Nothing Like What's Next To Me

four years of college and i don't know what i want to do. i don't know. i'd pump cesspools if it made me happy, but i don't think jobs can make anyone happy. not completely anyway, momentarily more likely. so i'm stuck, sort of like a stick in the mud, but, i'm not unhappy - maybe a bit sad, but i always find it has little to do with me and everything to do with the world around me.

watch the news.

read the paper.

listen to the radio.

absorb it all, reconsider.

and so i make graffiti on the train because creativity makes me happy.

i like to read and write and watch other people,

pay me for it?

i like to go fishing. not that i'm "serious" about it. i don't go out there with the right bait, rod, or casting technique, but there's something about feeling that life on the other line. knowing that even when you can't see it life is out there - alive! just waiting to feast and be caught.

and i'm a student, but nothing like the one sitting by me on the train. the difference is she has focus and a diet cherry coke. all i have is heart and a Natural Ice. i'm riding this train, not with the intention of moving forward, but with the intention of suspension. i'm dying for distractions from my text. she's reading "Art in Theory 1900-2000". and i find it amazing how they cover 10o years of art in 500 pages. at the very least us accountants know we're full of shit, an invention. art however is not an invention, it's a fruit of being and how i die to eat more than 500 pages.

without a dream there's not much to follow.

i'm sure it's very informative, but heck that's what other things are for. a book describing art almost feels like a disgrace to art. other peoples descriptions and opinions take away from your own.

maybe i'm drunk, no

i am.

So I Settle...

what is so bad about settling? i've seen those particles at the bottom of some solution and they look calm and peaceful. i'd like to settle - but i do see a problem with being still.

there is always bad to go with the good, and vice-versa. if i could just learn to accept it. the definition of perception should be the same as life, however unlikely. even if i'm wearing blinders the shut out still exists.

how far from perfection is rejection?

it's funny because the further the sun goes down the more it becomes a blinding force - the clouds a protector so high up - above ground.

and all that settles keeps low, under the radar.

that's what i'd like in life.

to end on a high note, i'm getting towards those particles.

Ice Makes Everything Better:

1) drinks (self explanatory)

2) bruises/cuts/aches
3) meth-heads (haha)
4) sweet 16's/bar mitzvahs/weddings (sculptures)
5) d-tea (& T)
6)coolers (it practically puts the "er" in the word)
7) wiggers (gold chains, etc.)
8) luges (@ the olympics and paired with a keg)
9) cream (obvious)
10) jewish people's holiday lights
11) queens (i don't know, i've heard it before)
12) pops (that was lame, especially after cream)
13) names of color crayons
14) skates (rollers are totally O-U-T)
15) road truckers (they get their own reality show)
16) high fevers (bath)
17) hard, straight liquor (it makes it go down much smoother)
18) bridges (maybe more fun, not so much better)

Secret Sauce

i've been relegated to the keurig. yes, the keurig. at one point i was disgusted, found myself better than it. no longer. anyway, today i thought alot about bullcrap things. like if you put the word Hershey's () on a piece of shit someone would friggin eat it. seriously though, and they'd pay for it. assholes. and what about a stirrer. newsflash you can stir a drink with anything. from a set of eye glasses to the wrong end of a knife, hell even a screw driver - and that's not me trying to be funny - then again you never can tell can you. but we make something they sell just to stir things. weird. and some of them are seasonal.

ha. SEA-SONS.
that made no sense.

you are a sucker.
what kind of people are they trying to reach out to. the audience. the crowd. the demographic. mmmm. idk.

and after this little bullshit post, all i can ask myself is hello HEINZ, it's me meghan.
what's up with the ketchup. that shit is old. also, it's free at 7-11's and burger kings world wide. you can steal it from diners. bottom line it's not hard to come by.
and the 57 varieties, what the hell is that about. i've seen 2, maybe 3. i think you're full of shit - and you almost had Joe D. () - it's time to redeem yoself.

how about this, and i'm no kind of condiment genius, but it's a 1:1 ratio of ketchup and mayonnaise mixture. people would go wild. it would be sold out. talk of the town. you could have a commercial starring a ronald mcdonald lookalike (see mac sauce minus pickles).



mocking mcdonalds. you'd be a hero, a fucking pioneer.
there might be a hit out on you.

but hell it's better to burn out than fade away.

With My Back Against The Wall I Reversed The Fall

"This is my letter to the world,

That never wrote to me" - Emily Dickinson

not too long ago somebody cited my passion as the driving force behind my "craziness". passion, obsession, love - what's really all the difference? i know i love beyond the scope of others, with an extra sense that sees into a fourth, even fifth dimension. i can love past all the guilt i feel for the wrongs i've chosen, all the hate i feel towards the deceptive snakes, all the anger i administer, But with all the energy i exhibit. i am capable of saint-like love. tender and sanitary is my heart, and willing and welcome are my eyes. i use you to explore the capacity of my love, it has recently diminished - leaving room for you, but barely another soul. i don't mind. i never believed in a love for me below the surface but this tree i've grown has it's roots wrapped around you (how i've flourished since i retook all my love back and distributed it to you). the taking wasn't simple or smooth but once i succeeded i knew the damage was worth the rebuilding that lies ahead - newness is grand. life is a thousand tests. and sometimes when they're bunched together the burden becomes a hole you can't climb out of, so you're alone and unoccupied. and time, as at the time it might seem to be, is not the enemy. it's a tool you must use to formulate a plan for freedom.

i spent the last couple years in a ditch, now i'm almost out as those roots strangle you.

and i feel good because i know you don't mind, it's like how i'll watch you for a couple seconds as you sleep.

me and you

are nothing
but peace.

8/28/10

on my train home from my first day of class i spotted this charming old man, skinny as could be, alone, bouquet of flowers in hand. he was so skinny through his clothes you could see his bones, the shirt was just hanging on him. he was so fragile and when i got a closer look at the flowers they looked as sad as him, mostly baby breath. i wondered if he found them pretty or if it's all he could afford. when i first started speculating where he was going i thought a girlfriends or maybe a granddaughters graduation party. then it slowly occurred to me what if it was a grave he was headed to.

his wifes 10 year death anniversary. somebody what - 6 feet under the ground - buried, being visited by probably one of the few souls left who even cares. her body wasting away only slightly less than his own. he briefly wishes doctor assisted suicide was legal, but then he hears her voice, all those years ago, while laying on her death bed. she said she'd be waiting for him. the scenes outside passing so fast he considers the terms of the vow - would she still be waiting after this long? after all he had waited for her, still bound to she who no longer existed in a tangible form. he thought it would be insulting to their marriage to stray even inches.

upstairs she was scrambling to make arrangements for their reunion, knowing much better than him the wait was almost over.

he got off at jamaica where we made eye contact, but his face was now expressionless.

I Am The End

all i can see is the end of summer. all i can feel is the end of me. with nobody. maybe it's a stretch, or maybe its condensed. i'm not quite sure, but suddenly everything is even more meaningless to me. things i thought i had are frequently gone, and ways i thought i knew are redirected from you. how impossible is nothing, and how possible is everything.

there is nothing to brag about, and even less to mention. days they pass with no intention. i want to get out, i want to break free, how badly i'd like to be nothing but me. i know i'm away and no one can see the things i've done to end up without grace, to end up face to face, with the person i thought could be a change - they were the worst, and i hate to place blame.

i'm off. i'm done. i'm like you on a day after work where you realized this isn't what you want. i'm sorry and sad, but i bust through the day - i want to end up free from the shame.

i can't run fast enough. i can't wiggle through the net that's you.
and when i see all the old men who frequent the dust, i collect what is mine and i'm off with it all. i'm at the office where you should be. i'm out in the street running wild with glee. i'm punished with you, you track my every thought. but unlike you i have my own.

i'm honest but troubled and i can't even lie. i'm rubble beneath the river you cry. wish me luck i'll be gone in time, it goes fast. if you ever wanna talk again i suggest you change and discard all of the shit that made you happily with me.