no hmo

ensurance.

i'd rather be shopping around for that.

too bad no one sells it.

damage's weight

i almost went to sleep without writing something. i decided i was going to stop doing that.

i noticed you were looking around, for a few minutes, the other day. 4 pages in, anyway. 4 pages in isn't enough to find what you were looking for. if you were looking for it. go back a month or two, it's there. there have been more, but i haven't posted them. saving them for a rainy day years hence, when you no longer burn at the back of my throat, when you're no longer barely obscured by clouds.

when i've untied the emotions and can look at it all without them. when i'm "familiar enough with my ghosts to no longer care when they leave me." as i said once, once upon a time.

i've had my moments of it, too. moments of weakness. of wishing forgiveness or absolution. moments when i have scoured the corners of the interweb for a glimpse of you. but you've erased those trails surprisingly well. and all that ties me to you currently are the spam emails i keep getting from your (old?) gmail account, with some long and dubious link in them for some magical thing that has changed your life.

even though i know they're not really from you, when they show up, i still get that strange lump in my throat. that's how i know it's too soon.

that's how i know i probably shouldn't post this, that it might be a bad idea to let you know that i know that you were here, even if it was only for 4 minutes and 38 seconds.

i miss the way you could make me laugh so easily. i miss laughing easily. i miss being close to you, even though i wasn't. oh, damn nostalgia. it's always the shiny luster over everything that was wrong. makes it all look good from so far away.

i just wish we could be friends. it's come to that, at least. i'm not bitter anymore. regretful, but not bitter.

run

these words 
are an exorcism.


i distill myself 
in poetry,


until you have: 
me,
complete and
enigmatic enough


that i
no longer need
to be here.


and when
that is done,
like sylvia,
like emily,
i will 


run


to the quick
and eager dark.


heed the call
of some need
to discover


if i can still
be,


without all
the masks and
the voices.

jezabellin'

bright white cockatoo,
baby how i ponder your
shadow

how you rip me off my feet,
rape me of my time to sleep
shallow

though i was equipped
with a rainship,
and a fireship
and a starship,
all come to dance
no one told me the end of the line
could only be emptiness

that would swallow all my love.

i fell beneath the company,

now shall i sleep in a bed of blood
down in the deep, the rolling sea?

and in my angst for cool hips or
softness or
morning glow confidence,

i took it to the dog,
took it to the plants,
took it to the beach,
i took it to the shark...
i found tenderness.

but when i took it to the sky
to the bright white
cockatoo on a satellite,
she looked down on all my years

but with a click of a finger
she goes higher than the call for children

higher than the stand that kills it.

should've flipped it off,
i should've known there and then.

but she swallowed all my love.

i fell beneath the company,

and now i sleep in a bed of blood,
down in the deep
the rolling sea...

oh pristine,
my hopeless thing.

there was a place in the town
a statue
she'd made me wait beneath

but its magnificent archways,
archways,
that's where i'd go to weep.

that night up under the starlight,
you call the great blistering blue

a strange formation came down from the ceiling
and it began to move
and so the shattering shards of glass fell
and glistened this way and that,

but she would say
i won't find my way
through the plaster.

i'm am empty hourglass in the sand.

but she loves me
more than anyone who wouldn't speak like that.

she keeps mace spray,
for you can't rely on the common man.

but it is alright,
here in the time and the place i am.
you leave a light on all night.

just to remind me of the place i am.

how long
it seems i've waited
i've walked a thousand
to see you to heaven
to see you
where heather grows

and i know
know you divide

between bringing in the light
playing in the height
of the sky
with sweet hope

and playing in the pools
with the broken lines

and i get this in winter
get these visions,
visions...
i get the feel
you can't kill these visions


there's a cold
easy glow
dancing over our street.

i could have chased it down.

i could've held your love,
but wouldn't you think me weak?

of all, i should know
how the streets
come and go

when you chase the kaleidoscope dream.

but,
stranger,
baby,
always keep me
in your sweet memory.

biting cold
thrashing scolding
drowned me under our street.
perfect lips, pieces of your heart,
splattered off the cliff.

tell me, can you feel the beat?
getting loose,
getting loose she was.
letting those feelings loose,
she was
becoming a monster.

she drew the line
in the mind

she was not
holding on.

all that really matters is love

but if it's all that you really care about,
then tough.

i'm all out
for the war
i guess love wasn't what i'm looking for

i don't care
when you cry

i think self-pity is a state of mind.

i'm so hard
i'm so hard
i'm so hard

she's so hard
she's so hard
she's so hard

and maybe you're just too
good for me.

good for me.

or maybe you're just no use to me,

used to me.

i'm all out for the war.

i guess love wasn't what i'm looking for.
i don't care when you cry.

i think self-pity is a state of mind.

...and were silenced

i got

fifteen
hundred
bucks

and
all
i
want
to
do

is
sell
the
rest
of
my
shit

and
start
walking

anywhere

improv, 1am

the wind is nudging my blinds
through the screen;
reaching its long arms through the room
to my door,
to nudge it, too.

metallic taps against drywall;
small thump of doorframe;
tap right,
thump left.

the wind wraps around
my shoulders.
i shiver
i savor september
every year, the small crisp
edges it puts on things,
enough to erase summer's
long, dry bake.

it is the a la mode
month of junejulyaugust
cherry pie.
smooth sweet after
too-warm tang.

but this september
is not the old friend
i know so well.
the caress of the wind
so much more hollow
ghost-like. or i

am more hollow,
ghost-like. i am
empty glass bottle

as september whips over me
echoing a deep moan
from all my sides,
far more animal
a sound
than i have been able
to make in all
the heavy heat of
august.

every night, the wind
kicks up and i
howl my low cry
to a moonface waxing full,
tugging the inner
tide of me out of
myself and leaving
this empty
glass feeling.

i wait for october
when the wind will grab strong,
bite me, reassure me
with presence and movement.
when the moon will wane
and my fullness will return.

when i will write,
and be,
and be glad.

about time

so some of you may or may not be aware that i was laid off from my job of two years at the beginning of august. it was quite a frustrating thing. also, i have been sick all this week with a combination of tonsillitis and laryngitis and have been trying to sleep it off and drown it because i no longer have health insurance.

right now i am sitting at my computer eating some ice cream because it's the only thing i can swallow tolerably. i sound like a throat cancer victim.

i know i complained about my job a lot. well, not my job, per se, but the people i worked with. but after being unemployed for nigh over a month now, i can tell you this: i would much rather have a job that i hate than no job at all.

i have been super discouraged. like, probably more discouraged than i ever have been at any other point in my life previously. and a while ago, i decided i was going to stop posting such depressing whiny blog posts here because nobody wants to come read about how sad and miserable i am - which is why i haven't been posting too much.

despite how familiar i am with the feeling of discouragement, i don't handle it very well. not well at all.

i guess i just figured i should write something to say i am still around. even if the definitions of "around" and even "i" are shaky and hollow lately.

that's all.