limbo

waiting
strange
without desire seems the best plan

i booked my escape to california today...

gone before dark

i am made of poison

pushing words out from the depths of my black headache, i doodle on a scrap of paper to avoid the crazy gaze of the shouting street preacher man on the subway. he does not need to see that we have met before, that i once looked with love into eyes much like his own, fascinated by his poetry just before it took us both over the edge...

spent $15 on a european magazine so i could read an interview with prince keanu in french, but apparently the north american version comes in english. can't decide if that's better or worse. at least the pictures are the pictures are the pictures...

visions of drummers and bridesmaids and arsenal games and spain...that and the light of the fading sun on the skyscrapers downtown this evening were enough to put a hint of a smile back where it belongs

it has been a few years since the tulips were this good
that summer was the one when he scratched our initials into the sidewalk
then the floods came,
and the mice
and soon enough he was gone;
now, i'm still here
the floods have been again,
the mice are returned
and he is still gone.

i know this by now
when a married man invites you to vacation in the guest room of "my little apartment" out of town, it means danger
we are all guilty of something...
acceptance
if these are my joys, so be it

one must practice...
something
anything

dumbing it down

nothing but another notch in my belt of sadness

tired of people (sorry if you're one)
i think next life i will try to come back as a crocodile

cursed by gypsies

or something

sinking ship

most of them are out of focus
this is where i saw the swans fucking

too much icing on the cake

now i have an ant invasion as well
my life is turning into one of those apocalypse movies where all the beasts of hell arrive and wreak havoc on the lives of innocents (or the damned)
someone today said something about saturn, i never know enough
the ghosts were anxious when it got time for me to leave tonight
milk chocolate cravings
pink mouse poison
pictures that catch my breath in my throat
pretend, ignore, i'm afraid i'm always still here
wish as any of us may

bite me

i have run out of patience for grown men who are unable to manage their own behavior, who then twist things to make it seem like their problems are somehow my fault

i should have just slept at work instead of leaving (nowhere near finished cleaning up the mess) at midnight. i guess i'm less afraid of ninja stealth mice than i am of an old building full of ghosts

i keep seeing things move out of the corners of my eyes. maybe i need new glasses, or a new brain

untouched bait

i had to get off the subway a stop early tonight so that the creepy dance fan/stalker wouldn't find out where i live

i have been wearing my shoes in the house just in case a mouse runs across the floor and over my foot. i am a total chicken. in lieu of that horrible experience, an ant managed to climb up the underside of my pant leg and bite the back of my knee. i found it lying on the floor underneath my chair, dying. serves him right.

watermelon rain

the little pest is back because the person who thought it was fun to try and catch him is gone...it shits on my counters and then disappears. i am tired of this. i miss my toaster like crazy.

i was hours late for work today because i was lost in a dream where keanu wanted to be my boyfriend...there was also grass that was the colour and texture of grover's fur, bleachers without seats overlooking an empty field, giant fences being dragged into place, fancy hotel rooms and trouble dialing phone calls and a fantastic (and free) new wardrobe for me.

pathetic fallacy has to be the other greatest literary device ever invented...today was cold and miserable, just like me.

release

andre told benoit that discussion of energy in/as dance is taboo in academia
the choice of path should be clear, but on second thought...
fight to exist or fight to articulate?
or none?

i don't recommend meeting one's heroes
the magic is in the work
they themselves are usually just human
or in my case, extra animal

haunted by wolf eyes
my dream of you
so much heat...

i can walk as fast as a train
(if it goes slow enough)

broken heart chakra

figures of eight across your body
mobile tongue
floating sit bones
shining trochanters
fluctuating states
outside is showing
inside is being
organizing the inside alignment allows access
listening is also a position of privilege
every movement choice creates emotional repercussions
there are consequences to all doing

eyes swimming in liquid
his are like no other blue I have ever seen
mesmerized, frozen
stand, drop the fear down and away
smile, walk, sleep, return

dionysian me likes this one better

i have been terribly dehydrated since last night; can't go get a drink of water once the lights are out...afraid of a mouse. lame.

i think i want to get married to the "chef" at our local gourmet burger joint. we made eye contact today when i picked up my order. looked up at him from under my eyelids, i was bold and shy all at once. it was awesome. i almost puked, just like cute little stan. but really...we could have messy tasty veggie burgers with avocado and roasted red peppers and sauteed mushrooms and caramelized onions for dinner every single day for the rest of my life. maybe fries and onion rings on alternating fridays. it would be heaven. and he's hot. (and based on the kitchen party going on last time i visited, also into pretty girl asian chicks). sigh, but a girl can dream...

the bad thing about saying stuff is that you can’t take it back when you screw up

at least it's finally warm enough to walk home comfortably

spending the weekend with one of my heroes. excited and terrified all at once. fun.

quiet voice

battle the mouse with wintergreen and wishes
the gift of sight has always been a curse
i hide in sleep and friendship
and silence

this morning (afternoon) i got to work and heard that there had been a fire near my house, just a few doors down...a strange little cleaning supplies outfit, a dilapidated building with a blue tarp roof and a window full of plungers and other junk. every day i pass the guys who work there, every day we see one another but pretend not to. one of them (i suspect i know which one, though sometimes people surprise you so i have a second choice even though there are really only two of them to begin with if you eliminate the owners) leaves cairns made from garbage found as the snow thaws - items brought by animals or left by pilgrims who pass by on the way to mecca (of the beer or grocery variety) and sometimes lose their belongings. before i woke up there were helicopters and billows of smoke; later i stood across the street and waited for the bus in the aftermath, somehow oblivious to it all, looking at a sight so familiar that i no longer see. tonight i stopped by to survey the damage and pay my respects in the dark. i knew it was only a matter of time before their neglect backfired, but i was also made keenly aware of how even great loss doesn't always have to mean tragedy. blackened wood, boarded up windows, but no smell of smoke unless you get really close and no damage to the houses too close by. the lilac still stands, unscathed.

i wonder if he knows how much his gifts make me smile, and then i imagine there must be no other reason why he creates them. for smiles that is, not for me alone. my favorite was the yellow rubber glove, middle finger placed oh-so subtly over the end of a broomstick, a flag, an ode...his works are symbols of resistance and testaments to the necessity of continuing to look for beauty among dullness and ruins. no reason for him to return, now. i will miss him, my secret friend and unlikely spirit lover.

descent

as your tears hit the ground, blue flowers spring from them

one can only hope

casting shadows

you can't always get what you want

















but you can go for tasty brunch with your friends (on a day that coincidentally is also easter, so you don't have to be one of those lonely-on-holidays people)













your plans can get rained out

















the pizza store you walked blocks to find
might not sell slices













but you can still end up here
where reflection is the means
and not the end

hunting starfish

we were supposed to go to the beach but it rained
so instead i stayed out late
watching the mist
and waiting for sunset

home

a voice i thought i'd never hear again
familiar like it was never gone
strange how...

ride a train through the sky
a day spent averting desperate gazes and invasive approaches
a single pane of glass and five feet between me and a crack house,
until i found my cajones
now i look down at the life i do not need to see anymore
surrounded by energies i will spend my weekend fighting with walls
and absence
and burger king french fries to go

synchronicity, discovery
a gift of ladybug luck and kindness
paintings that read better when photographed
flowers in waiting
pictures not taken
plays about wanting and madness and hearts and clouds

"dress code in effect"
children pretending to be vixens
hair stringy from the rain
i walk between them, unscathed
i return to find the lights turned out
covet the blurry photo in the corner
find a way to write my own

hunger strikes
the burnt-out ends of smoky days...
tomorrow is another day

rock the casbah (hotel lounge)

it has taken my whole life to finally feel comfortable enough with myself to eat alone in a restaurant

He awoke, opened his eyes. The room meant very little to him; he was too deeply immersed in the non-being from which he had just come. If he had not the energy to ascertain his position in time and space, he also lacked the desire. He was somewhere, he had come back through vast regions from nowhere; there was the certitude of an infinite sadness at the core of his consciousness, but the sadness was reassuring, because it alone was familiar. He needed no further consolation. In utter comfort, utter relaxation he lay absolutely still for a while, and then sank back into one of the light momentary sleeps that occur after a long, profound one. - Paul Bowles

the only thing i ever wanted was to be someone's muse

methocarbamol

try again

diaphragm spasm

watching ducks mate is pretty much the most romantic, hilarious and wondrous thing ever

that, and maybe the fourteen year old boy from brazil who improvised for me today and took my breath away with his dancing

the crows tease me
but they still won't let me take their pictures
i will continue to watch and listen from afar

headache

i am killing myself trying to find a song for tomorrow

rock star

my friend says he imagines i'm one out here
i suppose it's a bit like that
no one is allowed to talk to me
i pass them in the halls
sometimes they're bold and they catch my eye
i want to sit down with them,
to dance around together
there is so much we have to talk about
so many things we could say,
but...no
so lonely
so exhausting
this feigning of disinterest

in my dreams he hops into his fancy car and drives across the river to say hello

perspective

i befriended the most hilarious and precocious twelve year old yesterday
reminded of what it was like to prefer the company of adults
(ironically, as i now prefer the company of intelligent and curious children)
reminded of what it was like to want someone you could never touch
reminded of the days when we groped around in the back seats of cars
reminded of thinking it was all life or death
knowing now that none of it really matters
sitting now on the other side of wanting to impress
i wish there had a been a shortcut to here
still smaller than the mountains
unable to fly and sing like those majestic birds

we meet who we meet
we live what we live
we like what we like
we understand as much as we understand
that is all there is
that, and our kindness to one another
tomorrow, regardless
there will still be snow on those mountains

wrong time, wrong place, wrong universe
i guess that's what dreams are for
(that, and warnings)

In sooth I know not why I am so sad...

too early for flowers

i love how the crow's whole body pulses when he talks

surreality

missed my plane
broke my nail
staring out the window at mountains and pines
over the rainbow
everything here reminds me of you

the crows make me feel like i'm home

jet plane

bail as in water?
or
bale as in hay?

clearly this was not the plan

"Converting fonts and bullets soothes the mind in a funny way and thinking about the past puts the present and the future in another light."
MD diary, 1990

"or maybe it's just life"
Jeff M.