miffy

i've fallen out of habit and i am the paying the consequences of doing so. but things happen in these synchronic loops, seasonal sacred geometry, allusions to religious syncretism. i try to remember everything but i end up lying in bed too heavy. little things, like yelling at my dad, birds in the winter time, estranged eye contact and devotion to the stomach send me back on track.  i keep getting distracted. let me tell you about what i really want. i want a 2 story house with an attic and a basement. i want old wood floors and an ornate fireplace. i want a personal library and a home computer. i want an attic where i can make a guest room with a triangle ceiling and a circle glass window and i can sit on an old couch and smoke inside. i want big couches and turkish glass lamps and oriental rugs and throw pillows with tassels. i don't drink red wine but i want a big rack of it for my friends. i want a queen bed with a feather duvet and 2 cats. i want a kitchen i can bake brea...

Lipstick stained Starbucks cup in the middle of a protest. Tween-y little graphic tees with big logos. I look at her pictures. Girls laughing with their tits out.  I'm so holy with my black coffee in a Pragu bottle- not even, it's Trader Joe's brand marinara- and my thrifted plain clothes. My tan skirt has a hole in it that I keep fingering. My pictures are bad. They're all blurry and dark. I clumsily posed my friends against each other. They smoke cigarettes and look at the camera in contempt. I became a teacher's pet to make up for it. Raising my hand to say, "This reminds me of- what was that photographer? The French child at the turn of the century?" Jacques-Henri Lartigue Jacques-Henri Lartigue Jacques-Henri Lartigue Jacques-Henri Lartigue

"Nick Cade could shoot his arm full of crack and then no change would have occured-" Or something along those lines- Snapped me out of my ants-y-ness- and in three seconds- I thought of my arm, ripped open, heart bursting and bloated, Nan Goldin, and my mother. Blinking back into the lecture, I thought of my career, and then the thin scabbing on my knuckles. Good morning Good morning Good morning Good morning Good morning Algorithmic Communities.  I don't want to write. I want to have sex.  And as you'd think this blog would simply be "brain dumping"- that my streams of consciousness are ever flowing and all exposed, I cannot bring myself to sum up the achey and sopping mess thats been occupying my brain into any productive poet speak. I have already told you, or someone has told you better, or perhaps you don't deserve to know, or I can't open that up to you yet. I've been obsessive about the ecstasy of my physical form. I mull over fantasies, I...

lately, strangely, i've been very aware of my hands. and at night i find them weaving through my own hair, caressing my own skin. petting myself, cooing myself. it makes me sad, sad in a triumphant way. the only way you could interrupt my safety would be to cut off my own fingers, and i would still find a way to rub my cheek against my shoulder, enjoy the touch of love, my own love. cowgirl, sing yourself to sleep.

there's been a fly that's been bothering the apartment. i've chased it out of the kitchen every morning for it to come back every night. this morning, i saw it in the hallway, so i carefully crouched down to slowly roll up a sheet of paper into a baton, and i crept into the hallway, so gently that i rested a hand on the corner of the wall, and so slowly reached to the fly. and then i swung, and watched it lifelessly fall to the ground. and instantly i felt a horrible feeling in my gut. and i walked past it, it lying on the ground, me refusing to look down at it, and i continued to walk past and slide into my room. where i sat, feeling strange, and ultimately carrying on with my day, until right now, where i chose to think of it again, so we could think of it together.  i'm going to tell you a story. on planet utopia there's a country run by puppy dogs and every year they have the puppy dog parade. and the puppy dog parade is the cutest sweetest celebration of life t...

sometimes i go outside and everyone looks ugly.  i can't imagine what it was like learning that the world was rotating. that the ground below you has been moving in ancient intricate patterns. scientists spending life times dedicated to learning unspecified paths of planetary wandering. no one would have even known unless someone asked a question. and no one will be able to change how the planets spin with this new information. we all just know now. we can plan better for the sun rising at breakfast. i was drunk in a bar throwing back vodka cranberries. suddenly my friend's roommate who i took as mousy had lioness sensual prowess. i wanted to touch her arm. the girl in class who i thought had awkward posture, on a second glance, now lounges back with a cool aloofness. i sit in lecture itching wondering what her lips look like sipping on frothy espresso. the guy who i took as a loser smiles to himself and now i understand why his girlfriend thinks he's charming. its funny ho...