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".

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.

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

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 appreciate 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.

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.

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?

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.

january

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.

someone special's keeping me warm

coco bean

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.”

angelina

hunters

paul kwietkowski

crying.

alice.

maybe when i think my stories are too short i'll just recite them over strums and hushed vocals.

last september/this september

things that i will always love

i made this in ten minutes!

(last day of class, newgold band ring)

8.11.11

i had that dream about the infant, curled on my chest, a sibling not a child of mine. the weight stayed as i struggled to wake and turned into a burden i couldn't shake. i thought there was a cat on me, around me, could feel the pawsteps on the couch behind my head but as i attempted to rid myself of the dream heaviness the movement around me turned sinister and i could feel it trying to enter my body. it wanted to come in at the back of my neck and take me over. the sensation lasted for about 30 seconds while i was unsure of reality or dreamstate. i thought of death and fragility, because i had no control over the negative spirit, but then it broke and i was sweating on my couch with this american life still telling the story of prisoners enacting the last scene of hamlet, which i loved, and i felt invincible again. i'm always "unstoppable" in my waking state, when my mind can be controlled, when i can be distracted so easily from my feelings.