Phoenix Resurrected

i look back and it flashes over - taking me down in its undertow. similar to anti-gravity, i'm drifting away from earth.  how long in this undertow
can i last
and it's been almost a year since i gave up, didn't look back. actually withdrew myself from plenty, and i could consume more. endure it all much better, and learn more.

i took the guts right out of it and sent it to the coroner, and i'll stand by when they slap you on the table. they'll cut you open like sunday dinner, but they won't be expecting what i already knew.  you survived with insides that curdled, so sour.  it amazing you lasted with that putrid stink.  and to think you grimaced at passerby's when they twisted their faces.  you swelled with anger when you knew it was was all misconceptions (how you believed to be looked upon - once described as "completely bloated in an ignorant figment of how [you're] viewed), your brand had cascaded.  you cried behind the shed in your backyard while your parents watched out the kitchen window.  they were hesitant to come to your side, you constantly pushed away those invested in you. 

so it was no surprise when they tell me it's mostly empty, you were running on ashes and all that was there is black, i'll share a laugh with your ghost right after i remind the coroner to take care of the remains. and it's funny because when you were still here i told myself you lost your dignity.  now i find myself defending it, and excusing it for the past.

Three Thoughts

1.

Sometimes odd couples

are actually even

and my match

does start a fire.

2.

Expectations are a

well in my heart

the further away

the closer to start

I'm drowning in three 

inches of life.

3.

My sadness is hidden

-why I don't know

I started to cry

when I saw it go

I chased it down the street

then I held my head high

in defeat.

A Shift In The Map

when i sum it up i just didn't wanna budge the past year or so. at this point i underestimate the duration for personal reasons. maybe i'm afraid if i stray too far it'll all be over, a new chapter will begin. it could just mean i can't put it in the past. sleepless nights where i dial your number and call you to my bed. all that's visible is your figure - you don't say a word. i wonder aloud, playing with the length. it seems shorter when it plays out as redundant and i briefly wonder if that's what we're really all fighting. a shameless routine we don't want to see. and yet i am curiously angry with all that challenges and forces a forfeit of the routine.
can you dig it?
however, it's possible to be tripped up, a created distraction that follows my track, noting all my moves, could be following you too. he's a predator that has studied your scent and has inherited your story, wishing to rewrite himself into only the most personal and particular. out on the streets - not even on the sly - he tells every individual, ones that won't even listen, my story. from birth to present.
all the candid details and every sterling moment.
so without the faintest bit of effort he has overnight become me. with a better reputation, more distinguished education, and a look slightly more established as beauty.
i'd laugh but my life's work was just discredited. i went down to the local bar. the floors were so sticky i could merely sway my hips. i engaged in some drinking, breaking my sobriety, i complained to the regulars with their layman rebuttals. i was unconvinced of their struggles, but sure of their stacked up disappointments. but i longed for you and it was apparent. when i downed my last beer i found the door and made my way out. i stumbled out and then along home.
back in my bed, right where i had started. but now with a stench from all the sparring with the sorted soul who found himself kicking my ankles. and for all the splendor that all his admirers reported - when i was asked i always denied talking.

One Hail Mary, Then Let's Go Out

before, we would sit on the train together and pretend to be in love - just for the tourists. your arm around me. my hand on your thigh. i'd tell a story to the tourist and you'd stare passionately at me. you'd tell a story to the tourist and i'd stare admiringly at you, a quick look back to the tourist, just checking in, right back to your lips. then you would say your goodbyes and depart at your stop. me and the tourist left to rear the conversation.

as the train leaves your stop the tourist addresses me. filled with envy and anguish as he gropes through two questions. could two people be more in love? can i ever find that?
the tourist slowly comes back from that place we always sent them. the bright pasture filled with life. you bounce and the bumblebees don't scare you. and the river will never stop running, and the trees will always be in bloom.
the tourist was so far off after bearing witness to a pure love that flourishes between us.

the tourist looks back at me and makes a statement of fact: "you and your boyfriend really love each other"
i correct him on our circumstances. i tell him of our wild love for one another, but remind him that we're still young. i assure the tourist i'm in love with you, and i'm almost sure you feel exactly the same way. i tell how our unfortunate dilemma roots from the sole truth to our love. we both know that once we get together there would be nobody else after. i explained gingerly to the tourist that neither of us are ready for that sort of commitment quite yet.

at the moment we preferred to stage our love on the train. we needed to remind people of that young unconditional love. a real life memo reminding folks that this rare and untamable beast may be endangered, but it's not extinct. only hard to sustain. and while it might put on a show, it rarely makes a curtain call, and never delivers an encore.

The Last Holiday Between Lives

it just occurred to me that we're gonna spend the holidays together. and i'm not quite sure what to make of it. i'm always for signs and symbols , but you punched me in the face and i just walked away. first i fucking spit the blood right in yer face. no i'm telling the story differently. it was at your shoes, and i missed. good enough for me because you probably would have beat the shit out of me if i did what i wanted.

when i was growing up i always said to myself that i wouldn't let anyone get the best of me. of course years later i did. i was carved out, and i know you took all the good. or whatever it was that let me function. i resembled a normal person, and you might have seen through it, but maybe then you should have backed off and let me have it.

and god you sound silly when you're bashing my choices. i look at you and i know not to get angry, i didn't make you and i can't change you. where does that leave me? i'm being pushed out of the smallest social circle, the most desperate club. fuck it. i'll give up, and give it some time.

i just know that when i went in for seconds, you smiled. it was wide and bright. and for nearly an instant i had the world. for all the other instants when you rejected me dissipated. but the rejection staved off the the merriment.
i about gave up on life right then. i wanted to go to the bar, order a whiskey and coke, and eventually order 3 more.

stay there to closing being brigaded by whispers representing the past.

I'm Not Sure Where I Went, But I Know Where I'll Be

i never once was hurt by you. i never receded, or retreated. i thought i did well in such a backwards position. you said more than i ever could, but still i'm the one credited with the spectacle. now i'm unsure of what direction to take, if any. i was once solid, god it seems like it's been forever, an old memory on the back burner, barely mentionable. and stability is so much more when you're avoiding life daily. sometimes when i close my eyes i see your face, and we go to the marsh with the cloudy rebellious water, where we could never be seen. i contemplate how past too far i let all the feelings linger, and dissolve my chance at any normal days. i continue, would it have been the same had i acted differently? i fell into plans that never panned out, i was naive, and i followed the bait you ambitiously spoke about. but why? you let me in on your little secret several times, but i still couldn't step away from the impending rush of hostile emotion i knew i'd get from you. i took a deep breath, and let it pass. and does anyone else know how fake your friendliness is? i fell for it. i did for everything though. once i thought about getting a sponsor. to call, when you know, i wanted to call you. and i once met a man on the street, was gonna ask him. he noticed i was wandering not being pulled in any direction and he told me "there's no bad influences, just you". and my god i never turned so fast around, i thought you were tapping me on the shoulder. had to have been a sensual hallucination. it then dawned on me that's all you ever were. i was just the fool who took the drug.

One Soul, One Hundred And Two Hearts

i know you must be hurting. except i haven't really seen you so i can't be totally sure. but since we share a soul and mine's hurting for no good reason i can think of, it just must be yours. and since we haven't spoke you don't tell me what's the matter. and i wonder how i could help.
so you know i would tear a hundred hearts out to be sure that your's is safe. and against all odds i'd hire a taxidermist and have them all stuffed and saved, displayed on my mantelpiece.

and then my soul would cease to hurt.
the other one hundred would replace that empty space on my nightstand where at dusk we'd take our hearts out and leave them there 'til morning. at night we would dream and come morning we'd reconvene and carefully place them back in. those heartless nights in which our love didn't matter, it was purely the soul that remembered our actions.

and you left me alone, with my heart on the nightstand, attached to the soul we share in such an uncanny way, but half that soul is mine and maybe i'd want custody again sometime soon. if i remembered what to do. me - here, sharing all the good, and you like hell, and you! all i have from you is a bit of misery that i can't undo, can't return without hurting myself and i don't even know what makes it grow, or puts it to rest. these lingering pains that put me to the test.

how i have a vested interest in your swollen from too much hurt heart, i haven't a clue, but someone up there is enjoying this show.

Oh December You're Feverish

when smoke is sprawling through a dark sky

and you can't see through it with the naked eye,

love fumbles over it's own two feet

as white lies keep it trekking on

and the sky looks like the ocean

and the moon's a jellyfish that's glowing

love surrenders, but why won't we let it?

the deepest rivers, while against the current

lasso all the tiny moments, put them in a row

shoot them one by one, then

bask in the afterglow

This Time Around...

i saw a lady on the train and she was crocheting, and it was the first couple of stitches, and i could see her struggling - i guess that's how it goes in the beginning. but maybe sometimes it's worth it to scrap everything and restart. a few snips here, tugs there. and she has been around the block, collapsible cane and everything. pills on her sweats, sweat on her brow.

god bless<3>>

i am 22 years, 2 weeks, so many days, minutes, etc.

and time flies, or speeds by - whether you're having fun or none at all.

the deep stains of time can come out, when you're willing

motionless behavior though is unacceptable, and not truly cleanly.

the seats quickly empty, i see the indentations of spaces where people were sitting. and i know i'm random but i have a feel for the future that will unfold ahead - just not in depth. if we were in person i'd wink right now.

but back to that lady. she was concentrated and it was still difficult, but she, better than us all, knew it was work towards a masterpiece, her masterpiece - probably a doily.

as i prepare myself for situations and things like them i realize i'm nothing more than a pantry filled with rotten foods that must be vacated so the fields outback can grow and then when i harvest they'll sustain what little bit of life i have left, but none of what's been left behind. soulmates only die. so don't try to read to deep into words like forever, always, and love - they're trumped by lust and desire. and we don't give as many second chances as we'd make it out to be.

Psst Hey You, Up Here

i sit and wait for you on the roof top, that way i'll know earlier when you arrive. i can see so far out, past towns. past all the roads that interlock. but those roads they spill and nothing is there to catch them, but they bring you to me. i consider them my friends. and when you finally make it i turn on the stove. and i'm cooking you shrimp, but when i look down they're sardines, and i'm wondering who is gonna eat that - i wouldn't even let you get a look at them.
the good lord made a mistake making me ever let my eyes set on you.

i consider how badly i'm screwed, then i look at you, and my body becomes graced with a presence you must know so well. the riddle that makes my anxiety is shallow, and i bear it. i knowingly engage in this relationship blindly.

you won't stay into night, you say "the afternoon is long enough." i know no length. i can't even measure. in my head every single thing is forever. i discard nothing, it all remains, and however untouched it always stays fresh.

and when sometimes i do something that resembles a smile, i know it only has to do with you. and that the pain i've survived somehow lended itself to helping me learn to smile. to smile and mean it. to smile and want it more, to wish i could all the time. feel that way. and i'm not wise enough to know if it's love, or just a sample. a rendering of something much more potent, and too the point.
requited love that cuts the head off and watches the body run a muck.
i'm unsure why i make this all up.

They Reminded Me Of Gma & Gpa

the world is a wonderful place. it's mid-november and the sun is still warm.

the diversity within mankind must make mother nature proud. for when i got on the train today i sat across from a man and woman and before i could even sit down i heard him say "i shoulda worn a shirt and tie," she shot back "we're going to get drugs." my interest peaked and i asked them what kind of drugs (although i had a pretty good idea), when they told me heroin i told them i figured. a glimpse into the next twenty minutes, pre-transfer, would include her talking about how all her "blades" got taken away, how his ex-wife is dead (the big C), her ex-husband calls her for sex, and the quote "they shouldn't call it coke, they should just call it more!"

when i transferred at Babylon i made sure to avoid them, not out of discontent, but rather because i had some reading to do.

now across from me is an elderly lady and as i'm reading my text she says "excuse me dear can you open this", she reaches out and hands me a Poland Spring water bottle and adds "bad wrist." i open it with ease and give it back to her, she says thanks.

and then i'm prompted to write this. because happiness takes the same form in all types of individuals. can you recognize it?

Swimming Through Concrete

on the way home i passed an empty pool. i suddenly pictured all the melancholy you remind me of. the lack of substance. what i was bound to jump into. a slide show of all the awful you bring to mind. i snap myself out of it, i almost feel bad. it really is unbelievable. as i walk towards my house i start to do so with rhythm. i picture all the saucy faces you make come to my mind. i can't comprehend that you never lost your balance, never once punctured the perfect picture. that's when you remind me of snow on top of a school bus, and why winter makes you feel only the realest emotions, the ones that carry on in a person. and you're so proud, you never lead on even an inch. you make me want to take my thoughts and shove them in a blender. tear them all apart so they can't be placed back together. i wonder what i bring to mind, how i make you feel. like what you say when people ask you how i am. the images that come to mind, if you wish you knew the answer. and how little i did that you knew was for you. i was just an outlet you chose for that moment.

now i feel myself trying to swin, and what a disaster. the concrete is ripping my bones apart, and the blood isn't nearly enough to fill this pool up to let me rise up and drag myself out. and it might stain but no one will see it. we won't spend too much time with the empty. tired memories that don't rage if you won't let them. the debris of bone is basically me, the divider between the shallow and deep is right at my fingertips, i can almost touch it. but i'm losing consciousness and gaining nothing.

i meant nothing and that's what comes to mind. something you had hand picked you tossed out.

They Said, "I Was Meek."

i make one thousand different faces, i save them for all the different moments. so i can out do you. and you wage a war with your working class grin. and you don't pick up on it but everyone finds you to be a mediocre person, nothing special. and i'm tempted to walk right up to you and laugh, i'd like to make you cry. but that's when you'd go into a dance, sidestepping all of everything real that i've asked you to relinquish, to reveal. undo those buttons, and take off that top - what's the problem? is your skin stretched too thin, are you scared to admit you're a regular and the trash company you keep can't bring you down because you're already there? but you're a soldier - the heavy armor is wearing you out, weighing you down. it's a fascinating problem. and all the witnesses to the scripts of you and i, kept themselves distant and perched at a height neither of us could climb. and you sat still as they dissected every bit of all the inches that brought us here, and you never once interrupted, tried to silence the curses these people brought forth. it poisoned us, and tortured me. i was muted by people who would never advocate for us. and one specific time, i knew what you were getting to. i couldn't look you in the eye, i stared down and buttoned my winter jacket, avoiding their questions coming from your mouth - they started a fire that i couldn't douse. i was meek.

I'll Turn Down The Heat With The Promise You'll Keep Me Warm

i'm so turned on by the sunless sky, the effortless clouds strung about. it reminds me that i might see you in another life, one we don't know right now. where the trees grow from the sky and houses sit on sponges and when you pass by you're enthralled by all the distaste of everyone living inside. and our mother passes out pamphlets reminding the masses of a savior. that's my cue, i hide from no one, in front of nobody. i'll stay like this through winter when i'll come out so you can see my breath, proof enough that i'm alive cause you said you can't see my body of lies. at first i thought you were being figurative but then you looked pass me.

sometimes i wish i could write this story from your point-of-view but i remember you're a shell of a human and you'd probably describe it all in one word.

and i guess it all inflates my hopes, and then i pass the place where you work all day into night. i see you through the window, try and recreate your day. i worship your interests and i'm smitten with your speech. no matter how i change the story, it always ends with the same conclusion, i don't blame you for not seeing much in me. you're pleasant and i'm really not. but you wear your clothes too tight, haha. i can still laugh behind your back.

Tribulation (The Trouble) < Trials (The Attempt)

here with you, but off to the side, after days the pain subsides
i watch you with the fury of all the bitter days

but handling it can only surely save me

from the candid pain

walking through the doors, i walk a step behind

living in the last season, there's still so much to find

i'm in a bout of rain, that i bring to the engagements
that only seems to stop when snow hits the pavement

my suicidal thoughts, while branching off from lavish lessons

erupt with flimsy reason, slams me to the prior season
while in this backward motion, i continue on
i never get to rid of you, my face red as i recite
this awful situation back to the pages in my diary
it's like reading a future where repetition's not easy
one day after then next, all filled with fear
jumping off the pages are solemn scenes,
with all the same faces
i erase and rip them up to save me from imitation

but

i want to ask you simple questions

given with a steady voice

without all of the flowery emotion

you've heard so much before

My Stature Without Protest

a wind chime through time
in an abyss with no wind
i wait for you to come
filled with dreams/stocked with sin

to start a current that stirs the air
a pesky breeze that changed the end
that flows around in a shrinking circle
starts up to me with my mouth wide open
and out comes hallowed shaded birds
they fall to the ground, their wings
- broke

where they land the abyss can't know
in the vacant black, in the dampness
with the rest of my cleared head

It's Only A Dream To Me - Convincingly

last night i saw you in my dream, not your face
but it was still complete enough for me, what i saw
it was so vague, all i remember is hugging your body so tightly
and i never wanted to let go, from there on
if that moment lasted through eternity, i'd let it burn through me
everything i needed was right there, it was the opposite of lonely
but not in company, filled with excitement as i tucked into you
and you enveloped me, overlapped we would be

so today when i saw you i was surprised, shocked and in awe
i kept quite and stayed close to myself, you were always in sight
and i wanted to let the love gush, to tell a total stranger i love
i couldn't. and now i give up.

so i remain the basin who's draining
everything from the dead to the present -
serendipitous moments comparable to heaven

In Three Parts

prelude:
sometimes you sit down and you tell me how you feel. i let you know the feelings they will fade. that's when you usually take a deep breath and don't exhale. i can see it hurts, but i don't object, instead - i let you be. i wonder if you even know i see you fighting. exasperating all your energy. even though i was an accessory now i'm doing the damage as i hold your head underwater just to keep things blurry.

just to recap:
you pried and it was inherent that i couldn't withstand the the faintest pressure to crack. and let a little free. and you huddled over you're snatched good, and i couldn't see your reaction so i stared away and waited for the next day. all that was me is what you thought you got, so the day after i changed, and rehearsed new lines with fresh motifs just to be sure what you got wasn't endowed. rather it was guts that have soured since i didn't pay them any attention and now you're stuck with 'em.

for the future:

it's that sound of a kiss when something turns off. that false sense you had that i defiled you, but you would have been too fond of that so it can't be true. so, my new mantra is that of a badly scarred whale - hit by a boat when i thought i was king of the jungle water. but you will keep on, but never forgive because behind your eyes lurks remedial thoughts of me. you cozied up to mistruths to keep you from freezing standing next to me. the air i give off is ice, i was never in a panic, i just wait for another cold blooded animal. and for the promises you faked i made - it was a mirage that fooled and brewed our grave friend that we've got to know so well, regret.

on my side of this story there was an ocean of life with love that suddenly dried up.on yours its still that mirage, still never really there.

Not Just A Number

i'm always thinking as i'm hurting, i've been thinking a lot lately and i think i discovered a good point. i want to share it with you folks - i'm sure some other person like myself has addressed this idea but here it goes:

if you're a kid your parents should take care of you, right? if you're a super old senior citizen, with one foot in the grave you've had plenty of time to save a small fortune to retire on, right?

and everything in between is the harshest chunk that life has to offer, right? it's where the struggles and difficulties lie, where the crises take place, the hardships, the long periods of unpunishable depression, the crippling fear of life (that seems extinct, or barely a seedling when you're a kid and dissipates [i'd imagine/hope] when you reach those golden years).

what i'm trying to say here is - why do they get all the discounts. is it just a marketing ploy like almost everything else out there? or is it more? is life waterboarding us when we least need it? rolling our skinned bodies in salt, laughing all the way along? just another straw on our inbetween aged backs?

i have no idea, but its in poor taste.

Where Are You?

i don't talk to anyone because i'm so scared of rejection. it all starts with eye contact, lillys on a pond. i often explain it as i'm the kid in class that the attendance sheet never gets to, no matter where i'm sitting. i'm not sure what it means, but i know it drives me towards being away. towards crazy.

it makes me resent myself, and i'm not sure what for. most days i sulk in solitude - the uncontrollable hiccups of my mind swooping in reminding me where not to begin. but how to continue, to perpetuate forward. effortlessly waiting for a lifesaver, a life-changer - i listen. it must be one who knows me and separates me from my sullen thoughts. one who with ease carries me from decimal points and rumored boats that wait for me to be aboard.

it makes me resent myself because the unadulterated thought has crossed my mind that we've met, maybe in passing and i found you too old, ugly, or fat. but the truth is we'd be glamorous together - outrunning foes and joining follies, maybe even being biased unnecessarily, but without attention to the details.

this is just a dream i caught and kept in a chest with a latch.
let me know if you want it back.

Good Girl Gone Bad

when i'm down i feel like shit, i don't wanna move or rather move far. sometimes though i'm high, and not in the traditional sense. this is the high off chocolate or coffee, maybe a funny comment or tv show. anyway i look in the mirror and thank god for my gene pool. mostly my thick head of hair. i know i'll never go bald. female pattern baldness is actually hitting closer to home then most of you even realize. not on my head, not ever. even if i pull my hair out of my head. and not seldom, it's frequent. every once in a while clumps. the kind that will yield an abundance of DNA. enough to stuff something with. no, now i'm exaggerating, but i got a pompadour, and they make you immediately awesome. just like that, yeah.

bigger isn't always better. modesty in your pompadour. please.

some of the greats have rocked them, and with power and influence. i hope i can make something of mine. recently they've grown in popularity with the ladies. of course the regulars come to mind, Rihanna (pictures everywhere) specifically, then maybe Gwen (Hella Good music vid). you've seen it in magazines, etc.
the best i've ever seen. Natalie Portman. hands down.


what an inspiration. always. her fucking hair. beyond sickening. in a good way.
it commands attention. it's pure prowess.
and i'm a rock star. at least when i feel like one.

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.

The Shards They Cut

people are everywhere, and somehow within the population we find ourselves almost attributed to some. like lines in a web, significant of all the relationships, that's the word. they're like lines. some run parallel and they're next to you but you don't ever intersect. then there's the ones that do - intersect. who knows for how long, but they do. and it's very different, parallel and perpendicular. the ones that touch must eventually part, they're going towards opposite destinies. the ones that walk along will always be there, but never There.

who's to say which is better? it all comes out looking like shit anyway. whole pieces of your life headed the other way, and you're left looking down at your hands wondering how you'd be better off. i try and blank myself of the whereabouts of the pieces left. corpses from them all rot in the spaces of my mind.

sometimes i can't find relief. i'm looking for a place where reminders don't exist, much less seen fathomable. it's away from here, but it's around. mighty things have to be far. change is distance, and the further the better.

Don't Answer The Door

i'm drab in the morning as i drink my coffee. it's not outside and i want to go out, but i want someone to go out with me. it's too early and i wont even leave to get the newspaper. not yet. it's a game of cat and mouse between myself and the paper. it tormenting me, and i toying with it. my sly and flirtatious looks out the window yield me nothing though. at the wake of the day i settle in like i'm going to bed. backwards motions and death defying thought bring me to the foyer and walk me out the door.

how many people will come to my funeral. if i died this morning. 75? 125? am i being modest. or maybe too optimistic. i'd like to see the demographics, some real breakdowns. for instance, how many: people who should have passed before me, siblings of actual friends, people who were inconvenienced, teachers, people who actually liked me, people i didn't actually like...stuff like that. funerals are funny, most of the guests are probably driven by curiosity, not even pity or sympathy - and that's cool. chances are the dead don't care why you showed up even if you decorate the room with flowers and send food baskets to the immediate family.

well, back to the actual news.