God's Little Acre

God's Little Acre
Lord, make way for gold

the girlfriend experience

the girlfriend experience
chelsea's work

Trash Humpers

Trash Humpers
broken, faked, MADE

Sunday, August 16, 2015

Antarctica

Your Groundhog's Day line fell flat.

You told me a joke.  You repeated the joke, it was about groundhog's day. Maybe someone told it to you, as a way to mock me when you described how annoying it was that I still felt for you.  The heel on my shoe was a little high, and I rolled down and to the right.  I knew you were still speaking to me, but all I heard was your sound, and its echo.


Chloe Sevigny smoking crack in BROWN BUNNY



How can it be the same for one and rapid, constant, hysterical change, for the other.  Always fluid, too fluid, the way an ice cube runs away from your drink when you tilt it.

 Is the right way to run away or to pretend I never knew you. Should I grab Annie 1 or Annie 2...Is the way to love you again found by erasing myself?


Matthew Modine's epic relapse; Annie on VHS... in THE BLACKOUT

He says: 'Do you know how long ago it was I dumped you? It's been long enough'

I feel bad that I've loved you so long.
It reads back coy, but it is also true. Last week, I clapped the hardest when they said your name. I was so happy in that minute.  I did that when things were bad.  Even though you and your family stood with your backs turned to me as if i was a ghost.
You say you clap for me, when things are good.  Do you feel the same way?

The last time you dumped me was actually less than a year than ago. Is that laughably long in the way a reasonable person measures time? I really don't know, it is why I ask.  Every day I feel put upon, every time I cross a street with people pushing up behind me I imagine running into a bodega or restaurant; getting a glass bottle. seamlessly , like 'ch - ch - ch' rhythmically uniting three actions in one, the bottle lands in my hand (CH!) , I smash it over a bar /table (CH!), and the remaining jagged glass cuts open my wrists (CH!)  Its dancey.

 I go through stages where I do the next right things.   Things change for me.  Then they change back, then they change again , they return , but always differently.  I don't know any Groundhog Day.
Nothing has a present or an afterwards.

I go to step meetings, meditation meetings, I spend time in Alanon, I start group therapy, I make new friends, I write, I work so very hard, I develop a course for the first time, and  I start teaching repeatedly,  I concentrate on dating new people. I inherit money.  I get published for a paid writing job for the first time in my life.  I sleep with new people, I have small relationships with new people.  I hate sex with all of them because as soon as we connect I remember the only real connection I've loved that touched me in my life, and it is gone again.  I buy a home.
Next I turn forty.


I am  showing up. I arrive at the places I am expected, daily. In my mind I plan movies, meals, and trips so I have an agenda. I have trouble smiling.  I am embarrassed to be in public, and I no longer stand straightly.  To commit my neck to its full extension is sadly untenable.  I know everybody knows how much I love him, and how he does not love me.  I've loved other people, but then I stopped when I needed to. But  I don't stop this time, either because I'm delusional or I'm integrated.

I know to be actualized  is to be loving to then be loved, but it is hard to be not loved for many years.  I lash out, and I doll up the ugliness inside.  I am from another planet.

Scar Jo. dolling up in  UNDER THE SKIN

Every year I try to see a new country. This year I will go to two, one late Summer and one in late Fall.  My bird recently started saying "sweet baby."  I do not have a best friend that lives in this country.  My parents do not live close by, and I am not close with my sister.  I wonder how many years it will take to spend all my money because I have no one to will it to.  I tell myself I'll wait another 3 months, unless things get worse.
I do not have enough money yet to visit Antarctica.







Friday, August 14, 2015

Like Pocahontas in the Hole

Months go by where I buy the passing of each day.  Sunrise to sunset, bills are laid out, purchases are chosen; decisions of diet and moviegoing are vapidly weighed and committed to.  Nothing means much, and everything costs much.
Time passes  in decades.  I feel gravity shoving its stinking ass against my waist as I try to just walk down the street.  Nobody has anywhere to go and nobody moves unless it is to impede my trajectory.  You practically need an inhaler now to get down the street in New york. Every block must now have at least half of it covered in scaffolding, where the smoking hordes can blow the tar in a direct tunnel up your nasal passage and into your lungs.  Massive construction sites break up the other half of every block, plus every other person on the street is a German tourist.  Homeless criminals are carrying brooms to violently sweep fecal dust and construction worm eggs in your face.  How nice, they are on city clean up duty .  I'm always in a hurry, yet I never notice how much time I've lost until I'm deep in my 20s, or I'm finishing my 30s.  How many tens of  years more can i blow to shit? This is a question belying optimism.

"You can't fight it.  The next generation is electric." And they're young.  "REMEMBER WHEN YOU WERE YOUNG!"

I can't.  I get flashes of remembrances, and they seem to be markedly "not me", some other person i know better than anyone else but i have trouble remembering well. And she is nothing if NOT me now, at least that's what i tell myself in stories.
Bring back the story of Electric Youth. I had lobbied hard for Play the Field, but Electric Youth was the only Gibson song my primary coke buddy i'd binge with would allow to be played. I remember the time i smoked crack.
I don't know where i was but it was a party or a small club. I came right back home to my buddy , JoJo, and this song was playing and it was so intense, being high on crack the first time, though i didn't know what i had smoked, i was convinced of the odd opinion it was some evil magic mix of freebase and dust. Yea, i wish.
And i heard the staccato punctuating energetic drama of my beloved Debbie singing her immediate points in Electric Youth right as I forced myself to hurl, in the bathroom, because though I had a phobia against throwing up, I was hyperventilating from the crack.  The high was in my throat and my heart rate, the type you count during an aerobic break or they used to have you do on the videodiscs and VHS of the olden days, that was also something inside my throat.  This was the type of heart rate that was exploding all over, it could not even be counted! So it had to come up, it was not even a debatable issue. Nevermind my vomit aversion. I was clearly making good decisions.  As soon as the throwing up was accomplished (my only time i chose to do that) the high in my throat came right up and out . It was removed, nothing but a small dusting of edgy energy residing.

Lately things lodge, they no longer come up.
My neck always hurts.
I don't finish books anymore, at least not many. I make time to tell myself to read, but like I'm going retard, I stare at ink marks I know are words, and they are in a pattern.  So then two hours have passed, and I don't know that I know what it even is to read.  I pause to pardon myself, reasoning i must not have enough exercise or meditation time to first clear my head before I can read.
And then, happy with this realization, I do nothing.

I feel startled when once every six months I feel an intense emotion. It isn't because of anything I bought, be it special or basic.
Pocahontas' life changed when Captain Argall and his colonials threw her in the hole.  She made the best of it, and she agreed to feign affection for whoever exposed themselves as an avenue to freedom. Freedom would never be a new life, no matter what accompanied it, it would only be a return, back to where she belonged.
  'I believe she's tolerably comfortable, albeit she broods.  I've commenced to instruct her in her letters, & amp; find her of a ready aptitude.  But she craves company --'--But she withdrew into her own torment ...hunching her shoulders..."     ARGALL  by William T. Vollmann




Lorna's Silence

Lorna's Silence
spirit interrupts

the girlfriend experience

the girlfriend experience
chelsea managing the business

l'Interieur

l'Interieur
cutting through the walls