the utterly hopeless among us

morning comes through missing curtains
an arm strewn over
the restless machinations
of a mind dreaming in the body on my right

the its awaken
and play crepuscular games

we'll wait for hours to put into words
what other parts murmur succintly

broken record: diary excerpts

December 20, 2008

• "...the Anxious Birds will forever find excuses"

January 31, 2009

• "my stupid, flat heart"

February 9th, 2009

• "now my poor heart is dangling in the winter weather"

February 20th, 2009

• "I give up"

February 28th, 2009

• "Fucking despicable"

March 4th, 2009

• "Dad said, 'you don't sound upset'"

April 1st,2009

• "My spine tingled; unmitigated horror"

April 19th, 2009

• "Not exactly medicine for the emotionally damaged"

June 15, 2009

• "Perfect"

June 29, 2009

• "Amnesia"

Felicitations to Me

... for having achieved my 200th poem, and my 49th page. Although I have to say that as I wrote #199, I re-read #198 and thought to myself, "My, that was a very long time ago... but I've been writing since then, so where the hell are those missing poems?"

Then I remembered this blog, which is a weird space in which I am somewhat publishing poems that I've never edited or thought twice about, meaning they probably have no business living a public life separate from their 198 brethern.

I guess, on the upside, no one is reading this anyway... ?

Ooooh, self-effacement!

nights not meant

nights not meant for solitude
under such seething skies - vigiliant
and reaching within the bowels of every appartment complex

how can i blame anyone
for responding
and forgetting

under such skies.

my northern lands are so much more prone
to memories as sharp as bone

and letters lovingly defeating mold.
farflung pioneers are so late to hear news
to shift the heart
as cloud

last night, and future nights

the dark and the boring times
begin in the slow
of the filthiest taxi cab ever owned

with my back jettisoned, bones thinly diced
against sticky plastic back seats
the concrete monsters pass by
quietly ribboned by skinny white lights

I count, I count, I count
paces and dimes; the meter clocks by
and you left behind

at a crosswalk downtown

Required reading/listening of late

Books (or textual whatevers) that make me cry:

1. Wuthering Heights
2. The Consolation of Philosophy
3. Ash Wednesday [poem]
4. Faust

Singers who make me shiver:

1. Damien Rice
2. Fiona Apple
3. Amy Winehouse

Things that make me happy as a clam:

1. It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
2. Tea
3. Socializing
4. Layers of warm clothing
5. Animals (most)
6. Hugs

what caught my eye today

the best thing about today was the downpour in which I was drenched for twenty minutes. I strode boldly into the storm, unlike those who huddled, uncertain, doubtfully tearing at their cotton hoods. I had no hood and felt such delight from the forgotten sensation of cool spring rain, dropping and dousing and running in rivulets down my scalp. my hair turned from brown to black and became ropes, collating against my cheek and trying to squirm beneath my collar. My rain-proof jacket worked, though my shoes and trousers did not. they however had never made such bold claims; neither had my socks. cold feet are perhaps the only unpleasant side effect of striding through the pelting rain. i smiled at the sidewalk.

from march to may; things i hear every day

Time is a precious commodity, and I spend mine well
-unless-
we are all so proud
again
-but-
the qualitative frog
choked up my throat
-as always-
but I don't regret a thing
-because-

silence

i never have quite enough silence
what with the clutter of thoughts
and eternal lists to be wiped clean.

silence
has a place
only among the tangible living.

it can be nice on sunday mornings, in bed.
it is a monster / tool
when deliberate
or when counted as self-absorbtion

ex-lover silence is the worst absence of all

i have no way of communicating my meaning in coherent ways.

distilled idiot

unfortunately have
"made him responsible"

familiar feelings of panic:
crystallic, lucid and naked
utterly uncovered and disdained

things you should know not to say,(but i thought it was valid
and his actions hurt my feelings)

according to girls with rings on their easily pleased/placated finger

(but all i want to know is if he still makes me happy)

the other side of the ring calls for blood and vindication,
"he clearly doesn't give a shit"

(well, i thought he did once.
why did it stop?)

Blonde girls usually have the answer; stand up for yourself
I feel so valid

and so i accuse
but he came in armed
and piercing



all I want was to see
if I still make him happy

lazy days

i don't know what to do with myself on a free day anymore -- the freedom of a mostly empty schedule is overwhelming, like too much Montana sky.

So here's a list for reference of things I can do:
Pick up one of those undergrad tomes and read something profound
write a letter to a loved/liked one
pull out the paints
look at my pictures
bloggity blog
work the abs
cook leisurely, large meal
buy fresh herbs
find a bike path
rent a movie / popcorn with butter and brewer's yeast
light candles
stretch
groom
impromptu fashion show
boring life paperwork
cross stitch in my favorite armchair
take pictures of trees and things
drink nice tea
bake a dessert
develop pictures and put them into yet another heavy but meaningful scrapbook
mess about with artsy collage stuff
listen to music
listen to French radio
lay in bed
read on the porch (weather permitting)
slather self in nice smelling lotions
tint my hair
write a poem (infinitley the most difficult when one is not inspired)
and so on.

With such a vast list, I should surely feel comforted.

Thematic point of interest: this is the list of a single woman. I'm greedy with my time, and never anticipate that I will be sharing my time with anyone at all. Of course I have a lot of lovely friends, but they have their own lives to live and as you can see there's not a lot of room for socialization in many of these self-starter fun time projects.

Many people probably wonder why I don't have a boyfriend. I guess I don't really miss the experience. I don't miss trading in my free time for "quality time" in which my boyfriend drinks and drunkenly watches TV, or feels obliged to 'go do something' when there's nothing wrong with sitting around, sober, doing small, lazy things.

Neither do I want a man who wants to cross-stitch, mind you. I guess at the end of the day, the only thing that interests me about romantic relationships with men is their potential to be meaningful and long-term -- otherwise, they're an annoying distraction in which I'll usually end up fucked and chucked. I'm vaguely envious that anyone out there believes that relationships can be anything else -- I guess I'm only a tiny bit hopeful that one of these days, I'll meet someone who wants to sit around and drink tea in bed with me (and only me), for the rest of our short lives.

In the meantime: relationships are a bother. I have to much to do.

This had better be worth it.

Graduate school is both so deeply nourishing, and yet such a bother.

I would like to apologize to my loved ones, because they are constantly subjected to my rather manic opinions on the subject. Perhaps if I blare it on a blog, I will magically heal my list of irritations.

Here is what annoys me.

Sitting still in classes for 3 hours at a time.
Professors who only know how to talk for 3 hours at a time.
Professors who are supposed to be your advisor who prefer that you email them, not actually talk to them.
Depending on said professors for letters of recommendation.
Loans, obviously.
Concerns that my supposed artsiness will at any moment be unmasked by true artists.
Having no time to work out.
Having no time for hangovers.
Having no time to paint or draw.
Having no time to learn a new hobby, like how to play an instrument that would accompany all my fanciful lyrics.
Having no time for a social life, even though there are probably loads of great people around me.
Laying in a bed that remains empty, even though I'm dead sexy.
Missing my friends.
Knowing my friends are just hanging out, and miss me.
Having to dress sensibly.
Going blind from computer usage.
The feeling that real life is going on somewhere else.
The fear that this won't pay off (financially or personally).
Utter, complete fear about the future (no jobs, recession, recession!!!)
Paralyzing fear about the future (where will I live? will I be forced to stay here??)
Crippling doubt about my decision to be here (gone are 2 more childbearing years)
General dislike of city aesthetics and populus
My neighborhood is as quiet as a cemetary
Lack of cats in neighbourhood
Stupid homework that distracts me from the studying I could do perfectly well on my own, but for which I am forced to buy a degree
Stupid internship applications which feel like rejections waiting to happen b/c I secretly don't deserve happiness or any opportunities

... maybe that's it.

Here is what I like.

Teaching Humanities (wonderful, wonderful secret of life).
Listening to professors talk about the humanities.
Plentiful internet access.
Adobe Creative Suite, which I wish I could buy and have at home.
My appartment and roommate.
People in my program are pretty cool.
Being mistaken for an artist by real artists.
Galleries and exhibits and artsy shit is now, officially, my business.
Dressing like a hipster and being told I look cute.
Interesting research on things like postmodernism and marketing.
Cool professors who give you high fives and run practical classes.
Caffeine.
Health insurance.
Running around campus just enough so that I do not turn into a fat cow.
Sometimes I look cute in eyeglasses.
The brittle but tasty idea that I'm improving my life somehow, and some day it'll all be worth it.
I can always say I tried
People my age who are married and have stable jobs are probably total losers

cloud song

bittersweet relief
from abandoned expectations

the kinds he didn't want to hear
well fine
i'll take them back

and wear them under my hat
today

under rain clouds
that i know are here to stay
they've been here all along
they are the only things that stay
with me

here they are in ireland
and here they are in france
i found them underneath my pillow
they hover as i dance

through the fog i hear him mutter
something so apologetic
but it's hushed in here
no need to hear
the excuses he has to offer
because i really just can't bother

with that today