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|Saturday, August 6th, 2016|
i pushed the issue and now i have semen all over my torso. had a relapse and a justified hysteric and now sipping beer. it has been a long 3 years of trying not to end up in the psych ward over this half assed curriculum; now they're trying to take my credits away from me because they made an admin error. fuck that. my hands were shaking as i typed a letter of "i trust you will correct this problem." I decided to continue to keep my emotions tidy.
we're watching a very violent program.
we're tuning into the political craze.
and everyone who walks through the door seems unhinged in some way.
i need a shower. my feet are burning up.
|Wednesday, August 3rd, 2016|
this reality is a disjointed one. and we are pretending it isn't. why? it's so liberating to recognize it as such. and then you become just another force doing its thing in its own time. it is morning. i am incorporating more coffee into my life. i asked my friend if it makes sense that i might have a nebulous tumor in the wernikes region of my brain. she asked if i talked to my therapist about it and i meant to but we ended up talking about something else that probably didn't even need discussing. the kinds of things that most people consider vocalizing aren't really worth it to me, even in casual conversation. can't they hear the sky rumbling? it's so great. why aren't we paying attention? no. shut up! this is why i have so many people on hold who want to see me but i'm lonely. i want to only talk about the types of things we say when we're blasted and don't care. otherwise, let's just hear the wind through the trees.
but the experience of massaging, of making some pain go away and helping people to walk again hasn't lost its wonder. although i'm not exactly rooting for the human race. there's too damn many of us and i somewhat agree with Eddie Izzard..the only sane voice I've heard so far speak of politics this time around.. yes we should all work together. but do really have room for this many humans without compromising non-human-made organisms? i'm skeptical. maybe xenophobes with weaponry are like part of the fungus of humanity.
and i don't care if i'm using my bar voice to discuss these matters.
people are moving out of my life and into new jersey. or california. my chosen profession basically forbids me to move to california unless i suddenly get rich. but i would move upstate. there's nothing like the northeast in the autumn.
the air smells very nice. there were maybe 2 weeks that felt like actual summer. the earth is inventing new seasons.
|Monday, August 1st, 2016|
i forgot every prime number of words to the song of my life and now an effort to forget all the others in order to start anew. yet there is longing for the fragmented melody to regain its lost parts. a voice that sings, calls to a past that won't be suppressed by new information, unattached to emotion. just the 1, 2, 3s, grasping the vapor to funnel into the neck of a perfume bottle.
i watch your skin like paper unfurl a crane into a sequence of creases. spiraling outward like a map for one to follow. if i cry i will see the blotches. if i walk there won't be any stopping; there is just onward.
tread out into the sand where your hat flew into the wind and the kid who reminded you of your mother when you were not yet separate. and the screen onto which it was projected in purplish tones of bleak. the tuna fish they ate was sort of gray. i said it as if we were in a Tennessee Williams play. the way the weight was carried in every word they spoke. forward but with rocks in a pouch slung at each hip. a man smiled with not too much teeth and did a flip. crowd applaudes. we are in a classroom running an old reel.
someone save us. give me a basket of young white rabbits.
|Tuesday, June 14th, 2016|
you probably don't care at all and that's fine. But i just couldn't keep up the addiction any longer. addiction occupies so much energy that i don't have. that is why it is an excess condition as opposed to a deficiency. it may take months to recover. My brain still has yet to process the detachment. Maybe it won't even be painful and will actually go smoothly because there's never been any regularity in terms of how often we communicated. Most of the communication i think was in my mind and heart with my selves, although it did spawn some psychic gnosis. but good luck. i've never heard anyone do voices like that. The native american voice in particular is so brilliant and can charm anyone's pants. but i won't be panting any more to keep up with the wind or checking the forecast in your city. and there is relief.
|Thursday, June 9th, 2016|
This man tries desperately to compartmentalize chaos and puts up a good fight doing so. He also wants to abolish dualities of any sort. This man does not take any jobs which require wearing a suit. This man thinks he knows what an empowered woman looks like and travels the globe trying to find one in this exact configuration. One time I asked him to describe such a woman and he replied "one that dresses modestly." Which doesn't narrow it down but perhaps his definition of modest is very specific for instance, always carrying some sort of symbol of modesty such as a hair piece that conceals the top half of her face. Maybe she wears this piece religiously or changes it up by instead wearing a pair of baggy gloves if she happened to have long pretty fingers.
|Tuesday, June 7th, 2016|
i just fell in love with two people in my dream that don't really exist. or do they? i really shouldn't ask that question. but i'm feeling irrational. and i woke up mourning their nonexistence or lack of existence. one of them has a physical vessel but his vessel existed in the past and i'm not sure what remains of it. what i am pretty sure of is that it got quite a bit fatter, but that's fine; i actually prefer bodies that are on the larger end of the spectrum. like Pavarotti.
i wish i could grow a plant on my head.
a friend got 2 Rottweilers and I named them Thelonious and Polonius.
it would also be nice to invent a terrarium butt plug or butt plug planters. so instead of a tail you can have ivy or a snake plant. i might have already discussed this.
i think from now on i have to man the TV because he's not doing anything with it. he falls asleep with his mouth open. and i guess i'm over the hump because i haven't been waking up with a dry mouth.
at some point you're going to catch heat for someone that doesn't reciprocate and that's ok. it's not shameful. it's funny. you watch dogs doing it all the time even after they're fixed. one gets horny and chases the other around while and then the inversion. it happens. so i might be humping your leg for a bit and you just have to deal with it. it might even get dramatic. we can laugh about it later.
|Wednesday, June 1st, 2016|
are you hiding from me?
no. i'm hiding you from me.
whiting out your name so i only see the sky and i'm not tempted to interrupt your flow with meaningless questions which used to mean more than the words being uttered. but today words will conform to their dictionary meanings. and that shouldn't matter to you, because you never infer in the first place. that, i suppose is why you're so overt.
waiting for Turrell's "Meeting" to reopen. i can spend a day in there. if i had a choice of living space that would be it.
|Sunday, May 22nd, 2016|
it's too soon. but here it goes.
answering the questions written in the tiny print on the glowing screen.
and chugging the fire cider. i'm trying to get my voice to come back. evaporating the phlegm.
tonight he invaded my ass again and it felt so good. something felt like a sprinkler on my hand but it was too dark for either of us to observe.
we saw the pigeon show. thousands with LED lights tied to their feet. and all different species took to the sky. and i screamed. it was worth standing for. in the rain.
if you only knew what he means to me. and i hold you from afar. if fire was pulled apart and mapped, so that you understand and even submit your amazement. the spiral. adolescent galaxy.
we spoke on the phone finally and as usual got a wicked case of l'esprit d'escalier. but as i descend the staircase i pick up on distant memories. could you take some of these, my hands are full. of confetti. head full of dough.
can't stop something already in orbit. waking up every day and you're two hours away. the blood, candle wax, romance. i can only imagine what it's like now. but the flavor is exquisite. i drool onto the clay. my offering. change in a sugar bowl.
you, sir, make the selection. preferably in audible language.
|Friday, May 20th, 2016|
this is my life. billy is wiggling his fingers and singing and i can't take it anymore. forget about leakage. i can't stay in the room. help. no fair. turn up the music. it's. not. good.
ginger tea? the chinese say no, not at this hour. water with vinegar? nnnnnnnn... how about. ginger tea.
he said he was going to bed early and he's full of shit.
"the tea photo" haaaa! the kettle wasn't even on. you don't like to talk about matters of the heart, do you? because every time i type any sentence that is connected with an emotion, you change the subject to something that has tangible relevance "this thing does this. and this other thing is blue and creates other blue things.. and i noticed this other trapezoid over here that makes squiggles and plays baroque music.." it's a good coping strategy i guess but it can annoy people who want to tell you things. but maybe it's the zyrtec. and maybe it's germany. and perhaps i do the same thing to certain people who want to tell me too many things at once through too many different mediums.
like, the one telling me she wants to die and an hour later she's telling me she's got a fever and she may be dying and i'm not acting like i care enough. and the other one telling me about the different ways he tried to fix a bathtub and how the impending doom reminds him of his childhood. the latter i don't mind as much i wouldn't mind it at all if it wasn't so repetitive. it's just funny to write about. at least popboy is happy. got a dog and a girlfriend. i remember laruocco said to me that whenever things are going right with her, all sorts of chaos is going on in the rest of the world.
but i am just mesmerized by that tree. and those clouds. and sometimes i think i'll never get anywhere. but just being at this window with the air.
i wish i didn't have to exist for the month of may. except to myself. and i can come back the same way as taking a leave of absence from social media. just put my profile on hold. because that's all it is. your life as everyone else sees it is just a profile. a consumable implantable memory.
it's goldenboy's birthday soon. it makes me happy that he's having sex with people. then the relationship ends and he's like, i'll just stop having relationships. and then he finds another. it's funny. and then i'll get a lecture on meditation and consciousness with an assertive reminder that he's still an atheist. i love people.
the kind of angst that you find so magnetic is there. you just haven't noticed it yet. where is the woman in the blue? she is blending into the background, see? she's turning her eyes away so that you stay in her peripheral vision. but she's still tracking you.
the tea was very spicy, i had to put more water in. nothing gets done in a timely fashion anymore. i divide the hours into quarters while performing healing rituals like dances in small dark rooms. and i'm grateful. and today for moment, my voice came back. but not the audible kind. the methodical. i hear drums.
i miss healthy patrick. he was nice. he ate avocados and told me to relax. we went to the beach and painted each other's bodies and did headstands for two years. all that was sort of documented in this chronicle. i'd create a physical book but i'm not sure. non-physical things are taking over. in a way that's good.
the drums continue. i hear a trumpet. i don't know what language the chanting is in. i'd run towards it but it's late. and it's spring. they may be doing a sacrifice. in queens at midnight on a thursday evening.
|Wednesday, May 4th, 2016|
she spent months watching the numbers change thinking she knew the meaning of their specific order. but we knew better that she was doing nothing except attending chaos.
"are you going to get that glass butt plug?"
"i was thinking of buying a jacket.."
the wait begins.
|Saturday, April 16th, 2016|
good morning. i love you. the world is bright. orange. i smell of yesterday's alcohol and tell myself i'll never do it again, but then i do. when i dutifully clear my thoughts, there's still a song playing. i hear him in the bathroom. i hear the cars. i'm slammed this week. so exhausted i felt drunk. and my knees are still healing from a crash onto some cobblestones. wounds are most painful at the late stage of healing. it's true for heart matters as well. i move my book for him to sit. we can make our coffee and tea in the microwave.
don't mind me if i just post a squiggle every time and again. my brain makes puffs of dust and i only have time for this.
|Friday, April 8th, 2016|
the blood was thin and watery, contained a lot of plasma. didn't know that's what i wading in till after 3. i've been staring at his little green dot. waiting for it to appear and when it does, what would i say? so i watch it vanish. and my heart sinks leaving a pit. i said; "my affection extends."
i said; "don't let her treat you like old luggage." was that harsh? a little, but well taken.
saw the movie where the man falls in love with his computer operating system and i identified with the operating system. i can be in love with 50 people if i could juggle that many voices in one segment of life. but there's only time for one and maybe a few incarnations. a few identities which don't even begin to amass what we are. mostly void. "just.. flatlining?" no, i'm breathing.
i'm a little hard up but i want to care for him. he lay in bed and says he is cold. i can't help but express my morbidity. but he is the most understanding so far. he sleeps and then i hear him up at night. i want to venture out into the wind. get some wine and perspective.
so i run faster. sweat more. i use arm weights to make my body strong. but i want tenderness, presence, wrapped in warm linens. the world of empty hearts in bed with us. but you told me your sickness, invaded with your voice through time and space to override me. and i took it as love in its truest inexcusable form.
|Monday, March 7th, 2016|
with "plum pit qi" in my throat. i drag myself through time soaked with promise. and half-written apology notes. i want to cry; wring free of care by picking a fight with a stranger, a demiurge. in this altered state, i miss certain essential characters, construing an abridged divination of the future. he says "you're not taking things in."
and that's true. where must i go to empty myself? perhaps i should fast.
i am forced to live courageously. I leave fruit at my feet for the iguanas.
It is the AM and he hasn't sung to me as promised. I lie down near him and I long for him to dig deep into that dark pit, but instead he snores. And towards the bright white morning..
I blink and it is Thursday.
He tells me through one or two applications to "be honest, be present."
He turns and says he feels he is suffocating but quickly falls asleep.
I dreamt of an overpopulation of gnats.
I bathe to keep them quiet for at least one brief moment. The warmth on my back stimulates tears.
I search a long time for the little green dot. Every half hour. It's better than smoking. Singing here at the stone table. That I could stop time and come unto some unknown bosom.
|Wednesday, February 17th, 2016|
There's too much light to court darkness.
Lean into me. Read into me. The tongues I speak reach to the edges of infinite points between zero and one. And two. And many. I am unabashedly vulnerable, porous..
Take me on the carousel. For a weekend. For the rest of time. An obtrusion in my gut. Slight of hand and tongue wrapped in vapor.
We're almost at the thaw of winter and a new light demands the open eye willful to be tempered.
For our spinous edges to erode and tidal thoughts spill forth.
|Monday, February 1st, 2016|
another dip in the weather. it's night and i remember a time when i was small, i would create beings from the street lights. giants with long necks and glowing heads conversing with one another.
on my birthday i dreamt of an echidna. i was instructed to follow one around by Kiiko, the master. and i began to cry. but not in the dream and not in the awake state either. i awoke just to check to see if there were actual tears and there were none. yet i felt a strong sensation of bawling, of purging. i went into work, i did 4 treatments on 2 strangers and left for home but decided to stop in for a sweat and a brief sprint. there were no towels and i stood in the locker room naked trying my best to operate the motion sensor on the paper towel dispenser near the sinks. when i got home, billy was nowhere to be found and later got a message that he would be meeting me at the restaurant. my parents were sitting at a table for the first time in more than 20 years with their respective spouses. i was touched by this plan and i had cried in the shower after it was suggested. and it went fine aside from my dad getting antsy towards the end and talking shit. but we all hugged. billy suggested we go somewhere else so we picked out a party in celebration of capricorn that took place in brooklyn. i donned my new antlers and he shuttled us there where i danced with strangers in the whirling smoke until i was tired. a small dark man in a white dress got on stage and sang death metal.
got up too early and slightly hungover. i told Lopi that i can't go to see the picasso works today but that we are probably going though a spiritual transition. i'm glad we kept in touch all these years. when i feel a connection with someone, i'm fixed and can feel them breathing even when we are apart. sometimes their thoughts are so strong and loud i can hear them from another continent.
i'm trying to regrow the passion to study but it seems near impossible. i've devoted 2 years of intensity and now i need quiet mind but busy body.
he twisted my nipples hard tonight and i sobbed as i orgasmed. he doesn't really need equipment. he is savage like i am. but sometimes i like to think i can and should fire the other shooter. and learn how to tie a windsor knot.
|Sunday, January 3rd, 2016|
|Friday, December 25th, 2015|
My stomach has been in a knot since last night and hasn't let up. After a day's work and an evening of trying to get to jersey and failing, I've taken in no food except for some water and half a bottle of kombucha. My mind is restless and wanting. People who I haven't seen in forever have been communicating with me and it feels like a grope. Like the big hand of history is flicking my nipples in a some pattern I used to be familiar with but can't bring myself to decern its meaning. And I am turned-on and irritated, and coupled with the fasting, my creativity is also pumped. He fucked my holes on the couch, spanked me in the bathtub, and I rode him while he brought my ponytail down arching my back a ways, and then he came and now he's asleep. He needs sleep because it was a very frustrating evening. I was dressed as a reindeer sitting on the stoop with all the gifts until he called and said we've been towed. I wasn't feeling social anyway, but his daughter got pissed at him and he really loves these family get togethers. I withheld from drinking in order to decrease my anxiety over it and now I'm thinking that some alcohol might've killed whatever pathogen got into me last night. The cabbie was a wise man. My bone broth is ready. The temperature was at a record high of 70ish degrees today. David came into the spa saying something like "the sky is foreboding." I worked on his neck. The clouds were like music when I stepped outside and the park was quiet. The sunset, I thought was vivid in pink and indigo. I am blessed to see beauty through the pain, sweat and condensate. As i packaged, almost every peice of tape I laid down had one of my hairs stuck in it. Lopi texted that she had been crying. I imagine you on your bike when I meet your gaze and kneel automatically to kiss your Oxford. Sometimes I have a dog with me or you have one with you and she is the ambassador. But this time it's just us.
|Friday, December 18th, 2015|
Sometimes I imagine we are creatures from the past. With large jaws and a tolerance for harsh conditions. The violence of our desires and the shards of comets. I think of the sort of world is what when Poe was alive, the liquor in my throat but no faucet water.
Except that we are charmed. We haven't cleaned our apartment in a long time and when we do it we are half assed about it. We ate peanut butter from the jar together and sipped wine while discussing the state of the political world of the humans that inhabit planet earth orbiting an intermittent pattern around some unnamed star in some adolescent galaxy.
things consumed today so far:
a cup of tea.
A few swigs of a few mugs of weak coffee with soy milk.
3 mugs of bone broth with some shreds of meat and mushrooms still in it.
2 bowls of vegetable stew with a dollop of yogurt.
One half a corn on the cob wih butter.
One steamed head of kale.
Three slivers of Asiago cheese with a glass of wine.
I'm hoping this will all come out of me at the same time.
I am alone in my apartment studying my Chinese medicine books and it feels pretty fucking good except for time limitations. For once the temperature is cool enough to call itself winter. The sweet gum swaying in the night. My surroundings fit. My fingers smell of Asiago.
|Tuesday, November 24th, 2015|
wine headache. the judgement machine is tired. this animal just does what it wants to. shapes the ground it pounds. what can be put aside is not a true requirement. i submerge myself in water.
i worshipped the girl. she appeared out of the past and onto my computer screen sending me beautiful portraits of her ass. now i see similarities in some others that i've loved and gone for.
she gets close and i think maybe at some point our tongues will touch. there's a chance. the scent is there. sometimes i wake up thinking about her sitting on my face.
the ibuprofen kicked in. i was lying on the therapist's couch after my horizontal subway ride. the pain was so great, i was high. she said something like 'it's good to treat yourself to a taxi cab and some chocolate.' i'm glad i'm seeing someone but it doesn't erase the fear. i still cower in the gaze of anyone who investigates. i don't take criticism lightly. my uterus felt so beat up i had to remove myself completely from those florescent lights. even though all that was required was to sit there and listen to the sweet man talk, i couldn't manage it.
first chilly evening. what will become of our world? he turns around in bed. i want to wake him up, say, "wake up, i love you!" with some urgency. there's nothing urgent in his world. even deadlines are not real lines. nothing really dies.