here’s lou reed. dirty beloved (blvd)
by tynnifyr
https://youtu.be/ZH96BsL1R3U?feature=shared
he zef covers dylan, if anyone wants to know where he is https://youtu.be/-Bb-VTyXNDQ?feature=shared
Thursday, October 10, 2024
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
on crop circles, and anhedonia
Crapazoids
Calla lily lived in Cleveland, Ohio, in 1999. The apartment practically knifed itself up out of black cement and yellow lines, in Chesterland, Ohio, a green golfer's paradise. The cops and plazas and SUVs were necessary to navigate. Fine linen air and open windows took her down one flight of stairs to talk to a guy who knew her friends and they knew who he was. She took a walk with him but he was just a guy, someone here, and she swears it was winter in the summer time. They didn't walk by the bread shop or the Chinese restaurant or the drug store, but she saw leaves and it was fall. Boy said "nothing's funny any more. Everything funny already happened."
She took a different walk in the infinite possibility of another boy, the one who hung with a speed freak. Their shoes matched their cigarettes, and he asked her to stay over night and she said no, being so far off the city in the clean wet television shimmer. She should have said yes, because she was nervous. She kept that distance of unrepentant death. Spiders reminded her of her grandmother, gone. She sensed home, steered left, ate subs.
Calla lily lived in Cleveland, Ohio, in 1999. The apartment practically knifed itself up out of black cement and yellow lines, in Chesterland, Ohio, a green golfer's paradise. The cops and plazas and SUVs were necessary to navigate. Fine linen air and open windows took her down one flight of stairs to talk to a guy who knew her friends and they knew who he was. She took a walk with him but he was just a guy, someone here, and she swears it was winter in the summer time. They didn't walk by the bread shop or the Chinese restaurant or the drug store, but she saw leaves and it was fall. Boy said "nothing's funny any more. Everything funny already happened."
She took a different walk in the infinite possibility of another boy, the one who hung with a speed freak. Their shoes matched their cigarettes, and he asked her to stay over night and she said no, being so far off the city in the clean wet television shimmer. She should have said yes, because she was nervous. She kept that distance of unrepentant death. Spiders reminded her of her grandmother, gone. She sensed home, steered left, ate subs.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
ghiving it up
Procrastination is an art for you. I'm not sure why I'm so emotional today. I went through what I think is the depression stage of minimac the jack russell dying, the depression was on Monday and the death of minimac was almost a month ago, I guess. I'm not getting up to find my calendar. If I get up, I might never come back. I stayed up all night sunday to monday, and then most of last night, too. I stayed off the internets, though, because I have been on here too much lately and not finding what I want. Well, maybe I found it, but the ensuing mental breakdown left me sobbing in front of the bathroom sink while cutting my fingernails with scissors. Not too attractive, but bloodless and the roommate never heard because he was not home.
More to say? Someone said, to paraphrase, we're not monks, and we can't endure that situation. Living with my ex is shikso, because of the guilt, because we still usually sleep in the same bed, because he reads into my emotions and he's always wrong, but he rescues me, too. I probably told you about my crushes. When nobody else is there for me, he finds me and takes me home. Then again, I'm not a worm-filled, starving, side and head gashed puppy who might be put down. I think I'm a person. Or a pear. Even a plum, if we're talking about fruit. I swear I will be all right.
I had to write my own obituary for school. I used some lines from a friend's. I hope he doesn't mind. If my expseudohusband ever said anything I agreed with, "you can't get cooler than a junkie." Delivered with empathy, we were one again. I could tell you the chamomile tea story. That's a bad one. I feel like I don't want to try before the roomie gets home, but it is a short story.
Also, I can't lock the privacy, fare as I know, so babies:
i got ril sick and he left me on the bathroom floor with a cup of chamomile tea with the bag still in it. a few hours later I got up and crawled into bed where he was (lying?) with his big foot out of the covers.
so, the theme is bathroom floor. and sore neck. and how I do love to cry.
More to say? Someone said, to paraphrase, we're not monks, and we can't endure that situation. Living with my ex is shikso, because of the guilt, because we still usually sleep in the same bed, because he reads into my emotions and he's always wrong, but he rescues me, too. I probably told you about my crushes. When nobody else is there for me, he finds me and takes me home. Then again, I'm not a worm-filled, starving, side and head gashed puppy who might be put down. I think I'm a person. Or a pear. Even a plum, if we're talking about fruit. I swear I will be all right.
I had to write my own obituary for school. I used some lines from a friend's. I hope he doesn't mind. If my expseudohusband ever said anything I agreed with, "you can't get cooler than a junkie." Delivered with empathy, we were one again. I could tell you the chamomile tea story. That's a bad one. I feel like I don't want to try before the roomie gets home, but it is a short story.
Also, I can't lock the privacy, fare as I know, so babies:
i got ril sick and he left me on the bathroom floor with a cup of chamomile tea with the bag still in it. a few hours later I got up and crawled into bed where he was (lying?) with his big foot out of the covers.
so, the theme is bathroom floor. and sore neck. and how I do love to cry.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Friday, August 13, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
into the depths of the unknown to discover the new
-Baudelaire
2. Listnin to "if you fear dying" by One Day as a Lion
3. funniness:
Deadlines or, a quote from the 'qualified' Judah Friedlander in Mean magazine volume two, issue twelve, (june-july) 2006(?) Interview by Paul Barman.
"-What do you like better: straight lines, or pickup lines?
--Not sure I understand the question. Reading and math are probably my only two weaknesses."
4. ftw means for the win, but I can't help thinking "fuck the world."
I had therapy today. I'm calling myself Peppermint, not only but also because nikorette is minty fresh. I mean, as my email alias. I'm still a prissy fdw. Oh!
2. Listnin to "if you fear dying" by One Day as a Lion
3. funniness:
Deadlines or, a quote from the 'qualified' Judah Friedlander in Mean magazine volume two, issue twelve, (june-july) 2006(?) Interview by Paul Barman.
"-What do you like better: straight lines, or pickup lines?
--Not sure I understand the question. Reading and math are probably my only two weaknesses."
4. ftw means for the win, but I can't help thinking "fuck the world."
I had therapy today. I'm calling myself Peppermint, not only but also because nikorette is minty fresh. I mean, as my email alias. I'm still a prissy fdw. Oh!
Monday, July 12, 2010
welcome to my office/ starbucks
“But instead I got the phone call/ Just thought I’d call to let you know I want to be alone all night again.”
Broken hearted. Disconnection notice. The phone call that the company could not complete, “we are sorry, but the number you have dialed has been disconnected.”
Sorry, sure. Sat nam, I am truth.
KPower
Okay, mom, Charlotte, the cat pee in the front hallway smells bad.
Carley coma
Children of Mental Awareness, the smell of cocaine
“By your leave, sugar.” Sica out.
(rye your leave, sugar)
Maybe tomorrow? There is no "by your leave" to carry a trigonometry book into a maze populated by an "illiterate," ridiculous, untrustable minotaur. Are we talking about a text here?
I love you guys.
Broken hearted. Disconnection notice. The phone call that the company could not complete, “we are sorry, but the number you have dialed has been disconnected.”
Sorry, sure. Sat nam, I am truth.
KPower
Okay, mom, Charlotte, the cat pee in the front hallway smells bad.
Carley coma
Children of Mental Awareness, the smell of cocaine
“By your leave, sugar.” Sica out.
(rye your leave, sugar)
Maybe tomorrow? There is no "by your leave" to carry a trigonometry book into a maze populated by an "illiterate," ridiculous, untrustable minotaur. Are we talking about a text here?
I love you guys.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
good is the opposite of done
Prologue, at another moment when life tricks us into believing there is one straight path.
Murry grew up in California, where his mother raised hibiscus flowers in the back yard and cacti in the front. Murry always suffered from an elevated standard of culture. He suffered when his pants were not Versace. He cried when his mom purchased a striped male marmalade cat from the shelter instead of a pet tiger. Some Danger! Murry planted apple seeds under evergreen snow at his uncle’s house.
Mere instructions, folded: first aid kit necessary. Other times, toe jambs ached more the second day. Figures and figments of the imaginations swooped from the uncovered oak ceiling rails. Dear shiny guy gently tried to will Tricia into wedding sheets; ate smoke bombs because diversion and unknown roses romped, softening the scent of petals. There was a boat, a hull, a land bridge, many days, icicles, caribou, and sinews. Makeshift gas masks lined the boats. Pressing a hand against the prow, Cleve rustled a nose press about how summertime ached more after dinner than after dark.
She’s not afraid, no matter how much you’d deny her denials. She’s not lost, as long as someone’d hold her hand. She was collapsing from lack of sleep, and they had a mission, from opening the store to the closing of the store at night.
You feel that? You felt it. She heard it: Catalogues of music, shouting to the birds above your house. Typing survival notes. That much computer time, living for glass blisters. Sleep came and lyrical memorizations unswam mind water. Elbows to teak are hunching light panic because the screeching unvested. Heart in throat, vomiting micey entrails, one wrapped wrist cuts in gingham because the actor worked in a bracelet of self hate. Don’t fall into the trap like the last specialist.
Complete the sentence:
“If something’s wrong with my brain…”
Trinket Girl, an Adaptation of Tombstone as a Lonely Charm by d.a. levy
(Please read the original.)
=
Part 1
Saying maybe, if you
Paid attention to
Their historical explanation
For/ yr mind—directional
Ever faceted sparkles
Unprefixed
Individual
Like- maybe
Pay attention
Take direction
Negation
It owns
Even your slapstick
& you renew
I am
Power
Rainbows
Off
Squeeze
Fragments you hold
Brilliant! Or Excellent!
Your possessed confidence
Love—make art?
=
Ice cold legs wearing fishnets
The red blood
Surfacing damp touch
Presently returned from
Outside the gates
Levy, I will write this, too.
Palm the trinket and press
Inattentive
It’s in the book
So maybe
Leaving beached driftwood
Imaginary hair waves
More rainbows
Drug state as a class for credit
Or that’s stupid
(the traveler bandanaed
dropped out and reappeared on
the sidewalk from gender roles
to be a man)
And also, too
-of diving through translated
nothing much
you denied
“I could a-bide”
Disaster fractal
It’s a metaphor
Through midnight yelps
The dis-pleasure of depth
Go home
Saying maybe, stupid
Sand on the beach
Hurtle it far
Star distance
Away secrets
Past historic
I just say maybe
Stay still, please
Kill
The
Messenger
Terrific monotheistic
Young person bearing
The brunt force
Repeat what is left
Why do I do this to
be honest I like
trying
I know how this ends
Just a part
Boundary vacations
You dryly explain
From the floor
Part Two
You role played in velvet
In the past
Sucking careful cigarettes
Lit by your eyes
Took a pen and journal
To own perfect ink
And your friends
Lifting the new control
Of the funnest place
Taught you their songs
Off of calendars
Gloating in the chair
Journey prized laudanum
Overwhelming
& fed you uptight consciousness
referring to mystics
After your mind-at-hand destructed
Guilt caused a stirring
You knew not whom to seek
A figment meets you here it’s
In the far location
You’d tear down walls
To belong
Among guys
You tore and swore
The metal types
Followers lighting spaceships
Rightfully
Confused the CAUSE
You tore and jumped
& ate and boring details
while misaligned
got off and left out
& came back with stories
at midnight
you hid it so well
genius who helped rugburn
and sexiness begetting some
& wished for
knowledge branches
and some wisdom
You busked prostitution
Eyeliner dreaming
Also!
You changed your name once
To something danger in the high-
Way reading
Static infirmary
Regale a novelette
A sofa in a room
& over & over
this same this some-
one sound
you tried other things too
potential doorways
to be ignored, sir
you touched her hair the softness
just acting
the last time!
This something sacred
Pet her with nectar of
Amber and yes no
Possession will get so
Tiring kind of
You sailed for seeming
Worried that often
This career was “facing
three guitars and a drum
bot”
You zoned far far &
Lover sales pretending
Transparency shards crash
Singing low in the pathways
Fractal buzz
You failed to see
The opening of your mind bib
Came catching bed bugs
Motion & unmotion
-models-
There was last
At least when my friend threw petals down
And questioned
“-pens on the stairs”?
& your thinking if WENT
was over or not, son
You stilled self
With your shallow teeth
Spinners to look at the shade
You self observed
Ending—little
But the ultimate penalty
To ghost you past the end
Was the thoughts
That all revolved
You had begun
Only this
A dance it was
While dreaming him, he had
Waited for you
S/o listened
To translation
And then the doctor
Dreamed a card to tell
You to go out
And you grew up
(Re) thinking it again
Part Three
Revolutionaries desire
Back to the future style
& buckets of paintings
Don’t misinterpret
Brand names for money
Revolutionaries want
Quality drug stores
And parking access
Keep doing the thinking
Just keep
Underhand
Overhead
Revolutionaries desire
Elegant solutions
Coffee permission to wonderment
Close-up release
& buckets of paintings
green party stickers
on the shelf—if the
shelf is wanting
the style sport—the man you know him
it’s gone now, son
LISTEN!
& do what makes you sing
don’t fall down you have to eat something
but revolutionaries desire
back to the future style
& buckets of paintings
be ready to sever
your mind from your body
go for a walk
& signal to the kids
at night time
I am so joking
Your babies
Based on abortion
Legality
Go for a walk
Signal to the kids
The population sick
Except for the young movie stars
Just go with anyone
Antebellum, mind you
(hence, is possibility
for naught)
revolutionaries desire
“symbols” “but” “power”
like not that deep, see
fake or hostile
lovers are lovers
depending on amusements
K means black to them
& it’s a code, babies
meaning your mommies
Revolutionaries desire
Style from your mind
& STHU, kid
if you, yeah
back to the future style
and buckets of paintings
that exist in you
now the language of books
not reading
if ever you get sad
leave city
bottles evergreens books
leave lovers
but revolutionary style
a desire
solutions fix
several novel disciplines
and past “beyond” them
go for a walk
and signal you
yourself
Murry grew up in California, where his mother raised hibiscus flowers in the back yard and cacti in the front. Murry always suffered from an elevated standard of culture. He suffered when his pants were not Versace. He cried when his mom purchased a striped male marmalade cat from the shelter instead of a pet tiger. Some Danger! Murry planted apple seeds under evergreen snow at his uncle’s house.
Mere instructions, folded: first aid kit necessary. Other times, toe jambs ached more the second day. Figures and figments of the imaginations swooped from the uncovered oak ceiling rails. Dear shiny guy gently tried to will Tricia into wedding sheets; ate smoke bombs because diversion and unknown roses romped, softening the scent of petals. There was a boat, a hull, a land bridge, many days, icicles, caribou, and sinews. Makeshift gas masks lined the boats. Pressing a hand against the prow, Cleve rustled a nose press about how summertime ached more after dinner than after dark.
She’s not afraid, no matter how much you’d deny her denials. She’s not lost, as long as someone’d hold her hand. She was collapsing from lack of sleep, and they had a mission, from opening the store to the closing of the store at night.
You feel that? You felt it. She heard it: Catalogues of music, shouting to the birds above your house. Typing survival notes. That much computer time, living for glass blisters. Sleep came and lyrical memorizations unswam mind water. Elbows to teak are hunching light panic because the screeching unvested. Heart in throat, vomiting micey entrails, one wrapped wrist cuts in gingham because the actor worked in a bracelet of self hate. Don’t fall into the trap like the last specialist.
Complete the sentence:
“If something’s wrong with my brain…”
Trinket Girl, an Adaptation of Tombstone as a Lonely Charm by d.a. levy
(Please read the original.)
=
Part 1
Saying maybe, if you
Paid attention to
Their historical explanation
For/ yr mind—directional
Ever faceted sparkles
Unprefixed
Individual
Like- maybe
Pay attention
Take direction
Negation
It owns
Even your slapstick
& you renew
I am
Power
Rainbows
Off
Squeeze
Fragments you hold
Brilliant! Or Excellent!
Your possessed confidence
Love—make art?
=
Ice cold legs wearing fishnets
The red blood
Surfacing damp touch
Presently returned from
Outside the gates
Levy, I will write this, too.
Palm the trinket and press
Inattentive
It’s in the book
So maybe
Leaving beached driftwood
Imaginary hair waves
More rainbows
Drug state as a class for credit
Or that’s stupid
(the traveler bandanaed
dropped out and reappeared on
the sidewalk from gender roles
to be a man)
And also, too
-of diving through translated
nothing much
you denied
“I could a-bide”
Disaster fractal
It’s a metaphor
Through midnight yelps
The dis-pleasure of depth
Go home
Saying maybe, stupid
Sand on the beach
Hurtle it far
Star distance
Away secrets
Past historic
I just say maybe
Stay still, please
Kill
The
Messenger
Terrific monotheistic
Young person bearing
The brunt force
Repeat what is left
Why do I do this to
be honest I like
trying
I know how this ends
Just a part
Boundary vacations
You dryly explain
From the floor
Part Two
You role played in velvet
In the past
Sucking careful cigarettes
Lit by your eyes
Took a pen and journal
To own perfect ink
And your friends
Lifting the new control
Of the funnest place
Taught you their songs
Off of calendars
Gloating in the chair
Journey prized laudanum
Overwhelming
& fed you uptight consciousness
referring to mystics
After your mind-at-hand destructed
Guilt caused a stirring
You knew not whom to seek
A figment meets you here it’s
In the far location
You’d tear down walls
To belong
Among guys
You tore and swore
The metal types
Followers lighting spaceships
Rightfully
Confused the CAUSE
You tore and jumped
& ate and boring details
while misaligned
got off and left out
& came back with stories
at midnight
you hid it so well
genius who helped rugburn
and sexiness begetting some
& wished for
knowledge branches
and some wisdom
You busked prostitution
Eyeliner dreaming
Also!
You changed your name once
To something danger in the high-
Way reading
Static infirmary
Regale a novelette
A sofa in a room
& over & over
this same this some-
one sound
you tried other things too
potential doorways
to be ignored, sir
you touched her hair the softness
just acting
the last time!
This something sacred
Pet her with nectar of
Amber and yes no
Possession will get so
Tiring kind of
You sailed for seeming
Worried that often
This career was “facing
three guitars and a drum
bot”
You zoned far far &
Lover sales pretending
Transparency shards crash
Singing low in the pathways
Fractal buzz
You failed to see
The opening of your mind bib
Came catching bed bugs
Motion & unmotion
-models-
There was last
At least when my friend threw petals down
And questioned
“-pens on the stairs”?
& your thinking if WENT
was over or not, son
You stilled self
With your shallow teeth
Spinners to look at the shade
You self observed
Ending—little
But the ultimate penalty
To ghost you past the end
Was the thoughts
That all revolved
You had begun
Only this
A dance it was
While dreaming him, he had
Waited for you
S/o listened
To translation
And then the doctor
Dreamed a card to tell
You to go out
And you grew up
(Re) thinking it again
Part Three
Revolutionaries desire
Back to the future style
& buckets of paintings
Don’t misinterpret
Brand names for money
Revolutionaries want
Quality drug stores
And parking access
Keep doing the thinking
Just keep
Underhand
Overhead
Revolutionaries desire
Elegant solutions
Coffee permission to wonderment
Close-up release
& buckets of paintings
green party stickers
on the shelf—if the
shelf is wanting
the style sport—the man you know him
it’s gone now, son
LISTEN!
& do what makes you sing
don’t fall down you have to eat something
but revolutionaries desire
back to the future style
& buckets of paintings
be ready to sever
your mind from your body
go for a walk
& signal to the kids
at night time
I am so joking
Your babies
Based on abortion
Legality
Go for a walk
Signal to the kids
The population sick
Except for the young movie stars
Just go with anyone
Antebellum, mind you
(hence, is possibility
for naught)
revolutionaries desire
“symbols” “but” “power”
like not that deep, see
fake or hostile
lovers are lovers
depending on amusements
K means black to them
& it’s a code, babies
meaning your mommies
Revolutionaries desire
Style from your mind
& STHU, kid
if you, yeah
back to the future style
and buckets of paintings
that exist in you
now the language of books
not reading
if ever you get sad
leave city
bottles evergreens books
leave lovers
but revolutionary style
a desire
solutions fix
several novel disciplines
and past “beyond” them
go for a walk
and signal you
yourself
Friday, June 25, 2010
why:
"You know what it means; it means nothing."
That might be it.
I keep looking for signs.
We lived by the lake, and the mice came in, even to the iguana cage. I spent 9/11 on the couch with the horizon strip mall who threw me when I was bad.
That might be it.
I keep looking for signs.
We lived by the lake, and the mice came in, even to the iguana cage. I spent 9/11 on the couch with the horizon strip mall who threw me when I was bad.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Hi
Villanelle One, Revised
Smackie, three day habit, until Tuesday
Kicking, watching staring (movie) fuck me
For me it's a new day, for you, doomsday.
Jumping out of cakes like Lay Lady Lay
Sun shining on green sheets that you let me
Testing, three day equals habit Tuesday
Woke up on her friend's bed face down new day
I'm kind of sick of all your fun, Junkie.
For me it's a game, for you it's doomsday
Hollow head forgets its point, truth (decay)
Pushups veins out jacked up fists hit, bloody
Tell me, three day (habit) until Tuesday
She encourages me. That was Monday.
Religiosity or else find me
In the dream you knew me rhyming Doomsday
Your brother cannot help you do right today
This is about him but You, you and me
I will call him Smackie Blue Habit Day
Excuse me fall down hard night time doomsday
Smackie, three day habit, until Tuesday
Kicking, watching staring (movie) fuck me
For me it's a new day, for you, doomsday.
Jumping out of cakes like Lay Lady Lay
Sun shining on green sheets that you let me
Testing, three day equals habit Tuesday
Woke up on her friend's bed face down new day
I'm kind of sick of all your fun, Junkie.
For me it's a game, for you it's doomsday
Hollow head forgets its point, truth (decay)
Pushups veins out jacked up fists hit, bloody
Tell me, three day (habit) until Tuesday
She encourages me. That was Monday.
Religiosity or else find me
In the dream you knew me rhyming Doomsday
Your brother cannot help you do right today
This is about him but You, you and me
I will call him Smackie Blue Habit Day
Excuse me fall down hard night time doomsday
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
wild about you
cantabridgian strut, second iteration:
Bubbling every time herons begin to fight organic frozen spinach and gophers baguette girls want to be this entered contest fashionably peach lime purple cold cut kennedy the vj overtime with kurt loder and mushroomhead don’t get caught with declarations of love in a barrel basket case stabbed in the left appendix gray sky corn hay pelting car dents now that’s a sexy broken lip, baby bound egrets drowned no egrets nor egrets no regrets nor egrets
Bubbling every time herons begin to fight organic frozen spinach and gophers baguette girls want to be this entered contest fashionably peach lime purple cold cut kennedy the vj overtime with kurt loder and mushroomhead don’t get caught with declarations of love in a barrel basket case stabbed in the left appendix gray sky corn hay pelting car dents now that’s a sexy broken lip, baby bound egrets drowned no egrets nor egrets no regrets nor egrets
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Here goes something
Typing with a cat on my lap, and a laptop, makes me think the computer is about to go flying, then crashing, to the floor. That's probably more commas than I have used in a week!!!! I'm wondering about public vs private persona(s). If conor oberst isn't singing for me, then who is he singing for, obviously himself or someone else, the OTHER, better ME. Pencil lead, tennis courts, psychedelic colors of my outfit today. It's Physics Day. I read a chapter. Better late than never. I wore some crazy bright blueandwhite and Orange striped shirt with pink shorts to play tennis. The brand of the shirt is The Red Eye. I got it at a thrift store in cleveland with a girl named Kristen from my creative writing class, along with cowboy boots. The only reason I like cowboy boots is because Sam Michel and Noy Holland wore them when they visited my school when I was still a kid. Not a kid anymore, just a hyper thirty year old with punk rock tendencies. Oh, the cat's not on my lap any more.
So, guy troubles in paradise. Much advice, little concrete. I should write some concrete poetry. I also have to destroy my diploma if I want a grant for school, but I cannot do it. Too much blood and tears for something so small and lucky. I have to send an alacritic letter to my friend who isn't my friend yet. I have to tell someone how strange love can be that it flows so carefully. I'm pretty sure my coworker calls people dog, as in "relax, dog." Why do I have images of a hanging in my head? Strange fruit, the worst is yet to come, the best is all muddled, and the past harm will be over. I looked for Levy all over cleveland. I found "lover i don't have to love" at a candiria show across from the food coop. I might have to move again. My first love was for a girl when I was fifteen. Don't tell me I have it easy. Executive functions explain some of the trouble I have had, but not why my psychologist didn't like my lifecoach. At least I ran away to Spain, so I could learn something. To Swim. Hi Vinnie!!
So, guy troubles in paradise. Much advice, little concrete. I should write some concrete poetry. I also have to destroy my diploma if I want a grant for school, but I cannot do it. Too much blood and tears for something so small and lucky. I have to send an alacritic letter to my friend who isn't my friend yet. I have to tell someone how strange love can be that it flows so carefully. I'm pretty sure my coworker calls people dog, as in "relax, dog." Why do I have images of a hanging in my head? Strange fruit, the worst is yet to come, the best is all muddled, and the past harm will be over. I looked for Levy all over cleveland. I found "lover i don't have to love" at a candiria show across from the food coop. I might have to move again. My first love was for a girl when I was fifteen. Don't tell me I have it easy. Executive functions explain some of the trouble I have had, but not why my psychologist didn't like my lifecoach. At least I ran away to Spain, so I could learn something. To Swim. Hi Vinnie!!
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Nothing makes sense, not money, not laws
Temporary Dysphoria and Ennui: The song in my head is "Infra-red" by Placebo. I have been thinking I need a new face to my car stereo. We saw MacGruber tonight with _____'s brother. Laundromat guy asked if I was in a car accident. My bruised/ cut/ burned arm combo, all work related, was much to do with working while (over)tired. The. song in my head just switched to something from Gravy Train!!!!, the lyrics being "I like to get paid and have sex all day." Exhale, exhale. "Someone call the ambulance." Prose poetry. Baudelaire's poem about jumping into the abyss is better than the one called Abyss. I have to study Physics. Maybe this will bring me closer to the stories I want to tell. ______ and I discussed homonyms, and I understood my ninth grade English teacher a little better. I would like to research modern philosophers, considering fusty Martin Heidegger's invasion of both the Times books section and A & L Daily. I still want to be Doogie Howser, and Vinny is the love object.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Empathy is a curse.
To the lady who jumped down my throat this afternoon/ evening when I was trying to help you: Misunderstandings happen. I was baffled that you tried to overcompensate for what should have been a simple order, a cup of chai tea. When you ask if you can have it with the tea bag instead, I usually think of a sugar free chai tea latte, and I attempted to make you that. I swear you started screaming at me for charging you for dairy. I also believe I am eager to fix mistakes. Thanks for yelling at me. I really needed that. f.
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