Uh huh.
That which has been written between February and now has been how I feel about losing. I've got incredible inertia.
Enough I'd go places I hated.
6.26.2011
2.05.2011
#1 Houyhnhnm
You are a horse
and you're not very high.
You sleep on his shoes
and silently cry.
Your quickest is walking,
the shoes would allege;
you wish you were faster
and get to the edge.
Then a diving disaster
sharp rocks and sharks
no one's jumping in after
you.
Whatever, whatever
and off with the waves.
If horses could swim,
you know you'd be saved.
But drowning's a blanket,
it cradles you well.
This certainly is a comfortable dwelling for hell.
1.20.2011
DEAR RSVP NO JUST SHOW UP
You know, it's not a birthday party. It's a discovery and the proof you need. You're not invited, you just are. So when you arrive. I don't want you to laugh. Everyone else will be, but you can't laugh. You can only laugh if you're looking right at me and the rest of the room vanishes. 'Cause it isn't funny. I will not meet and greet, my face is going to be glued to the door. I might just sit in my linen suit and not even come downstairs because I'll be too busy looking for greenlights. I die at the end of that one, though. All my explanations are lies, and so is my audience. There is only one audient. It's a truth ribbon cutting. I dare you to go.
12.31.2010
6th annual!
Happy New Years. Time to reflect.
"New Years Blog (5th annual)
"New Years Blog (5th annual)
I have resolved to not fall in love anymore. I simply neither have the time nor patience to lie on my floor grasping my chest out of love pangs. All the energy that goes into my previous devotions will be spent otherwise on education, art, and books, (for all creative purposes, not art for the sake of love.)
Purify, as intangibly as possible. Deeds will be done because of pure motivation, and solely for that singular motivation. No ulterior motives, manipulation, or hiding the truth. Blunt. White. Pure.
Depress less. Smile more.
Quit cutting my hair.
Drink more water.
Be taken seriously. (Always a resolution of mine).
Look better in pictures.
Be pleasantly surprised (also always a resolution of mine. Though this time it will not involve love).
Pay dues to my idols. Someway, somehow, I am going to do something about my heroes.
twitter, cats, the color yellow, skirts and dresses, kissing, my friends, watercolors, sockeye salmon, George, resale stores, scented candles, my bed, mythology class, all the trips, strangers, when people stop being strangers.
Purify, as intangibly as possible. Deeds will be done because of pure motivation, and solely for that singular motivation. No ulterior motives, manipulation, or hiding the truth. Blunt. White. Pure.
Depress less. Smile more.
Quit cutting my hair.
Drink more water.
Be taken seriously. (Always a resolution of mine).
Look better in pictures.
Be pleasantly surprised (also always a resolution of mine. Though this time it will not involve love).
Pay dues to my idols. Someway, somehow, I am going to do something about my heroes.
Ali's Good Things of 2009:
twitter, cats, the color yellow, skirts and dresses, kissing, my friends, watercolors, sockeye salmon, George, resale stores, scented candles, my bed, mythology class, all the trips, strangers, when people stop being strangers.
Ali's Things that can go to hell in 2009:
24 hour celebrity death coverage on television, sex, mononucleosis, breakups, hookups, myspace, REL 110, commuting, people moving away, liars, death, navy blue."
And here's the results. Well, we can all ignore the first one. Clearly. See: the last, I don't know, 12 entries. -10
I didn't do much lying. No scheming. There have been a few moments I can't really let slide, but I'm human. +1, -2
I'd say I spent 2010 exactly 50% happy and 50%depressed. It is better than 49-51. +5
Hair is doing good. I may finally have long blond hair. +5
Yikes, I kind of forgot about the water thing. I do take vitamins regularly though. I am proud of myself for that. +0
I wasn't exactly taken seriously more, per se, but I did sort out and give the boot to the people who don't take me seriously. Or I yelled at them. +3, -2
I was pleasantly surprised this year. I have met some wonderful people, and have had wonderful and unexpected moments. +1
I am still working on paying dues. +x
1+x. Cool. Well, it's a positive slope at the very least.
Now for this year.
Graduate. It's not reaaaallly in question, but I want to so badly.
Take more risks. (not life threatening ones.)
Treasure dignity, and quit misplacing it.
Become the most popular girl in school. Just kidding. But I wish.
Successful show.
Keep on with the honesty, pleasant surprises, and water drinking.
I think that's good enough.
2010 hits-eBay, watercolors, micron pens, 70's R&b, black eyeliner, graphite, teeth, sculpture, best friends, moments that mimic movies, Harry Potter, Voldemort, action films, recycling, yellow blue, lingerie, youtube, yahoo! answers, falafel, emoticons.
2010 misses- Avatar, Amazon, oil painting, facebook, networking, geodesic domes, statistics class, crackheads, being "in a relationship", pizza (:(), boots, me writing blogs that aren't poems, emoticons.
12.26.2010
Deer Flies Rally aka squabble sala(n)d
Does the word Portland make you sick?
Because I don't feel safe outside the Midwest.
I refuse to remember the last time I put myself in a promissory circumstance,
in fact, I only take matador stances because
a challenge is better than talking.
Problem is, pale and yellowed lace doesn't hide shades of red, lust, or green too well.
I'll never be blue
If you ever decided to look over here
seriously, ever,
you see that my growing nose is spinning red hands through my teeth
and starting fires on my jeans.
It's true.
Polygonal graph me or whatever.
That's where I'm finally going to be off the charts.
This is all way too many characters to put in a text message, and I haven't proofread for proper placement of emoticons.
And I don't actually have a voice,
well I do,
but it's only audible to other bitches (canine).
Day dreaming is a really nice defense until the realization of what scares you irrationalizes the make-believe.
Since I'm never going to make you believe anything,
I'm gonna go buy that bull a drink and flash him my red stockings.
Too bad I turn into a yellow bellied breed of squash in an hour.
Because I don't feel safe outside the Midwest.
I refuse to remember the last time I put myself in a promissory circumstance,
in fact, I only take matador stances because
a challenge is better than talking.
Problem is, pale and yellowed lace doesn't hide shades of red, lust, or green too well.
I'll never be blue
If you ever decided to look over here
seriously, ever,
you see that my growing nose is spinning red hands through my teeth
and starting fires on my jeans.
It's true.
Polygonal graph me or whatever.
That's where I'm finally going to be off the charts.
This is all way too many characters to put in a text message, and I haven't proofread for proper placement of emoticons.
And I don't actually have a voice,
well I do,
but it's only audible to other bitches (canine).
Day dreaming is a really nice defense until the realization of what scares you irrationalizes the make-believe.
Since I'm never going to make you believe anything,
I'm gonna go buy that bull a drink and flash him my red stockings.
Too bad I turn into a yellow bellied breed of squash in an hour.
12.12.2010
are you leaving already? said a new friend. "no i'm not, im just leaving."
I was standing on my stilts
with a line of sight
right to the lumber where your stomach should be.
It helped you mouth monogamous melodies about you and your pride.
I listened.
With my mouth open
but sometimes shut,
eating only the ones I wanted.
But we all know how I feel about food.
And just when I thought I could only shoot lasers of hate from my eyes,
a string of sewn hearts with green grass fired,
burning everyone's haircuts into monks.
Still on my stilts, I saw their faces frown and turn to walk away,
so I trimmed off their toes
to show them how it feels to be left.
All they did was look into their trinket's face,
and cartoon spaghetti some promises.
I want to do it again next weekend.
I want to do it again tomorrow.
Or, maybe, never again.
Let me check just one more time.
Probably never again.
I can't look at my homepage.
I can't touch my dresser.
George hurts.
I swear to God,
or I guess to words,
that I'm never going to do this again.
Resolute because if I ever so much as blink a fancy,
I'm dismissing it as a toy pony,
and I'm allergic to horses.
with a line of sight
right to the lumber where your stomach should be.
It helped you mouth monogamous melodies about you and your pride.
I listened.
With my mouth open
but sometimes shut,
eating only the ones I wanted.
But we all know how I feel about food.
And just when I thought I could only shoot lasers of hate from my eyes,
a string of sewn hearts with green grass fired,
burning everyone's haircuts into monks.
Still on my stilts, I saw their faces frown and turn to walk away,
so I trimmed off their toes
to show them how it feels to be left.
All they did was look into their trinket's face,
and cartoon spaghetti some promises.
I want to do it again next weekend.
I want to do it again tomorrow.
Or, maybe, never again.
Let me check just one more time.
Probably never again.
I can't look at my homepage.
I can't touch my dresser.
George hurts.
I swear to God,
or I guess to words,
that I'm never going to do this again.
Resolute because if I ever so much as blink a fancy,
I'm dismissing it as a toy pony,
and I'm allergic to horses.
11.25.2010
History : Supermodels :: Baby : Bathwater
I've had a ton of thoughts today. This is one of 'em.
I like to learn about everything, except history. Not because it's hard, or it's impossible to teach in a benevolent way, but it's useless. Let me explain.
If I sit around and talk about the past, people are going to tell me to get over it. I think they call it "dwelling." History is like a supermodel, nice to look at once in a while, but essentially pointless and unattainable. The clause "we have to learn so we don't repeat history," doesn't work in the way it ought to, because if logic were really behind the necessity, we'd logically be applying time and effort to the present (where things are actually happening. That much I'm sure). Moreover, we can never exactly repeat anything, and even in a more broad perspective, the entire world is at fault for making the same mistakes. There have been rainy days where I tell myself I'll wear boots, but I don't and end up with cold and wet socks, again. I may never learn. Imagine if there hadn't been a WWII, because, you know, the first one was "the war to end all wars." Things might be different. Don't get me wrong, I am not attempting to abandon the previous second, and the second before that, etc., because that's outrageous and impossible. Even though that's slightly contradictory to the meaning of "present," time is a conundrum anyway, and I'll argue it to tears, but all in all, it's relative, and it would make sense to operationally define "the present" as a discrete interval of, like, 10 minutes (not the infinite amount of tiny fractions of time that happen in between every moment.) Just, in all practicality, what does history do for anyone? To those I know that love a certain period of time, it makes them yearn to be a part of that, which is as reckless as wishing to be a 9,000 headed dragon on moon Miranda; it simply cannot occur. I cannot knock day-dreaming, it is an important part of my existence, but bereavement for yesteryear is not useful to anyone. (Not like the childish foot-stomp about "When are we going to need this in REAL life?" It's all real life.) If the human experience is unique, culturally relativistic, and requires rationale and morality to thrive, all of which is decidedly personal, where is learning about Franklin Pierce going to fit in deciding whether to pull the trigger, pack my bags, kiss that one, call my mom, or lend a hand? I'm sorry, it's just that we can't complain that the world is ending so soon, and there isn't enough time, and life is so short, when we squander what we so desperately cherish. I'd rather make a dollar than think about a dollar I lost or spent. I'm sure, capitalistically-time-is-money, this argument is golden.
So, Dear Education system,
While I see that your merits are noble, having us pour over thousands of pages of what happened before our greatest-greater-great grandcestors were conceived, people should probably know the capital of Iraq, and start appreciating their contemporaries.
That's all. Carry on turkeying and thanking.
I'm thankful for all those who read this and/or look at my art; my heart beats for you. And I'm thankful for the people in my life, for whom things are worth creating, and air is worth breathing. And my little princess Spence, because she's watching me type this and if she knows how to read, she'd be mad I left her out. And know I'm thankful all the time, not just pre-christmas-gluttony-slaughter-day-oh-yeah-football-and-i-think-i'm-thankful-for-...-too-much-tryptophan.
I like to learn about everything, except history. Not because it's hard, or it's impossible to teach in a benevolent way, but it's useless. Let me explain.
If I sit around and talk about the past, people are going to tell me to get over it. I think they call it "dwelling." History is like a supermodel, nice to look at once in a while, but essentially pointless and unattainable. The clause "we have to learn so we don't repeat history," doesn't work in the way it ought to, because if logic were really behind the necessity, we'd logically be applying time and effort to the present (where things are actually happening. That much I'm sure). Moreover, we can never exactly repeat anything, and even in a more broad perspective, the entire world is at fault for making the same mistakes. There have been rainy days where I tell myself I'll wear boots, but I don't and end up with cold and wet socks, again. I may never learn. Imagine if there hadn't been a WWII, because, you know, the first one was "the war to end all wars." Things might be different. Don't get me wrong, I am not attempting to abandon the previous second, and the second before that, etc., because that's outrageous and impossible. Even though that's slightly contradictory to the meaning of "present," time is a conundrum anyway, and I'll argue it to tears, but all in all, it's relative, and it would make sense to operationally define "the present" as a discrete interval of, like, 10 minutes (not the infinite amount of tiny fractions of time that happen in between every moment.) Just, in all practicality, what does history do for anyone? To those I know that love a certain period of time, it makes them yearn to be a part of that, which is as reckless as wishing to be a 9,000 headed dragon on moon Miranda; it simply cannot occur. I cannot knock day-dreaming, it is an important part of my existence, but bereavement for yesteryear is not useful to anyone. (Not like the childish foot-stomp about "When are we going to need this in REAL life?" It's all real life.) If the human experience is unique, culturally relativistic, and requires rationale and morality to thrive, all of which is decidedly personal, where is learning about Franklin Pierce going to fit in deciding whether to pull the trigger, pack my bags, kiss that one, call my mom, or lend a hand? I'm sorry, it's just that we can't complain that the world is ending so soon, and there isn't enough time, and life is so short, when we squander what we so desperately cherish. I'd rather make a dollar than think about a dollar I lost or spent. I'm sure, capitalistically-time-is-money, this argument is golden.
So, Dear Education system,
While I see that your merits are noble, having us pour over thousands of pages of what happened before our greatest-greater-great grandcestors were conceived, people should probably know the capital of Iraq, and start appreciating their contemporaries.
That's all. Carry on turkeying and thanking.
I'm thankful for all those who read this and/or look at my art; my heart beats for you. And I'm thankful for the people in my life, for whom things are worth creating, and air is worth breathing. And my little princess Spence, because she's watching me type this and if she knows how to read, she'd be mad I left her out. And know I'm thankful all the time, not just pre-christmas-gluttony-slaughter-day-oh-yeah-football-and-i-think-i'm-thankful-for-...-too-much-tryptophan.
11.07.2010
b
I want to be the best at something
I want to be your best something
your best friend, your best kiss,
your best that, your best this,
the best at colors,
the best at similies,
the best text messenger,
the best disease,
the master of tickeling,
or baking cakes,
a pro word-former,
with no mistakes.
I'd be just perfect,
I'd be your perfect,
in the interest of everyone
I'd be the number one.
The go-to,
the big cheddar,
my eyes would sparkle,
and I could pull off leather.
I'd live upon a pedestal
and be solicitous for the long haul.
But darn reality knocks me down,
I blunder and slip
and make you frown.
I'm sorry and flawed,
but I know it's human,
it just sucks to not
matter in anything you're doing.
I want to be your best something
your best friend, your best kiss,
your best that, your best this,
the best at colors,
the best at similies,
the best text messenger,
the best disease,
the master of tickeling,
or baking cakes,
a pro word-former,
with no mistakes.
I'd be just perfect,
I'd be your perfect,
in the interest of everyone
I'd be the number one.
The go-to,
the big cheddar,
my eyes would sparkle,
and I could pull off leather.
I'd live upon a pedestal
and be solicitous for the long haul.
But darn reality knocks me down,
I blunder and slip
and make you frown.
I'm sorry and flawed,
but I know it's human,
it just sucks to not
matter in anything you're doing.
10.08.2010
Orange, bleu, jaune Paul. Yellowblue.
I try to practice what I would say if you asked me what I was thinking
but my eyes go lazy and I just say, "You know."
In case you don't though,
here it all is.
You're so lucky that when I say I want to glue a bunch of kittens to your body
and feed you crackers from a sandwich bag
that I don't want you as a pet.
Free reign, totally liberal
and adorable.
Since I don't believe in clocks,
just dehydration,
I think I'm going to live at least six hundred more years
and when you halt from boredom,
I'd unquestionably interrogate your pals
and see if I could build you a pyramid.
See, 'cause I got I.M Pei in a cage
and he's got a little wheel and a chewing stick,
and at night he whispers in French,
"juste comment construire un haut en bas la pyramide de verre."
It'll be better than Paris,
and just like a stained glass window.
but my eyes go lazy and I just say, "You know."
In case you don't though,
here it all is.
You're so lucky that when I say I want to glue a bunch of kittens to your body
and feed you crackers from a sandwich bag
that I don't want you as a pet.
Free reign, totally liberal
and adorable.
Since I don't believe in clocks,
just dehydration,
I think I'm going to live at least six hundred more years
and when you halt from boredom,
I'd unquestionably interrogate your pals
and see if I could build you a pyramid.
See, 'cause I got I.M Pei in a cage
and he's got a little wheel and a chewing stick,
and at night he whispers in French,
"juste comment construire un haut en bas la pyramide de verre."
It'll be better than Paris,
and just like a stained glass window.
10.02.2010
j/w, o.k.
This is always the month I remember most.
I can't throw those in a dumpster.
I can delete the songs on iTunes,
and cut you out of the photos,
but there's the fucking radio
and your facebook friends.
You always had more facebook friends.
Am I still special?
What do you do with the songs?
Do they match your new in a relationship?
Or do they die in the park too?
Maybe you think of them as a mistake to learn from.
How long's this going to last?
('cause I think she's a cunt).
But trust me,
I'm worse, promise.
I'd be shocked and jealous if she surpasses my transgressions.
w/e, j/w. k? ttyl.
I can't throw those in a dumpster.
I can delete the songs on iTunes,
and cut you out of the photos,
but there's the fucking radio
and your facebook friends.
You always had more facebook friends.
Am I still special?
What do you do with the songs?
Do they match your new in a relationship?
Or do they die in the park too?
Maybe you think of them as a mistake to learn from.
How long's this going to last?
('cause I think she's a cunt).
But trust me,
I'm worse, promise.
I'd be shocked and jealous if she surpasses my transgressions.
w/e, j/w. k? ttyl.
9.24.2010
truth
I find myself parking always at the same place
where I definitely made some decisions.
And when I talk about that place
I can tell by the look upon your face
that you've made some decisions as well.
Thus
I'm seducing my cell phone
and sticking around
'cause a song told me to
and scratching in my notebook
some 'versaries
and insecurities
and maybe some pro's and con's.
Con's
my hands are milksops
and can't use lighters
I seem to remember absolutely everything
and I'm starting to hate
everything west of the Mississippi River.
Pro's
there's only one
that when you're patting your pockets
for the heart you can't seem to find
or you left it at home,
well, God screwed up
and gave me two,
so you can have it,
if you want.
And do what you will:
eat it out,
know it by,
change or stand it still
but whatever, it's yours,
and I'm still parked right here,
sitting and drawing,
waiting for you to appear.
where I definitely made some decisions.
And when I talk about that place
I can tell by the look upon your face
that you've made some decisions as well.
Thus
I'm seducing my cell phone
and sticking around
'cause a song told me to
and scratching in my notebook
some 'versaries
and insecurities
and maybe some pro's and con's.
Con's
my hands are milksops
and can't use lighters
I seem to remember absolutely everything
and I'm starting to hate
everything west of the Mississippi River.
Pro's
there's only one
that when you're patting your pockets
for the heart you can't seem to find
or you left it at home,
well, God screwed up
and gave me two,
so you can have it,
if you want.
And do what you will:
eat it out,
know it by,
change or stand it still
but whatever, it's yours,
and I'm still parked right here,
sitting and drawing,
waiting for you to appear.
9.12.2010
Sorry, that's just how it's got to be.
It's just about autumn, and I've decided to use this as a bit of a springboard for New Years. I guess I'll check in on my resolutions and things to do before I die.
Resolutions.
I have resolved to not fall in love anymore. I simply neither have the time nor patience to lie on my floor grasping my chest out of love pangs. All the energy that goes into my previous devotions will be spent otherwise on education, art, and books, (for all creative purposes, not art for the sake of love.)
Oops. Nope.
Purify, as intangibly as possible. Deeds will be done because of pure motivation, and solely for that singular motivation. No ulterior motives, manipulation, or hiding the truth. Blunt. White. Pure.
Actually, I haven't been manipulative much at all, if at all. I have lied little. And I've even been working on telling the immediate truth.
Depress less. Smile more.
Ha, well, I have had a quicker bounce-back time, if that counts, that is, if you don't count most of July and August. Whatever, I mean, summer gives everyone this stupid mentality that I don't function well around.
Quit cutting my hair.
Doing well. Taking good strides in grooming. Maybe too many strides in vanity though.
Drink more water.
Yes. Got a gallon right here.
Be taken seriously. (Always a resolution of mine).
Not really. Being completely honest, I feel more like entertainment to people than a friend or various other titles. I guess being a joke is nicer than being an enemy, but I've got to be an ali, too. And as much as I love silly, I've got these hearts? And they're my sleeves, and sometimes snickering stings.
Look better in pictures.
Not yet, but a little maybe.
Be pleasantly surprised (also always a resolution of mine. Though this time it will not involve love).
I was pleasantly surprised this year. I took more risks. I am still taking more risks.
Pay dues to my idols. Someway, somehow, I am going to do something about my heroes.
I've been reading all their autobiographies. I probably shouldn't have bought them second hand, but they are well-loved.
So, checked my bucket-list. Nothing. I did kiss a girl though.
Here's the deal. Art is going to be more concomitant. I'm going to do more trusting, but equally as much second guessing. I think I'm going to stand up for myself, too. It probably isn't too late to start that.
Resolutions.
I have resolved to not fall in love anymore. I simply neither have the time nor patience to lie on my floor grasping my chest out of love pangs. All the energy that goes into my previous devotions will be spent otherwise on education, art, and books, (for all creative purposes, not art for the sake of love.)
Oops. Nope.
Purify, as intangibly as possible. Deeds will be done because of pure motivation, and solely for that singular motivation. No ulterior motives, manipulation, or hiding the truth. Blunt. White. Pure.
Actually, I haven't been manipulative much at all, if at all. I have lied little. And I've even been working on telling the immediate truth.
Depress less. Smile more.
Ha, well, I have had a quicker bounce-back time, if that counts, that is, if you don't count most of July and August. Whatever, I mean, summer gives everyone this stupid mentality that I don't function well around.
Quit cutting my hair.
Doing well. Taking good strides in grooming. Maybe too many strides in vanity though.
Drink more water.
Yes. Got a gallon right here.
Be taken seriously. (Always a resolution of mine).
Not really. Being completely honest, I feel more like entertainment to people than a friend or various other titles. I guess being a joke is nicer than being an enemy, but I've got to be an ali, too. And as much as I love silly, I've got these hearts? And they're my sleeves, and sometimes snickering stings.
Look better in pictures.
Not yet, but a little maybe.
Be pleasantly surprised (also always a resolution of mine. Though this time it will not involve love).
I was pleasantly surprised this year. I took more risks. I am still taking more risks.
Pay dues to my idols. Someway, somehow, I am going to do something about my heroes.
I've been reading all their autobiographies. I probably shouldn't have bought them second hand, but they are well-loved.
So, checked my bucket-list. Nothing. I did kiss a girl though.
Here's the deal. Art is going to be more concomitant. I'm going to do more trusting, but equally as much second guessing. I think I'm going to stand up for myself, too. It probably isn't too late to start that.
8.09.2010
like, love, miss, hate
I like that there's a girl named "Ali" in the tabloids, because there are some really funny headlines.
I like when you make food and it stays at the right temperature in time for you to enjoy it.
I like selling old books on eBay (strangely).
I like that the weather is starting to act like Autumn.
I like when I need a particularly sized battery, and I can find one without having to buy them.
I love the sound of cars driving through the rain for an early morning commute.
I love not living in the city.
I love inside jokes.
I love having conversations.
I love being scared by movies or stories.
I love looking at faces.
I miss May.
I miss when the only question was "Where?"
I miss the possibility of spontaneity.
I miss being able to dance.
I miss when I didn't have to shave my legs so often.
I hate the words "possibly" and "maybe".
I hate Summer.
I hate"red tape".
I hate when people act like something is mutual when it is only benefiting them, obviously.
I hate when people give up on anything. (Still and always).
I hate how long it takes for mosquito bites to go away.
I like when you make food and it stays at the right temperature in time for you to enjoy it.
I like selling old books on eBay (strangely).
I like that the weather is starting to act like Autumn.
I like when I need a particularly sized battery, and I can find one without having to buy them.
I love the sound of cars driving through the rain for an early morning commute.
I love not living in the city.
I love inside jokes.
I love having conversations.
I love being scared by movies or stories.
I love looking at faces.
I miss May.
I miss when the only question was "Where?"
I miss the possibility of spontaneity.
I miss being able to dance.
I miss when I didn't have to shave my legs so often.
I hate the words "possibly" and "maybe".
I hate Summer.
I hate"red tape".
I hate when people act like something is mutual when it is only benefiting them, obviously.
I hate when people give up on anything. (Still and always).
I hate how long it takes for mosquito bites to go away.
8.03.2010
Ideally. Ide(ali)
Well I would, but I can't afford it.
But if I could, it'd say
that I wish I had a wooden porch
that we could rot on
the last night before you leave town.
Dark and lit by buzzing bulbs
we'd fasten then disengage,
rinse and repeat.
Well we would, but I don't have one.
So I'd get notice through
a hundred sixty characters
ending with colon, hyphen, backslash.
And I wish I could sing and strum,
Well I would, but I'm a painter.
So this could be a song
maybe in 3/4
that'd look perfect on your hard drive.
It can't be on a marquee,
frosted in a cake,
burned into your grilled cheese,
or professed on amplitude modulation.
And I'd love to keep my phone on loud
so I could wake up and say goodbye.
I would but I have had trouble sleeping.
And since I keep my phone on silent by my head
while I'm asleep
I won't know 'til the morning that
you've left.
7.24.2010
The things I want to do, transitive.
I want to send you pictures of my cat,
and make you Windows 8. No, just to be safe, Windows 9, too.
And give you the paper that I shot a bullseye on.
I want to tell you my secrets, and maybe make up some of our own.
I want to draw on you while you're sleeping, and for you not to be upset about it.
And then think about all the devious, mischievous, manipulative things I'm capable of,
and shred them. 'Cause I don't want to do them. Not to you.
I want to discover something for you. If not a brand new color, then a second or third edition of a book.
And there's an image that I just have to perfect for you.
I want to look pretty for you. Or maybe it's for me to feel like it is for you.
Either way, I'd find my "season" and dress accordingly.
I want to impress you with my mental math skills.
Or set up the new flat screen TV, 'cause I'm just not that dainty.
And capture each of the three kinds of clouds and trap them in little jars.
And you'd never run out of AA batteries, because I'd always check the inventory.
I wouldn't let any toothpaste caps in a 30 ft radius get mucky,
and your sponges would never start to smell.
I always want to say goodnight, 'cause what if the world ends?
I want to watch porn with you, and maybe try something new.
But maybe not because it's great now.
I just want to be nice, okay?
and make you Windows 8. No, just to be safe, Windows 9, too.
And give you the paper that I shot a bullseye on.
I want to tell you my secrets, and maybe make up some of our own.
I want to draw on you while you're sleeping, and for you not to be upset about it.
And then think about all the devious, mischievous, manipulative things I'm capable of,
and shred them. 'Cause I don't want to do them. Not to you.
I want to discover something for you. If not a brand new color, then a second or third edition of a book.
And there's an image that I just have to perfect for you.
I want to look pretty for you. Or maybe it's for me to feel like it is for you.
Either way, I'd find my "season" and dress accordingly.
I want to impress you with my mental math skills.
Or set up the new flat screen TV, 'cause I'm just not that dainty.
And capture each of the three kinds of clouds and trap them in little jars.
And you'd never run out of AA batteries, because I'd always check the inventory.
I wouldn't let any toothpaste caps in a 30 ft radius get mucky,
and your sponges would never start to smell.
I always want to say goodnight, 'cause what if the world ends?
I want to watch porn with you, and maybe try something new.
But maybe not because it's great now.
I just want to be nice, okay?
7.08.2010
for anonymous
I'm here! And here also! And right here! And right there! And there. And there and there. And over there! And over here! And out there! And in here! And here for you. And there for you. Always here. Over and out.
ubiquitous ali
ubiquitous ali
6.29.2010
You write a blog, and I tidal wave hello.
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.
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.
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