mercurial

marigold is the only kind of orange i really like. is it so odd that i see colors in my dreams? someone said people don't dream in color, but most of my dreams are more significant because of the colors in them. i've never dreamt of losing all my teeth, but i feel out of control of so many things all the time... why have i never had that dream? all of my siblings have had it, my parents have, my friends have. when i feel out of control i have dreams of finding random things trapped in ice, big frozen lakes with strange objects in them. like suitcases, flags, spiders, babies. friggin' babies, always in my friggin' dreams.

do you know what i want to do? i want to go home and practice drawing backgrounds. just backgrounds. i was sorting through all of my old high school art portfolios (i don't have any from college... i gave all that artwork away, or left it at school when i quit, or threw it away when i quit, i don't know why. i didn't want it... anyway...) i realized that i am woefully negligent when it comes to finishing a picture with a fo' realz background. i just draw figures, the important symbolic stuff. backgrounds are overrated, or are for people with patience. i'm not a patient person. a histrionic obnoxious person? that seems more likely.

i should do things, more things, with more people, real people. people have been telling me to get married all week. my sister in law was talking about how big the baby is inside her, and my little brother who's 9, chewed me out for not giving him a nephew or niece by now. do you have any idea how much i want to? how much i want that? and his pouncing on me over it... i tell you, it took everything i had not to burst into tears right there. i didn't realize how volatile that subject has made me.

i have a good friend who is a single mother of three, and i am jealous of her. i keep finding myself in my head wanting to be that, to just have a baby, just go find some jerk who uses multi-syllable words and isn't a complete fuggo and get myself pregnant. i could live off welfare. i have good insurance. i should probably get a car... and then i crawl back out of my head and wonder what the hell my problem is. seriously, what is with this? i am craving babies. inordinately, frighteningly. and every time i sit down to write something on this dumb blog, to type out a sordid clipping of my inner monologue, there are two topics i feel like writing about, and only one that i can post here, but it's getting really friggin' old. i'm sure the whole world (meaning whomever even cares to read this damn thing) knows i want kids. and i'm sure the whole world is sick of hearing it. believe me when i say i am too.

how much does it cost to get a sperm donor? i wonder this. i also wonder if using a sperm donor will make me go to hell, if i technically didn't have sex with a guy to get pregnant out of wedlock.

you know, because going to hell is such a major concern of mine, and always has been.

music, music, music. every song makes me cry. every song makes me think of things i don't want to be thinking about, thoughts that i would like to just erase and cram back into whatever infested ridiculous hole they have crawled out of. my subconscious is in love with impossibilities. i think i might be insane.

i also think i might be bipolar, but i seriously don't know how the hell to figure that out, because i am also a compulsive liar sometimes, and can't even tell a therapist the truth... which is not a good thing. it's like a have a filter between my inner self and my mouth that feels the need to siphon away anything i might say that would convey me as helpless, frustrated, confused, angry and frightened.

I AM A STRONG INDEPENDENT WOMAN GODDAMMIT I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP I AM PERFECTLY FINE AND NORMAL AND I AM GOING TO PULL MY EYEBALLS OUT UNTIL I BLEED TO DEATH FROM THE GAPING SOCKET HOLES OH GOD HELP ME I AM SO CRAZY...

see? it doesn't work. i can type it all out here and it just seems ridiculous and a sad attempt to get attention from, what, three people? they already give me as much attention as they can muster, and i'm pretty sure they've already realized i'm crazy, and that's just me, so you just roll with it. roll with the flow because the flow will just go and you don't gotta know if it's fast or slow... mojito... joe...no...so...

I AM FINE NOTHING IS WRONG MOVE ALONG NOW COME BACK ALI COME BACK ALI'S SISTER.

i think i have a chance with this guy. ha! bullshit. i took art, i know the shades of bullshit and its constant variegations. its mutated spiral regenerative webbing. i am a pro, and this pro don't turn tricks and tell. that's a story for another day.

it is freezing in this room. still waitin' for my carpool home... i think we'll be here for a while.

i think my hands look prettier when they're cold, my fingers are long and white and spidery as they skitter across the keyboard.

what's with the spider allusions tonight? i don't even know. spinneret etiquette.

oh justin, justin clayton, where have you been all my life? i could say anything, you could blow out the sun. i count  my blessings, you shoot 'em down one by one. looking out my window, the city lights flicker and fade. here comes another monday morning. all i think about is running far away. and i don't understand, i don't understand this shallow world. it's not worth fighting, the war's already been won. only one thing matters, only time will carry me on. i'll head south to the coast, watch the ocean from the car. and i'll wish upon the waves until the last drop of bitterness is gone. because i don't understand, so help me if you can. find a way. shallow world. shallow world.

fuck me. fuck that. fuck you. fuck getting fucked. you know, i'd make a great roommate. i cook, i clean, i was raised for the domestic doldrums, they're wound around every other fiber of my being. so, there's that. nothing needs to pan out, it just needs a frying pan, a panacea, a panopoly, a pandemic, a pandemonium... pandas are dumb.

I CAN'T WRITE ANYMORE I CAN'T THINK I CAN'T WRITE ABOUT WHAT I'M THINKING BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE THE CONSTITUTION TO SELFECTOMIZE IN BLOOD AND GUTS ALL OVER THIS VIRTUAL PAGE.

i am not that strong. i was never that strong. god, i'm all alone, and it fucking sucks. fuck you, world.

i wish i lived by the ocean. i could drown with a rock and a roll, stuff my pockets full of my poems and wash it all away in the waves and the dark and the water. and then my writing would mean something, and then people would read it, and then i could get someone to give a damn, because it would be too late.

and late is fashionable, and that's what matters.

versus - crashing the afterglow