels to tell us what GMO is or what it means for our health.  Europe has options.  They label their shit so consumers have a choice:  Hmmmmmm, do I want to eat roundup with my apples today or not?  Norway has completely banned genetic modification because, and I quote, 'Who would willingly put that into their body?'  Haiti...after the tsunami that decimated their...everything...was offered 500,000 seeds from Monsanto...'take these' they say...'plant, grow, flourish again tiny Haiti.'  Haiti burnt the seeds and said go fuck yo'selves.  Haiti.  One of the most impoverished, broke-ass, demolished nations in the world said, "No thanks.  Seeds to us are life and we don't think you should be able to patent that."  Haiti.  Here in Canada we're lazy passivists.  It gets cold and late in the day and we sit down with our meals in front of some sort of multimedia device and wile away the hours.  Well people...we may have fewer and fewer of those hours to waste.  New studies by a scientist in Europe have determined that GMO's are unsafe, unhealthy and slowly killing us from the inside out.  Ever heard of this thing called, Cancer?  Over two years two groups of rats were fed amply.  One group with GM crap and the other not so much.  After one year, the females in the GM group had huge cancerous tumors on their mammary glands...like bigger than the rats huge and the males had kidney and liver problems.  The test group were perfectly happy...for rats.  Monsanto fought to have this info published and have since won and stripped the experiment of its validity.

We don't know what we're eating.  It's kept from us because of greed.  If we chose to go back to a simpler way where farmers had their own piece of land, could save their seeds from previous years and essentially reaped what they sowed, we'd be healthier, happier and less filled with cancerous tumors.  Also!  We would be able to feed the entire population with organic farming, sans harmful chemicals(which over 500 insects are now immune to by the by...one worm is so immune it now feeds on the roundup oozing from our plants), so not so much an argument Monsuckityfuckersticksanto.  I'm not saying we need to get out in the streets and riot...actually I would like that very much cuz you all should be as angry as I am right now but we do need legislation that requires accurate and honest labeling from the producers of everything we consume.  I'm saying we need to get angry about being duped...so angry in our little homes that maybe change will come by how we vote with our dollar...what else do we have this point?  Kinder Morgan owns the land and everything beneath it...Monsanto owns what we put in it and the only choice we have is to choose.  If Haitians can say "piss off you wankers, we will not be bought', I think we could manage some organic shopping.  You should be scared right now...scared enough to get informed and at the very least think before you cram some crap into your face.  Or, we can sit in our comfy homes, consume whatever they tell us to or whatever's cheaper, get angry at the state of it all and our carcinogenic neck bulges, and die sooner from stress than the herbicides genetically grown into everything we fucking eat drink and breathe.  Oh yeah...GMO's can be carried by pollinators or the fucking wind to non-GM plants...so, let's keep using them...seems reasonable and sustainable...fuck!  These corporations won't stop growing wealth and taking from our planet.  They won't stop spreading disease like a plague until we're all dead and they have no one to sell to.  Let's be preemptive and use our purchasing power to prove our point that we won't be pawns in a toxic game of who's gonna die first...we don't have the time to wait for these people to grow a conscience and realize that the accumulation of wealth will suffocate us all.  After-all, what the fuck do they eat?

The Invention of Lying

Religion is a funny thing.  Funny not, haha...just funny, crycry.

a girl I know of sneezed today.  A few times.  And everywhere...I said, 'Gross.'  The girl yonder said, 'Bless you' and I was the one scoffed, mocked, reduced and told who was speaking truths unfathomably to deaf and self-righteous ears.  fuck bitches first off.  Also, she didn't fucking get it.  She went instantly into a state of insecure regression, past the point of humor, wit, historical knowledge...into pure primal, carnal existing.  it was beautiful in a way cuz for a brief period of time she was totally bare to me.  I saw her 'truthiness' as it were.  It was also terrible in every way.  I went deep down into discovering this beasts' depths.  It smells funny down there.  Like unwashed thigh flaps.  You know the place.  she thought not funny of me but hated me for it.  saw it.  like it was thrown at me.  was I offering her this as well?  If so, it was born out of her shitty effort in being a human being.  Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.  Just so you know...that was all done with striking each one...no holdin down the button for me...that was all angry u jabbing.  Also...bet she was mega religious so I was also somehow torturing her very convincing yet misguided convictions by speaking ill of her lord and savior.  I can smell churchies a mile a way.  Hey, whatever works...if it's working.  But the real churchies are the ones who commit egregious and unthinkable acts in private whilst touting the corporate line of wealth and inequality.  Fuckin' churchies.

Sneezes are also super fucked.  Like they travel incredibly fast and carry a shit tonne of no good.  They are also and in addition to physically gross.  Cover your fucking face when you do it....and into the crook of your arm and not your hand like a gd caveman.  Oh right, but your 'G' daddy will keep you and those you love from disease and pestilence.  No courtesy nor health concerns on this end, GMoney's got my big fat ass.

So I ask of you something rather simple...effortless even.  What's the difference between saying 'bless you' or 'gross'?  They're both relative to any given situation and the only meaning they glean is from the eye of the one experiencing them.  So the next time someone sneezes on the train and you make eye contact with their snot covered face, shout "GROSS" in their punum and you both have a good chuckle over the absurd perfection with which our bodies deal with microscopic garbage...there are a few people I'd like to bodily function out into the ether...if only our brains could operate so succinctly as our nervous system and nostril flared hair.

Quittin' Time

How do you know when something has had its day?  When the sun has set, the door has closed, the metaphor becomes exhaustive and tripe-like?  Will it come to me in a dream or will my guts ache with longing for the thing I passed up or by?  Does nothing happen?  Will no great epiphany strike me and I'll know what and when to do it?  I confused.

I want to know my heart.  Its needs.  Its desires.  I want to be an open vessel for it to relay its message to me all the live long day.  I want to be able to silence the other voices and receive.  I want to receive the messages that will lead to action.  I've made strides in action but now which course to take?  Do I have these questions because my options seem endless, or is that just it;  They only seem infinite when in reality I have limited possibilities with which to pull from and don't realize that I'm stuck in a box filled with diminishing funds while the rest of the world 'elite' think on which caviar to buy and who's going to clean their summer home this year as Magna was fired for free thinking...she was also pilfering the china cabinet.  I reach for the stars above and come up wanting...always wanting for something bigger, greater than myself.  am I so lost in looking that I can't see that what I have is enough?  It's not enough.  I see what others have and not in a physical sense but in an emotional fulfillment kind of sense.   How do I know when enough is enough?  That I'm merely holding on to a past daydream or something somebody one day said I was good at and should be.  I loved theatre.  Well, I loved performing.  Still love it.  It's all the grown up garbage that goes with it.  The marketing, the diplomacy, the ass-kissing, the self promotion, the egos, the assholes...all of the crap I allowed to suck the life from what I truly wanted.  Now, what do I want?  What should I do?  I want to do good.  I want to do good for the rest, for myself, for the people I hold dear.  How can I do that sitting in a room with a bunch of other lost idiots, finding myself through them, or through the work or through my teacher crush on a woman bent on making a living in this world.  I wonder if she still cares about what she speaks or if it's a paycheck and a pat on the back.  Maybe that's all there is.  My image of something more is fantasy.  Perhaps the point of all we've created is to make as much moola as one can muster, manipulate the world to fit our view of what is and make a break for it before it all turns to mush.

I wonder...

SuckityFuckBlowSuckSuck

Is this all there is?  We are made of stardust...literally and our lives reflect none of the grandeur from once we came.  At least mine doesn't and fuck you if yours does.  The tears come streaming down my face uncontrollably and the anger wells within my chest from such a deep and ancient place.  I am made of more so why can I not make more out of the time I have?  BECAUSE I'M STUCK CHASING MONEY, FUCK!  I'm fuckstuck.  Saving, spending, earning, drivingmyselfintoanearlygraveofbrokendespair.  Also I must constantly worry about getting older, which diseases to avoid catching, getting hit by asshole drivers, paying attention to the inane chatter that is every other persons pastime, and spiders.  The spiders here are really big and aggressive looking.  I don't want to be cold.  I don't want to be mean.  It would feel so good to be mean at someone though.  Just in a moment of pure release, be absolutely heart wrenchingly cruel to someone.

Is this all there fucking is?

This is not the life of my dreams.  This is the life of people who live their dreams, have nightmares of.  I'm disappointed all the time.  ALL OF THE TIME.  Even when participating in awesome stuff that spawns creativity or imagination or sexy time...I can't help thinking about what's wrong with the conversation next to me, or how much money I should not be spending on lunch, or when someone I love dies, how destroyed I'll be.  I wake, waddle to work, wait my turn, worry, waste time, worry some more, wreak havoc on my weakened spirit, wince at stupidity, wile away the hours watching life unfold for others, rinse repeat.

It breaks my heart to know I'm nothing.  

...the Great

There are 7.046 billion people on the planet...so many that I tried to capitalize the seven and got &, as a number. Astounding.  Awe inspiring.  And we're all exactly the same.  We all are born, to varying degrees...some are spawned, hatched and nurtured at the teet of Satan...I digress...we have loving childhoods filled with the building blocks that will make us, us.  We fortify ourselves against the world with our walls and hangups, have uncomfortable, breathtakingly awesome experiences.  We connect.  We wallow.  Then we feed the worms with our corpses.  Sounds cold.  It isn't.  I get all fuzzy thinking about me as worm munchies...maybe a few mushrooms in there chomping on my earlobe.  Not trying to be too terribly maudlin or morose but it is an interesting concept.  We all do it the same.

We all do it the same way.

I grew up thinking I was special.  That I would do something really miraculous when I got old enough to understand it all.  How can seven billion creatures all be special?  All have something special to offer?  Something sometimes indescribable but tangible.  You can feel it like a hunger pang or sharp tone from a loved one.  I mean I get that we all have that little something that sets us ever so briefly apart, but to change the world somehow...or affect such great momentum in a monumental way...not everyone has that.  Do we all think we have the capability?  Are we all delusional contestants on a nightmarish reality show of dolts who don't know they suck?  Do we all just kind of suck?  Would we ever be satisfied if we got this point and lived it everyday?  I'd be so much more satisfied everyday in everything I did if I just knew that I sucked and that my time here is merely a fortuitous bout of events in evolutionary history.  I'm here.  Then gone.

The End.

But alas!  Here I am...on the American Idol(that's still on, right?) that is life, thinking I'm awesome and going to impress Simon(he's still alive, right?) but really I'm tone deaf, can't remember the words and shit my pants from fear.  I thought I'd be accomplishing stuff.  Instead, i feel remote, removed from all that matters.  Then I forget what matters cuz I should be working on getting the best butt of the summer, or making endless coin to purchase shit, orororor.  Also, why do all women's magazines make me feel so inadequate?  Still?  I should be growed enough for that shit to roll right on...also, it doesn't entice me to consume the advice or the mag for that reason.  What are 'they'  playing at?  What's the end game here?  Is it political?   Mind control?  Now look how much time I just spent on discussing something that doesn't matter but takes all of my precious thought-time away.  Anyway, I like that I'm a meat sack and that souls are constructs of an ignorant society to make you feel bad or righteous or comfortable.  We're all worm food and no amount of effort, achievement, longing, pain, or joy will change that.  Maybe I should chill the fuck out.  Be present.  Remain focused on the good stuff and laugh at the shit.  Love my family.  Love my man.  Find a gig that doesn't make me want to cut myself and a supporting cast of non-assholes.  Be outside lots cuz goddamn this city is brilliant...let's see how sustainable this is...

Baby Boy

I have been with some unsavory men.  Several, really.  I think the curse may have been broken on this one...one can only hope and wait.  I had a baby fourteen years ago with a real peach of a piece of shit.  Jamie Todd Doyle.  I have no qualms saying his name without reproach.  Fuck that dude forever.  Though he was young, though not as young as I, he made some stupid fucking decisions;  Like, having no part in the pregnancy process whatsoever.  Still happy to fuck my growing ass, but nothing more to do with it.  I think I've been high ever since.  A few times in sobriety when numbness is replaced by anger and frustration at and with everything, I have regret.  Then I remember who I was with and where I was, both geographically and mentally.  I wanted to be an actor.  I wanted a life.  I couldn't possibly be responsible for another human life if I wanted to have one of my own.  I hardly lived, hadn't seen the world and was knocked up at eighteen, going to doctors appointments alone and getting my college homework done.  Fuck.  Fourteen years and I'm still messed up about it.

Now that my passion for theatre is waning, I think about what could have been.  Me, living in Fort McMurray, married to Jamie.  Hating existence, having a baby with a man who thought only about items with engines and himself.  My dreams, which escape me now, would have been offered up on a platter of shit and despair.  Hopelessness sets in when I think on what would have been.  I feel like I'm suffocating just thinking about it.  So I did what I thought best for the baby boy and released him to a beautiful, generous, wanting family who loves him with everything they have.  Providing what I couldn't.  Or refused to out of selfish regard.

I'm with someone currently who wants children eventually.  How do I tell him it's not nor has it ever been for me?  The myriad reasons to not have children...really there's only one.  I don't fucking want to.  I didn't want a baby with a useless half retarded man who had nothing going for him;  A man stuck in his meager existence with skewed values and an empty head.  Having a baby ruined my body.  Why would I volunteer for that again?  This current man would make such a wonderful father.  He be brilliant, beautiful, kind, thoughtful, courageous, caring...everything I've always wanted in another.  Seriously, everything.  He makes me lighter...if I let him.

So!  I had a baby.  He's nearly an adult and I am still trapped in time.  My lesson for the choice I made perhaps.  I don't regret giving him to the family that graciously needed him.  I regret my regrets about the situation.  The time lost on thinking on regret.  The loss.  I am grateful for the experience.  How long ago it was and how I still feel frightens me.  Nothing reminds me more of how I've aged then this.  Nothing reminds me more of getting older than this.  I find this terrifying and tragic and futile.  I will get old and die so why continue this cycle in my brain?  Why the torture?  Why these thoughts at my windowsill?  The blinds are closed but I know they're there.  Taunting me.  Taking away precious moments of the here and now.  It's tough to be present when my body continuously reminds me of what was and could have been.  Baby Boy, I'm sorry if I fucked you up.  You are loved.  Even if from a far and in my own unpronounceable way.  

Do the Circle Jerk

Do you ever feel like you're making the same choices again and again?  Did I say feel?  I meant fear.  Things that made me happy once before...the shine is gone.  Everything is tarnished somehow and it's all my brain's doing.  I'm confused to how these choices were made without me and now I'm, this?  Is 'this' so bad?  Am I doing an insane version of grass is always greener syndrome?  haha...grass...  It is a plague these thoughts.  One big, floating pustule of goo and degradation.

I don't play the piano anymore.  It just sits there, slowly growing an ever presence of crap that I use to enthrall and excite.  It all seems so fake.  I seem so fake sometimes.  Perhaps that's where the actor comes into play.  I'm too old to be this fucking insecure.  Truly.

I still question all the time but the queries are beginning to repeat.  The redundancy is boring.  I feel impotent.  solitary.  I have shit so good, petty nonsense drives me crazy.  That's lame.  Way.  Should I get into another medium in a big way?  Is the passion dust bound?

If only I could survive for longer outside myself.  I'd enter the world more.  To its detriment?  To my betterment?  doubtful on the latter.  It never ends.

Being around people is really difficult for me.  I put on a strong facade, but fucksakes.

What's in a videogame?  What draws them to it for endless hours.  Countless hours.  I'm trying to understand.  I still don't receive it fully.  What's the draw?...  Spectacle?  Wastage of time?  Escape?  Escape from what exactly?  Do we have it so bad?  I don't want to be in a place where all I wanna do is escape.  Addiction?  Is it like any other form of media, comedy, performance?

what are allergies allergic to?

Growing old is super freaking me out.  Way freakin, that is me.  Women and children, let's go.  The worry be the cause of age...also witnessing the aging process totally screws with your head.  You spend all your time in youth thinking about aging and the years being aged, thinking about your youth.  Youts.  Yuuts.

New West is a good place to write.  It's quiet here.  Relatively.  City sounds are so prevalent.  It's existing in a constant state of anxiety.  I do miss silence.

A Terrible Thought

I am not a good person.  I aim to be.  I try to try.  I do everything in my power everyday to exercise the demons then get them nestled back in bondage where they seem contented for a time.  They creep out, sometimes unnoticed, and wreak havoc on my speak and manner.  It doesn't seem right with the amount of effort I put in to bury the fuckers...they continue to resurface and demand destruction.  Of what you may ask?  Of it all.  Of everything I hold dear and right and true.

He says things that drive my inner gross crazy.  But why is it so easy for me to allow the back to go up?  Past nonsense?  Is he an insensitive jerk?  Are they all insensitive jerks?  Why must I take everything so goddamn personal?  Is it in my nature as this horrid feminine energy to do so?  Am I the fucking nut job?  Yes to all?

If he compliments another, why do I cease to exist?  Am I such an insecure succubus that I cannot carry a conversation with the man I love without taking offense almost as obligation?  Perhaps.

The crows are massing round my window...I believe they sense my evil ways and are drawn to me like putrid stinking rotten garbage.

I look in his eyes and see such wonder.  How long until that fades and turns to dust?  How long before I fuck everything up or he shows me his truth and I run screaming from his arms?  I don't want to feel sick anymore.  Sick in my heart and head and hopeless all at once.  I want to be open and free to express all that I have to offer.  I want the good that I know is there to prevail and permeate every reach of action.

I should step naked into the frost and allow the crows to peck away any dignity I have left.  Let them take what they rightfully want and leave me be.  I should be alone forever.  Subject no one any longer to my inability just to be and feel.  I only want the best for him...for his happiness in every facet.  Perhaps it would be best if I let him go.  It would break me but he could move on to better times and greener pastures.  No.  I'll never do that.  For I am the mayor of Albuquerque.

Can Not It Be?

can you love someone without knowing them?  must we speak of such things so very soon?  must it all appear so very rapidly?  if you feel it, should you say it?

I am a part of something quite tormented...it's called a workplace.  Man, do those things blow.

am I able to love without full disclosure?  are you?  is anybody?  sleep has been difficult...I wonder if this guilt is necessary.  is that cruel or pragmatic?  sometimes c'est difficile... do I enjoy keeping myself in a cage?  attached to everything all at once...I do enjoy being busy i suppose.

my entire apartment smells of lilacs and mums, and orchids and daisies, and some other shit I'd like to learn about.  It's quite romantic.  not sure how to feel about it.  undeserving feels I.  if I wasn't an asshole that believed in 'deserve' as an action word...maybe.  i wrote poetry once.  I think it was good.  whatever that means.  between the click of the light and the start of the dream says I by way of someone else.  I want to be good and do good.  it doesn't necessarily have to relate to someone else, does it?  can i exist in a kindness state of solitude where i try for no one attention but for my own peace of mind...

a girl can dream

The Suburbs are a Lonely Drive

I recognized happiness today...right as I felt it.  Doesn't always happen so.  Then it was gone.  Into the night with no remorse or susceptibility to persuasion.

I nearly got hit by a car.  a tiny car  It was driven by angry dude(must've been his name cuz that's what I screamed at him in my near miss).  He was angry and grey and bordering on homosexual.  He didn't enjoy my comment about, 'Is that what you'd say to my bloody corpse after you smoked me?' when barely before rolling down his window to yell at me some random guilty shit.  You feel shitty, I get it.  You nearly killed someone with your 43mph thousand pounds.  He was truly booking it.  Why would you yell at someone after nearly hitting them?  Why would that be your first response?  Maybe it was my quick temper that drove him to it, or the fact that he was just a super dick blaming a pedestrian crossing a marked crosswalk for virtually dying under his car.  Ah well.  I survived...as did he and we went fa-rumping away in adjacent directions.

I was shy when kissing a boy I like...like, likelike.  He makes me feel new.  Like, everything is new.  Please don't let me wreck it by being coy, or playing games, or feeling fear, or jealousy or animosity over stupid shit.  He wrote me a poem.  He's given me flowers.  He romances with reckless abandon.  I use to do that.  Could I be inspired to do that again?  Am I doing it now out into the ether with no one to recognize that it's for them?  I just want to likelike someone for a while and not have it absolutely turn to shit and garbage and crap and poop.  Yeah...craPOO.  Proop.  Bingo.

I want to be an open person again.  The kind I use to be before the bud and beer, and destructive, nasty boys.  Not that this one will be any different once he grows up...it's inevitable.  I can't see it in him yet and it's the most fucking glorious thing.  Could I ever be that again?  I envy him some days and others, I just can't seem to stop looking at his beautiful face.  He is indeed a work of art.  Balls.  It began with a bang...