quoth the raven

no more

don't look and it won't hurt

sparkle gutter river

surfacing

i found him
and then i never saw him again

and your little dog too...

sweating
the funny little leprechaun pointed out that it was awfully hot in my office

training impatience to be a virtue
thy will be done
i'll just take my disappointment and be on my merry way

fail one
the easy way is the highway

fail two
it's never meant to be poems
just observations and recollections of truths
and lies

perfect astrology
the way he feels about me is the way she feels about him
to see from both sides
medicine, not poison
caution
he's totally perfect, except for the part where he's an asshole
one rotten tomato can ruin a whole salad
or something
she totally sees what i see/saw in (the other) him

i am destined to fall for men who will never think to notice that i don't like sushi

still waiting for the punchline

yellow

barking dog
without fanfare, he's gone
uninspired is also calm
no choice but to let it be
has she fallen again?
only time will know
it fades...

lemonade

from before:
the fact that you're here means that you lied

tonight i could sleep for a thousand years...

the air gets jaundice

never seen anything like it
but i missed the double rainbow

took my song out into the world today
debauchery preempted by potential toxic waste emergencies,
disasters on hold...
in some ways it's nice to (not)date a guy where the risks are all out on the table
cleaning one mess at a time
(tonight it was the shelves in my bathroom)

waiting is such sweet sorrow

the plural of enigma

what else was he looking for?
(unsaid)
why is honest and open hidden?
does he (ever) wish it had been me?
why couldn't (and can't) he say it?
what would actually happen if we came true?
was he dreaming about me?
(not the same, not the same, forgot one, mixed a few)

it had been a long time since i heard a crow in these parts

we all have to grow up sometime
i cannot bring myself to congratulate him

breaking news

i know it's not bedtime but my ex-husband just had a baby with his disgusting and trashy new girlfriend who is too scared to meet me. i feel like i'm going to puke. been over him for a long time so i'm not quite sure what that's all about.

karmic revenge, i'll go slumming and get really drunk with someone he hates tomorrow. yay.

monumental cupcake day

i urgently need a haircut
and it turns out that sometimes they actually do leave their wives...

apparently the trick to meeting strangers is to carry an armful of small appliances on public transit
(toaster oven and dustbuster)

a russian man (sad and slightly drunk, as they tend to be) came to me while i was waiting for the bus at the subway station
he asked if he could ask a question
he asked if we could go get some food together
he asked if i was married, he asked my name
he asked if he could give me his phone number
he sat himself down on the ground at my feet
and apologized for his inability to make his point
something about the difference between sex and relationships
he told me he was alone here, that his wife had left him
he told me i was beautiful,
and then he asked if he could follow me home
i said no.

the bus arrived
i went to the front, he sulked in the back
i sat beside a nice somalian woman
who admired my dustbuster and asked where i got it since she might like to take one home to her husband to use in his car
she was amazed that it was cordless,
and only cost fifty dollars

letting go

i always forget how much i need my body until i find it again...
the force requires balance
can’t hold myself together with wishes anymore

ain't it good to be back home

savasana

gypsy buskers in the subway
his eyes followed me away

from another guide: Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.
~ Rumi

tensegrity, domes, light, secret gardens, illusions, returns, goodbyes, sleep

he stopped taking pictures

trying to just deal with what's in front of me

always already lost

the trick to editing is pseudoephedrine

i have been reading the same book since april

the last bowles for now:
Cry a little while, but not too long. A little while is good. Too long is bad. You should never think of what is finished...Women always think of what is finished instead of what is beginning. Here we say that life is a cliff, and you must never turn around and look back when you're climbing. It makes you sick.



this chapter of the bizarre tale begins with robert longo, features prince charming, comes with a soundtrack (ignore the video) and ends with a moment of pause for mr. john hughes

edit

Art is never finished, only abandoned.

- Leonardo da Vinci

books will never let you down

i wish i had written this bit of genius perfection first. but i didn't. steve reinke did. (he makes good movies too)

Why I am a surrealist

I believe that the unconscious exists and that I possess one. I believe that the unconscious is neither primordial nor instinctual. I am skeptical, uncertain, relativistic and doubtful but never cynical. I eat a good breakfast, though not until noon. I try to balance sublimation (a negotiation of instinctual renunciation) with desublimation (transgression of cultural prohibitions). I believe that transgression is a useless, empty gesture, but regression is productive, entertaining, fun. I am undertaking an analysis of the sexual determination of subjectivity and the social construction of identity. I am interested in the imbrication of the unconscious in the real. Because my memory is blank, I rely on the repetitions caused by repression. I feel the melancholy of loss and am compelled to make jokes about it. I attempt to create scenarios that are analogous to a primal structure. I am continually anxious over the alterity of the other, which I refuse to capitalize until it reveals itself more completely and proves it is exactly like me in every important respect. My work is driven by trauma and structured in repetition in order to transform the principle of identity, to convulse identity. I produce new objects of knowledge and then empty them out — it's a burlesque of traumatic loss, unbridgable gaps, endless sorrow. A sentient disruption of continuity, an unstable identity in which axes of desire and identification cross. Clearly, an hysterical position. Collapse, collapse, collapse! Involuntary memory, traumatic fantasy. (Also a belief in the primacy of the death drive.)

dramatic tension (new candles and desert sand)

just because you can see it coming a million miles away, doesn't mean you can stop it from happening
might as well just close my eyes, feel the light on my face and run headlong into the blinding sun