December 05, 2006

experiment 1

My hearts broken again but differently this time then the times before that we were all so familiar with. Those times there was a build up a continuous pulsing until it gave out and was torn and scarred. This time it feels as if it fell in slow motion right out of my chest like the tiniest delicate tea cup, I watched it fall and crack into tiny pieces like when you pop a Christmas popper and there is a split second of confetti, pieces of my heart as Christmas confetti. I find myself breathing from email to email waiting for nothing in return, I think I miss him but really I am just cursing every blonde with lengthy straight hair, which makes looking in the mirror rather difficult. I wish I had been languishing here all along, then maybe I wouldn’t find myself in a ball of sobs on the floor or lying on my back staring at the ceiling in all my depressing glory. Also if I had kept it up, the writing, then I wouldn’t be calling my mother to have her compare my problems to those of Sheryl crow who was dumped and got cancer in one week. No my problems in all hopes will never reach those proportions however I do believe we don’t possess a broom that I would trust with the job of sweeping my tea cup pieces of a bursted heart off the tile.

November 11, 2006

You should write about love

He’s fantastic” you know. I find myself doodling his name in hearts. I don’t know when it happened, this falling in love ordeal, probably right away or maybe some kind of a trickling love, a mist that grew into a heavy rain. I find myself smiling in dream, starring longingly at the pillow where he recently came to lay his head. Someone recently said that this distance must keep it interesting and fun. Yes, but it was interesting when we spent months living together, practically attached. Cooking dinner, dancing on the couch, him pinning me to the wall trying to stop my uncontrollable laughter, which only induced more giggles.

During our summer together all those hangover curing meals of Tabasco Mac n Cheese with Hot Dogs or Salami Grilled Cheese (with mayo and mustard of course) had began to put on the pounds, so I decided I would start running, but I don’t run. So I’d tell him, “I’m going to go on a run.” He’d look at me greatly surprised, I’d put on my super cute running outfit get my new video ipod and go out the door, only to jog about 50 yards and walk the remaining two miles that I had decided my route would include. I assume sitting down next to the path and watching some Law and Order: SVU on my ipod would have been time better spent. Anyway he became intrigued by this exercise I was supposedly doing and decided since he was in between baseball seasons he would run with me. Well he quickly became privy to my little white lie or exaggeration as it were. We still “ran” together everyday me walking along to the tune of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun,” and him laughing and lapping me so that I was getting back to the house about 20 minutes after him.

And yes I write of love; running and salami, hysterics and pillows, love.

November 02, 2006

Cat Fancy and Funerals

He comes in 10 mintues I don’t know if it’s the excitement, the latte or all that Chinese food but my stomach is doing turns and jumps like ballerinas in the Nutcracker Suite. Things are moving along steadily, I’m drinking infrequently but far too heavily, my grandpa died about two weeks ago and my relationship with my parents is becoming far more like a friendship where they call me to talk about their stressors and such. Its fine I like going to concerts with them in the city. Last week we saw my dad’s favorite rock band, he’s so much cooler then me, and we stood in the very front, him dancing, my mom said “ we’re like a little rock family.” He cried at the funeral in front of everyone, my dad, eventhough it was my mom’s father who passed, he spoke about their trips together and their friendship, it was moving, he looks old, older, it makes me sad. My poor mom is so sad I just read an email that said shes excited to go to counseling. She said she cries easily which in turn makes me get choked up. I was at the local chain bookstore drinking a latte and reading magazines to kill time until the boyfriend arrives, and I passed the cat magazines, my grandmother loved cat magazines and dog shows, she had two cats, one only had one eye and the other she named funny face. I hope I grow up to be just as crazy as all of them.

October 16, 2006

does he love you?

Its becoming too perfect, my mom was right, she said she fears the worst if he was to never do anything too right or too wrong. And now I feel like I am pushing his actions, making excuses in my mind to make him too perfect but in reality I look to myself I’m craving something, someone, anyone else, a little drama, a little weight. There was a trigger, I mean I was previously trudging along, alone, separated by a country but held together by thin phone lines and then it popped in, popped up. Her awful online profile ran across my screen ending there by flits of a mouse before my mind could stop it. The Holly, the other women of a former lover was in fact living in the very state of my desire, my desired, probably with this former lover. I became lightheaded, asked for consoling through texting my roommate. Most likely I am insane or perhaps I thought that this former lover must be still lusting looking longing after me because I am selfish. It makes me want to wear his necklace, his sweatshirt, it makes me want to call, text, email, it makes me want to move there sooner, now, tomorrow, yesterday. And yet here I wait, an empty neck, in a pink velour sweatshirt of my own, unconnected, uncontacted. And continuing living, driving, crying here on the west coast, lost in long distance perfection and untimely jealousy.

October 11, 2006

Bo and the first rain

Today was the first rain since about may or so. I had heard it was coming yesterday on the early morning news while I was getting dressed. They said it would come last night but it didn’t. It came today at about 2pm and my roommates exclaimed, “What’s that sound? Is that rain?” And we all went and stood under the skylight and stared upward watching it drip down the sides of the opaque concave window. When the mediocre meteorologist had mentioned to expect rain I wondered where my dollar store umbrella was, probably at my parents house, I’ll need to go there and get some sort of rain gear, boots, jackets with hoods and such. There’s a certain excitement among the channels though as far as the weathermen are concerned, even the reporters find it fantastical to have some kind of truth to the news, something real to report on is novelty. Regardless of all this I have come in contact with a young man who is a waiter where I now hostess. His name is Bo; he has the later shift where his tables are located nearest to my hostess stand. As I am new I am just discovering the personalities of my co-workers and they me I guess. Bo often stops to talk, make small comments about nothing of too much importance but simply to pass the time. He bares a resemblance to Christopher Robin, Winnie the Pooh’s friend, but with shorter darker hair but has the same happy demeanor. The rain intrigued him to much greatness. He commented that the temperature would make this situation the perfect evening to take a walk in the rain, and later he did go stand outside and upon his return reported it to be “really nice out there”. He was right about the whole taking a walk in the rain, it would be nice, walking along, sharing an umbrella with a friend or lover, laughing slipping down the city sidewalk as it gets washed clean or makes mud of the slick streets. The way the stoplights and crosswalk signals have an aquatic glow about them. Rain is an interesting thing, a season I am looking forward to, a life style of waterproof gear and squeaky shoes.

painting by Joseph La Pierre

October 03, 2006

push on, depression

It's there you know, right behind a thin veil, waiting, wanting; haunting really, to be tapped into, to be let out in a ghostly mist, set to descend. And one would think, one would think that given the state of my current affiars, I would be drenched within it, this descending depression and yet I find myself content, unnervingly content, for while I feel stretched, between two coasts, and dried up, tanned, like a bovine hide I am still content, happy even, in my circumstances. Revelling in depression has formerly gotten me to no successes, only tear ridden poetry. Now I try to turn it on as this veil, this ghastly shroud has always been my greatest resource for creativity, for writing specifically. I am empty. I am empty? doubtful, doubtless.

September 07, 2006

Coffee and Cigarettes

He wore navy blue socks and black shoes. As a child I had decided I would be a spy in the CIA so I started to watch everyone around me as practice, this still continues. Anyway we wore navy blue socks and black shoes, as I took off my backpack to sit down at the computer next to him I got a whiff of his scent. He smelled the same as someone I used to know, very well. Someone whom I loved and I loved his scent of coffee and cigarettes. Not being a coffee drinker or smoker myself, (expect for that brief month in January) I would often lie in bed holding his long fingers and smelling his scent, had he known I’m sure he would have thought me insane, as I may very well be. We had some good times me and that coffee drinker, a long torturous run if you will. In the end I don’t think we could have hurt each other more and yet when my olfactory senses were filled with his familiar notes I couldn’t help but smile. Smile at the memories that issued forth upon sitting at the computer next to this other boy with the terrible fashion faux pas. He looked nothing like my former friend, they were of different ethnicities and he wore one of those beanie hats with a bill (a terrible fashion device as well) however he was wearing khaki pants which I found intriguing as my former friend and lover only wore khaki pants. All the days and years I knew him I couldn’t count more then ten times I saw him in some other form of pants whether denim, dress or wool. It was his uniform if you will and he wore it well, I was attracted anyway. Ah but my initial attraction to this character, this cigarette smoker, is a fateful story unto itself.

August 23, 2006

one chest heated

There are certain memories that heat your chest like a glass of wine on an empty stomach. I had one of those memories today it was of a summer past full of dark meetings, denim shorts and grape flavored gum. I smiled at the thought of how he did his hair when in fact the affair on a whole was nothing better then stepping in shit. But ah the memories still heat my core.

August 14, 2006

If my heart still hurts tomorrow at least ill know I’m alive

I wasn’t going to write today, I thought it too soon and too many thoughts were intermingling with the sloshing of the tears but then I came up with the title. I’ll have to admit I had to read around to get some inspiration and there it was hidden in this vast electronic sea of knowledge and nothing, where I spent most of my days and nights until I had found the ultimate distraction, love, excuse me amor for I as close as it got at the end there I still shuddered at the thought of saying those words first. He left today and I thought of that, I had replayed it in my mind so many times that those words would be the last thing I would say to him before he left and his voice became always a phone call away rather then a something I would awake to daily. You’ll have to excuse my ramblings as I did warn I wasn’t going to write today. I’ll brief you now I guess, my throat: dry, lumped; my eyes: wet and stinging but not full of tears; my lips: chapped and utterly lonely; and my heart: creaking within its chambers, pushing at the seams and scars left from so may previous breaks, but not shattering as it is accustomed to, for this ending was far from malicious and the segment on a whole was always more then pleasant. Its funny you know they all move away and here I am left chasing my dreams and picking up the pieces of my heart he didn’t mean to break.

August 06, 2006

getting back to the writing slowly

It was just a taste of what was to come. I found myself wanting to watch movies that matter, documentaries and things about the world. Things that I don’t think about because I’m caught up in this semi-bilingual love affair. I can only tell him I love him in Spanish and many of his sweet nothings come in the same language... he went out of town this weekend, our second to last weekend and I wonder if ill feel the same way I did his first night away when he begins his trek to the other side of our American universe in the coming weeks. I felt like I should lie in the middle of the floor so the devil could get a better shot with those darts he was throwing at my heart. I was watching Cold Case Files and crying, it was pathetic but still a taste of what was to come. One week away and my mom has promised a day at the spa once he leaves. In the mean time I have to find a place to live which has proven much more difficult then I had thought. I’m also looking to graduate early, enough is enough and I’m ready to go exploring what they call real life. Well at least I think I’m ready.

July 18, 2006

in hiding

These are the moments that matter most while I am trying not to let them matter at all. Our time is fleeting the months turning to weeks, the weeks to days filled with precious moments of perfect-ness that I am trying to not let matter. He couldn’t tell me but I heard the final date as he made plans with a drunken friend over the phone. One month, one month from tomorrow and he will move and it will all be over. And thus we have begun the beginning of the end. I couldn’t sleep last night and tried to distract my tearing chest and tearing eyes with meaningless TV. It hardly worked as he slept lightly next to me. I wanted to crawl into him and hide there so the end couldn’t come, so I wouldn’t have to think about it. We never got to say I love you, even though I dreamt of it, but now its too late, outside of dreams it would be stupid to start that now just to end it within weeks. And so we continue to disguise our love with like, with lust, as to not become more attached then we already are, which would be hard to do as we spend every possible moment together. Part of me says to run away now, prepare myself for the loss by beginning it now but even as I write this there is a welling in my eyes, in my heart that keeps me going back for more maddening disguised love. Maybe when all this is over I can get back to the writing.

June 21, 2006

surrounded by stories, surreal and sublime

I’ve gotten to this place where I feel most alone in small groups and lying in bed with him, paining for him to wake up, staring at him, questioning my place in the world. There is a giant vat of emptiness in my chest, a cylinder of translucent nothingness that can momentarily be filled by kisses or whipped topping but so easily is completely empty, resounding with echoes. The curliness of my handwriting seems to change daily similarly to the ideas of my future. It’s too much to question future at this time in my mind and yet it’s the only question I am asked daily. So I’ll put on some pink sparkly eye shadow and hide behind Minnie Mouse sized eyelashes so no one but strangers can see how deep it has all become. I wanted my hair to look like that of a pixie and yet my thighs would never fit beneath her delicately jagged skirt. Maybe I am living in renaissance fairly tales for the only thing that makes sense is running away to Paris. To hide among pastries and stripes, to sit under the Eiffel tower in the hot summer sun waiting on brief rain clouds. I want to wake up in satin hotel sheets, in all my loneliness, only to glide out onto a terrace to be surrounded by words I may never know the meaning of. Instead I make him tell me bedtime stories.

June 14, 2006

my jungle

I heard a heartbeat and pressed my hand to the wall to feel the music. I closed my eyes to imagine a hot jungle beyond my palm. Panthers slinking among miniskirts and shirtless young men. Vines and serpents hanging in an iridescent smoke, all things swaying to that same heavy beat. Just as I caught the eyes of the Panther I awoke in a blanketed sweat only to find the heartbeat was my own ringing in my ears, however the shirtless boy was there next to me his staring eye wide in the early morning. I smiled and kissed his bicep that was my pillow and turned to continue my dreams. Before I found myself in the jungle I began to ponder why he was awake staring at me and checked to make sure he really was awake. It was true his prehistoric eyes were open but still full of sleep. I stared into them imagining if it was possible that he was dreaming my same dreams. I began to dose off but fought so I could watch his own sleep process in the bright light of dawn. I soon found his eyes to be closed and I once again felt the safety of his arms and returned to my jungle trip.

June 08, 2006

alone with my thoughts for a slow week

I want to see your face, that’s all I’m longing for, your face; I look at the little pictures and your face. I imagine your hands holding various items, forks, baseballs, my hand, and edges of blankets. I remember your touch and how its changed and softened in the recent months as if your gentleness is reflecting my own heart’s softening. You remind of that song “your hands are in my hair and my heart is in your teeth and it makes my want to make you near me always, near me always” and yet I am reminded by everyone around me, around us daily of how it will end, how it will end so soon, too soon. And the inkling has begun, the slow inkling like a soft rain in the back of my mind, especially after this slow lonely week and the inkling has infiltrated my rational thought and here I am almost thinking sure we could do this, do this for awhile. But luckily the minuscule amount of rational I have left is holding on to the fact that I couldn’t let what we do have turn into the nastiness that long distance has been for me. Its beautiful for now and blooming so quickly as tears are heating my face I have to let go of my romantic forever notions and yet I hold on, I question if maybe you saw all of this pain, and fear and truth that lives within my words would all of our rational disappear and would we find ourselves among frequent flyer miles and free long distance plans?

May 29, 2006

woken dreaming

I find that lying with him I can close my eyes to various beautiful scenes. I close my eyes to the wind whipped cliffs of the pacific waves crashing below, my hair blowing wildly. I open to darkness and soft lips, fingers weaving through fingers. I close to find country tables filled with green milk glass ware, stacked bowls and plates as if the pages of Martha Stewart magazine have infiltrated my subconscious. I open to his wide eyes and entangled arms and legs. I close to French fields of lavender, the purple scent bathing the warm countryside. Open again to hands caressing my stomach and hair. Moments of ecstasy intertwined with dreams.

May 22, 2006

lazy days of beautiful nothing

The blinds are blowing wildly and I’m lying in his mess. Its beautiful really, the most beautiful thing I have experienced as of late. I find myself easily napping in his arms and even when he leaves to the tune of his shower or slamming door. Incoherently kissing him goodbye to waste away the day in his bed watching old Natalie Portman movies and the history channel. You know I don’t think there is one movie she doesn’t cry in, I guess that’s her thing, she can cry. The blankets are sweltering with the heat of my nap and I am alone. I like the loneliness, the billowing of the blinds, chocolate bars and chocolate cream pie melting in my mouth. “How do you know its love if you’ve never been in love before?” I wish this was my boat, however I’m still lost on if its love and I think I’ve been in love so many times before. Today I checked to see if there was a bruise about my heart for I think it may very well be on the fast road to heart break. These kinds of feelings of possibility and jealousy are feeding a fire that feels like love and yet I dare not stop the wind from blowing the blinds or cut my nap short for I know these feelings are bound by time. Summer is on the horizon and I find the phrase, “ reeking havoc,” to be popping into my mind quite frequently recently, like some kind of threat. However I hope, as always, I can hold it together better then last summer. For his sake, for my sake for sanity sake.

May 12, 2006


I find myself thinking of things to write about all day and once I sit to write them my mind is a blank. It is similar to how I think of things to tell him all day, little things, reminders and once I get to talk to him I forget all those things. He laughs at me now about it and I rarely remember. I don’t know if its that my memory is shot, the things weren’t very important or I get so excited to talk to him I forget. I have a similar experience when I eat shrimp. I get slightly dizzy when I eat it however I love shrimp so I’m not sure if its that I am allergic to the shellfish or just so excited to eat it that my body reacts in that way. It’s an interesting thing; I have very few allergies in reality. Pollen makes my eyes water, this was worse in high school not so bad these days. Penicillin makes me break out in a rash all over my body if I take it. You can imagine the circumstances under which I found out going in to the doctor for a cold and returning with a rash all over my body. There was another instance in which I broke out in a rash. There was this boy whom I liked very much we had seen each other off and on for a couple summers but one summer every time after I would go over to his house I would break out in a rash, it was worse on my face and legs, very strange, so I decided I must be allergic to him because he was rather hazardous to my mental health so I decided I had better discontinue our infrequent visits and thus the rash ceased and I was better off, mentally.

May 09, 2006

i love you

There are times when I look into your eyes and I can almost hear the words exuding from your mouth, as if I am dreaming I see your lips move and those three simple words come out in a fog, a smoke of love. And yet I continue to hold my tongue even as it struggles to hold back those words and everything that comes with them. Will we hold back for our time together? Because it will be too much to be saying these words as we wander apart in the coming months. Will we hold strong through summer? and hold strong to the idea that not saying the words will make everything easier. There are times when I catch myself about to say it to you because in my mind I have so many times and when I look in your eyes it feels like your saying it back. But ill never know ill never know until you do. And I made the mistake so long ago once upon a dream of being the first to go out on a limb and the response was so bad that I found myself more likely walking the plank. And then the resentment set it and I floundered else where to make up for the lousy word he couldn’t say back. And now I dodge this situation by not uttering the words, especially not first, for this will save the anxiety? The philandering? Obviously not. My solutions rarely work and yet I will continue to hide here with them.

May 05, 2006

where darkness hides longing

It was a sweet familiarity to drive in a fast white foreign car with the heater on and the windows down. The speakers were blown out but somehow still full of bay area rap beats. The smoke of swisher sweets filling the air, my lungs, the smell resounding through the beats. I must have been smiling, as this had formerly been my favorite pastime with him. The first night that he and I drove fast, so long ago, dodging cars with the heater on was the most new and amazing experience that at the time I thought I would write a movie about him and this driving. Now our relationship is over these are the times I miss the most, walking down the street holding his hand was comfortable, the words exchanged were warming. And the days to follow will be empty of him, while others will come to fill his void, he will be remembered fondly like a deep scar, for this wound has healed.

April 24, 2006


If I hear the word again these welling tears will overflow. Intimacy, we discuss, we digress, I wish for the intimacy, the sweltering intimacy but so much more than that, the deepness that is more than an flippant eye connection, whether it be on the subway, through a window or in the darkest moments before sleep in which eyes meet. Is it the communication? The talking, does it have to occur? And is it worth it? To be intimate enough to call it intimate, in a sense that is beyond the sweltering? Beyond the blankets? I find it hard, it is my struggle and as they say the word introvert I identify, I relate and find myself writing while they talk and laugh. Introvert, but I feel being within my vert, my reality, my world, my vortex is worth it, is different and selective. And so I continue to question intimacy; to get is to give and I find myself holding so tightly on to secrets waiting for the moment that I may let them out like a babbling, bubbling brook and yet I foresee no rain, no precipitation that will start this flow. Left to anonymity? Or waiting on intimacy?

April 17, 2006


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I want to press my hand up against windows
To keep you there
To keep your stare
I want to press my hand up against windows
To make you stay
To hold your gaze
I want to press my hand up against windows
So we can see
So we may smile
I want to press my hand against windows
For you to see my scars
So you can see my soul
I want to press my hand against windows
On the train, the bus
And in the car
I want to press my hand against windows
And watch the earth turn
And revolve around the sun
I want to press my hand against windows
Late at night
So you cant see me take you in
I want to press my hand against windows
so that we may be joined through glass;
The sands of time that have been made clear through heating and reheating
I want to press my hand, my palm, against windows
to feel everything
I’m trying to shut out
I want to press my hand against windows
As tears stream my cheeks
And drip from my stoic chin
I want to press my hand up against windows
so that I can continue the figment of a movie
I live inside my head.

April 10, 2006

fleet week

Everything is so fleeting. I find myself lying here clinging to what remains of my spring break. Clinging to the minutes as I watch my last hour of solace, of freedom wipe away in the indigo of his clock. Lying here in and out of dreams. I had woken up every hour throughout last night to make sure I didn’t miss my teeth cleaning in the morning as if my sub-conscience felt his alarm would not function the one day I needed it. I made it to the appointment and had to wait over half an hour and has the women raped my gums all I could think of was getting back into the warm boyness that is his bed for one more hour of my vacation. As my final hour came to a close I lied in his bed listening to his heavy breathing thinking how much I wanted to stay and keep hiding there in the sweltering heat that I had grown so accustomed to during my vacation. Spending days and nights wrapped in blankets, in arms hiding from the world, hiding form school and papers that needed to be written. My life had been put on hold more almost a week and a half and there I was holding onto minutes and seconds as they ticked by in ultra-blue. My countdown until summer reads 42 days and yet I still feel as if the semester never started. Everything is so fleeting, childhood, love, life and here I am holding onto to minutes, tears and hands.

March 28, 2006


Every Tuesday is like the come down. I can’t find anything good there as I lose the feeling of the weekend, of the boy, of the love. I find myself wishing to be napping and sleeping with him. His arms wrapped around me, covered in sheets, heavy sleep induced breathing. Each week I count the days, count the hours to when I can find myself there again in the sweltering that my weekends have become. Things should be easier, I shouldn’t put myself in these long distance situations but each year, each semester, there I am running into open arms so far away where I don’t have to think, where everything is done for me, where my hand is held and all I have to do is smile. Too easy but perfect. Lost and coming down I find my Tuesdays, lost and coming down off the drug that is love or the build up to love and as Thursday approaches my high once again ignites.

March 24, 2006

invited on a trip this summer by a boy i feel i barely know

I can see myself cackling into the night, eyes ablaze with the burn of liquor. Running towards stars and trees, running from love and pushing towards it. Foreign starry skies to be my future with hands to hold, I don’t trust that my sanity front could last through this point, this kind of trip. So I imagine, I foreshadow, a vision of myself cackling and yelling nonsense with the stench of heaters and alcohol on my breath. I can see their eyes, how their reactions would be similar to those that looked upon witches on trial, confusion and detachment. I’d lose them, lose him right there under starry foreign skies, from jealousy, from neediness, from cackling and naughty wondering fingers. I’d lose it all and I’d be left laughing at the inside joke that no one else gets that is my life, ha ha laughing now at the horrific future I have dreamt of, dream of.

March 14, 2006


Tears streaming down my face mid-workout. Clowns to the left of me and jokers to the right streams outs of my lowly computer speakers. I lie back on the floor, continue tears, reach for paper and phone to write needy text messages and written words, as Tina isn’t missing you at all. I wish it were that easy that I could stop this heartbreak overload. The storm is raging through each night through my head and my dreams, where I find myself lost in my own home. Childhood smells of playground sand and plastic slides bring back memories of loneliness. When did this all start? Who let it continue? Or was I just that good at hiding it? Another reach, another call to no avail, no answer. A check up when what I really need is a check in or a check out. The salt is drying on my face. Back to nothing I go back to nothing hi ho!

March 09, 2006

he's a few of my favoite things

He’s like splashing into a cool pool on a sweltering day, he’s like finding socks from the night before in your bed when your feet are freezing, he’s like a Christmas wreath made of gift bows, he’s like waking up to warm kisses, he’s the blue glow of the TV on closed eyelids, he’s like a frozen pineapple whip, he’s the third grade stutter, he cant wait to see me, he’s the taste of salt and cologne, He’s like wool tights on a windy day, he’s like my first pair of pink Pointe shoes, he’s like coarse ground pepper, he’s like the sound of a metal bat hitting a baseball, he’s calloused hands, he’s like a snow cone made from Baileys and real snow, he’s like pumpkin season, he’s like somersaults and cartwheels inside, he’s big lips and bad taste, he’s like a field full of daffodils, he’s like listening to slow jams on the radio late at night, he endures my failures and shortcomings, he’s like crunchy taquitos and messed up hair, he’s the feeling you get in your stomach on the pirate ship rollercoaster, he’s like getting off an airplane, he’s the samba, he’s like rocky road ice cream or meatloaf, he’s like the first line, he’s like a good Halloween costume, he’s like nothing and everything at the same time, he’s the dolphin you see the in clouds, he’s fresh sea air, fuck he’s the love flavored cigarette……..don’t let it be not now, not yet.

March 01, 2006


It had been blooming in her mind, in her heart. A small bloom that she was resisting, that she was trying to storm on. but this bloom was resilient more resilient then the storm and fury she was trying to create, trying to drum up. Everyone else could see it, this perfect bud blooming from the inside out each petal opening with glistening silk skin.

They had gone downtown together, the small bud held inside her as she stumbled down the cobblestone in copper heels, her head heavy from a day of fierce grape concoctions and baseball pants. Her eyes glossy, she tried to pick a place. Within the glass doors of the North Beach Restaurant he held her close, seeing glaring eyes. Kisses plagued her neck while they waited for a table. The bloom bloomed. They were a story, a tale in the making.

Back in the car they bumped along throughout the city to bad hip hop that they knew all the words to. While he held her hands, kissed fingers and the bloom bloomed. It was becoming too much and yet never enough.

He would fall asleep on her chest beer bottle in hand, to Penny cartoons saying he wasn’t sleeping just thinking with his eyes closed. This would be dreaming, sleep and dreaming and she didn’t mind that it was her heart keeping time in his dreams. This would be a night to remember and also a night that would be forgotten in coming weeks, coming months. But the bloom will continue to bloom until each petal has fallen and somewhere someone will be a beast, a monster, forever. Unless of course this beast, this monster finds true, real love.

February 27, 2006

more hearts

A pile of hearts
Mixed and matched
Rimmed in black
And striped across
I found them there
Waiting as most hearts do
They made me smile
I turned each face up
Makes me think of bands
Banded bands
These hearts
This pile of teeny delicate hearts
Easily blown apart by the flick of paper
Paper-thin hearts and created out of boredom
Out of love
Looking away from these hearts brings back the dark pessimism
Go back to the tiny baby hearts, there is solace there
Looking at these hearts
Strewn and left to be found
And they are like my heart
Love and mixed and matched
Rimmed in black
Striped by scars
Waiting to be found
Turning and smiling while thinking of you
Thinking of banded bands
My heart
Teeny and delicate
Easy blown apart by a flick of the wrist
By a flutter of eye lids
Paper-thin, waiting out of boredom
In and out of love
Pessimistic in nature
A tiny solace
Strewn and waiting to be found

February 22, 2006

my heart

I feel a sense of settling, my eyes are heavy and the pains in my heart have continued. It feels as if my heart is working over time, as if it is pushing a gelatinous mass of love and milkshakes through my veins. I don’t want to be here, in class talking about nothing. I want to keep hiding in beds, in places where I don’t have to leave, in the room where laughter and life abounds. I want to hide at the bottom of that bottle, in the deliriousness that is wine and vodka. In the hilarity of my drunkenness that takes me to dark lakes and dreams of thieves. I feel like I don’t belong anywhere and yet there’s nowhere but everywhere that I want to go. I want to keep packing my bags for nowhere, for you to come up behind me and hold me at the sink, to dance with you on loud decks while smoke surrounds us and our lips meet again and again repetitively, to sleep and sweat in your bed. Some things have become love, some things have become heart, you are one of those things, today.

February 16, 2006

But you can dream…

There is a pain in my heart each beat causes a jump or a frown, as we speak of dreams I feel haunted, haunted by the dream that is my life. I once had this great idea to pretend my whole life was a dream, this was this past summer and I thought I could do whatever I wanted. So I went crazy, crazy in LA and figured eventually I’d wake up. Well I’ve yet to wake up from this dream and there are days that it seems more like a nightmare. Mostly its like a day dream though where I find myself staring out the window at pink flowers the way I did in the third grade, when my teacher told my parents I was a day dreamer. She was right, I’m rarely aware, usually working fictitious scenarios through my mind. So I still dream while characters change and my nightly dreams become more vivid. I sleep with eyes open, I sleep walk to school and into his bed.

…but I can dream.

February 14, 2006

the relativity of it all

Just the word happiness makes me laugh, my eyebrows raise and I laugh. All things are relative, happiness being the first and foremost in the line-up of relativity. My problem is constantly banking my happiness on others; he will make me happy, living here with them will make me happy, getting rid of him will make me happy, moving away from here will make me happy. None of these things work and so I must look to the constant; me, I am the unchanged variable in this experiment that is life. So again looking to myself for relative happiness is my only solution, but instead I have placed this boy in that spot to fill the void that is endless, that can not be filled with anything, not buckets of sadness, moving boxes or an ocean of dreams and certainly not artificial happiness milled by a white coated individual. So I’ll skip to my room a Playboy tucked under each arm to find something relative: beauty.

February 11, 2006

now home

Its right when I leave that I miss the city the most, that I start to feel like I belong. I left class early to get back earlier and upon walking outside it all came together. There are some days worth writing about; the sounds, the sunset, the almost rank smell, the moon and the breeze and the smiles and the stares are and always have been enough to keep me wanting more. I walk a little slower, take it all in. I bought myself an hour and possibility an F, a failing day is worth every acceleration and lit laughter I encounter on my walk home, through Home.

February 07, 2006

shit (please excuse profanity)

The feelings of wanting the gas truck in front of me to fish tail have subsided, well they had until I arrived here and failed myself and then everyone else was quick to point that out some more. Young love, love? Young? I stopped answering the phone for them, for me. He always said I just shit on everyone and do whatever I want, its true I do and eventually they will probably all shit on me and my whole world will come falling down around me. Oh wait he already did it already did and I am standing triumphant again. Triumphant for today and maybe tomorrow.

January 31, 2006

first week back at school

As I sit in class my mind wanders, staring outside doesn’t dull it, which is my usual antidote to the lull that is lecture. The fog consumes me and my mind turns to dreams and creams. Milk shakes, banana milkshakes and blue, green, pink cotton candy that dyes your fingers, my fingers, while I dream of the personal male Moulin Rouge that is baseball games, a pair of baseball pants and I’m speechless. I can’t take notes on what Pop. Culture is because my craving for tobacco and nicotine has taken over since I stopping the drinking of the Holiday break and the pop of my gum is the only thing keeping me from reaching into the worn track jacket of the red head in front of me to steal his Marlboros. So I sit popping and pushing, pushing my bruises so that I can feel the pain that you spoke of, that took your mind away from learning.

Sitting on the side of the bathtub waiting for the bubbles to consume me waiting for steaming water to soothe away the pain from the re-pushed bruises and the eternal broken heart that has spoken out in the from of bruised ribs. It hurts to breathe, it hurts to think. Maybe I shouldn’t wrestle boys when I’ve drunken a bottle of red to myself or otherwise.

January 29, 2006

Jokers to the right

I wonder if my tired eyes reflect all the pain or if I just look tired. Radio waves and songs pulse through my veins and arteries. I cry to the tune of When a Man Loves a Woman and shower to Earth Angel as I search desperately through dreams and strange beds to find my own angel, but as I rub their backs so they may sleep there is nothing near the remnants of wings and most would never dare wear a halo. So I steal another moment, another shining star in unfamiliar lips so that I may continue breathing and continue lying to myself about how bad it doesn’t hurt when someone else is holding me together. “There’s nothing wrong with me loving you.” At least the sweet and wonderful life continues even when I can’t face the daylight that builds muscles on my legs and blondes my hair. Once again left searching, dancing, running, writing for something familiar or totally new so that I can remember nothing and make new memories to the tunes of Al Green and Steeler’s Wheel.

January 25, 2006

one good day

Nepenthe on a winters day that I can wear a t-shirt and jeans. Drive all the way down the coast for a glass of wine and three-way salad when all I want is a three-way as if it will give some meaning to this meaningless heart wrenching, Christmas eve crying break. I won’t, in fact it couldn’t. So I return to the car dessert-less, deserted to Shoobie do wop wop and Blue moon playing on the radio, to write about perfection, a perfect happy, and the sea was shining as small waves passed for whale spouts. I was too ashamed to use my crap digital camera for the man next to me had a vintagely beautiful camera. The couple next to me was drinking too much to wine to the point that he was professing his love and she was responding with the fact that one side of her neck was much tighter then the other. Wine maybe an aphrodisiac but it doesn’t make you stupid, if any thing it spurns and spurs creativity.

Lets get out of here before it gets dark and the magic begins and the illusion continues.

“ If I know its fire why do I let it burn my hand?”

January 22, 2006

windy roads

Sometimes you just need to follow the lion the witch and the wardrobe. I never did see her face but the twists in the road undid the knots in my stomach and straightened my hair. Things were shining and as much as I thought of him I was starting to forget what he meant any more. I pushed him and pulled him to the point that he turned his back on me and jumped off the metaphorical bridge that our relationship had become. I drove over the bridge to look over the edge to see him there flaying and floating below, and maybe I pushed him to this point, so I laugh because it maybe my fault that my love is drowning. Easy enough, run to someone else who is quick to turn his back and jump from the same bridge.

January 19, 2006


Oh the twists and turns a vacation will take you. Expect the unexpected, but then what am I to expect? What am I expecting? She comes like a tornado, a tornado like you’ve never seen before, you don’t know the next turn and the inner turmoil is unfathomable until you can get to the calmest center. I’ll never forget that mirror, I never left the validity but I also never looked back in the mirror. I couldn’t take it, see myself, couldn’t see who the reflection was anymore. So there I was breaking my heart, seven years bad luck, breaking my heart, breaking the mirror. I’d like to tattoo a broken mirror on my whole body. Breaker, heart breaker, addicted to love. Oh to end the breaking, mine, theirs, hers, the looks of hurt are beyond the importance and its snowing, angels, hearts, snow balls and angels.

January 12, 2006


I slept for hours 11 of them and woke up to bi lingual cartoons and paper bag crinkling. The sounds of my home, I couldn’t tell if it was my mother or my father, their love has deepened to the point of one sound. I turned on the computer to catch the newness of blogs and otherwise, the icons jumping for attention as they clue in, there was nothing, do I not read enough? Do I not write enough? The pictures tell my recent tale, I drink enough. The cleaning lady shows, I wish I could close my door with my mind instead my mother comes into to take a nap while they clean the rest of the house, I turn off my secret friend and watch unsolved mysteries. It used to scare me as a child but I was addicted at an early age and now I try to catch to episodes between classes and in the hot comfort of my home bed. Through her snoring I read my book of angels and teacup hearts while Robert Stack’s familiar voice narrated tragedies. My book brings new freedom, I want to dance more, to those songs I downloaded but have never heard of, they must have some kind of dancing worthy meaning, I want to go on a run and spin in circles with my face turned towards the sun. Choosing happiness because I can’t have everything I want, molding what I’ve got and saying I love you to friends who matter. She caught me off guard and I had to ask her to repeat herself, “I love you” and she laughed, I reciprocated. They are surprising me but they aren’t going away, they aren’t trading me in for an older version of myself and I am slowly finding solace in the fact that they are my friends when I feel like I have none.

January 10, 2006


I need songs with so much screaming meaning I cant hear them, I need endless roads with views and cliffs, I need bright days with scalding sun, I need hungry lips with no attachment, I need feather beds with piles of heavy blankets, I need the blue flashing of television in my dreams, I need a warm chest and butterflies in my stomach, I need to dance and run so fast no one can catch me, I need phone calls that end in tears, I need smiles and hugs more then I need those tears, I need books that talk of the city of angels, I need direction with out pushing and I need to find someone, myself.

January 06, 2006


As I stare out the window the world has become upside down just like the way I feel. The stars are on the ground, the lights that light the cities look like stars and I feel like the contents of an emptied purse, scattered, torn and broken. Holding on to everything that has let me go and let me down and running from anyone with open arms. I can see my faults they are plain as a vanilla milkshake, my cuts do not heal and I feel sinister and not holy at all. I want to run away on roller skates and never return to anything familiar. I’ve been reading books about drug addicts and I feel like I’m coming down off their drugs so slowly and so slowly. I find myself writing the way I dance, in the car when I choreograph to songs on the radio that I don’t know the words to, I use repetition for emphasis for memory logging as my memory comes and goes I can only imagine those watching, those reading need the repetition as much as I feel I do.

January 03, 2006

i should be dying for someones sins

Last night I got extremely drunk because it was the ex’s birthday and his new lady friend was having a party for him. I sent him a couple suggestive text messages in both Spanish and English, knowing she would read them, she called my cell phone when he wasn’t around and left some kind of message saying not to call him anymore or write him text messages, so I called her back and she got extremely angry saying that she has a son and her mother was in town, oh yeah shes 41 and hes 23 and it was much too late to be calling and I apologized kindly and said I was under the impression you wanted me to call you back. Then she started to get a nasty to me about not calling him anymore and how they were all laughing at my text messages so I proceded to ask her if she liked the fact that she was twice everyones age there, I don’t think that got a response so then I asked her how it is having fake tits and fake hair? She hung up after that, but really I am skeptical of a woman who hangs out with people 20 years younger then her, however if she hangs out with the ex she must be pretty cool because he is but she sounds crazy to me, taking my number out of his phone, monitoring his calls and text messages. Anyway on to me being crazy… so after the phone call I decided I wanted to go to this club in Miami called the opium garden so we walked about 10 blocks and never found it, this made my other ex boyfriend who I am here with very angry then when we were walking back I started pulling on all the door handles of the parked cars, he didn’t like that either. At some point he left and I wanted to get on a tractor that was doing some remodeling, I really wanted to steal a vehicle in my drunkenness, I guess climbing over the fence I cut my hand, it looked like a stigmata to me and I desperately needed the other side cut to match but had no knife I asked about every person we passed if they had a knife, not one admitted to it if they did so then I decided next best thing; ill burn it with a cigarette the waiter gave me, its didn’t really work there is only a small mark there now, so then I found a bottle and broke it and tried to cut myself on that while I was on the phone getting details about that woman from my old roommate who went to the “party”. I really wanted this stigmata thing, im not really sure why but I only have half a stigmata now which I just silly, I even tried to show the cab driver that I was jesus, then we got home all of us were in a huge fight I poured alcohol on my cut and the guy im here with started crying cause he loves me or something, all in all the evening was awful, awfully drunk.