Thursday, February 18, 2010

it's not the weather that sticks us together

    filled with dead things compiled in your red bedroom from your bad dreams.  On your vanity you left fake eyelashes waving. Your bathroom was my birdcage. I think about you in the shower sometimes and i forget it all soon right down that drain that took a day to drain. Cleaner and dirty towel, lay on the bed like six dolls, spread you from wall to wall, when I first met you I threw up a lot. I always say to much with my hands. Together we accelerated the blood flow that fell from clouds.  We melted muscle tissue fell away from hearts.  Wouldn't you die for something innocent and scratch perfect skin for life?
I've been receiving radio broadcasts through my teeth again.  All my delayed reactions are just impersonations of my mom as she asks.  I say Im not completely hopeless because I still hide smoking when I visit my parents, through the basement window and outside of existence.
So to smoke, I can go to a bar.
Delectation measured in spoiling tides tangled in my thoughts bludgeoned figures of crime life.  idioms pertained to wet mouths, half empty wallets in full bars blundered.... insidious... does he fuck you twice instead of once a night?  Some girl dancin in front of me, me making sure I look hot and lookin for trouble.
You always wanted that and now you got it all the time.  I wanted to eat big macs and then lie, sayin I was to tired, I wasn't tired, I just wanted to eat big macs, yeah lets eat big macs.

tan pontiacs  by  convict gypsy a poetic expression in song.
-We live in a flat in the ghetto, watchin you smoke crack out a broken window, on the other side of the tracks shot a rainbow I can't turn my back now im in love. im dumb so how should I know? Right between there and we're both smoking crack so how should I know? We live in a shack on the top floor, our porchlights glow beneath the locked door, your sweetness poured out your pores with fragrance beads, generic perscriptions and bitter coffee we drown next to our tiny sea shore.  And any guys id chase away unless its for your cash and I swear we'll do you know?  We live in a shack outside a town. I love you in the sack...if I got your back how should I know?
if you sleep in my bed promise me that instead
we will sail sunk ships below Zethures's pull
choose to believe god has a plan but I don't know if this is what he meant

sorry my pictures are not as cool as my girlfriends.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

channel , brush stroke, i am death and I am painted on
like breaths of smoke from winter coats over frozen lawns
rebellion only lasted  from night till frosted windows, crept dawn
rubbed your scattered hair, gripped and matted till i heard  you yawn
in a dream you seem to leave memory on pressured cloth
innate beauty is in you, it’s not something that you choose or not
so novels stream out your mouth like all that weight you’d lose
write and write behind closed doors till i dont recognize you.
tiny birds explode to stars the further they're from me
flyin in the morning space and on top canopy
my idea of what i want is more simple than you say
but stronger still like quaalude pills, so it could kill everything
but also pain it makes you rain across window edges too
i dont think i can do the hospital again....
an noone has to know about it
how tiptoes tip

....all the way to Brighton, MI

Monday, February 8, 2010

all my pets are dead... where'd the paw prints come from?

            its blank how it is to look out a window for an hour.  there’s stuff goin on but blank.
and how could someone understand that?  it’s vapid, it’s vague, it doesn’t make sense.
you cant be blamed for doing things wrong when the person who’s blaming you sets you up for failure.  People set themselves up for failure and so all they can do is blame themselves.  Fallin into some vivid, violent, still life of apathy works.  It’s scary as hell when your visual senses are heightened around you, maybe you can also smell real well the night that came in with you through the door.  objects and the way things move without movement, when you take in the actual placement of things being reality.  An empty pack of cigarettes on the night stand, a silver cross pendant broken in half hangin off a lamp shade,  red aerosol can of  antiseptic spray, bag on the floor, markers, a space heater that click when it’s not turned on, i’m not turned on, a guitar, a typewriter from 1935, clothes.  Everything mundane is sharp as a razor now and as sterile.  just makes me think of cold white bathroom tiles.  I guess because I relate sterile and cold.  You could relate doctors’ offices to both.  So when nothin with a sharp edge seems piercing enough, when it makes your stomach move weird for a split second,  you wonder, at least I wonder, how it’d be to see a razor or broken glass.  So I go and break open a disposable razor and hold it in my hand for a couple minutes.

       I want someone to go to who will always be honest and good to me.  Something that makes me feel good no matter what, and when that constantly holds itself from you no matter what the reason whether based on double standards or you’re the one who needs to realize some rotten perception of what’s real...besides all of that, wouldn’t you move on.  Logic has no place in nature, i guess it’s just instinct, anyone basing life off of logic seem to be more dishonest and hurt creation than most.   How can anyone ever expect that anyone can give them that?  Is it because it seems so close sometimes if it wasn’t for say one or two things or aspects of behavior or aspects of a relationship.  What makes me weary of human existence is everyone always justifies what they do in there head to much.  I really never felt I had to because I truly never thought I did anything wrong in the way of affecting another person or functioning within dishonesty.... i have not had to be dishonest ever unless it’s just to circumvent petty situations, drama that has no part in the whole scheme of things if anything should be taken seriously at all.  In the process of growing up all I’d have is myself to rely on, especially if my basis is past experience.  Maybe that’s my justification for thinkin nothin I do is ever wrong?
         People are happy with what they think makes them happy, until they get bored with it and decide they want something new, this stunts someone from ever experiencing real happiness or at least recognizing it if they ever do.  Well life’s not a movie and the people who watch you will probably get annoyed and put somethin else in after a while. How could I expect that when I’m loyal to my, i guess, tempestuous pursuit I dunno,  of life or death?  mundane words seem so vivid, so tomorrow it’ll all just sound like shattered glass.  You can’t talk to me and have amazing and in depth conversations where we’re both like “holy shit”, though because you're not afraid to offend other people, through that draws you closer to other people who really seem to understand I guess... but I found out it’s mostly all fake.  Unless .... well.... well, you can't make me talk putting me on the spot and when someone naturally wants to talk and express things you cant interrupt and get mad making boundaries on what certain people can or can't say because of who you make them up in your mind to be.  Unless... Well....

       There’s alot of snow outside.  The east coast got really slammed.  I’m annoyed I got all my records stolen.  I’d could listen to Neil Young’s heart of gold but I don’t have any Neil Young on my computer.  My mom made me coffee today.  She has this weird habit of lacing the coffee she always makes with nutmeg or cinnamon and I hate it.  Today she didn’t do that with the coffee and served it to me while staring out the bay window in the living room.  It felt blank.  I feel blank so much, I think it has to be a phase because it’s not something I’m used too.  When I was sixteen I was skateboarding with my pack back than.  The four of us, we got kicked out of the school’s yard for skateboarding, it was prohibited.  The police officer was a dick.  After back talking under our breath we trailed each other out to the back streets, we were thirsty and we were on our way to Subway for drinks.  We cut in back of a local bank office and at the end of the parking lot was this steep brilliant hill.  It stretched down shooting through an intersection of a dirt road.  We raced down it earlier that day, except I went slow the first time.  My friend Chris, Chris says, “ This time don’t go so slow Jady, you fuckin pussy!”  I defended myself against my three friends explaining how I didn’t want to get hit by a car.  Again, Chris remarked, “ Cars have brakes.”

We raced.  The four of us.  I was winning.

I got to the intersection first, I looked to my left, I woke up between two tires of a red pickup truck.  I got up and walked on my leg which I heard crunching as it drug behind me.  I had a “mild” concussion and the fibula and tibia of my leg were shattered.  The policeman who kicked us out of the school came and confiscated our skateboards.  Chris felt bad.  Matt brought me magazines in the hospital.  Ever since than I’ve gone blank for no reason for maybe thirty seconds at a time.  I was told I’d walk with a limp for the rest of my life.  I walk fine.  So I’ve always gone blank for no reason, I forget what I’m talking about or forget someone’s name.  The policeman who was mean to me and my friend’s that day was killed about three years later in the line of duty, i think he was hit by a motorcycle, it was on the news.  I don’t know what happened to the kids I used to be friends with, one of them is married I think.  But anyway, this has to be a phase because now I’m going blank all the time.  I’m staring out windows while drinking coffee to much.  

      I’ll listen to The Smith’s meat is murder album instead.  There are certain things that make me comfortable and not so afraid of myself.  The Smiths being one, they never make me sad when I listen to them.  I drew a picture of a woman giving birth to a baby and the baby is coming out and stabbing her with a knife.  Stupid... i’m goin into the window for a cigarette instead of just starin at it.  It’s morning and I can see things out of it now, I see white, a tree covered in white,  the sky is so many different similar shades that it doesn’t matter, right?  It shouldn’t be thought about, right?  I want to just unload a bunch of shit here.  I don’t feel well at all.  Never do I really give myself so much credit as to think a collective of minds, one mind, that would seek mine out to show me empathy, sympathy.... I don’t know, understanding?  I feel like I have somethin I’d wanna say besides my coffee has gone cold, it’s been sitting here since yesterday.  but I don’t really.  My mind is lost.  I’m boring.  There is nothing to find out about me.  No key.   Not lovable.  I’m not interesting.  And noone will really miss me when I die.

im bad at bloggin

could be stranded in leaf beds
could be caged in dark rooms
where no one would suffer
except the front page news.
so what is dead writing and what’s it used for?
i cant talk clearly when you stop me in mid thought
a few words will dangle but most they will drop.
nothing scatters themselves under couches as well
as i’d ever want.

Friday, February 5, 2010

help me

If I had the motivation at 6am on the dot to reply with any kind of motive, any coheirent response at all, it would greatly be my pleasure. I lay here pondering the objective of what you have sent me. I to have transformed my lonlinss into a great number of feelings and recreation. One of those also being obsessive masturbation, however I do this in front of my vanity to see I am the only one who can truley fuck me in such a wretched scenario. Currently I have found solace in my isolation, I feel safe and comfortable...could this be some sort of a defense of the mind? Is this what leads the "artists" to produce such works derived from obscure states of the mind which are secluded by "normal" brain activity and response. The response I speak of is that from daily human contact, the contact that perhaps you and I seem to lack for the time being. Perhaps these are our own personal dilemnas caused by actions we should be held to account. In any case whether we're efflicted with this from outside sources or it be self-induced is irrelevant. In short, does this lonliness cause our minds to become exorbitant minds? Is this a way of our own bodies compensating for the things we lack, some sort of consulation? Is it perhaps complete opposite, a punishment? Are our own minds magnanimously attributed to our solitude? Will we grow and flourish within ourselves and will that be enough? Are our minds just magnanimous of these undefined feelings and moods under these specific natures or we have a choice whether to suffer or not? Be good or bad, crazy or sane? Is it left up to us to do, with what our lonliness has provided? Can you help your mind being flooded with anything else? Is apathy the best escape from this cruel and torturous path, or is it the easy way out? Apathy, the drug that renders us stagnent whether it's ill intended or not. Are we just being masochists? Will this lonliness become such a friend, that when the outside world comes to us with arms wide open, we stab it in the fucking throat? Could we be so lucky to attain all these options, have them be possabilities? Or unlucky. The only question that will come clear from all the questions I ask you and myself, is that what path is the easiest way out from all this. The possabilities are among many, although in this life so solitary we usually pick the easiest way out. As it looks now it seems that your apathy is getting the best of you as is my comfort with being miserable and alone getting the best of me. Is masochism an indicator of false apathy or is it truth? With this my friend, I ask you this one last question. If you would turn that blade of apathy away from your own stomach and slit every fucking wrist of every single hand that reaches out, slaughtering every man, woman and child that approaches toward you and I with complete love and acceptance, if you do this, will we be happy? If the savageness of apathy still embodies you and you have no feeling or care, then I hope you turn the knife on yourself and bleed your lost aspirations through your goddamned throat. I hope you die so I can be happy. I will be happy to see us both die alone.