Thursday, August 21, 2014

margueaux had eaten and regurgitated
a sweet slug found by the fire
it lived, inexplicably
then i held it, its trail
left behind and so difficult to wash
from my palm
that long sleep caused me
distressing reality
tough to separate.

Wednesday, August 6, 2014

the cry thing is so swift, so immediate.

it seems embarassing at movies with someone i don't know

but draws me closer to someone that i'm dating
yeah, i am an easy cry


sky grey bottle by my hand reading about familial impossibility, sadness, but there's strength in that when the difficulty is realized. told my coworker yesterday that her self awareness was impressive and she seemed surprised. post relationship many things become apparent. it's easy to lose yourself,  or ignore certain things, when in the midst of caring deeply about someone else.

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

~from like six months ago~
sometimes it's really easy to forget about unhappiness, when the sun is out, or there is work to be done, or just because almost everything everywhere is humorous. even crying in a mexican restaurant only lasted for about 2 minutes because the bathroom made me laugh. but then i read someone's sadness while listening to someone else's sadness and could understand why despair is called a pit and being inside it almost feels comforting because the dirt is really cold.

Life Is A Bitch- Fish Tank

the end of a film in which a mother and daughter have such a negative interaction but the connection is just for a second ok

Thursday, June 6, 2013

sketchbook bits

"can feel my brain flipping between modes"

"was jesus was leading the way?"

"i think the dream began with a degenerative disease"

"reading in flight magazine and desolation angels. both make me feel restless"

"could we be happy? i'd love to find that again"

"i really want this to happen but i'm not going to push it"

"could study aspects of remorse- maybe after lies, robberies, or murders"

"i still can't shake the visual of crawling across that courtyard with a self induced wound"

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

i cry so easily that sometimes when tears well i think "maybe the sadness is always there just waiting to come out" even though if someone asked, i would say "i'm happy".

Sunday, September 16, 2012

bits from the spring- maybe tweet ideas?

-Backyard daytime and we're discussing potential.

-Earlier talking about circle jerks I couldn't remember if dudes were jerking themselves off or each other.

-When we were coming down the ladder earlier I thought I might fall but he held me.

-The laundry room was cute then awkward.

Saturday, May 12, 2012

from the last two months, i think, but i'm not sure why or when.

Friday, March 23, 2012

i was reading a book today that i really liked as soon as i flipped open to page 24 or whatever, called notes from underground by eric bogosian. he said something about enjoying smoking cigarettes alone, late at night, because he could hear the tobacco sizzle. that made me think about the first time i realized i appreciated that noise, when i was seeing a boy that didn't like me as much as i liked him, but we both liked smoking cigarettes in bed and drinking beer on the roof and that seemed to be enough for a short period of time. there were few actual connections other than that but i think i imagined that there were, some "deep" conversation; maybe just being bummed about life sometimes seemed like enough.

Sunday, March 4, 2012

trolling the archives

man, some of this is ridiculous:

The dread in Steve's stomach, a slow ache and turmoil, increased as he sat down in the cold brightness of the waiting room. He decided to sign up for the new procedure as soon as Karen took the last of her costumes from the basement. She said she was going on tour with her performance art outfit but he knew better. She wasn't coming back.

from june 2011

I heard this rapid knocking on the door, and I thought- "My pizza usually takes 35 minutes to get here".

I hadn't even gotten a call. Once I opened the door, though, there was a dour stranger standing on the sidewalk in front of my house with no food in hand. She gestured towards the end of the block, and then I remembered her sitting on the American flag bench at the corner, knitting incessantly and never making eye contact. Her dogs always looked unhappy. She seemed to resent my presence, my lack of interest in neighborhood gossip or events. Her face was bland, worn, rundown by a lifetime of relying on the discouraging familiar, and her grandchildren screamed in the street.

There was a weird pause where I waited for her to talk and she waited for me to welcome her in, or make some kind of generous remark. I'm not good with chats. I just stood there. Finally, she said, "Have any of youse been next door in that lot?"

Pause. I got worried, thought I'd done something wrong. "No, not since I brought my bike back inside".

She rearranged her face in this extraordinary way; the wrinkles beside her eyes curved upwards and her eyebrows became sympathetic. Her mouth softened from a tight purse to something almost like a smile.

"I seen this little ball of fluff nexta the house the other day. Mom musta ditched him or something. I been bringing food and water by the last few days but he disappeared. You seen a cat hanging around your yard?"

I stepped down on the stoop and closed the door to hold in the air. "Yeah, there are always cats in the backyard. They've been messing with our tomatoes."

She shifted, apparent concern on her face. " I dunno where that little one went. I been bringing him food all the time. Mom wasn't around, so I was worried. Wasn't sure if you seen him over around the corner. Such a tiny thing, like just born."

She peered around the corner into the gravel and weed patch that was next to my house, checking to make sure the desolate area was vacant.

"Anyhow, just wondering if you saw him or anything. I know you have those cats, you're out here all the time, tryna to find out if he's ok."

This neighborhood breeds people with tough skin, people thinking the newcomer is something to overcome, or reject. I wished I could help, only because it would endear me to them or paint a stripe of acceptance on my door, or something.

Instead, I made a sympathetic sound, a generic response to the thought of a cute abandoned animal, said, "I'll keep an eye out! Good luck!" and re-entered my air-conditioned home with my indoor animals and wireless internet and solid deadbolt to block off the people outside.

being super dramatic, from 7/2011

i'm waiting for the birds to let me know that everything's ok, but it's discordant and hot, and nothing's right. my heartbeat is arrhythmic, with no point of reference, no stability. i used to have a foundation.

Thursday, February 2, 2012

things that don't feel ok:

the base of my neck, top of my spinal cord, whatever. i wake up rested, or depleted, it doesn't matter. still a pointer finger driven into that tender spot below what i think is my occipital bone?

Monday, January 30, 2012

i looked in my kitchen menu drawer and said out loud nothing is good which made me want to collapse but the floor was very cold so i just shook my head, hard, and ordered a pizza with three toppings.


the curtains are white but heavy enough that the sun didn't feel quite so oppressive still i like that now the lamp is brighter than whatever's outside. there are a few things i've thought of doing, physical movements, like taking off my tights to make my toes stop hurting but instead just elevated my feet. i was going to walk upstairs to get a book i like reading sometimes but there are excerpts and other essays online written by the same person so i opened a bunch of tabs and scrolled through kinda quickly only stopping to read for real when a phrase caught my eye. the internet makes me a bad reader. inundation of material. i made a few lists: "things that are weird", "things i've learned", and "places on my body that feel wrong", the first two being (surprisingly, unsurprisingly) short and the last of which turned into a meditative state in an attempt to usher out tension. unsuccessful.

Friday, January 20, 2012

someone special's keeping me warm

coco bean

Friday, December 30, 2011

sometimes the internet.

(Photo: Cassie Cummins)

“Oh you remember? The last time we came here I forgot my purse. “
“I know, I grabbed it for you on the way back to the train.”
“What is this? Is this art? Is this a plant, or what?“
“I think it’s art. My grandson made something like this. I don’t think it was growing though. Might have been plastic or painted wood? I forgot my glasses that night and didn’t want anyone to know. The opening was much too crowded, couldn’t get that close anyhow.”
“This one’s growing, though. It’s like those ones Barb has in her front yard. Ficus? No, that’s not it. The ones she treats like her children. Can you believe she cried that early frost?”
“She’ll cry at the drop of a hat.”
“And I’m the fool for crying when Jean and the kids visit! It was just that one time, you know.”
“She’s just jealous; her family never visits. It’s a stretch even getting Patricia out here from the city, and you know they’ve always been close. Swear to god when I met them thought they were twins. “
“They don’t look anything alike!”
“It’s the eyes. “
“Oh, I see that”.
“Did Joe say he was going to pick us up here? I’m not taking the subway.”
“Who knows. I can call, but, you know.. the game.”
“It’s always the game. We can get a cab.”

Monday, December 5, 2011


Tuesday, November 29, 2011