something new

It's easy to burn
when despair fuels a fire
set clumsily where my ribs meet.

My insides are hollow
filling slowly with the thick smoke
of my fleeting hopelessness;
It presses itself against my withering organs.

When I speak, I speak in carcinogens,
watch my words dissipate,
get a blood rush sensing your disgust.

I am vacuous.
I am desperate.

It's easy to burn
when despair fuels a fire
and I'll be warm
even when there's nothing left to burn.

hbjfyhgdgfd

I can feel you,
ghosts of fingertips
on top of skin
sweat-kissed,
puckering in the air
of an open window

I can feel you,
dents in the mattress
scented in the creases,
dented from the weight.
When one has gone the
other stays, is patient

I can feel you,
the gnawing on exposed
limbs bent in all directions.
Eyes wide, still hungry and
waiting
for another taste of

you. I can feel
the blood-pulse, the rush
and the push of things.
It's swirling, dizzying--
teeth exposed, grinning
stupidly, wonderfully

I can feel you
when you're gone
when you come, go
when you return.

Where there is nothing
I can feel you.

thank you, too, for being a friend

Yesterday Bea Arthur, the actress who played Dorothy Zbornak on my most favorite show The Golden Girls, passed away from cancer. She was 86. Here's to you, Bea.

blogger =

livejournal

only we're older, more hip, and less emo.

thinking

the neighborhood sits still and quiet
and the children are gone.
those who have moved away or died,
their cars rest in the driveways.
no one leaves in early mornings
or returns at dusk, just trees
and the branches that hang like ghosts
of people we've been before.

ice hardens like sharp glass
along the gutterways, a stark
and harsh light lining my way
back to this place that slips down
in silence at the end of each day
and the faint voices of childsplay
echo like a distant symphony
somewhere in the back roads.

no more stories of the old country
or dinners around the table where
so many dinners used to be,

no more old and and empty souls
retiring to recliners, sinking
into television sets that snow
when the station is off the air

no more mothers, fathers
yet i dream of where they've gone.
i shake and miss the morning break,
and fade into the dawn.

seriously fucked up

not your ordinary whip-it

and so i've learned

shit happens. deal.

happy saturday

After doing nothing more than running a gallery opening, watching movies all night with my lovely boy, and coming home to chain smoke and go to sleep, I woke up this morning to the sound of my iPhone alarm -- a horrible, piercing sound that doesn't just bring the dead from their slumber but also makes me want to throw the piece of shit across the room and get my 9 extra fucking snooze minutes. I'm digressing. So I'm due in at the office just before nine, alarm blares at 7:15. As I reach down to the little pile of books and boxes my phone is resting on to turn it off I realize I'm feeling like I haven't slept much more than what a short nap would feel like. I am exhausted and so not interested in the Cindy Crawford anti-aging-give up the modeling endeavors-infomercial that plays softly from my crap-ass excuse for a television set (props to me for falling asleep watching Lifetime every night). So I snooze once, and snooze again. Lacking motivation to get out of my warm bed I lay there, "just gonna rest my eyes another second" ... an hour passes before I wake in a panic realizing that it's 8:35, and I barely have time to brush my teeth or even look in the mirror before I speed the drive to work which when done legally should take almost a half an hour. After teeth and deodorant it's now 8:40, no time for coffee, and yes I'm wearing some combination of what I slept in and what I had on last night. Today was a day for an Italian shower, but thankfully I'm only here until 4 and it's cold enough to make me feel pretty much clean all day long. I get in my car, it's freezing, neighbors in my cookie-cutter development are starting their cars, travel mugs in hand, waving to one another... and then there's me, I've got my aviators and "don't fuck with me right now" face on, get in my car and fuck the warm up, I'm GONE.

...

So I'm wondering in a moment of panic what would be most appropriate to drive to work on. No time to choose, so risking the many obvious bad choices in 14,987 songs I pick shuffle. Who would have thought this would be the only stroke of luck I'd have in the morning? God was clearly on my side. As I swing around my corner without stopping, "Windowlicker" by Aphex Twin comes on. I found some odd solace in this trip of a song. Needless to say I was prompted to speed and got to work in 15 minutes (thankfully) without getting pulled over. Here I am, looking and feeling like shit... my only comfort is my iPod and the fact that I woke up with my hair looking pretty decent... but I've got the coon-eyes of a sleep deprived octogenarian.


Oh, I got to work on time.

The blogosphere is teeming with people who are dying to get noticed

i.e. the blogosphere is dead.

my heart hurts

very much

lundi, 100.

I often find myself with too much time on my hands, trying to make sense of the things I encounter on a daily basis. I'm ground down to the bone from stress and other constraints and triggers, the need to strive for some sort of ideal that I don't believe exists. This time of year tends to bring out the worst in people. We carry along in our lives from day to day trying to construct something perfect, something wonderful... questing after happiness or whatever idea resembles the meaning of that word. We are, however, constantly vulnerable to and at risk of coming into blunt contact with a destroyer. At any instance this world we've drafted in our minds can be torn to shreds, ripped apart -- and there we are, shaking and afraid like children left to pick up the pieces and put it back together again, risking nothing but a reoccurrance... and so we find solace in the orchestration of a perfect song, a beautiful melody riddled deep with touching lyrics that hint at a life that exists only within speakers... a painting, vivid and bright, of a world unlike our very own... in a movie or play whose scenes are really just figments of another fucked up person's imagination. Things like this stand as confessions. We openly admit that our own lives are filled with garbage and so we must create an alternate plane to temporarily exist in. Who are we trying to impress? What are we trying to hide? I don't even want perfection, I'd settle for things being just so.

for patrick thompson, the party dolphin

do i need to see an analrapist?

For those who may be unfamiliar with the term, an analrapist (as named by Dr. Tobias Funke from Arrested Development and pronounced uh-nal-ruh-pist) is an analyst and a therapist. These days I think I'm in need of some assistance. My deep seeded self-loathing has launched me into a downward spiral of destruction --- everything in my path is being obliterated: my sense of calm, logic, comfort, 'relationships', et al. My question really is this, when does voluntary self destruction become a condition and not a choice? There's no other way for me to behave.

I've been watching a lot of the Craft lately, scrutinizing small details, reading the lines between blah and blah and

that's all irrelevant. Last night I picked me up some new wheels. Wheels of my own. New car smell wheels. Wheels that'll gladly take you places. A NEW WHIP... shit...

strange days

I was just reading an article on Current.com that totally blew my mind. The labor ministry in Japan is enforcing laws that encourage more "family time." You got it, mandatory sexy-time on the isle of Japan. After Durex did a study on the sex drive and culture of Japan they found out that the Japanese were exponentially less likely go get down and do the nasty than the global average. Their sinking population is running the country down into risky waters. So, gettin' horizontal will hopefully boost their population levels back up and they can be sustained. It's probably not a bad time for the Japanese to have more sex. In light of their recent economic collapse (or almost collapse), perhaps a little slap and tickle would raise the national morale. Just something to think about...

updating via iPhone... I sold out everyone haha

it's 8:41 am

and I'm sitting alone in the office for what will probably be a very long day. Everything is humming, I hear the refrigerator in Studio 1, the copier, 3 of the 4 hard drive towers... Any minute now the phone will ring and honestly, I don't want to answer.

These days I find myself
sinking slow down into my chair,
hair mussed twirled 'round finger,
thoughtless I blink and breathe.

My cuticles are dry and worn,
knuckles arthritic and sore,
cold weather beaten I'm blank
and lonely, skin peeling away.

Creases by my finger tips
tell stories of every object
I've caressed, frigid hands,
I fold up like an envelope.

My life is a schedule of hats
and missing bobby-pins,
mismatched socks and lukewarm
coffee, stained mug and all.

There are nightly fevers,
and dreams, but mostly cold sweat,
beads forming, nape of the neck
back pain shivers down the spine

These dreams are mine
they'll stop in time
when I cut the line
between you and I.

pree - tee givin'

yr in my kichin eetin mah stuffinz

New York, I love you but you're bringing me down.

For the first time in my life I didn't really enjoy my visit to the city. I don't know if it was the frigid air, lack of available taxis, strange assortment of people I was with, the high prices of everything, and just a (recent) general distaste for that whole scene -- but I had such a wrenching feeling in my gut about it all that I packed up and split to go home this afternoon, not without paying a $15 surcharge to leave today instead of tomorrow like my bus ticket proved I had originally planned. In a very crowded bus that wreaked of hot wings and hair grease, I curled up and patiently awaited my arrival in Atlantic City. The woman from Queens who sat next to me was fidgety as all hell but nice enough, and In Rainbows made the ride a little better. Other than two wonderful meals, one at Bread and the other at Westville, I think I'll stay put for a while.