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?