Where do I belong?

In the ground, little bird.

You have nothing to offer this world, so quit trying.

I keep getting out of bed in the morning, at 6, somehow.

It gets done. I'm getting a belly and I'm beginning to get varicose veins in my hands.

I keep hoping I can smooth them out again to no avail.

The more I look at this, the more I wonder if I'm a sacrificial lamb instead of an apprentice.

Cross your fingers for me and hope it's not a cross I'll be nailed to.

I miss the Island.

I've missed so many moments wrapped up in what I shouldn't be.

Spinning my hot wheels cars into the nearest wall and as I'm picking up the pieces of the wreckage, I'm told I needn't have driven in the first place.

Don't scoff at the fact that I whipped out a highlighter. I wanted to make sure I got the story right. When you scoffed, I panicked and I just wrote. and wrote. and it came out, All. wrong.

Thanks.

Thanks.

Thanks.

A 'Thanks' dealt on autopilot feels worse then nothing at all.

A moment of melodrama brought to you by your not-so-local something or other.

I say so seriously, I have no idea who I am anymore.

Who are you?

Someone's got to be someone around here.

I saw All the President's Men for my first time last night.

I'm not kidding; I'm that much of a loser that I've only just seen All the President's Men.

It was. fucking. gold with a side of opals.

FIREHANDS

Garhob

I don't know what that means, but I like it.

When I thought what a "garhob" would be, I decided that it was probably a loogie, but the kind that one gets when they are developing a sinus infection.

Have you ever put your garhob on a plate and poked your finger into the center of it in order to test how solid its core is?

Of course you haven't.

--

Dear God and Jesus and Frank Sinatra,

I deleted my myspace last month in a fit of unchecked paranoia and anxiety.

I have also, in the process, probably deleted some of my writing that I will never be able to get back.

This is self-mutilation and it's not cute.

Okay guys, let's place bets on if I make it where I'm hoping to or if I succumb to the pressure of the overpopulated universe.

I think I'll sit this bet out.

--

Recently I finally learned how to play blackjack because I was able to do so on a video game (Fallout: New Vegas) and thus I was able to learn without anyone watching me.

This is why reading is so wonderful.

Because you get to learn the entire time that you're reading (if it's any good) and if anyone looks at you, they can't judge you for being stupid because they feel stupid because they are not reading and can therefore suck all the dicks in Texas.

(Insert either mean joke about how guys in texas are huge dicks or flattering joke about how guys in texas have huge dicks)

Something like that.

Really, none of that is true, but I do understand more about blackjack.

Hit me again

(that'swhatshesaid)

--

It's 2 am and I have chewed all of my fingernails off and am more nervous than ever.

I hope tomorrow is nicer and I wish that I had a friend so that I could stop awkwardly reaching out to people that I like and either alienating them in the process or making myself look like a huge fool.

Apparently I used to be cool.

What the fuck happened, man?

--

REMIND ME TO OPEN AN IRA ACCOUNT.

This woman told me that if I do this, then one day even I can retire.

Wouldn't that be nice?

This

So yesterday there was Hurricane Irene and I didn't take many photographs aside from Eric on the bluffs, watching the waves.

Aside from a facelift for the trees, a couple power lines, a post, and a bit of corn, our little piece of Long Island seems to have been spared for the most part.

I spent the morning watching TV between sets of the power cutting out. Watching TV is something that I almost never do and yet it taught me a whole lot.

I watched an hour or so of some reality TV show (I know, that surprised me too)

And an hour or so of "The Sopranos."

I am nearly finished with buying DVDs, however, the Sopranos box set would be a pretty great thing to own.

One of the episodes that we watched was the one where Anthony Jr. goes to whack Uncle Jr. with the knife and he gets caught and Tony picks him up from the police station.

He puts all of his therapy to the test and he tells his son that he loves him and is proud of him and he holds back from hitting him out of frustration and the exchange between Anthony Jr. about "The Godfather" was incredibly powerful to me.

That show is just art all the way through and powerful commentary about the schisms occurring in the gangster universe.

Going through your life with your principles intact is a very difficult fucking thing to do.

I have the utmost respect for those that are continuing to stick to their guns, while also questioning exactly which guns should be stuck to.

Here is a literal example:

In the video game, Fallout: New Vegas, that I am playing right now, despite the fact that I have around 15 types of weapons, I nearly ALWAYS use my .357 magnum revolver and "That gun," a 5.56mm pistol.

This is a girl who sticks to her guns.

--

My recent social faux pas incited me to seek the help of a therapist. I feel remorse for the way that I've handled the situation. I would like someone to help me learn how to deal with my anxiety without relying on any crutches and at the same time know how to more appropriately connect and share with others.

This is a good start.

--

This morning I drove to the outlet mall in order to get shoes that don't make me stand out so much at my place of occupation. I also bought a blue dress for 26.99 that fits me very well, so long as I don't gain weight or let it shrink too much.

This will be a challenge.

--

Last night I took a big spider with big, black fuzzy fangs from the pillow that I was about to lay my head on, into a glass, and outside so that he could continue to live, unharmed.

I also talked to my boyfriend about my past and I cried and it felt really good to cry.

It also felt really good to hear that it was all going to be okay.

Everyone needs to hear that sometimes.

He told me that I am an angel and that I have a really big heart.

For an upfront and honest person, I have had a very difficult time of both asking for help when needed and for sharing my feelings.

Sometimes when you share with others that you are feeling hurt, it is interpreted as weakness, usually by those who are weak themselves.

Lucky for me, I am not actually a weak person. (I just play one on TV)

I have soft insides (who doesn't), however the road to their innards is shielded in steel and lined with proximity mines all the way to the core.

And each time that you trip one of those mines, your journey there gets all the harder.

I am re-learning to not be afraid of anybody, while also moving past thinking that I can peg a complete stranger just from meeting them for a few minutes, a day, a week, or even a year.

Anyone who thinks that they are a "good judge of character" or can do this kind of thing are mostly misguided and missing out on truly learning about somebody by thinking that they "already know" who they are.

You don't -really- know Jack. (Or Mary, Bob, or Peter)

Most people are not who they represent themselves to be (I am a huge fan of those few out there who are. You are truly men among mice) and if you are reading too far into a stranger from your limited point of view, you're doing yourself a disservice and setting your relationship with said person up for failure.

Eric's mother was talking to me when she came to visit us and she told me something that I haven't heard in a long while, but that attached itself to me in a unique way.

She said,

"More often than not, people are planning how they're going to respond when they are listening to what you say. Less often, people are listening to what you are saying in order to understand what you are saying."

I'm looking forward to listening more. Because.

This is excellent advice.

Flowers for hours

As always, thanks to Jesse for forcing me to produce and share.

--

Kid on the beach blanket next to me this Saturday:

"Yesterday......a body came up on the beach."

--

You know what's funny?

When the ice cream truck is playing, "We wish you a merry Xmas."

--

Follow me to hell

I hear the weather is warm

And I have short sleeves

Rapunzel did a puzzle, Hansel did a Gretel, served some time and then went to hell.

Hell isn't half bad, it's the world that wins the award-

teeth clenching bored and brothel bound.

--

Websites that should/might exist

overshare.org

orgy.org

--

--

Serpents eat surfboards and surnames

like cough syrup on their pancakes

--

The wife has a knife

And the husband has a gun

Let's make ourselves scarce

--

Barf up a storm cloud

Cancel our date on Friday

I saw you IRL

--

I saw Avatar

And what I took from it was

Damn, I want a tail

--

Everyone is so angry these days.

Anger and hate seem to be what brings the masses together.

I'll take my irony over-easy, thanks.

It's like watching hundreds of hunters spreading hummus on pita with war paint on their face in front of a boar's head on a stick, tongue lolling and flies making babies inside of its eyes.

--

I spied across the lake at her, dillying with the daffodils in her spring-time trousers while I boxed with the bass and my tackle box belied her beauty; the backyard dirt belittling beautymarks and dew-strapped dimples.

I'm writing bullshit, I'm riding whorey-horses, I'm rooting around in the reeds.

I have wrought iron fences.

I can't speak or smile.

I can't even feel you fucking me kind of deal.

Write with your gloves on.

--

Here on Long Island, the sound of a train passing by never seems to disappear.

As if the train runs the extent of the world and the lead car is attached securely to the caboose.

--

I let a doctor cut my throat. Who knew I had the nerve?

Practice your alphabet. Bet I'm your alpha.

People tweet the way birds used to and now I know for sure, birds have more to say than man.

--

I just want to dream

with my toes in the summered grass

and my head rolling past the tree line, out to sea.

I want to feel all my own,

unafraid, unforrowed, unstated, out right and unraided.

--

The beginning to a Bed-time story

Once upon a time

far, far away in the dandelion forest, there lived an owl.

This owl, despite expectation, waas not very old at all and therefore not very wise either.

He knew nothing about banks or bills or jobs or girls.

He knew next to nothing about fiddles or riddles, history, houses, literature, or how to catch his own mouses.

No-

this little owl knew only his mother and that he loved her dearly.

This is not to say that our little owl was not very curious- he surely was.

He longed to know all of the business in the forest and beyond to be had and it was his every night's work to set upon finding this out.

Soaring from branch to branch (for Little Owl was still quite small and his wings quickly tired)

he would explore the treets and forest floor beneath him.

Whenever Little Owl came across someone unfamiliar, he excitedly (but politely) inquired,

"Who? Who?"

On this particular night, Little Owl was perched above a tiny pond, staring down at the Little Owl in the water beneath him.

He had been asking the Little Owl "who" he was for nearly an hour now and was getting quite irritated because the Little Water Owl only repeated back more quietly asking Little Owl "who" he was.

By and by, a Slimy Little Green Owl hopped into view.

"What you yellin' at yourself for?" the Slimy Little Green Owl asked, but to little boys and girls it would have sounded like he only let out a big CROAK.

The Little Owl blinked his eyes in confusion.

Looking at the Slimly Little Green owl, he asked, "Who?"

"Why I'm a Frog," the Frog said. "I'm green and slimy and I live in this pond, eating Flies."

"Who?" the Little Owl asked?

"Flies are those little, tiny things that you see flying around the pond."

The Little Owl blinked and looked at the flies and then he looked back at the Little Owl in the water and asked him WHO! he was.

The Frog laughed and grabbed his belly, but to little boys and girls it looks only like the frog let out a big, "RIBBET!"

"That's your reflection," the Frog said, "That's not another Little Owl, that's YOU!"

"Who!" the Little Owl said.

"That's right," said the Frog.

The Little Owl politely thanked the Frog and flew off to see who else he could meet.

--

Sometimes I hope that I die a peaceful death and other times I hope that I don't ever die.

--

--

The ground and the sky were the same color, so we just walked up to the stars to escape this place. We were a nation bleeding from the temples, a land passing out from the trauma and we limped if we could, holding our howling in if we could, crying only if we were allowed or freshly wounded.

--

One week in notebook

"Had a dream where I decided on an idea for a book that I thought I should write someday while I was still asleep. Meaning that while I was dreaming, I was DREAM-THINKING, 'this is a book that I want to write.' The premise was a love triangle that took place in an apt. building between two women and a man. One of the three is so in love with another that they fill an entire apartment up with objects that they want to give to them as gifts. (There are even objects inside of other objects) The book would basically be a portrait of obsession from the obsessor's eye, telling a linear tale through explication of the objects strewn around the apartment (their placement and their history). Upon waking, I had no real idea what this novel would consist of because the characters immediately began to escape me, but whilst dreaming they were vivid, present, and entirely inhabitable."

"The internet is made up of humans, furiously working to perfect knowledge; ourselves. As a perfectionist myself, it seems the only option available- be perfect or do not be. What does Yoda say? Do- there is no try. So, I won't. It would end me to try and yet fail."

"'My stomach is so big that it actually hurts to lay on. -Eric, on the 4th of July"

"I've learned more from talking to lesser and average intelligenced people than I have from talking to geniuses."

"Drawing smileys on beach pebbles is one of the greatest ideas that I've had to date."

"To reject the internet is evolutionary suicide, so then call me confused in the primordial soup. I'm returning to a better time."

"Life is exciting enough without inciting waves, for some, it seems.
For me, I've always found adventure and knowledge from fellow travelers and from whose who I've traveled upon- dripping loose with lessons."

"Eric and Vinnie are strolling down the beach away from me in similar dawdling strides, red and green shorts making them look quite like a traffic light on a windy afternoon, a box looking to shake free of its intersection."

"Nothing destroys your inner voice like college. Before college, I had the voice of a lion- a bellowing roar that only sounded when you were a mouth's stride away from the inside of my throat. Maybe I was still developing, but at least I was developing. College took my writing to a barreling pause. The pressure to produce journalistic writing with no more compound or complex an adjective than "very" absolutely devastated my creative voice and I doubt that I will ever venture to try again in that vein. Make me a columnist- let them grab their dictionary. I am not dumbing myself down for anybody ever again. Nanci taught me better than that. Nanci taught me that success and what I need to achieve it, are already inside of me. I've been blessed and I need not to forget."

"Hit me, punk ass."

"I dreamed last night that my grandfather was 'scheduled' to die, a dream I once had before about myself. This future world that I dream about- where death can be scheduled and you needn't go it alone... In this building that I stood in then with my closest relatives, all sorts of people were laid up of sitting in caskets that lined the gymnasium-like buildings, some surrounded by families laughing uncomfortably, and others completely alone. A solitary greenish-gray hand moved downward in one casket that I passed, showing that the movement from this world and to the next had not yet been completed. We were there with Grandpa, an IV pumping death into his arm as he lay there, frantic, forcibly composed, and blind. All of these people had their eyes removed- black, empty sockets were brandished and bewildered, eyebrows furrowed up into v's above the holes. I feverishly guarded every new thought that Grandpa and I communicated before he was gone."

"Write loads, think more, listen always, say less, tell nothing."

"I love the smell of my body odor. This is going to be a professional problem."

"Dear journal,

Hi, hello, this is your humble narrator, Gianna, speak writing. I am coming to you after the first full night's un-rest that I've chosen to have in a long while and it feels amazing. I forgot how I've relished my condition in the past at times, and how I did so to harnass my most productive hours! I feel like my old self again and also as if I finally know where I'd gone to and just how divorced from myself I've really been. Honest, I remember myself in this moment.

Last night I began talking about my accident for the first time since I was working through my PTSD. I even looked at the pictures of my truck and couldn't even begin to understand how I survived that car wreck. (Seatbelts and angels to be sure)

I chatted with someone about how this was the first time since my recuperation that I was really talking much about it and how I've felt sort of insecure about discussing it because of my mother's obsession with tragedy, while I've seemed the exact opposite. He said something very succinct on the matter and it went along the lines of:

"Some people enjoy being a victim, other just want to persevere at all costs."

I am definitely of the latter camp, though I do recognize my hardships as having been invaluable teachers to me in my lifetime, events that I would never copy, edit, or delete.

I also came to a stumbling sputtering conclusion that I want to pursue comedy.

(Blame The American, the new Bill Hicks documentary)

I really think it may be the medium that my writing will sing in.

I'm a good in-camera editor and I have a feeling an in-camera edit of my writing on stage could be it.

If not, maybe I need to find myself a "real job."

Someone hold my hair back while I barf into my lungs (again)....

.....And with that, journal, I bid thee adieu (or "adue" as some poor sap said on facebook or "fb"

if you prefer the Orwellian Newspeak that infests every corner of our instated society).

This has been:

one week in notebook from this bulbous-nosed 24-year-old shit clown.

Over and out"

The God Damned Americans

I told Jesse that I have writer's block again and HE said, "There's no such thing as writer's block. There are plenty of things you're thinking of writing, you just don't think any of them are any good. You have approval block."

And because Jesse's always right (except when he's wrong), I'm going to sit here and try to pull the bar (bra) down and just write what I am thinking of writing.

Here goes:

For the first several minutes of being awake this morning, I repeatedly said to Eric,

"Hasta la pizza!"

Then, I stood up and did a wiggly dance and told him to look at me because I was doing this wiggly dance and he asked me what my dance was called and I said,

"The Spaghetti"

--

One of my favorite lines that I've ever written is, "8 balls aching to pocket."

--

Last night I dreamed that I was in prison

I don't remember what I did to get there, but I know that it wasn't a very serious crime and that really, I wasn't even sure how long that I would be in there. The only thing that I do remember knowing is that I did NOT murder anybody.

I remember recess and walking around, not knowing quite what time it was or how much time that was left before I had to return to my cell, so I walked to find where the other inmates in my wing were and they were all sitting in a circle on those blue plastic chairs that you have in elementary and high schools.

At some point, I passed Ted Carstensen (my friend) and he was working on a computer behind bullet-proof glass.

I was carrying a pair of white high-top Nikes and I remember that I was very proud of them and loved them very much and a girl passing by me to go outside, spotted my sneakers at the last minute and when I snatched them up, she said, "I'MMA GET THOSE SNEAKS DIRTY" and I said, "noooooooo, they're white!"

Shortly afterward I was walking down my wing of the prison and someone was yelling INSPECTIONS and girls were standing in front of their cells.

I was at the end of the row, so I ran down to the end and into my cell and began cleaning up.

I had a lazyboy chair smack in the middle of my cell, for whatever reason.

High class, huh?

The woman who came in to inspect my cell wiped bird shit all over my carpet (high class, huh)

and then she was asking me about my degree in photojournalism and told me that I should start a company when I got out of the big house.

Maybe I will, officer.

--

HA

I just stood up and my debit card was stuck to my ass.

What a god damned American.

--

Jesse also said to me this morning, "As your attorney I advise you to listen to heart of glass sometime today."

And I said, "As your attorney I advise you to listen to bad boys by Miami Sound Machine sometime today."

Bad,bad,bad,bad boys. (You make me feel so good)

No but seriously, today's musical upload to Tumblr is going to be The Bouncing Souls- Ole.

Bouncing Souls no one can beat us, we drink beer and wear Adidas!

What god damned Americans.

--

AfteRebirth

I'm in love with a war that I can never win and arms that I will never touch.

I fear only what I shouldn't and I laugh at things that are not funny.

When the tide rises again, I'm taking this canoe across the world.

I will drink the salt water and let microorganisms blossom in my esophagus.

--

We're in the winner's circle, but we haven't won yet.

--

Masturbatory at best; your breast

by the behest of the king's joker

--

I feel restless and a little like a baby bird chipping it's way out of an egg.

--

Tomorrow I am going to go to the library and I am going to print out all of 2011's entries because I'm too sick of 2006 to finish it. It's such a giant unholy mess.

Dear God, please send me an editor.

--

Outside the house, you can smell the sea and she is a musky warm salt.

--

Keep writing, keep writhing.

I'm out of practice and it's hard to admit to myself.

Self, you're out of practice.

That wasn't so hard.

And now it's coming. Let it come.

that'swhatshesaid.

--

I've been writing a short story about a curious little owl.

I stopped at the part where the frog is explaining to the little owl what his reflection is.

--

I know how to solve my multi-blog problem.

I don't understand how it's taken me so long to just grab this plan and stick to it.

My plan is to just write one entry and then post that entry to all of my blogs.

And that way, I won't even need to obsess too much about the prospects that one blog disappears because I'll have back-ups!

Why didn't anyone suggest this to me?

It's so simple!

You guys. -shakes head-

--

My exboyfriend from junior high has been facebook messaging me nearly every day recently and you know, it's really nice to have a friend.

The day that we broke up he found me smoking my first cigarette on top of the dug-out at my elementary school's baseball diamond and he threw them in a puddle.

Way to go, dude.

I would pay him to do that for me now.

--

PInto beans

Yeah, i don't know why either.

--

Solving my multi-blog problem has instantly solved my every problem with my life.

YES, NOW LET'S GO GET FAMOUS.

I'm joking. I'm not going to get famous without any help and there are too many avenues for me to choose from.

Fucking "free country."

I NEED LESS CHOICES.

Something I noticed from working at the costume shop, was that Americans are much more likely to buy something the less choices that they have.

I was much more likely to sell a cigarette holder, for example, if we only had one kind in stock.

Showing people upwards of 4-6 different kinds of a product is an almost sure-fire way to kill a sale.

what I learned from this is that the most important part of being a retailer was selling myself instead of the product in a way.

I spent the most time learning about who my customer was and what they were doing and then I made a recommendation on a single product based on what I felt would fit their needs best. Then I would tell them why I felt the way that I did.

I am a disgustingly good salesman.

--

Writing that inspired me to look for a job here.

Jesus.

I am like back in the kindergarten of writing.

AWESOME

--

Life has been remarkably easy for me since I graduated college.

This scares the SHIT out of me.

Also, someone brought it to my attention last night that I am currently rocking a Justin Bieber haircut.

This also scares the SHIT out of me.

--

In other news, I am going to start writing a novel and it's going to look exactly like one of my entries. I'm pretty much just going to edit my online journals down and cut all of the bullshit crap out and just send that out because I'm sick of thinking that what I need to do is try emulating what is successful.

(which I haven't yet done. The mere prospect of doing so made me just stop writing altogether)

I'm going to return to listening to my instincts and producing what -I- think is good.

I don't care if I never get published because the truth is that I probably won't send my stuff out because i'm a scaredy pants and therefore don't deserve to be published, but at least I will be making art that is true to me.

At least I won one award, huh guys?

--

I will drink the salt water and let microorganisms blossom in my esophagus.

Expelling a bouquet of fungus, I plan heartily to become a vase.

My tongue rolled out like the living room rug.

Wasting away my waistline as I wait for weight.

Today is Thursday, March 10th 2011

11:33 pm

I can feel the spring exploding hopeful seeds inside of my body.

Inspiration boils over the jailhouse fence.

I'm awakening little by little, title by title, tittle by tittle.

I'm also playing scrabble constantly. It might be considered a sickness at this point.

Even when I'm not playing, I'm forming crossword maps inside of my head.

Vicious, Lesbian, Ludicrous, Levitate, Honorary, Bagel, Beagle, Warble, and Wart.

--

Two days ago, Alan took me to a hospital. Inside the pre-op center, a nurse led me to a small area with a window that she called, "A room with a view" before instructing me to pee in a cup.

Alan saw my pee in the cup and then he was sent to the waiting room.

I sat alone inside of my curtained cell, covered with a warm blankey and a People magazine.

New patients entered the room. A nurse led them to the curtained cell next to me and announced that they had a room with a view!

I felt used, cheated and nervous.

My doctor came in and he grabbed at my tracheostomy scar, pulling it painfully.

I didn't wince because this is about the fourth or fifth time that he's grabbed it this way.

"We're just going to cut this out," he said with a smile.

I think that he might be a sadist, but it's okay. I like him.

He cleaned out my left ear of all its wax last weak and then he'd shoved the gauze pad into my face to show me the raisins of wax that he'd removed.

He must get the same pleasure from that that I do when I pop zits.

I was given an IV shortly after seeing the doctor.

One nurse had asked which arm that I wanted it in.

I told her the right and then another nurse came in and said that the anesthesiologist preferred to work with the left arm and would there be any problem using that arm?

No, I said, feeling defeated.

A needle was poked into my left arm and it was explained to me how all that would be left in there was a plastic noodle.

This didn't make me feel anymore at ease, but the warm blankey sure did.

Another nurse came in and helped me remove my bra. The anesthesiologist would want my lungs to be free.

I was wheeled into another wing and then into the OR.

Two nurses arranged the tools that would be used in my surgery and I began thinking what a horrible mistake that I'd made to agree to get this procedure done.

The anesthesiologist came in and hooked me up to an oxygen tank and then screwed something into one of my IV's leads.

Shortly afterward, I felt a serene ooze roll over my body. Thank god, the drugs.

The next thing that I knew, I was back into a curtained cell.

A group of irritated twenty-somethings gurgled next door to me and I stared hazily at the clock, which read sometime after noon.

I was given tea and toast and sent on my way.

At the pharmacy picking up my antibiotic and pain medication, Alan and I stared at a duck pond with our complimentary coffees.

A white dove bobbed his face forward and backward as he walked and I explained how much I loved watching birds walk.

It's two days later and I just switched out the dressing on my neck.

I'm not looking forward to next Wednesday when the doctor takes the stitches out.

-Shivers-

I can just see him now. "We're just going to RIP these guys right out!"

Rebuild.

--

Gotham City

Harpooned harpies hogtied the huddled knot

while know-it all gnomes circumcised the seven seas.

A host of unsettled ghosts gathered in the sixth circle of hell

playing poker against poltergeists drinking Jim Beam with dirtied knees.

A girl scout cookie beat out a pro-ball rookie five times over last week's nookie.

I lost the call, the girl, the state, I lost my mind and can't relate, I can't begin to end up found, I have no past; I can't make sound.

These halls are haunted, walls aching with the heads of hunted.

A hunkering hostile hum hovers above hanging heads; this house has history.

Silas ate your peas, they tasted like metal, blood and grease.

A grouse ate Silas's blood, it tasted like greasy pea soup.

The line ate the dot and grew longer and prouder,

I ate the line and grew older and louder.

A looter, a scooter, a scoundrel, a noodle,

some meatloaf, a poodle, and several odd doodles.

A ditty sang a dandelion to sleep while the field tickled the toes of the sheep.

I'm in shock or I'm in worry, I've forgotten when or how to hurry.

I have no hope for a future flurry, it's just too blurry,

too far to judge, too close to jury.

My jaw, my paw, my mug, my maw,

my match, my mouth, my patch,

my law.

Miles of mice, yards of yawning yogurt,

feet of fowl and kilometers of killdeer,

a county of conches, a country of couches,

a continent of cockroaches,

covered in cooing coaches.

Curious cults of coats come clamoring,

a stampede of suede and steel coasting to a close,

crusting up your nose, kneeling on their kneepads,

drooling on their D pads, schooling the C-sectioned sports dads.

Butter and toast, this toast is to you

This jelly has jammed farther up than I'd planned.

I have no will, but I will attest,

that I hope to someday be as a bird in its nest,

I'll have no beef, no brawn, or a nickel,

but I'll have my bird brains, some feathers, and one pickle.

One prize to one child, eight legs to one spider,

A prized child spied eight legs come to find her.

She's hidden and hopeful, she's ridden with holes,

She's some Hollywood hotshot hungry for roles.

She rolled while she bowled and she ate off a plate,

she cleared the frame each time and then she checked your mate.

More paintings on glass

Eric and I did some more painting last night. I love these nights. I think I may be improving.

A woman in a black dress

Eric's favorite

My favorite

Scum-puppies

Hungry for a drink, but half past full,
a bottle of ketel one and a jar of pickle juice are on standby.

Stomache grumbles, staples in your smile, malodorous
maladjusted mommies mummified for miles.

I feel tired and twined, left behind and begotten.
Unsettled, hog-swallowed, hindranced, harpied and hollow.

Making up words, slaying slews of birds, bitchslapping them out of the sky,
scoring scarves, carving dwarves, harboring hordes of whores,
adoring adorable adorned dorm room doors.

I miss Alan.

Etre

Caramel dreams have hot cocoa nightmares

and those with expensive weddings tend to have cheap, dirty affairs.

Modulations

I am so goddamn bored that I could eat my own foot.

I COULD.

This whole moving thing is crazy and I just want somewhere that I can put my stuff, take a shower, have a real pillow, and put my energy because right now I'm kind of a pre-teen ejaculating:

This shit is going. everywhere.

But nowhere that will produce anything useful in the future.

Nah mean?

FEED MY PETS

Peedle and poke,

this world is a joke,

this world has no knees,

this wind has no breeze.

I'm dying, I'm not,

am I a robot?

Can I have new eyes?

Can I have two tries?

Who bought this land and is that your real hand

It took me nine seasons to realize the reason

I was watching X files, it was Mulder all the while.

So I watched Californication and my life is good again,

but really it's not, I'm just full of snot.

I'm lost and who knows how deep this hole goes,

who cares and who needs it, not like Sarah Palin's gonna read it.

But then again she reads blogs and slams pajamas while she wears clogs

She signed an x box and killed a hog before she went for a jog.

(Yeah, but really, I have no idea if she wears clogs or killed a hog or jogs or if she even reads blogs....Maybe she just had someone read them to her. Maybe she hired some poor shmuck to read all of the nasty things that people said about her on the internet and then paid him/her to let her punch them)

Winter is lame and life is a game

the snow can suck my dick

and a hoe can suck a trick

wait.

a hoe can suck a john

until the snow is gone

and I can punch my face

while you get to second base

I'm supposed to get a job

now that I've a diploma

but i'd rather write and rot

and suck down my Coca-Soma

heat riot, street quiet

keys conduit ease onto it

give her hell

don't ring my bell

Just open wide

I'll come inside

my mind is dirty

it's past seven thirty

Man, I need a new laptop.