Ode to Hath Not a...

Please, stay where I can see your pretty face.

I say it politely, but I command it.

I'm sorry I bothered you while you were fixing your car,

but I could tell you wanted to talk to someone.

But why use speakerphone,

when you can look at my mouth?

I swear,

as pale in hue as my eyes are,

they run deep.

Don't judge me by my hands, wrists, or feet.

With them, I can impress,

but I have a circulatory system beneath my breasts.

Stay right there,

and keep describing meat to me.

I want to hear what it tastes like.

Spit me pretty adjectives

from your pretty throat.

And I'll pick them off the table,

and try them on for size.

And maybe we can build a radio transmitter together,

and then talk to the world.

It's not easy,

but it's worth it.

As long as you stay right there.

'Tis the Season

Hey. I am back from my hiatus. The blogging was getting to be a burn book more than little post-it notes. Sorry. Seriously. I adore the people that read this. Really. Hugs and high fives, and a promised dinner.

Just some thoughts for as of late.

Le Dinde de Main: 'tis the season. Although these little fellows are usually children's art projects, I often call them my favorite animal. And they appear in my masterpiece, THE KATZENJAMMER. But these little cuties, a traced hand with two eyes, a beak, sharp teeth, and a target on their bodies (palm), they have strong thighs and skinny calfs, and they love each other very much. They live in groups of 12+ and they just cuddle all day long, until the fall when they are hunted for Thanksgiving dinner.

"Girl" By the Beatles: I've already spoken once of the song I wish people would quote to me when I get sad, or maybe I haven't and I just said it to someone in particular, but this song...(Note my pause. It's an homage to the song!!) This is the song I want some guy to say reminds him of me. Never has a breathy sigh been so damn beautiful. I want some guy to love me so much that he's just dying! to tell the story of me. And he has these beautiful sexy sighs when they think of me. No more mixtapes with emo stuff, please. Waiting around for the stuff from Rubber Soul.

Karl Marx: Boy, oh boy, does this guy come up in my life a bunch. I've been obsessed since 13. And then I have learned about him, read his work, one way or another every year since. This time around, I am not just going to smile and write about his stuff. I'm going to overthrow me some bourgeoisie. I have a factory in mind, that I need to free the workers, and violently destroy the machinery. Hey, it's my self worth talking.

Mighty Aphrodite: Movie by Woody. I love that man. But I need to watch that movie. And segue into how zany I get about stuff sometimes. One little suggestion and I am currently rewriting the story of the trojan horse, for my mythology studies. To be played by puppets. With musical accompaniment. Maybe I should be a playwright. OR a puppeteer. My version of Snow White in Spanish was great. Nieva Blanca. No one got it. I played the wicked queen, of course.

Finally,

Projects: I have a new one. I will be pouring more of my heart and romantic-devious soul into that. As well as color. Going to post a link to it when more of it exists. It's going to be beautiful and maybe make you think possibly a little. I was looking at the ground when I said that and kind of decrescendo-ed a bit.

Again. Love you all, I want to tuck you in a night and wish you good dreams. But. Question. Why bother folding towels? I am going to silently rebel like I do wearing white after labor day...

78 things. Word Association.

Word association is totally underrated. Give yourself like 8 minutes and type out 3 words per letter of the alphabet. No real thinking required.

axis, apple, anorexia

baste, blender, baby

cat, cuddle, cheap

death, dirt, dynamite

element, ephemeral, easy

fact, face, floss

gigantic, guilt, guess

help, highness, history

image, indent, instance

just, joke, jubilant

kiln, knock, knight

laugh, leather, loosen

mask, martian, marvelous

nonsense, nobody, never

optical, outed, omnipotent

poster, pillow, pasture

quilt, qualm, quotient

restless, running, ruthless

sidewalk, synonym, something

television, too, tab

umpire, unnecessary, ultimate

vapor, visualize, vest

walked, wanted, waste

xenophobe, xanax, xerox

yes, youth, you

zen, zilch, zipper

8 minutes are all you need to compile data for perfect analyzation. Reading over that, I can think of a distinct thought I had about each one. How interesting. I highly recommend doing this and having a reflective moment with each word/word group. Things to keep in mind: optimistic? pessimistic? daily events? hopes and dreams? people? memories? jokes? something you just did? something you're about to do? Either way.

Heroic.

I hadn’t really the intention of writing about this today, but I felt it significant enough an event to really expand upon.

I was walking to the library as I do everyday, and I generally keep my head at the sidewalk, I guess half looking for anomalies and the other half not making eye contact with anyone unless their feet are interesting. In either case, I came upon a wasp trying to kill a moth. It really was an epic battle I was witnessing.

I had to intervene. Or else, I suspect I would have been real upset and the rest of my day would be shot. I can speculate as to why I intervened:

Maternally: I care far too much about living things. With the exception of myself, I just want to sweep every little critter up and care for them. Making them breakfast and tucking them in at night, even folding and matching their socks. (I firmly believe that “tucking in” at night is essential to a good night’s sleep.)

Morally: Wouldn’t it be just cruel to let something die like that and carry on all “Oh-my-life-is-so-superior-as-human”? If they were any sort of creature, or even object, I would have intervened. Man vs wild, man vs man, animal vs animal, animal vs vehicle, child vs ice cream, to no end.

Nationalistically: As an American, isn’t it my imperialistic duty to throw myself into every fight and get credit for winning? Of course this would be best accomplished by killing them both. Preferably with a hydrogen bomb or equally as controversial weapon, i.e. my stiletto heel.

Pacifistically: I have never fancied myself as a pacifist, because I like to fight, but I certainly don’t like war. I am so inbetween here, I mean all I can really say is that on days where we talk about soldiers and prior wartimes, I give the peace sign instead of waving. They, ironically, wave back.

Whichever I chose, I decided to merely break up the fight. I prodded the moth away from the wasp’s grasp. (What awkward wording, ali! A repetition of consonant sounds not even a mother could love…) The moth flew North and the wasp flew West.

I feel accomplished, and I am only slightly worried about vengeance. However, karmatically, I feel I did something good for life, and I hope it comes back at me all lovely.

Finland or Wondering the Next Time I Will Hold a Hand.

This post really has little to do with Finland, but I feel as though my emotions, as of late, have been transcending both time and space, and that is where I imagine I would feel these things.

I would like to believe that people of any gender preference know what it feels like the very moment right before someone breaks up with you. It's the moment where his or her eyes are distant, and they know that there is nothing left on their end, and it sends you into this full-body panic. Like a rush of adrenaline, or equalled in artificial highs, the party is suddently filled with enormous confusion and an amalgamation of a myriad of feelings. Everything is precisely unclear. Something you said? Did? Heard? Expressed in any way? And the words "I don't love you anymore," haven't even been spoken.

Say, as many times it is true, you no longer love them either, this spiraling feeling does not cease to exist, but instead manifests as a bout of rage and jealousy that you didn't get all distant first.

The pre-breakup is such an astounding mess, really. Probably why breakups involve tears. What's stranger is feeling this disaster of guilt, confusion, and basically all the stages of grief all at once, when you are single. And not even recently single, so it's not memories, or a rehash. It's just some amazingly perplex rush of insecurity in every cell of your being, plus a good deal of envy that I didn't say it first.

All goodbyes and personal item exchanges and closure remains, and you know you just wont like consuming anything more nutritious than water, or less intoxicating than 45 proof. And you get all thin, and almost prettier (subconsciously), in that newly single way; in the mood for anything that reassures your self-worth.

This is how I feel. Single for a year, yet just dumped and by no one in particular. And I'm in Finland. Maybe I am also an actress. And in this parallel reality I like Ingmar Bergman.

Strange, right? Perhaps I am experiencing one of those continuum transferrences, where in another time and places, Finland perhaps, I am about to get broken up with. Perhaps I have a double life. Although, if we are assuming that infinite possibilities are happening at every moment every day, I have infinite "lifes" so to speak, and in one of them that is happening.

On a more relatable note, I have had some intense dreams lately. Three were grotesque nightmares, and the last one was sort of this magical experience, finding out a dead relative wasn't actually dead. I think I learned that I would no longer cry of joy from the beauty of a song written about me, but the pleasure of regaining the ability to tell someone that you loved things you wish you had told them.

So scared I have sold out or something. Here Lies post summertime: thumbs up? thumbs down? Biting your thumb at me (sir)?

Essex inn

Isn't it just wacky when you're at a place you used to be so superstisious of? I used to sit outside the museum in which I worked and gaze lovingly at a hotel I could see, imagining all the mischief I could get myself into had my boyfriend wanted to meet me there. 6 years later, I stare at it from the other side. But probably equally as frustrated and dreamy.

I used to fantasize about the city. Seeing the pretty skyline and stunning museums, but now I notice a girl whose shoes are too tight and she is walking like she has blisters the size of Russia. I hope she relaxes and takes her shoes off soon. And I see Ed hardy clothes. Yuck. And this real skinny norweigan kid with "synthesis" tattooed on his arm and Norway tattooed on his leg. Tacky. And I have a fifth of vodka in my purse.

So there's that inn. Looming off in the distance. I could reach out and touch it, but I left my condoms at home.

-- Desperately posted mobilly.

Qualifications.

RESUME
Ali Urasky
hereliesali.blogspot.com
Illinois

Objective
To be hired as a wife. I will use my people skills to honor and cherish until death, in sickness and in health.

Career Highlights / Qualifications
Great communication skills- eloquent, vocal about concerns, fast wpm in both word processing and texting.

Well practiced in sexual recreation, and socialization involving beverages, and various forms of fanfare.

Artistically driven-a fabulous companion to artistic ventures, i.e. films, musical outlets, galleries, I also provide gifts of artwork regularly.

Well rooted-knows place as a woman, great at cooking, especially vegetarian genre, loves to clean, disinfect, and organize.

Experience
Ex #1, fall 2003-fall 2006. responsibilities-being passive, being supportive. achievements-virginity lost.

Ex #2, winter 2007-fall 2008. responsibilities- being passive/aggressive, being creative. achievements-sexual identity mastered, depression treatment.

Various temp. positions fall 2008-present.

Skills
poetry, love, sarcasm, hilarity, extensive Woody Allen knowledge, vegetarianism.

References available upon request

But...I wasn't joking!

wtf is that?

I wish this time I was direct, but I think I am going to beat around the bush, shillyshally, and drag my feet. Oh and play with some words so I don't exactly tell the truth. Funny. One of my first lies on this steaming pile of words.

I have this flower, and it's dying. I wanted to put it in water, but that is too formal. Had I put it in water, it would have been like receiving an actual flower. But it was just picked right in front of me, and handed right to me. I kept it. And I painted it. But now it's going to die. And I just want to say thanks, but I don't know where my giver is. Where are you? Can I let you know that I liked listening to David Bowie all night? And the way you acted like an eight year old boy, pulling my hair and twisting my arm and throwing me around. And the sunrise on that dirt hill was lovely. I really have never gone somewhere to watch the sunrise until that morning. I did sincerely enjoy that all. It may as well have been a dream.

Serious? Hopeless? Does anyone endorse this?

I think instead of pursuing anyone ever again, I am going to just hopelessly adore someone who doesn't know me at all. Like we all used to do when we were little, just completely fascinate with little things, a silly little crush, that will never manifest.

Interestingly enough, I am not sad over all this. In fact, I am somewhat happy. It's easier this way.

So, two playlists... One titled "Songs to end your life to" and "Songs to change your mind to" Just thought it was funny.

This is old, but some "good" free-form poetry.

Titled, "Divorce Cake," and "Divorce Cake: The Sequel."

feels like we got a divorce,
and you got the kids, the car, and the house
and all i got was this stupid t-shirt
and the std from the bitch you cheated with.
hope you're happy with your pretty new thing
and you remember to take care of the childs
and that shes a great step mom
and cooks your favorite meals.
and im going to go on e-harmony
and be one of the people they cant "match"
because ive let myself go since we've been together.
since you got custody of everything,
going to have to rent a moving van
and the neighbors will all gossip
that i didnt get the kids because im a crystal meth dealer
and i fucked the pool boy
but you fucked the pool boy's mom
and my sister
when you called and said you'd be late
on our anniversary.
now that our trial separation is over
i hope you remember my alimony
because it is all that is going to get me through
the next few months
of eating ramen
and mac and cheese
the kind our firstborn liked
while i slowly forget your middle name
and your favorite color
and my children call your hooker "mommy"
and you buy her the volvo she always wanted
and i sell my car
for a monthly bus fare
and one day i run into you
and your new wifey
while i am walking the sick puppy i adpoted
to replace the love i lost
and i stare at the ground hoping
Sparkle the puppy would piss on your spouse's
Coach shoes.
you mention that you are moving to Connecticut
to the town that we visited
when you proposed.
i hope you take her to that park by the lake
where we joked about living in the creole states
and you tell her the same jokes
and then you watch a woody allen movie
and say that its your favovrite.
when you know that its my favorite movie.
and the kids will someday say,
"where's mommy"
and you will say, "right here with us."
and i will no longer exist
all because the sex with your hooker was better.
but i bet you anything she fakes it
and i know i never did with you.
because people that look like porn stars
dont have screaming climaxes
they are paid to look like they have them.
you will change my number in your cellphone to
"don't answer."
and when i eventually file for joint custody
or maybe just for a weekend a month,
you will laugh because your lawyer is much better than mine
and you will say,
"your track marks are looking rather big today."
and i will say
in my head
"yeah, so id your ego."
and you'll giggle when our youngest runs away from me
and i collapse on the courtroom floor
because when i excused myself to the bathroom
i took all of my antidepressants.
now you dont have to pay alimony anymore,
just one more payment
for the pine box
where i will spend the night
until im reincarnated
to the full moon
that overlooks you and your wife's
second honeymoon
where she will get knocked up
and you will both treat that child
like an angel
and the other kids will get jealous
and then our firstborn
will go through a phase
where he hates you for indirectly killing me
and he wears eyeliner
and fucks the pool boy that i fucked
so psychologically being closer to what remains of my womb.
and you will ground him constantly
making him have a curfew
that he will never follow
until one day he runs away
back to chicago
where he will go to art school
and carry on my legacy.
but that's just how i feel.

i feel like you spent our last money on drugs you said you'd never do.
and you left me at the grocery store checkout
with no money to pay for your supplies
that you were going to use to make a meth lab in our closet
and infect the poor little black girl that lived above us.
and you would run away from home
but give me a black eye first
and say "damn u bitch you're better off dead"
and youd leave for days going to columbus ohio
where you felt you'd "score"
but really all it got you were some nasty ass track marks
and a kidney infection
and while you were gone,
i had to care for the baby
who hasnt eaten in 2 days
so i had to call that ceo
that thought i was a hooker
and actually be his hooker
in his loft
while his wife was at lunch
and i had to lie and tell him he was excellent
and i would stumble back home
so i could feed our baby
and youd be there shooting up
with lipstick on your collar
and id say "baby where you been?'
and youd reply, "don't worry about it, whore."
and you'd smack me
and tell me that i like it
when i guess i kind of do
because i havent left you yet
because i think i need the drama
and i hate being pursued
i just like the excitement
of waking up with a new bruise
and the baby is crying
and you sold his teddy bear for crack
and started selling again
so now there's all these
shady motherfuckers
in our apartment
whistling at me when i get out of the shower
and you laugh
and i try to take the baby and move out
to my mothers house
but she didnt tell me that she moved to miami
so i spent the night at the ceo's
with the baby
and he lied and said i was
his secretary
and i asked if i could be his secretary
and he said for a blow job
and i just couldnt put my mouth on that awful dick
so i left with my son in the middle of the night
went to your house
and while you were sleeping
i took all of your drugs
and i started to vomit
and i died quickly.
before i died, i wrote you this note:
hey remember when you loved me and didnt have to be superficially happy? i barely do because you beat the good memories out of me. i hope you care for our little guy because i just cant be around you anymore, and because i cant be around you, i cant be around anyone. oh yeah, and i knew you were banging that pretty dark haired girl from the start. i found her panties underneath my pillow. lots of love/see you in hell
you read the note and then rolled it up and smoked out of it
you dropped the baby off at your sisters,
and went through my wallet.
you didnt call the police,
you tossed me in the river
at 3 am
and no one found out.
and the little boy grew up
and was just like his daddy
a fucking scumbag
and he got some chick pregnant way too soon
and he ran away with her best friend
and she had the baby
and it died
because she didnt know
but the father had aids
and so did she
and the baby was brain dead
and you found out and felt a little sorry
but the sorry was really just sorry
that you missed the last call at the bar
so you bought a bottle of rum
and went to the spot where you dumped my body
and said, "i never liked you, whore"
where you passed out
and were arrested for vagrancy.
but thats just how i feel.