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[13 Jul 2006|05:46am] |
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mood |
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 weird |
] |
I think I'm a better poet than novelist.
I think I resent myself for that.
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[13 Jul 2006|05:42am] |
| [ |
mood |
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 calm |
] |
| [ |
music |
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Godspeed You Black Emperor - Providence |
] |
excempt
i once was in love.
it was nothing special.
fights and arguments
that lead to sex.
(we rewarded our behavior
with bad sex.)
but at every end we said,
'i love you'
in a way that no one else would.
_____________________________________________________
andy
sometimes i hear his whispers on my back;
fingers drawing images that burn into my skin,
"marry me, mary."
sometimes i see photos move in and out of their frames;
rocking each other back and forth,
until their frames fall to the ground
into a tiny million pieces, i watch his words
shatter on the dinner plates,
"but honey, i thought you liked salmon."
sometimes i forget the color of his eyes;
blue or green or brown,
i forgot that they are made of words
that i have written him, so many letters
that i never have intended to send,
"did you forget about my birthday again?"
sometimes i walk on eggshells just to see
if anyone notices that the bottom of my feet
are whiter than the rest of my body.
and sometimes i forget how to write;
i look into his eyes and say,
"oh, that's right. your eyes are blue."
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| Poison |
[23 Jun 2006|09:26pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 hungry |
] |
Her love was poison. They said her tongue was slitted and she hissed whenever you drew near her scaley skin. Some even said that you could actually feel her skin crawl whenever you touched her arm. The hair on your arm, they would say, will rise.
She preyed on older men. It was her tongue that got them, really. It would brush against the inside of their mouth -- and these men, these victims -- would convulse in a mixture of surprise, repulsement, and arousal. Her tongue, they said, would caress and whisper dead languages into your ear.
They say her love was poison. Not because her salvia had different chemicals than any other woman but because she would wrap her arms around your waist. Friendly, possessive, and affectionately. Her grip, they said, would grow tighter and tighter until she opened her mouth. Her love, they say, was poison.
One by one. They fell to the ground. They say that everyone dies but we can't cure the poison. We can't cure the disease.
_________________________________________________________
Weak conclusion. Needs revision.
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| German. |
[23 Jun 2006|09:12pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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hungry |
] |
| [ |
music |
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Eisley - Memories |
] |
Dies Niederlarge das Absieht. Du kennst? Ah, du werdst ein Tag kennen ich leibe dich. So sehr. Ich kenne sagen nicht. Deine Auge? Sie machen mich verruckt.
Du musst dies hassen. Ich kenne. Wie sonst werde ich dir euch gehen? Ich wunsch...
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| Nostalgia. |
[23 Jun 2006|09:08pm] |
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mood |
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hungry |
] |
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music |
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Eisley - Pretender |
] |
Everytime I look up at the clock only five minutes go by. Each time I feel different. I'm remembered how soft my words were. How indifferent he was to everything.
"Promise me you won't tell anyone about tonight, "I whispered.
He stuck out his pinky and we entertwined for the last time.
"I promise."
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| Prologue to a story I never wrote. |
[23 Jun 2006|09:04pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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hungry |
] |
| [ |
music |
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Iron & Wine - Evening on the Ground (Lilth's Song) |
] |
This is for the star-crossed lovers
Whose light burned too brightly.
This is for all those messages
that are trapped in air-locked bottles.
And for the girl
who should know that she is loved
by a complete stranger.
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| Four Senses |
[23 Jun 2006|08:48pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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hungry |
] |
| [ |
music |
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Iron & Wine - Upward Over The Mountain |
] |
Hearing
A rush of silence enters my head as the waves pull back. They crash louder with each time. It's like tiny explosions. The water explodes into millions of pieces in my ear. They pound against each other in the dark. There's war in the water and the waves are her soliders. I can hear their battle cries.
Smell
It's warm, I tell her. It reminds me of home and Christmas time. It fills every room with it's aroma, clinging to clothes. I'll inhale it in, feeding into my lungs and into my bloodstream. I'll feed my blood what I'm denying my hunger.
It can smell warm, I protest. It's warm and alive in my chest. It's sweet and spicy. The perfect combination for those early mornings.
Sight
"Can you smell the ocean?" I ask, holding his hand near.
"It smells salty."
"It is. It's cold too. The sun is setting and it's getting darker. It looks as if the sky was painted by a Deity. To warn us that night is coming. It's beautiful."
"If a Deity was warning us, why would he paint something beautiful? You'd think that it'd make us forget."
"I don't think so. I think it's the day's finale. She gives us one last show. You know the feeling you get after you think a good song is over but it's not? And there's a huge swell of music that brings tears to your eyes? It's like that."
"And it happens every day?"
"Every day."
Touch and Feel
The air rushes past my tonuge. It doesn't stop until my chest is full. There's a beautiful fragrance outside. If I layed still enough in the dew-touched grass, I can be air. I'm cold against the warm of the mouth. Being shoved around in the lungs, I'm stuck in a dirty cell. I'm up and free and no longer air but Carbon. The whole body becomes lax while I float away.
Just some exercises my Creative Writing teacher had us do.
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| An unfinished poem. |
[23 Jun 2006|08:22pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 creative |
] |
| [ |
music |
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Iron & Wine - Jezebel |
] |
When I was young,
I drank from the fountain of youth.
And I wrote down what I saw
in sonnets and setsinas
for all to see.
When I grew up,
I ate from the golden apple.
And I became Eve,
the reason why Eden crumbled
under the passion of my words.
When do we stop proscuting
those who have stopped and gazed at the fruit
with an underlying meaning to destruct heaven from Earth?
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| A Prose |
[05 Feb 2006|12:43am] |
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music |
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Death Cab for Cutie - Soul Meets Body |
] |
I suspect the blood that rushes to the infection is hot and simmering. Horrifried, I watch how it pours out the wound, steaming and bubbling. What horror is this, I ponder. What exactly have I done to desereve this now?
We are rapists.
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| Restless Sinner |
[21 Jan 2006|12:46pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 sad |
] |
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music |
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Forty Year Old Virgin |
] |
It was in that moment. That very moment. Lost in his thoughts and swinging on the playground of his old elementary school, did he realize what he was doing. Besides committing two different crimes; smoking within 20 feet of a door and trespassing, he was, in fact, wallowing.
( Contuined... )
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| Inner Monolouge :: When it's steady, I'm only acting out my role. |
[18 Jan 2006|10:37pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 exhausted |
] |
| [ |
music |
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Cursive - The Radiator Hums |
] |
- How am I suppose to write when I can't even focus on my own personal life?
- Write how you can't focus.
- I can't. I can't even do that.
- Yes, you can. You're doing it now.
- Very poorly.
- It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if your heart is breaking or your head is spinning. You have to focus on Lemon. You can't afford to not focus on him.
- I can afford it easily. Lemon is myself. Ellie was always him.
- That doesn't make any sense.
- Ben understood.
- Ben does drugs.
- That doesn't make him a bad person.
- You can't focus on yourself?
- No. I can't think on what I feel. What I feel isn't important.
- Then what is?
- I don't know. I'm afraid to know.
- Your reputation? Your dignity? You're afraid you'll look like a fool for loving again.
- I love many people. I'm not afraid to love.
- You're afraid you'll become another possession again.
- Yes.
- Don't let it happen.
- I won't.
- I don't believe you.
- I won't. I'm different now.
- You say it but I don't think you mean it.
- It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.
- You're afraid that it does. You're afraid that everything matters and you've ruined it all.
- I ruined nothing. I am a victim.
- Every passive aggresive thinks that.
- Fuck you.
- Write.
- I can't. I'm so tired.
- Your thoughts are on mute. Now is the perfect time.
- My legs ache and I can't feel my toes.
- You don't need to stand to write.
- My eyes are heavy and Iron & Wine is putting me to sleep.
- So put on The Killers.
- They reminds me too much of the girls.
- I'm sorry.
- I told them, you know. That everyone goes away eventually. They find someone better.
- You're not the victim. It was mutural.
- Then how come I was the only one who was depressed about it?
- You don't know that.
- I do because everyone had to see me like that. And I had to feel their pity. "Poor Mary. We were right and she was wrong."
- Since when have you cared about what they say?
- Since I've been alone too much.
- You're not alone. You were never alone.
- Why am I lonely?
- Becuase you are foolish.
- I'm a foolish girl.
- Go sleep.
- Finally.
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| Conversation with Benjamin. |
[23 Dec 2005|02:13am] |
| [ |
mood |
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creative |
] |
| [ |
music |
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The Dresden Dolls - Half Jack |
] |
He used to say, "Oh Mary! Oh Mary! To be this young! It's oh so scary!"
But she isn't the forgiving type.
He says, "I'm not doing anything else. So don't leave tonight?"
But she doesn't entirely trust him.
But he says, "Show me what you're writing."
And she considers.
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[21 Dec 2005|10:05am] |
| [ |
mood |
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 nostalgic |
] |
Do you remember the sycamore trees? The way Alex's father told us the history of the tree, we stood on their backporch for hours but it was only a few minutes. The sycamore trees were everywhere down there and I miss them. How fragile they were. How after a few years, they just fell apart.
The sun was there too. It shone brighter and closer than it does where we live now. It didn't hide behind clouds or mountains. There was nothing to hide. Up front and center. Honest. It burned my skin and made yours darker. And we had sex during the night, when the sun was sleeping and the wind grew colder.
Californication.
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| Total Gym Fitness |
[24 Nov 2005|01:38am] |
| [ |
mood |
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 tired |
] |
| [ |
music |
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Iron and Wine - 16, maybe less |
] |
ben says i'm too modest.
and my eyes are bloodshot
with an empty drink next to me.
my mother wonders why
i stand in the bathroom.
letting the warm water
wash my hands.
alex wonders why
ink covers my hands.
each day, they move
to a different part.
only matthew knows
why a writer throws away old work.
cars break and fall into winter.
teachers wonder why their students come in
late. and ben says i'm too modest.
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| Some words mean nothing at all. Some, you mean all. |
[24 Nov 2005|01:21am] |
| [ |
mood |
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nostalgic |
] |
| [ |
music |
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Iron & Wine - Such Great Heights |
] |
if i play my music loud enough --
it'd drown out the voice that says
that you don't love me like that.
if i play my music long enough --
i can forget the way you used to
count the ways you loved me,
get confused, stopped, and kissed my mouth.
as if you never wanted to go away.
if i play music --
the button will stick on play
and it wouldn't matter what song
it falls on.
because they all remind me of you.
if i play --
my poems loud enough,
you'll find out how much i love
adore
admire
if i --
break everything off tomorrow
and ask if you'll go out to breakfast with me
alone
together
forever
if --
we make it.
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| Fake |
[24 Nov 2005|12:17am] |
| [ |
mood |
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 inspired |
] |
| [ |
music |
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Death Cab for Cutie - Soul Meets Body |
] |
I faked it.
Illnesses and tantrums,
tears and excuses.
We saw ghosts and
angels in the clouds.
An imitation of our imagination.
Someone stole our cat - -
a fuming old lady,
who's lace should've been dipped in arsenic.
Her shaky old voice said;
"I'm old and lonley."
That's not my problem.
I stabbed her with my pen.
Actually - -
it's a lie.
An old CSI episode.
I faked it all.
Then and now and
later, when I'm older.
I'll say - -
"Yes, darling."
I faked it.
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| New writers tremble behind past tenses. |
[23 Nov 2005|11:24pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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calm |
] |
| [ |
music |
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Dresden Dolls - A Night At The Roses |
] |
She once laid out in front of him, naked. And felt his eyes, hands, fingers, and charcoal sketch past her hips and dipping further and further down.
"It's wrong," She begged him as he reached further and fruther down. His fingers curled, his nails digging and digging down, down, down...
The taste of charcoal is disgusting, bitter, and dirty. Her beauty is no longer vibrant but shattered and marked with the stains of past lovers.
Innocence is attractive, alluring, and beautiful but it's dying. The charcoal sketches exists in mailboxes down the streets. Strapped to the windshields of cars and decaying in the gutters.
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| Can I come inside, dear? |
[08 Nov 2005|03:32pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 busy |
] |
| [ |
music |
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Ben Kweller - In Other Words |
] |
Autobiographia Literia
When I was young,
I drank from the fountain of youth.
And I wrote down what I saw
in sonnets and setsinas
for all to see.
When I grew up,
I ate from the golden apple.
And I became Eve,
the reason why Eden crumbled
under the passion of my words.
And whenever anyone
pointed out flaws within my stories,
I cried out, "Liar! I am nothing but a
fool!"
Here I am,
a hater of poetry
wishing my hate upon you.
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