Maying and probably not concerning, but actually concerning many:
Do you know? Really. Contemplate the inflection on every one of those words. Do. You. Know? Do? You. Know?
I'm waiting for your reality slap. I've gotten so many that my face is crusty and tattered, held together by thread of my own making (hopes, dreams, sugar, spice, everything nice). You are a virgin. Your face is a virgin.
Triviality in the second decade is acceptable to surface feeders, intertidal zone. And there's an open ocean who doesn't notice, and doesn't care. But, the deep ocean. It's not where you are.
In the deep ocean, no one knows. And that's okay and right and just. There is no, "I know."
But you answered "Do I know what?" not "No. I don't."
Virgin face salt water slapping raw your skin and getting deep enough to where you have to cry and make the decision to be confident about your deformed face, or cover it up with makeup. It's rape and your purity's intact with concealer and rouge. Makeup artists dwell on land. You love your wounds and cherry's gone, and you get to sink or swim.
You get to sink or swim. But not float. Never float. Makeup artists float. Virgins float. They need protection of air. Envelopes and security and kisses but that's all. Swimming's lucky. It means you're fit. Understand that swimming is eternal. Stopping only for submarine sandwiches. Sinking is like falling from a helicopter. Except there's salty waters tickling your sores and pores and gangrenous face. And you're going to drown.
You will, no exceptions for you. No sudden swim lessons, or inner tubes. The sea will drip into your lungs and asphyxiate and anchor you to the mysterious ocean floor.
So. Do you know?
Signed,
Floor scavenger.
6.17.2010
Elegant vocabulary and the iconography of smiling.
unlike any other sensation;
From every appendage
pulls taught towards my core
And the remedy
is remedyless;
they exist concomitantly,
the high-thread count curative,
hitches of linens here and there,
and the inundating blight itself!
It's the feeling of release
when you clench your teeth.
Or the jollity and deliverance
of letting go a balloon.
And yet, it feels
like every internal organ
is being separately hanged
for execution of heinous crookedness.
The nooses weave all the way to my geometric center,
my midpoint a tangle.
But it sounds like pink,
and looks like Saturday evening chatter
in a crumby pizza shop.
It's the flavor of hair pulling,
and matte finish black,
and cigarette cellophane;
the split between wailing and coming clean.
Still I'm on the hill
but I'm not alone.
6.13.2010
No one bothers to polish silver at this age.
Walking in from the rain a I sat down on a sexual milk crate and it kissed my inner thighs while I spread black plastic bags on the floor. After sitting and smelling the sultry air, it combined old wood floor with unscented candles, I walked down the hall to the room with unsorted odds and ends. This was the room that no effort was in. This was the room where nostalgia lived; the kind of nostalgia that works very well untouched. She sat in the middle of the floor and let her eyes circle the room. A set of encyclopedias, old cookbooks, extra chairs, Christmas wrapping papers, and trophies from the 1970's. In the North East corner of the room, unobtrusive, rested an urn. Blue swirled with black, and a gold stripe. I approached the urn and opened it, as if I wasn't sure what was inside, even though I knew. I stuck my hand in as far as I could reach. I wish I could say it made me feel closer to a relative, or God, but it didn't. It felt like an ashtray. The kind that's after a very long night. I withdrew my hand and went back out in the rain. Any remnants were washed to the concrete. I followed them to the sewer and watch them descend.
I walked back inside and again and perched on the sexual crate. It was red and passionate and it reminded me of a spaghetti. I thought of my spaghetti and my arms pulsed in preparation for implosion. Any second they'd collapse inward and the spaghetti would never get to stick to them again. My face got red like it used to when I got bashful, and I went to the kitchen and got out a blade. I spread out my fingers on the black plastic bag, and sliced into the skin of my fingers, to the bone, as if I were cutting an avocado, where the bone is the pit, and I circle around it, and peel off the skin, muscle and fat. I wondered if there was any residue left from the urn.
I walked back inside and again and perched on the sexual crate. It was red and passionate and it reminded me of a spaghetti. I thought of my spaghetti and my arms pulsed in preparation for implosion. Any second they'd collapse inward and the spaghetti would never get to stick to them again. My face got red like it used to when I got bashful, and I went to the kitchen and got out a blade. I spread out my fingers on the black plastic bag, and sliced into the skin of my fingers, to the bone, as if I were cutting an avocado, where the bone is the pit, and I circle around it, and peel off the skin, muscle and fat. I wondered if there was any residue left from the urn.
5.11.2010
I don't really like the word "Bucket"
Things I want to do before I die. Numbered, as it will be easier to
reference as I check them off. I mean this in an entirely
positive-goal-setting way, and I do not mean in any way that as I
finish these things I am closer to death. No self destruction, just
things that I want and need to do.
1. Turn in a piece of professional writing in the font, Wingdings.
2. Get on a train, and just, go.
3. Slow dance to the songs on my slowdance list.
4. Wallpaper a room.
5. Get an antique bathtub.
6. Lay in a field/meadow with flowers in the purple-pink spectrum.
7. Tell my deepest desire to someone, and have them not react negatively.
8. Act in something or another as a femme fatale.
9. Get a pet tarantula.
10. Pay homage to my heroes.
11. Find out if whales are, in fact, real.
12. Maybe be in a Lord of the Flies situation...maybe...
13. Publish something, (successfully)
14. Grow cabbage.
15. Make borscht.
16. Enjoy borscht.
17. Find a situation where one of my ridiculous skills applies. (I.e.
calculator improvisation, extemporaneous construction)
18. Grow my hair long.
19. Go to a premiere/opening of something, where I have to wear a gown.
20. Never ride in a helicopter.
21. Eat another meal in France.
22. Give each of my friends something they have always wanted.
23. See Kafka's home.
24. Use the word "consolidate" in a cool way.
25. Have a showing of art where everything looks shabby, makeshift, and tacky.
reference as I check them off. I mean this in an entirely
positive-goal-setting way, and I do not mean in any way that as I
finish these things I am closer to death. No self destruction, just
things that I want and need to do.
1. Turn in a piece of professional writing in the font, Wingdings.
2. Get on a train, and just, go.
3. Slow dance to the songs on my slowdance list.
4. Wallpaper a room.
5. Get an antique bathtub.
6. Lay in a field/meadow with flowers in the purple-pink spectrum.
7. Tell my deepest desire to someone, and have them not react negatively.
8. Act in something or another as a femme fatale.
9. Get a pet tarantula.
10. Pay homage to my heroes.
11. Find out if whales are, in fact, real.
12. Maybe be in a Lord of the Flies situation...maybe...
13. Publish something, (successfully)
14. Grow cabbage.
15. Make borscht.
16. Enjoy borscht.
17. Find a situation where one of my ridiculous skills applies. (I.e.
calculator improvisation, extemporaneous construction)
18. Grow my hair long.
19. Go to a premiere/opening of something, where I have to wear a gown.
20. Never ride in a helicopter.
21. Eat another meal in France.
22. Give each of my friends something they have always wanted.
23. See Kafka's home.
24. Use the word "consolidate" in a cool way.
25. Have a showing of art where everything looks shabby, makeshift, and tacky.
5.07.2010
I had this dream.
First thing's first. I haven't put things up here lately for two reasons. The first reason is that I have been working on a website to show my arts. This is it. The second is that I actually have been writing things and having elaborate ideas, but I all the sudden had an urge to censor them. It wasn't like a "mature audience only" thing, 'cause this one is going to be for mature audiences, but more of a "wait, ali thinks this?" I don't know if embarrassed is the right word, I think I'm just not ready to tell the internet box. Either way, I had this really wacky dream. I am going to describe it as it happened, as well as I can, probably with pictures as well.
I was in the science building at my school, but it was made of darker brick and dark, rotting wood. There were a wide set of stairs leading up to the double door entrance. I went up the stars slowly, and went into what seemed to be a biology class where we were doing dissections of some unreal creature. The room was a dark, muted green, and poorly lit. I sat in the back and apparently was a new student.
I was told to go find supplies, scalpels, I think, and I went down a staircase on the left wing. When I got the stairs, however, I was in a sort of basement-warehouse. Cement floors, tons of cardboard boxes stacked every which way, and it smelled like a mixture of birdseed, rain, and disinfectant. There were a few older women in pink and purple surgical scrubs walking about this warehouse, and they yelled that I shouldnt be down there. As I looked around for a way to exit, I saw a brown dog chasing a tabby cat. The stairs in which I had come down, had partially disappeared, in that, the lower steps no longer were there, so I couldn"t reach the rest of them.
I started to run through the warehouse looking for an exit, when I ran into (literally) a male figure who was taller than me and had a warm demeanor. He took me up a dark staircase that outside light was peeking through, like dawn light, and everything had a smoky-yellow look. We went into an empty biology classroom, with high lab tables with black surfaces, and glass and wood cabinets filled with beakers, and preserved organs in opalescent liquid. He smelled pretty good, clean mostly, but good. He picked me up and sat me on one of the tables so our faces were even, we took of our outer layers of clothes, and we had sex like that. He found me a lab coat to put on, because my shirt was no longer present, and we walked back to the class where I was supposed to bring supplies. The students in the classroom looked happy to see us together, as we were arm in arm, my head leaned against him.
The class ended rather quickly and I was by myself again going down the wide, entrance stairs to a patch of lawn on the left. The sun set immediately, and everything was a ruddy, purple-orange. The sky looked like bombs were dropping, and a group of students were playing with a giant, red, green, yellow, and blue parachute-sheet. In unison, they would fling the sheet upward, and then pull it down quickly, creating a little bubble where you could hide until the air escaped. I let go, and my part of the parachute flew up into the air, and the professor pushed me onto the parachute, where I consequentially flew into the air and landed on my head.
I was suddenly in a very dim and shadowy room full of people that, in this situation, I suppose, I knew quite well. We were all about the same age, though I was one of the oldest. We were gathered in sort of a last-soiree-ever, because we knew that we were about to fight in a battle. Whatever we were about to fight was not human, or at least partially unhuman, they were dressed in jade-green, and approached us in groups of three very slowly. We were outrageously outnumbered, and we knew this, and suddenly two mutual friends decided they would get married, although, situationally, we knew this was against the law.
Another thing that was against the law was breaking glass. However it was hard not to do because none of the glasses we had were made with flat bottoms. If a glass broke or you had been married, you would be stabbed in the back until you bled to death. I guess there was also a loop-hole in which you could be married if you had a child, and I tried to convince a lady that I had a daughter, and that is why I considered being married. Though, I had no evidence of this desire to marry until that point.
The enemy began to attack, and many people, including myself, moved to the back of the dark room, in sort of a stampede, because we were the weaker of the group. Though, outside, and technically behind us were creatures a bit like fat goblins that were pretty powerful and they were prepping their attack. The enemy launched something like fire at our group and we somehow turned them into bushes and they fell to the ground.
The floor dropped out below us and the strongest levitated, but most of us fell into an abyss that was bright and gold. We could slightly see the strongest levitating, and fighting the approaching enemy, but eventually, they faded out of view as we fell down.
I awoke.
Wacky right? Not embellished at all. Seriously. And not even hiding any details, I really didn't recognize any of these people, though they seemed to have familiar traits, like haircolor or scent.
I was in the science building at my school, but it was made of darker brick and dark, rotting wood. There were a wide set of stairs leading up to the double door entrance. I went up the stars slowly, and went into what seemed to be a biology class where we were doing dissections of some unreal creature. The room was a dark, muted green, and poorly lit. I sat in the back and apparently was a new student.
I was told to go find supplies, scalpels, I think, and I went down a staircase on the left wing. When I got the stairs, however, I was in a sort of basement-warehouse. Cement floors, tons of cardboard boxes stacked every which way, and it smelled like a mixture of birdseed, rain, and disinfectant. There were a few older women in pink and purple surgical scrubs walking about this warehouse, and they yelled that I shouldnt be down there. As I looked around for a way to exit, I saw a brown dog chasing a tabby cat. The stairs in which I had come down, had partially disappeared, in that, the lower steps no longer were there, so I couldn"t reach the rest of them.
I started to run through the warehouse looking for an exit, when I ran into (literally) a male figure who was taller than me and had a warm demeanor. He took me up a dark staircase that outside light was peeking through, like dawn light, and everything had a smoky-yellow look. We went into an empty biology classroom, with high lab tables with black surfaces, and glass and wood cabinets filled with beakers, and preserved organs in opalescent liquid. He smelled pretty good, clean mostly, but good. He picked me up and sat me on one of the tables so our faces were even, we took of our outer layers of clothes, and we had sex like that. He found me a lab coat to put on, because my shirt was no longer present, and we walked back to the class where I was supposed to bring supplies. The students in the classroom looked happy to see us together, as we were arm in arm, my head leaned against him.
The class ended rather quickly and I was by myself again going down the wide, entrance stairs to a patch of lawn on the left. The sun set immediately, and everything was a ruddy, purple-orange. The sky looked like bombs were dropping, and a group of students were playing with a giant, red, green, yellow, and blue parachute-sheet. In unison, they would fling the sheet upward, and then pull it down quickly, creating a little bubble where you could hide until the air escaped. I let go, and my part of the parachute flew up into the air, and the professor pushed me onto the parachute, where I consequentially flew into the air and landed on my head.
Another thing that was against the law was breaking glass. However it was hard not to do because none of the glasses we had were made with flat bottoms. If a glass broke or you had been married, you would be stabbed in the back until you bled to death. I guess there was also a loop-hole in which you could be married if you had a child, and I tried to convince a lady that I had a daughter, and that is why I considered being married. Though, I had no evidence of this desire to marry until that point.
The enemy began to attack, and many people, including myself, moved to the back of the dark room, in sort of a stampede, because we were the weaker of the group. Though, outside, and technically behind us were creatures a bit like fat goblins that were pretty powerful and they were prepping their attack. The enemy launched something like fire at our group and we somehow turned them into bushes and they fell to the ground.
The floor dropped out below us and the strongest levitated, but most of us fell into an abyss that was bright and gold. We could slightly see the strongest levitating, and fighting the approaching enemy, but eventually, they faded out of view as we fell down.
I awoke.
Wacky right? Not embellished at all. Seriously. And not even hiding any details, I really didn't recognize any of these people, though they seemed to have familiar traits, like haircolor or scent.
4.23.2010
"If...then" hypotheses. Speculations.
"If you want something badly enough, then it will happen."
Is that true? But couldn't it also mean that one will not necessarily get that particular happening, that maybe it will just be the chance for that opportunity to happen. I am making sort of a cosmic inquisition. In which case, it may work out better for me if I were Spanish circa, oh I don't know, 1470?
"If you want something badly enough, and you happen to be a Spanish Christian in 1470, then the possibility of happening will be presented in a situation."
But I'm not that religious. In that, I've never killed anyone, and moreover, I wouldn't do it based on a higher power. I guess faith directly applies. Having faith, I'm told, invests a little bit of a positive reputation among cosmic-worker-bees.
"If you want something bad enough, especially if you are involved in the Spanish Inquisition, and you have faith, then the situation in which your if-want comes true will take place."
So what about the "then"? Can I manipulate..no, I hate that word, can I pull strings with the then portion? I guess not really. That is the part up to the beehive, but the likelihood percentages...is it 50%? 30% Can I sway it to 75, maybe 60% by batting my eyes or constructing a pout? I am not saying all-out ruttish persuasion, but if I happened to blink my eyes graciously...Well, here's where I'm at..
"If you want something badly enough, may or may not be a Spanish Inquisitor, have faith, and wear mascara, then there is possibly a more than 50% chance that you will receive the opportunity to have your if-want coming true."
I should probably just ask.
Is that true? But couldn't it also mean that one will not necessarily get that particular happening, that maybe it will just be the chance for that opportunity to happen. I am making sort of a cosmic inquisition. In which case, it may work out better for me if I were Spanish circa, oh I don't know, 1470?
"If you want something badly enough, and you happen to be a Spanish Christian in 1470, then the possibility of happening will be presented in a situation."
But I'm not that religious. In that, I've never killed anyone, and moreover, I wouldn't do it based on a higher power. I guess faith directly applies. Having faith, I'm told, invests a little bit of a positive reputation among cosmic-worker-bees.
"If you want something bad enough, especially if you are involved in the Spanish Inquisition, and you have faith, then the situation in which your if-want comes true will take place."
So what about the "then"? Can I manipulate..no, I hate that word, can I pull strings with the then portion? I guess not really. That is the part up to the beehive, but the likelihood percentages...is it 50%? 30% Can I sway it to 75, maybe 60% by batting my eyes or constructing a pout? I am not saying all-out ruttish persuasion, but if I happened to blink my eyes graciously...Well, here's where I'm at..
"If you want something badly enough, may or may not be a Spanish Inquisitor, have faith, and wear mascara, then there is possibly a more than 50% chance that you will receive the opportunity to have your if-want coming true."
I should probably just ask.
4.21.2010
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat...
I know that I have mentioned before the importance and significance of hand-holding, at least to me. It disgusts me when I see it only because I see it as a sign of happiness in love. Unhappy couples don't hold hands. Jubilant, love-electrocuted folks lace fingers. When will this happen? My hands do not seem equipped for holding.
(Can I mention the oddity of the conversation I am overhearing? It seems to be a tutoring session involving algebra word-problems. This particular one involves plotting consumption of hamburgers and marginal utility.)
There is this mythological hero that I have. He's really great. And someday, unexpectedly, he's going to hold my hand, and have a picnic with sandwiches and ants. The ants are okay, they just want to picnic also. It will feel right, and we will go whale watching (to prove whales exist. I am skeptical.), and collect important things. I suspect he will look good in any light. And he will even like my feet. And he wont make me swim. Ever. He will also know when I'm joking, and when to laugh at me. We will take each other as seriously as we should, and live a harmonious co-existance. Raunchily, I would hope he understands my sex-drive. So, darling, I know you exist, and please know that I also exist and have discovered your presence in this universe. (It is important to distinguish among universes, because in one, we are already together. In another we are both dead. In yet another, he doesn't know I exist. IN a possible other, we are interspecies- Groundhog and Lobster, star-crossed lovers...) Most importantly, we will hold hands.
Aside from the possible innuendos and inside jokes, this music video. Makes me more cheerful. Silly.
From the overheard conversation previously introduced, I now can't stop picturing hamburgers on a graph. I will make this picture. Or try to, on my shoddy Microsoft-paint-for-Mac-freeware.
(Can I mention the oddity of the conversation I am overhearing? It seems to be a tutoring session involving algebra word-problems. This particular one involves plotting consumption of hamburgers and marginal utility.)
There is this mythological hero that I have. He's really great. And someday, unexpectedly, he's going to hold my hand, and have a picnic with sandwiches and ants. The ants are okay, they just want to picnic also. It will feel right, and we will go whale watching (to prove whales exist. I am skeptical.), and collect important things. I suspect he will look good in any light. And he will even like my feet. And he wont make me swim. Ever. He will also know when I'm joking, and when to laugh at me. We will take each other as seriously as we should, and live a harmonious co-existance. Raunchily, I would hope he understands my sex-drive. So, darling, I know you exist, and please know that I also exist and have discovered your presence in this universe. (It is important to distinguish among universes, because in one, we are already together. In another we are both dead. In yet another, he doesn't know I exist. IN a possible other, we are interspecies- Groundhog and Lobster, star-crossed lovers...) Most importantly, we will hold hands.
Aside from the possible innuendos and inside jokes, this music video. Makes me more cheerful. Silly.
From the overheard conversation previously introduced, I now can't stop picturing hamburgers on a graph. I will make this picture. Or try to, on my shoddy Microsoft-paint-for-Mac-freeware.
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