Tomorrow so shall she make the Debut

Thank you ladies and gentleman, please give a warm welcome to our newest addition to our fabulous triage. Put your hands together for Mary Mary, Quite Contrary.

You mustn't ask her importance here, you mustn't remember her name.

The Best Idea Ever (between 11:29-11:31pm) on a Monday Night

Sit-up/beer drinking contest simultaneous-like. It can be scored on three tiers...the volume consumption of old english, the number of abdomen crunches and the person who produces the most sweat. All these variables can be translated into some fair-seeming, calculable unit of extreme measurement. FUgnets, that's what i'll call them. "fuck fugnets....i'm drunk and stupid."---That'll be the theme....like when you say UNO in the car ride to yr Aunties' house. They all live together, those aunties do. It was determined by grammar's rules of possession.

Open Target

What do you do when it is someone that you've known for almost half of your life? Still you are very very young......like a tyke in dog years, but it considers like a limit in this simple small equation. None smaller than 0, and maybe equal on the plane. Yr love is like a 2 page math problem, with nothing but remainders and imaginary numbers.

So, No, and eventually Below

I have the planliness of all plans. It would punch your plan and trip it to the floor. It might spit, might kick......then laugh and stay for more. My plan is going to dodge your doubts from now until the day

that my plan is set on fire and made a disarray......This means something and everything to but one and this one already knows who they are.

It's like in N.S., when Atrayu is chosen because he is the only warrior left in this miserable town.

Babycakes

He was one year old today. Still looking cute, i wish i had his toys. His toys look fun. Very fun.

The Kind you will never Find Again

i might have known had i thought of it sooner. i was at a bar with a very special friend, just a drink to be had, just a night to entertain. i saw her floundering in the corner with such a look upon her face. she had it written on her belly like a character dreamt by our latest dr. seuss. she had a look of young bewilderment, she seemed a stranger in the place, and like all productive magistrate, she came to us for to wait. She was one of the kindreds in a land from just our own, she was a gracious host and bugger, she knew the names of which we'd grown.

As for poetics, i lack great judgement and detail, and as for memory even worse, but when it come to talk and manners, i do my very best.

She was one of our kind, she was one of our kind.

Drunk Sundays

I miss my good friend, Jesus. We'd walk in the woods and talk about doves and lambs and kosher foods. I would go on and on about about the pickles, but he said they just don't count. "you can't bleed a pickle," he'd surmise. It was always a surmon with that glorious man. I'd always invite him to the after parties, but he must have known i'd be inappropriate. It's not very fair when you date a god. He'd always know that i'd try and push him to the dance floor, he must have known i'd grab for the holy spaces, he must have known it all before.

That's cool, though. It kept me all in check. It made me forget all about the waivers i signed before my holy communion. They made me sign the forms all in unison. All on carbon copied memorandum. This hereby names my every intention to direct my eyes toward love and free will. Even at eight, i was all about free will.

I think i'll do it tomorrow

make my bloggy pretty, yes tomorrow
write you something witty, tomorrow
climb on your old man back..yes tomorrow
ask for your heart to attack, i believe tomorrow
aint never gonna come
yes, tomorrow
aint never gonna come
unless you come to me.

I think yr real clever and all but

i did that....like, years ago. I probably never presented it as wittily or as universally open as you do, but regardless......most of those possessions dont even belong to me anymore.

I'd kick Yr ass for that, for sure

I refuse to let these opportunities pass me by. It's spring, time for new life, new times, new hires. Considering that we just opened a new office, it is imperative that we find some adequate help. I know that the the thing that will propel me to the top the company ladder is my sense of good timing. I'm also a go-getter who seizes like the proverbial proverbs. I took it upon myself to grab those resumes from atop the fax machine, and make a few calls. "

Is this what its like for everybody?

1) You enter a non-familiar place. This site seems a little crowded, like a discount market maybe. Say, a 99 cent store on Saturday afternoon. You shop alone, there are specific things for which you came, though a few frivolous things find their way into your basket. They are not entirely frivolous, though. You are going to use it, an air freshener maybe. Your inner voice is on overdrive today. Mostly because yr alone, you are filled with opinion, and there are alot of things worthy of critique. Someone elbows you as they try and get by yr basket, you have the television-esque vision of giving them a swift kick behind their knees, and they fall as if they were ready to pray but then decided to go all the way. The vision ends like a commercial. There are some captions, somewhat witty, but mostly stupid and overdone. It's over, so you continue to browse. Someone briefly makes eye contact and has an unusual reaction. It reminds you of when y'r trying to explain a very muddled feeling that requires at least 4 comparisons until you can get the exact point across. It reminds you of looks you get when something like that happens. But you didn't speak to this eye-connecting stranger. So how could they give you a look like this? What did this look mean? They must have a psychic eye. Or are they just judging how i look? Does my physical appearance offend or frighten this critical stranger? "That's enough of this subject!", you shout to yrself in yr head.
Yr mind knows this is the cue to change subjects. "Oh, look how yr basket has filled. This need for trivialities sickens me. You don't NEED a pencil box with a Strawberry Shortcake eraser. Really, you don't. You hate pencils, remember? Remember, you declared mental war on the things? I want to go home. I want to lie in my bed. I feel scared and i want to cry. Mostly because you won't let me have the pencil box."
Again comes the cue. "I wish I was comatose. As long as someone read me stories occasionally, my unconscious would be highly appreciative." Checkout lines make me feel very itchy.

2) You recognize, (or well, in yr opinion, at least) the subtleties of people. When someone makes that nanosecond stutter before they are covering up a shaky reaction. When someone makes it indefinitely clear that you are not respectable in their eyes by declaring the opposite somewhat forcibly. When someone exposes their desires for something very self-opposing. When someone's masking their fears as good faith. When someone drops everything out of their hands due to something they remembered they have done. When someone accepts only good, and rejects all bad, then calls themself balanced, but feels much differently. When someone you thought held regard, holds nothing but a nonreflective mirror. When someone has no idea that they have no idea.

3) An unidenifiable sadness sets in with every change of season. Even winter to spring, the happiest time of the year. I become angry with life a-budding. I grow jealous of the cherry blossoms, i grow vicious toward the songbirds, i want naughty things of the new love all around me. Then 10 minutes later, i stop to smell a yellow rose and the fragrance forces my mouth to open and my lips to curl. It appears to be a smile, but as if my brain were a cartoon with dentist gloves and shiny utensils reaching and pulling down to my jaw. It's the sadness that really makes you laugh.

4. You can't define the way you were wrong and the way you were right. There's a reason you fantasize of war. Yes, my child, there are reasons for it all.

The List

The members of the jury deem the defendant: Guilty.

1. Though my weapon was never officially captured, there are sites on the internet that suggest that the weapon was beautifully hidden in the most obvious of places. Since the designers of the website all have at least Master's Degrees in various areas of psycho-social-ologies, they recognize my thinly masked attempt at being clever. I'm the type of textbook killer who thinks so highly of their intellect that there is no thought of trying to "hide" my weapon. No, instead, it's a regularly used object of mine, a little out of place. Someone might have known that if they cared enough to befriend me, visit my dwelling sometime, see how matter of factly my house is arranged. But all you "detectives" have to work from is psychobabble bullshit. Have fun. I'm not the type to care.

Yr beauty, she kills

I like yr very pretty hair. It hangs and climbs and falls. It smells of fruit and somewhat nut. It's very nutty good. Though as finely it sits, as strongly it flips, it's come loose. And yr very pretty hair has caused a trippy little traffic jam underneath my throat. In what you smarties call esophagus, oh no wait, trachea.

Can you spare some cutter, me brother?

Dear Diary,
Last night, i was reminded of simpler times. Wierd, because they didn't seem simple at the time. The freeways all look the same. Cities sometimes are kinder than other living things. They don't talk to you the same way people do. Cities can't ignore your allegations, just your cries. Because they hear them all the time. They don't waiver in the fact that it's shocking, or annoying or tempting. People can forget, but cities can't because without you, they'd be useless. And lets not mention taxes, let us never mention that word again.
Diary, I'm bored of your apathy. I'm terrified of your knowledge. I'm saddened by your response. You pretend that you know, or pretend that you don't and both seem unkind. Diary, you've been fooled by no one. If you could tell me of your misfortune or your new prospects, I'd fall in a second. You are under a bridge, you are under a bridge, you are under a bridge, you are under!

My pants are Not on fire

I've gotta new game for ya. Which is my lie?

A. It's hard to keep up with everything. I'm a louse, not good with change. Emotionally, its fine because i'm like a beady eyed cockroach. I can adjust to anything without much of a bother. I prefer the dark and feed on yr trash. I don't eat it all, just the parts that haven't touched the can. So if I'm not talking emotionally, i must be talking about socially. Well, i'm forgetful, lazy, and my sentiments evolve too quick to keep up with. In other words, i can't keep to my hobbies. I can't write back, can't call back, can't even play my guitar. My fingers are losing their toughness. Really, I can't be bothered. Nothing new has come. I'm still me. One day, yr an engine, the next day a toad. I accept the defeat but at the price they keep over your pretty little head.



B. It's my first visit to the gynocologist. Really. I'm 25. It could be worse, I could be 40. I haven't been to any doctor in years. Last time a nurse weighed me, i felt relieved. Today, well, today i feel deaf. Someone told me something i did not want to hear. There are alot of things that I don't want to hear. I thought one of them was the sound of your voice, but i was wrong. You proved me wrong once again.


C. A buddy, nameless to protect the guilty, asked me who this "you" is. I did a half laugh, like the kind you'd imagine yrself giving if your mom asked you if you've smoked heroin. And let's pretend that you had, and you had forgotten to remove your glass apparatus from the toilet lid. I told my buddy that the You in which i speak is a faceless entity in which i direct my shakiest feelings. I told my buddy it was a mosaic of my best friends and worst enemies. I told my buddy that it was everybody but them. My uncomfortable "i didn't smoke that heroin" laugh revealed to us both that I am a liar. Because the only Yous are the handful of people for whom i've admitted love. Only the loves that have had the pleasure of disappointing me, of making me cry in happiness, of making me cry in anger, and making me want to be them. I think i secretly want to be everyone i really love. I try not to be a hypocrite. I try and remember that no one can make me feel anything. My buddy stopped listening about 5 minutes after I began an excited chatter.

La Ciudad Tan Sucio

It's cuz of all the freeways. Ya, i know that shit. I've heard that one Deathcab song. They would never let San Francisco get this dirty. Not even on the "bad" side of Mission. East Oakland could hold a torch. I opened the LA Weekly. It's really just a wannabe East Bay Express. Honestly, they appeared interchangeable only really noticeable by the lack of Dan Savage. I just did an invisible shrug and made up my own dirty question in my head. It made me feel less angry at hip-hugging leather overcoats and spike--gelly hair. Everybody looks so clean by Bob Hope's old house. Everyone looks so reflective. It's not the sunblock, this i know because the expensive kind doesn't show on the skin. A white girl told me that.
This is not to say that I entirely hate it. I'm just not in love like i was back when i was an 18yr old idiot. I fell out of love with cities.

D Minor

Yr dynamic, so sharp
the one to sink my teeth
yr melodic, so dark
the thing that sings to me
you look so good, you look real good
standing on the stage
but yr still just a powerchord
that really anyone can play.

Show-Show

All the warmth you pretend to revel in
reminds me of the mornings
when i wipe away the mirror
and growl towards the eyes
who haunt my reflections of you.

The Evolution

There's the point at the end, at the very end when some fondness returns. The memories have become part of the tar still sitting at the bottom of your lungs. Fifty years later, you don't even smoke anymore. You don't even talk, only remember. There is one defining moment that remains condensed like the stem of your neck, like the roots of a dead tree standing lone in the flood water, like the corpse of an animal frozen with the ice in the lines of a curving road. Few would want this point. And nobody would describe it as pleasant, only that it is there and it is an all. It is unforgiving.
As for as rare and unreliable as this period came to be, that the moment right before....became the common law. That the moment right before--the span you'd name as a pinnacle. It was the fault of nothing but the passions you were conceived upon. The way these moderns describe a refillable hole. And the heart is nothing but a player in the scene.
In the third act is where the majority stews. Fortune is on the rise, and neither sky nor sea can be a determinant. The chain grows shorter as it wraps around the hands of two paths of eyes. Where and when fusion is warmer than fission.

And then a visitor appears as a mocker of dreams. It is then that you pause for just a thought to yrself. You say, "yes, this one ghost must be my friend."

And the sun can't believe in the Counter Clock.