HAPPY 97TH POST!

the cat hates the computer
especially now that it gets
INTERNET!!!!!!!1!!!!!!!!!!
it has taken her lap space
her petting time
her constant adoration
chewing the cords to shreds
only gets punishment and
new cords (is there an endless supply of these things?!)
sitting on top doesn't work
she hasn't quite figured out
how to pin the human
for now she will use the deadly weapon
ANNOYANCE!!!!11!!!!!!1!!!
the kitchen counters are hers to roam
the door frames, hers to scratch
the ipod ear buds will not last long
the paper will soon be confetti
poos will reek through the house
human yelling and threatening postures
will only delay the inevitable
household domination
you cannot stop the cat

Happy 97 posts of reading (it's a long boring story about why I'm not celebrating 100 posts, but just believe that I'm... eccentric). I hope you are enjoying your time here. If not, I still hope you keep coming back. Cheers!

the wave before the world turns red

ride the pms wave
let the emotions flow
give them their venue
frustration
anger
sadness
i'll be sure to project them
on to you
or maybe on to her
what is hormonal
what is exhaustion
what is real
the wave is cresting
inviting
let it pull you
toward the shore

Hope y'all have a good day. I'm ready for a day off already.

good morning

the morning rush.
that last snooze
not necessary
it felt so good
the gym will have to wait.
tomorrow.
definitely tomorrow.

I need to figure out a better way to get my ass out of bed.

capturing time

scan the photographs into the circuitry.
the final way to preserve our past.
how?
who cares. they will be there forever.
a click's distance away.
waiting. waiting. waiting
for the day boredom takes over
or tragedy or anxiety
or any of the myriad emotions that pull us,
distract us.
waiting. waiting. watching
the memory corrupt,
the lines blur.
waiting. waiting. while
new memories crowd in,
forgotten moments ask for recovery.
waiting. waiting. whispering
to each other.
sharing their joys and their boredom and their fears across times.
waiting. waiting. waiting
for the memory keeper
to keep entropy at bay.

I don't have much to say about this. I'm not sure where it came from.

the hair on your face

you seriously have to do something about your eyebrows.

what?

they are so distracting. i'm sitting here. i'm trying to listen to what you have to say, but all i can focus on is EYEBROWS EYEBROWS EYEBROWS.

how are my eyebrows distracting? i don't even notice them.

that's obvious. those things are practically alive, and they are taking over your face. you need to get waxed.

i'm not getting waxed.

well, pluck then.

no. i'm not getting waxed or plucking or shaving. do people even shave their eyebrows?

yes, but you need to figure something out. i don't think i can hang out with you and your two friends. they are almost touching your lashes. in a week or so, you'll be able to braid them together and never blink again.

gross.

that's my point.

dude. i'm not going to ...

shut up with "i'm not going to". it's not an option. personal grooming is very important.

i know it is, but that kind of stuff is optional.

not for you it isn't. it's not like your the only one out there. man-scaping is the new thing. masculine and clean. plus you have great eyes. why hide them behind an ever growing forest of hair?

... thanks?

when was the last time you had a date?

couple of weeks ago.

how did it go?

short.

when was the last time you slept with someone?

uh...

okay. we're going to my waxer. he's quick. relatively painless. though you're a virgin so it might not...

i'm not a

at waxing! anyway. he's great. not too expensive, and if he can't stop your brows from conquering your face, then ... i don't know. i guess the next step is prayer.

i still don't think this is a good idea. i ...

why?

because it's not natural.

you are not a hippie.

no. but

don't be afraid. look you are well kempt with your clothes and hair and all that. you're teetering on full on metrosexual anyway; you might as well match the brows to the style, right?

i guess. will you ... go with me?

honey, i wouldn't miss it. i've never seen real magic before; this might be my only chance.

I think I'm going to go check my brows now. Thanks to KF & RI for the inspiration for this. Quick question: what gender do you think these characters are (if any)?

clues to our thoughts

churning
positive processing
the fat cat stares
not at me

it is late
time for bed
hoping for a quiet brain
dream processes
waking to the new
the past
redone

dancing through the
twirls
looking for that
one
clear
way
even if the oasis lasts
but a moment

Something is processing in my brain.

crazy

She came down the stairs to her father lecturing her brother again on how lazy he was and how he'd never make it anywhere. Couldn't he find anything else to worry about? He never spent that kind of time on her. She was fine. Her grades were high. They (mostly) approved of her friends. Nothing to focus on. If only they would notice her. The waiting was hard. Hoping for the question to be real. "How are you?" She wanted that and feared that. It was almost a guarantee that she would fall apart then; burst like the delicate bubble she really was. It was also almost a guarantee that it would never happen, and she couldn't cry unprovoked. Not now.

"Dad, can't you find something else to do before dinner?"

They would wonder why she would leave. They would wonder why she never seemed to want to come home. She would go through an entire lifetime in the next ten years that all of this school wouldn't prepare her for. Hopefully, she would survive it. Something was there inside, knocking, begging for her attention. Not the time to look directly at it. Just a few more months of listening to it call her. It was just not something she could let out until she was gone. Too risky to let loose here.

I guess this is the sister response to this. The title is about the confusion, a personal feeling. Also, it rhymes.

lazy

He flopped his head onto the sofa cushion. His father could be so annoying. He started counting the dots on the ceiling. Then the drips on the windowsill. Then the number of times Dad said the word "lazy". Mom would call them for dinner in a minute, and it would be a 30 second wrap up of how he wasn't using his full potential. Then dinner. If he could wolf down his plate before Mom noticed enough to caution, "Slow down," he bet he could be back in his room in 20 minutes. Lock the door, turn up the music on his Ipod, and lay perfectly still. They'd leave him alone. Probably sighing their parental confusion-disappointment. Where had they gone wrong? It was when they forgot that children don't want to be their parents. At least not until they become them. They just didn't understand. Old and out of it. If they only knew what he was going through, they'd leave him alone. They didn't care though. WAY to wrapped up in their own plans for him. Dad had reached 25 lazy's. And there was Mom. He should start setting his watch to this. Here's the big finish.

"You could learn a thing or two from your sister. She has drive. She has passion. A future."

He knew that. He also knew that she was lucky. Or blessed. Everything was clear for her, only a matter of stepping on that road and keeping one foot in front of the other. If only he could have just a little bit of that. Life would be so much easier.

I wrote most of this looking at the ceiling. Mine has no dots to count.

the mta is the uber-taint

i think the mta is a bunch of sadistic fucks.

you and everyone else.

the alerts they send are either annoying or not useful.

yes.

and i can't tell you how many days i've rushed out of my house when i wanted to sleep a little longer just to end up standing on a platform for forever and end up late to work anyway.

me too.

if i'm going to be late, i'd rather get the sleep.

but you wouldn't have the good excuse.

true. (pause) and the fare increases! what the fuck? i'm going to have to pay more to get crappier service.

i know.

i'm getting a bike. i'm just going to ride to work. all the other hipsters are doing it. i'll take the train when the weather sucks.

which for you is any time it's below 50.

i'll get use to it.

sure.

why can't it just work the way i want it to!

Well, I had a shitty commute this morning. How are you doing?

and miles to go

plan to learn time management
as in setting aside some for me
months begin open
quickly overfill and leave me exhausted

looking today there is little time left
for cleaning
for cuddling
for rest

may will come with the same promise
that i won't give it space to fulfill

the moment that i stop
what will happen
the moment that i don't
what will happen
the moment that i decline
what will happen
the moment
that i
sit still

I'm ready for the summer. Maybe I'll be able to really grab some time for myself then.

the unarrived guest

leave the mess and lay on the couch
scratch the kitten's belly

unhide the computer
surf the web
post this poem

my house is mine again

bare feet bare arms bare tits bare ass
no need to be decent
with myself

kitten stares
it's time for dvd
cylons won't destroy themselves
but
we could be wrong

I was supposed to have a guest for the next three nights. He found other arrangements. I am happy, because once again I am busy and need my fortress of solitude.

way to wonderland - post six

Ten paces and twenty were accomplished. Could she make it further? I want to walk to town. The bands left her legs, and she tried to walk left and was stopped, the bands back in place. She moved slightly right, and the bands vanished. Town was to the right. At least the bands had some functional use. Her legs moved at an oddly regular pace, on the edge of her control. The joy at accomplishing something larger than a few paces at the time dampened the panic she normally would have known. Body working outside of Mind, there was nothing more frightening. The crest of hill from where the tripod men had appeared waxed and waned under her feet, and the horses pondered the thought that had led her away in such a strange and rhythmic manner. Dipping toward the earth, the sun began to stretch the shadows. She walked.

~~~
a summer's morning splashed myriad colors on the stone floor, and lazy notes floated off of the violin and mingled with the scent of cake. the garden strained to look vibrant, knowing it should love the sun, but it longed for rain and grew green at the children racing to shrinking lake. a kitten nearly snatched a mouse. she ran away at her own prowess. the long lady huffed in amusement before dribbling tea on her chin. she wiped her chin and looked left. someone was coming. twelve or thirteen hours away. it would be close, but she could be ready. a cultish girl, older than most. the kitten bounced into her lap for its kisses, and the long lady complied before wrapping it up in her arms and gliding back into the house. the clock would not wait. a quick eye into the oven. four minutes longer. she rinsed out her cup and placed it on top of the breakfast plate in the sink. dishes fell to the end of today’s list. from the pantry cabinet she pulled the large stock pot, and filled it half full with water and dropped in three leaves from the creeping vine that had overcome the kitchen window. this she placed on the stove on high flame and left it to boil.

out in the yard, her long legs stepped over the gate meant for children and dogs and made their way into the depths of the garden. she needed roots and herbs.

Here is post six! What is the lady making? Is it good or bad or neither? Is she even a good cook?! These are things I think the long lady must answer herself. Posts: One, Two, Three, Four, & Five

i may not be pleasant right now

swishing swirling spiraling up and around the spine
fanning out the base and palming the back of the skull
inch fingers forward into the eyes
pulse there
pull up the jaw
press against relaxation
inspire sweet sleep but never give it
darkness
silence
coolness
flow
only these can cure

I had a headache.

something comes

a summer's day splashed myriad colors on the stone floor, and lazy notes floated off of the violin and mingled with the scent of cake. the garden strained to look vibrant, knowing it should love the sun, but it longed for rain and grew green at the children racing to waning lake. a kitten nearly snatched a mouse. she ran away at her own prowess. the long lady huffed in amusement before dribbling tea on her chin. she wiped her chin and looked left. someone was coming. twelve or thirteen hours away. it would be close, but she could be ready. a cultish girl, older than most. the kitten bounced into her lap for its kisses, and the long lady complied before wrapping it up in her arms and gliding back into the house. the clock would not wait.

I just started with a description. I was thinking about stained glass. This will probably be in the Wonderland story. I'm not sure how at the moment, but the story is figuring it out.

blood thieves

racing heartbeat and labored breathing
rising panic
trying to stay in control
trying to stay conscience
though there is something
pleasant
in fainting
peaceful really
for a moment
releasing the stress brought
by the simple
prick of a needle

I have a serious problem with needles. I know where it comes from, and I don't pass out as much as I used to (I don't let myself now that I know the signs). I have a doctor's appointment today, and I'm pretty sure there will be blood taken.

a start

echo the elevated
bouncing off
borinquen buildings

shine the sun
reflecting from
opaque oceans

beat the heart
reverberating through
blithe bodies

I'm stuck here. Not sure how to go from here, which determines some of my where.

why are you surprised?

remember
talent, aptitude, and drive
have consequences
and punishments

make the reward
a job well done
and hope the baggage
flows away

Just something I've been thinking about lately. The piece needs some work, but I wanted to take a stab at it this morning.

oops

jesus christ
i totally forgot
rushing to put
something
anything
out there
this is all i got

I'm getting internet at home today! So now I can do more work on these writings at home. Rather than being sneaky at work.

meeting

It had been years since they had spoken, since they had even seen each other. The old wounds and fears were fresh and present. Today they would try. No big event had brought them together. It was nothing like that. The distrust was still there. Today they would try. Time had passed. Their immaturity finally inspired them to act more adult, and so they reached out. Tentatively. And agreed to meet. The task now was to find a place and a time that was neutral - as much as those things can be.

I wasn't sure what to write, so I decided to make this post and exercise. I opened up a link to an article and just riffed on the title.

progressive in name only

it's interesting to note
when you step out of the matrix
and define human broadly
how much exploitation
can be cramed into
ten minutes

I have to laugh when people say we live in a post-feminist, post-racist, post-classist world. If I didn't laugh, I would most certainly cry.

tiresias of the subway

a midnight ride
bulleting through
the underverse

silent sleepy passengers
awake at an
explosion of poetry

broken
terrifying
cohesive
logical
threatening

the lucky
the scared
disembark

the brave
the defiant
travel on to
final destination

our poet's favorite movie

Last night, on my way home from the opera, our poet had a talent for unnerving me. I was a member of the lucky group.

the way to wonderland - post five

She had stopped listening and was trying to find the right mental phrases to accomplish a ten-step trip down the dirt road. A shiny pebble a few paces down would work. Her thoughts ran quickly through a few phrases. I want to pick up the pebble. I want to stand next to the pebble. I want to walk to the pebble. Success. The bands left her legs until she stood next to the pebble. Her armbands vanished at that point, and she picked it up. Step by tedious step and backwards was how it went. How on earth did those tripod men keep such a pace? You had to have so much information or be able to moment by moment know precisely what you wanted. She wondered if she would be here long enough to learn the tricks and shortcuts that would make life livable. But what about the cult? Her brain was firing and the bands held her still. Focus was what she needed. Another pebble would be helpful. There was one glinting at twenty paces. I want to walk to the pebble. Nothing. Perhaps it wasn’t’ a pebble? I want to walk to the shiny object. Temporary liberation. She must remember: her movements required specificity, but objects could be general.

I did a little bit of work on it last night. I've gotten to the point where I don't know where this story is going anymore. I love that moment, because possibility and creativity can really open up. It does mean that some serious editing is in my future though. Previous posts are here, here, here, and here.