destiny brought us together
you stood on the toilet seat
my mustache
captivated your heart
she had her chance and
if it ends today
its about you
toi et moi
who pulled me off the bed for a dance
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
youth and weekend wars
in the last couple months i take so many trains and busses i forget where im going and which ones will get me to whatever place im calling home at that exact moment. home has withdrawn, become an internal thing. i have found a home inside myself, inside you, inside all of you and so, in fact, home, as a physical place, becomes irrelevant.
he tells me i mind as well be 17 and i couldnt feel closer to this right now. heading to calistoga for a weekend that will inevitably bring up that 17 spirit, that girl i was there, that place can make me feel so different, so alive and stagnant at once, but everythings different now, i have him and more importantly, i have myself. i am not that girl, im alive, completely, and from the tracks ive traipsed around this city, very much moving, not stagnant, not even a little bit.
the mission is alive today, pregnant bellys bursting out of tube tops and people hollering at each other on every street corner, resting languidly on fire hydrants, a picture of inner city, this is an inner city, did you know that? and all the sudden neighborhoods become real and tenants become neighbors and its a different city when its hot. when the paint on the buildings is slick and shiny, oily almost, like foreheads and lips, and so i try to shake everything else off thats weighing me down, i let everyones mood calm me, this hectic boil, this furious fight, we all just feel like we might explode.
on saturday we go to a party in the hills of el sobrante and john is taking us there so my stomach is a little nervous, like right before a big night of partying, that salivating, that expectant wonder, that nauseaous nervousness, like just about anything could happen. we park on the edge of some street, oak hill road, or wildcat canyon, in the country even the street names reflect themselves, they are dark and i have sharp eyes, you can read that?, adjusting to midnight concrete roads into forest and one million stars. we pass people walking in the heat and i feel 17, walking up kortum canyon or sharp road to parties at kierens house where everyone was older, shifting from foot to foot, measuring alcohol by how many words tumbled out anxiously in hesitant corners. its hot enough to just be in my dress and we walk onto the deck which is right pushed up, tucked into thick trees. a light projector shoving thousands of tiny green lights into the night, coating the hillside and night sky with tiny green dots, like fireflies, like gems, like magic. it is incredible and we smoke weed and listen to reggae and meet nice new people and have nice easy conversation. hippy mamas dance with sleeping babies and moondog rolls joints and kisses his men friends on the mouth and when the little kids get too tired they all sleep together in a room at the back of the house, safe and warm. i cant stop looking at his hands, the side of his face, the shape of his ear. he is like brand new to me. unexplored and i want to watch him, distantly, because doesnt everyone fall in love with someone just a little bit more from afar? could that even be possible? more in love? b walks with a cane and john is actually tired, we sit on a ledge built separate from the deck and an older man takes photos, whats he staring at? and we look behind us, the lens zooming in at our easiness with the night, behind us is nothing and everything. we are literally on the edge of it all. at least, for that moment, it feels that way, tiny green dots splintering and spotting our foreheads, dotting whites of our eyes.
im still learning, i realize, i dont actually have anything figured out. i think thats when everything will slip slide away from you, when you think there is some great thing to figure out. we need to stretch and challenge ourselves, our minds, i never want to feel that way i felt again, and i can say that, knowing that i will, that i will be unbendable, i will be scared again. i will be afraid of losing it all. but when we realize we dont have all that we need, not just yet, it seems theres nothing to fear. im still guessing and taking chances, im still messing up and saying things that i shouldnt and always, always, feeling things that are bigger than me, making it hard to hold them in your hands, in your hands, but i know that now. i give myself big points for trying.
he tells me i mind as well be 17 and i couldnt feel closer to this right now. heading to calistoga for a weekend that will inevitably bring up that 17 spirit, that girl i was there, that place can make me feel so different, so alive and stagnant at once, but everythings different now, i have him and more importantly, i have myself. i am not that girl, im alive, completely, and from the tracks ive traipsed around this city, very much moving, not stagnant, not even a little bit.
the mission is alive today, pregnant bellys bursting out of tube tops and people hollering at each other on every street corner, resting languidly on fire hydrants, a picture of inner city, this is an inner city, did you know that? and all the sudden neighborhoods become real and tenants become neighbors and its a different city when its hot. when the paint on the buildings is slick and shiny, oily almost, like foreheads and lips, and so i try to shake everything else off thats weighing me down, i let everyones mood calm me, this hectic boil, this furious fight, we all just feel like we might explode.
on saturday we go to a party in the hills of el sobrante and john is taking us there so my stomach is a little nervous, like right before a big night of partying, that salivating, that expectant wonder, that nauseaous nervousness, like just about anything could happen. we park on the edge of some street, oak hill road, or wildcat canyon, in the country even the street names reflect themselves, they are dark and i have sharp eyes, you can read that?, adjusting to midnight concrete roads into forest and one million stars. we pass people walking in the heat and i feel 17, walking up kortum canyon or sharp road to parties at kierens house where everyone was older, shifting from foot to foot, measuring alcohol by how many words tumbled out anxiously in hesitant corners. its hot enough to just be in my dress and we walk onto the deck which is right pushed up, tucked into thick trees. a light projector shoving thousands of tiny green lights into the night, coating the hillside and night sky with tiny green dots, like fireflies, like gems, like magic. it is incredible and we smoke weed and listen to reggae and meet nice new people and have nice easy conversation. hippy mamas dance with sleeping babies and moondog rolls joints and kisses his men friends on the mouth and when the little kids get too tired they all sleep together in a room at the back of the house, safe and warm. i cant stop looking at his hands, the side of his face, the shape of his ear. he is like brand new to me. unexplored and i want to watch him, distantly, because doesnt everyone fall in love with someone just a little bit more from afar? could that even be possible? more in love? b walks with a cane and john is actually tired, we sit on a ledge built separate from the deck and an older man takes photos, whats he staring at? and we look behind us, the lens zooming in at our easiness with the night, behind us is nothing and everything. we are literally on the edge of it all. at least, for that moment, it feels that way, tiny green dots splintering and spotting our foreheads, dotting whites of our eyes.
im still learning, i realize, i dont actually have anything figured out. i think thats when everything will slip slide away from you, when you think there is some great thing to figure out. we need to stretch and challenge ourselves, our minds, i never want to feel that way i felt again, and i can say that, knowing that i will, that i will be unbendable, i will be scared again. i will be afraid of losing it all. but when we realize we dont have all that we need, not just yet, it seems theres nothing to fear. im still guessing and taking chances, im still messing up and saying things that i shouldnt and always, always, feeling things that are bigger than me, making it hard to hold them in your hands, in your hands, but i know that now. i give myself big points for trying.
Monday, June 29, 2009
tiny insignificance
you dont leave me
napkin notes
post it notes
note notes
anymore
i should have just
pretended i still think of you once in a while
today, it's today right?
lets question everything
or just go
skinny dipping
assumed adventures
while your skin turns
yellow
are you being discreet
or understanding
of both our
feelings
youve got to quit running, man
youre splitting the tip jar,
the velocity of our lives
such a pending
love story
such little white lies
napkin notes
post it notes
note notes
anymore
i should have just
pretended i still think of you once in a while
today, it's today right?
lets question everything
or just go
skinny dipping
assumed adventures
while your skin turns
yellow
are you being discreet
or understanding
of both our
feelings
youve got to quit running, man
youre splitting the tip jar,
the velocity of our lives
such a pending
love story
such little white lies
Friday, June 26, 2009
its not you, its me
san francisco is an artists town
theres no room for writers here
not anymore
and i understand
ive run out of things to say about you too
you used to be my beacon, san francisco
when did you turn all
psycho ex girlfriend on me
when did you
become untrustworthy, such a slut
it would be easier to be an
artist, im thinking
get naked and take a few photos
of myself
and explain how
totally vulnerable i am
how this is me
all tattoos and extra flesh
and sadly, seductive sterile smiles
look at how pretty and creative i am
you think youre so smart
san francisco, im disappointed in you
(imagine my shaking finger)
you promised me things
unspoken
you held me late at night and nursed me,
rocked me
buried a well of security
deep, deep, down
dont you remember?
youre pretty slick, san francisco, in
fact you almost had me fooled
but im not like all those others
those "i like tea and reading and being creative"
bitches
they can suck my dick
i wont be 30 and boring with no stories, SF
why wont you stop telling the
same ones
im (bat, bat lashes) falling asleep
theres no room for writers here
not anymore
and i understand
ive run out of things to say about you too
you used to be my beacon, san francisco
when did you turn all
psycho ex girlfriend on me
when did you
become untrustworthy, such a slut
it would be easier to be an
artist, im thinking
get naked and take a few photos
of myself
and explain how
totally vulnerable i am
how this is me
all tattoos and extra flesh
and sadly, seductive sterile smiles
look at how pretty and creative i am
you think youre so smart
san francisco, im disappointed in you
(imagine my shaking finger)
you promised me things
unspoken
you held me late at night and nursed me,
rocked me
buried a well of security
deep, deep, down
dont you remember?
youre pretty slick, san francisco, in
fact you almost had me fooled
but im not like all those others
those "i like tea and reading and being creative"
bitches
they can suck my dick
i wont be 30 and boring with no stories, SF
why wont you stop telling the
same ones
im (bat, bat lashes) falling asleep
no ones taking showers anymore
i never spent so much time in the library when i was actually in school. the library here feels better. in h's apartment there are too many voices in airshafts and memories, and head swirling silence. i cant sleep past 830 anymore although there are no fire trucks or puppies waking me its just my own self, just me, waking my own body up. and thats how it should be. no one else matters as much.
today, all day, i want to barf. maybe it was the pizza before sleep, maybe it was those three words, vibrating, i miss you, and its a wild goose chase. you spelled her name wrong you know, but dont worry, i found her, flashy hands and its all summer fickle birthday bash barn dance and you make me sick. i think about you this morning, fingers pulling at t shirt, thin nightgown, i rose and lifted higher and higher for you, belly buttons, clean walls, new smells, i was all. most. there. but you can forget it, dont mispronounce my name again, it gets stuck in the back of your throat and you look so ugly i cant bare it.
no one wants to lose their shit in the library, oh lord dont shake me now, no one wants a panic attack, someone rushing to get water, i need fucking water, im yelling, bangs stuck to my forehead and i cant see straight, if im dying how much of my life flashing before my eyes would have you in it, if i cant see your face one more time, ill die, if i see your face ill die, walls close in and the library is swimming, now we are swimming and you, just a distant figure lit up by some lighthouse, some lighthouse pointing away from you, pointing me home.
but really, what am i talking about, talentless bitches running their mouths and i know how i feel better than you do. lets open up the freeways and drive blindfolded, let those car crash dreams come true. we should be reckless with ourselves, our hearts. you were reckless with mine. lets waste hours and drink tea out of our hands and fuck until were the same person and you wont have to remember my name. except for that feeling, some smell, years from now i'll still have you looking over your shoulder on street corners, checking under the bed, for monsters, ghosts, i'll still have you reading my books, mornings you cant leave the house, i cant wait until youre sending me cards still on my birthday, to an old address you have, cause i wont live there anymore.
i cant be blamed for anything anymore. i remove myself from all your bullshit situations and im not ready to talk to you. thanks for calling though, you really ruined my day.
today, all day, i want to barf. maybe it was the pizza before sleep, maybe it was those three words, vibrating, i miss you, and its a wild goose chase. you spelled her name wrong you know, but dont worry, i found her, flashy hands and its all summer fickle birthday bash barn dance and you make me sick. i think about you this morning, fingers pulling at t shirt, thin nightgown, i rose and lifted higher and higher for you, belly buttons, clean walls, new smells, i was all. most. there. but you can forget it, dont mispronounce my name again, it gets stuck in the back of your throat and you look so ugly i cant bare it.
no one wants to lose their shit in the library, oh lord dont shake me now, no one wants a panic attack, someone rushing to get water, i need fucking water, im yelling, bangs stuck to my forehead and i cant see straight, if im dying how much of my life flashing before my eyes would have you in it, if i cant see your face one more time, ill die, if i see your face ill die, walls close in and the library is swimming, now we are swimming and you, just a distant figure lit up by some lighthouse, some lighthouse pointing away from you, pointing me home.
but really, what am i talking about, talentless bitches running their mouths and i know how i feel better than you do. lets open up the freeways and drive blindfolded, let those car crash dreams come true. we should be reckless with ourselves, our hearts. you were reckless with mine. lets waste hours and drink tea out of our hands and fuck until were the same person and you wont have to remember my name. except for that feeling, some smell, years from now i'll still have you looking over your shoulder on street corners, checking under the bed, for monsters, ghosts, i'll still have you reading my books, mornings you cant leave the house, i cant wait until youre sending me cards still on my birthday, to an old address you have, cause i wont live there anymore.
i cant be blamed for anything anymore. i remove myself from all your bullshit situations and im not ready to talk to you. thanks for calling though, you really ruined my day.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
i wish you would have studied spanish
lets have somber conversations about
art and movies
read tropic of cancer on the train
and talk about how utterly brilliant it
is, how organic
you feel
how about, you be a
cardiothoracic surgeon
and ill have a
cast on my foot and fancy x-rays
and well figure out how to
fix each other
its not your job, but
to the pretty girl
it seems inevitable
that you would love her, 9 to 5 her
flea market beauty
ceramic baby scarfing down
sunflowers
look at you, running
with stars on your arm
to the gorgeous brunette whom i thought was a whore on friday night
quit
being pushed around
youre still cheating
bookstores
returning them read
i make great bagels in
mourning
on blossom hill
cant we just
camp underneath surfboards, build
waves on our backs
and in tired dawn
scratch the parts the water touched
art and movies
read tropic of cancer on the train
and talk about how utterly brilliant it
is, how organic
you feel
how about, you be a
cardiothoracic surgeon
and ill have a
cast on my foot and fancy x-rays
and well figure out how to
fix each other
its not your job, but
to the pretty girl
it seems inevitable
that you would love her, 9 to 5 her
flea market beauty
ceramic baby scarfing down
sunflowers
look at you, running
with stars on your arm
to the gorgeous brunette whom i thought was a whore on friday night
quit
being pushed around
youre still cheating
bookstores
returning them read
i make great bagels in
mourning
on blossom hill
cant we just
camp underneath surfboards, build
waves on our backs
and in tired dawn
scratch the parts the water touched
whats mine is mine
this isnt my house and this isnt my music and the tv wont work and the cats not mine and i only know its name because of a letter once written and posted on a fridge "theres a ghost in my bones" and signed, gilbert. and so i call that to the cat down the halls, to the kitchen, these beautiful girls sleeping upstairs, their faces brown and haunting in a house with no art on the walls and no doors. you cant shut out other rooms in this house and its a nice feeling to curl around the doorframe of the office as their mother says goodbye, i feel young, wanted, i feel shy and nervous which i am not so i hug the wood and when she leaves i wander the rooms, the floorboards sqeaking where i dont know they will, rough blankets on the couch, different smells but it feels like a home nonetheless. there is love here. you can feel it. and the only thing i can smile about is the cats name, making me awkward laugh cry because no one likes to smile when their sad.
coco gypsy is dead and buried
between the dried out spaghetti squash
and the tomatoes
i wont get to see turn red
and ripe
a summer like summers are supposed to be
and nothing is the way its supposed to be
i tell my dad
on the phone
bags over shoulders, gripping hands,
slicing pinkies, throw some more weight on top of
me, i can almost breathe
ive managed to shed my skin
all over this city
leaving only new, bright and shiny
gabrielle
and i dont know what to do with her
ive slept in so many beds, none that
are mine
and toilets, bathrooms, kitchens, corners
of hardwood
all become places to hold me
to change, to compose, to
have a moment
because thats all i have right now thats mine
this means im adaptable
according to my research
i am ready to enter kindergarten
i can adjust to non-ideal
situations
but i cant find anyone who wants me
who will keep me
i cant find anywhere to keep my things
not even a car is safe
not even a heart
and so here in this strange house
with no art walls
organic vegetables and thick
wool blankets
and beautiful sleeping girls
i break down
can i just stay here a little longer?
i need a moment
that doesnt move so fast
leaving cuts between my toes
and breath, short,
whiskey dipped
i need a moment to have these tears
they are mine, right?
coco gypsy is dead and buried
between the dried out spaghetti squash
and the tomatoes
i wont get to see turn red
and ripe
a summer like summers are supposed to be
and nothing is the way its supposed to be
i tell my dad
on the phone
bags over shoulders, gripping hands,
slicing pinkies, throw some more weight on top of
me, i can almost breathe
ive managed to shed my skin
all over this city
leaving only new, bright and shiny
gabrielle
and i dont know what to do with her
ive slept in so many beds, none that
are mine
and toilets, bathrooms, kitchens, corners
of hardwood
all become places to hold me
to change, to compose, to
have a moment
because thats all i have right now thats mine
this means im adaptable
according to my research
i am ready to enter kindergarten
i can adjust to non-ideal
situations
but i cant find anyone who wants me
who will keep me
i cant find anywhere to keep my things
not even a car is safe
not even a heart
and so here in this strange house
with no art walls
organic vegetables and thick
wool blankets
and beautiful sleeping girls
i break down
can i just stay here a little longer?
i need a moment
that doesnt move so fast
leaving cuts between my toes
and breath, short,
whiskey dipped
i need a moment to have these tears
they are mine, right?
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