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find some time for comfort inside [22 Jul 2010|11:50pm]
I feel like writing and I heard on the news that this is the place to do it. 
Too bad everything I say will be selfish and contrived. 
I wasn't always like that. 
I used to like the things I wrote.
And I wrote often.




Well.


I once lived in an apartment building. It's number one job I think was to deplete my body of any trace of my soul. I lost half of my vocabulary during that year and nearly all of everything else that I liked about myself (i told you this was going to be selfish and contrived). The walls of that place never once said anything back to me when I whispered whys and whens through the night. The bathroom steamed up and suffocated more than it glowed. The carpet gave me rug burns and the kitchen sink puckered my skin. The closet smelled like shit and the hallway blinked when it looked me in the eye. The television turned me yellow and my bedroom turned me black. 

What was that I used to say about never looking back?


I'm glad I live in this house now. I'm glad this house works well for me, and that the sun beams through our papery curtains, illuminating tiny specks of dust traveling from floor to ceiling and back. I just wish I didn't always have to try and change things.

"Hey, baby, you will. You'll live. 
Hey, hey, baby, you will. You'll give it a try.
This town wasn't made for you,
it wasn't made for me, too.
But let's put it on, just for a while."


Does everything always have to end with a "balkjfdlkjsflkejhsf" for me?
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[19 May 2010|02:48pm]

 down the wind,
they blinked.
ancient parade stopped dead,
a thousand animals in congregation rumbled to be set free.
mandrill-ape,
butcher bird,
animals so dire and fierce
they flew through mind,
time,
outerspace.
a wall of teeth
grinned and swallowed
imagination and fear.
left, were we,
ripe with the bleeding of a beggar.




I.
smell the wilderness,
 
full of trees,
 
autumn was here.


II.
against a cool wind
 
the day was gone-
 
from under each tree and spread.
 
old man almost
 
banged castle doors,
 
tromping clover.


 
III.
 
wade in it,
 
stream and creek,
 
that dank cellar
 
and the night wind--
 
allez-oop.
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don't you just want to run through this place? [19 Mar 2010|06:07pm]
vast

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[17 Mar 2010|08:24pm]
Sometimes I get so sad
Sometimes you just make me mad

It's a sad and beautiful world
It's a sad and beautiful world

Sometimes I just won't go
Sometimes I can't say 'no'

It's a sad and beautiful world
It's a sad and beautiful world

Sometimes days go speeding past
Sometimes this one seems like the last

It's a sad and beautiful world
It's a sad and beautiful world
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i had this dream july 13th 2005 [23 Feb 2010|11:48pm]
We only drank the Rolling Rock because it was FREE.


"I usually am the girl to sit and tell herself that she's "getting carried away with these ideas popping up left and right" and to "stop fooling yourself" when conditions just are too grim to even be seemingly optimistic. I usually like to just be floating, in whatever world I wish I was in, and stay there until someone comes to pull me down to the real earth for a little.

Until I read this story about my head and my heart and it made more sense to me than most other things. I sat along the sand in a place I knew, but had no idea of all at once. There was water, there was no sun, and up in the sky a million stars sat with me and kept me company. I didn't mind about whatever else anyone wanted to throw at me, what anyone felt like thinking and I just figured it was okay that people are allowed to think their own things and maybe even if they're bad they are still their things to think.

So I got up from the sand that now coated my legs and toes and walked down further to where there was rocks that jutted out towards the water. I slipped and slipped on almost every slimy rock i jumped on to, as the rain started happening and making this situation a little less safe, but a lot more beautiful. Before I knew what else to do I dove off the rocks, my head and hair numbing instantly from the cold, and sunk into the black water. After swimming under the crests of the waves for what seemed like hours and years and bags of popcorn, I ended up swimming through a lit-up hole into a clearing in the woods where water didn't exist in oceanic amounts. I sat there in the clearing, still soaking wet, and lay on the grassy bed just looking at the clouds and the shapes of the branches and leaves against the pale blue canvas. I kept looking, and wondering, until the next thing I knew I was being engulfed by a huge bubble and taken upwards towards the microphone, the arm chair, and the dilapitated kitten I saw floating in the sky. To my right is another bubble, definitely round yet a little bigger than mine, for its cargo is not my size. We look up through the bubbles as the sun gets closer and closer and melt through a cloud, where everything is hazey and unknown again for a few seconds. As we pass through the cloud expecting to witness more of the sky, we instead land ourselves in 2 chairs at a table in a bar. Holding a bottle of Rolling Rock each, we look down at them and pull out the flowers growing from the bottles' neck. Quite confused and without any exchange of words I find his flower in my hair, and mine in his pocket. And we sit and sip.

So with the sipping, the sitting and the everlasting feeling that something in life was right we walked through the doors and into the night. There was spinning, and there was wondering beyond belief. There were surprises everywhere, knocking on death's door, there was trouble causing and trouble evading... and in the end there was still unknown.

But that's not why I didn't want to wake up."
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[23 Feb 2010|02:52am]
the tree-lined streets i drive down and up every day actually looked tree-lined today. the snow weighed down and wet the branches with new form and what seems like calibration. white, wet monsters of heft and felt, sagging happily as i slip and slide to each place i've been before.


i blink blink a lot lately. the way i blink when tony tunes his drums. or the way i blink when bright light hits the snow, reflects, and then hits me. maybe my eyes are turning a lighter shade of something. whatever color they are, or were, anyway. sometimes in the summer, or whenever the sun is really beaming out some rays, they turn green-oh-green. like grass-stain-green. or wilted-bamboo-green. kind of a sad color. and in the dark they're just as dark as everything around me. and in the low lamplight i love they're no color at all.

enough about eyes.
my eyes don't cry no more, oh oh.


hammerhill
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discovering discoveries and natural noodles! [23 Jan 2010|02:46am]
 the new live journal layout experience is freaking me out!
i can't figure out how to add my animal background that i love so much, or even how to tell it i'm not partial to the font it chose for me.

plus, i don't have any literature from friends to read during my lazy wanderings.
should i just call everyone i know and ask them to please be writers?
or maybe just to pretend for the rest of their live-long-lives?

that's probably selfish. and everyone knows that shellfish are the new selfish. 




be my friend and tell me things that are real, please!
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help me turn my brain off [19 Jan 2010|06:50pm]
 i ate my soul for breakfast last week and shit it out today.
so how to make a wonderful something out of dookie, is what i'm pondering.

i've been listening to songs in my head and on the wavelengths of the breeze.

we have to bring puppy back to the humane society.
he's ruined? his brain is broken?
he wants to chew us up?
i don't know what to tell them because it's all very surreal.
a nightmare that has invaded our wide-awake-all-the-time.


murmurs from merle
a reflection in the creek
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cichlids [08 Jan 2010|04:57am]
 I can't say anything when people ask me to say whatEVER.

Sometimes people tell me I'm groovy with music and I laugh because I have no idea what I'm doing.. 
besides what I want to be doing.
Mostly.
Or not at all.


I have guts, they're just in the broiler under pounds of bread and potatoes.
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