Tuesday, April 03, 2007

Every morning I stand in front of it and see what I know in the mirror, framed by strips of photographs and keepsakes wedged into the wood of the mirror; dusty. My current odds and ends are spread over the white surface, something like my subconscious, and all the drawers are broken and lolling open with shirts and socks hanging out of them like loose tongues. The hairbrush that I never use is a faithful occupant, beside the jewelry box that never moves. A small gang of hair pins are loitering for months, two or three straying from the group but otherwise barely ever touched. I shun the china dolls perched on top of the bookshelf, the ones I never trusted for fear their glass eyes would one day move – they make me nervous. For the most part, I choose to curl up on my bed, close my eyes and imagine; imagine, the dresser dusted, drawers calm and shut. Perhaps the dolls change to pictures of sunny afternoons with friends. Maybe I find a use for the hair brush, or take an interest in the jewelry box. And finally I can wake up to pure sunlight pouring through my window panes, streaming over my sleep-drenched face – eyes open. But not one of the hair pins have moved; not one. I was just imagining… as if I want them to.

-----

Well you're in your little room
and you're working on something good
but if it's really good
you're gonna need a bigger room
and when you're in the bigger room
you might not know what to do
you might have to think of
how you got started in your little room

- Little Room, White Stripes

Sunday, September 03, 2006

I won't know until You tell me
I won't move until you breathe,
I'll stay wrapped up in this mistake
unless you start to seethe,

inside my veins and lungs,
unbearable and holy.
I will deny everything
until I can't deny you.

oh please, come nearer still
oh you are all there is.
to be found is to be lost in you
I'll never, never love again
the same way I have loved in you.
this is the first, this is the last
that damned ghost from christmas past,
a fiery rupture and icy blast.
don't let me go, don't leave my side
stretch all my fingers, open my eyes
and touch me, somewhere, deep inside.

and faithless as it may be,
suffer me to put my fingers in your side
if that is what it takes to be sure,
o baby Jesus in a manger.

oh there is nothing besides you
but i am such a void.
oh fill this gaping grave,
fill my soul, fill my soul...

please come inside, I'm sorry,
there's nothing to make you stay.
you're all i want,
and i'm nothing more
than a corpse rocked against a dauntless shore
a clonking ore, an apple core,
and oh, it is sore.
please make me nothing more or less
than a child who's reached by your tender kiss.

Amen

Saturday, August 19, 2006

if, you feel sick, just...

swish, swish...I was crossing an expanse of blue. my legs seemed to make holes in the surface, being completely sealed in by water. swish, swish...the water curled and gurgled and spat as i forced one leg ahead of the other. yards and yards of knee-high water, just blue enough; like the blue in some peoples' eyes, or the blue when you're very very happy. anyway, it was easier to read out here. it looked unnatural, walking through water and reading, as if i were on land - i was, but so was the water. above, the freshest sleepy breeze ran its fingers through my hair, and a gull or two were trying to read over my shoulder high above, circling like white-and-gold bobbles we hang on the tree at christmas. underneath, my feet pressed into hundreds of perfectly carved little ridges in the white sand, sculpted by the washy tide. every now and then the waves were playful and pushed me to the side, as if trying to wake me from my reverie.
they watched me from the shore - they like to watch me you see, something about being old people they say, even though they aren't old. but it's easier to act like it sometimes, isn't it? because they just watch everything that goes by. they must have been very young when they made that decision...i don't try to understand those things anymore.

-----------------------------

her laughing head looked like a sun, mouth wide open with joy, and eyes tightening up. it made an arch in the sky and then landed on the picnic cloth beside mine, still laughing; but everything else was bright that day too - too bright. hordes of sun-burned people with chlorine-streaked hair littered the shoreline, their arms full of flimsy plastic chairs so their neon spandex swim suits wouldn't get grass stains. a chaos of cherry-red coolers, volley balls, gaudy inflatible beach toys, cheap umbrellas that didn't always work, hats and shiny bikes, pink flip flops, and stinky sun screen surrounded us and blended into a blur of lights and colour; and we curled up in the safety of it.
maybe, when spirit is about to go up and pass the sun on its way, the sun gets excited and burns brighter, like it did that day.
it had begun; confused calls and jerky running, frantic scanning over the water's morbid surface. there was a young slim lady in a lose black dress with white polka dots on it, with a ginger complexion and a tuft of black strands caught up at the back of her slender neck. it was hers of course, the one missing; you could tell by the panic screaming on her face, it belonged to her, and she couldnt find it.
first the young man in the white t-shirt; he ran in, unsure and nervous, then he plunged head first under the murky water. another, with thick black hair, ran in; moments of sick suspense lasted only a little while. then, slowly, the truth eased through the crowds; it got cold. he hit the water with his arm and the water splashed; he cried out in anger like a wounded bear and ran his hands desperately through his black hair. an older women with the same ginger complexion slapped her hands together and yelled at the young slim one, "he's dead! ah? okay? dead!!" - the polka dot dress lady wasn't listening to any of them.
but he was found. he was more a communal link of humanity than a person, as no one could see him. he was dragged on shore, the hordes surrounded the ones who knew him.
the sun burned brilliantly, garish and unaware that even it could not warm the cold face it fell upon, lying there on the beach. the young lady in the polka dot dress never let her thin brown hand fall from her trembling mouth; even she did not know how terrible it was yet. the beach inhabitants seemed a separate species for an hour; they stood around dumbly, mute and expressionless, but no understanding spoke in their faces. it was almost as if they felt that this Dark Stranger had intruded on their sunny excursion, rather than it being them who had intruded into one of It's visits. perhaps some of them had not already met this Stranger, and did not then notice It's unfailing presence under their skin, something like being shown how to clean floors; before taught, one never knew about the dirt on the floor, but once put into contact with it, one is in constant awareness of its omnipresence. one sees it everywhere, and cannot get away from it; there is no respite from enlightenment.
after a while, sirens and men in red suits surrounded him and eventually wrapped the polka dot dress in a blanket and took her away, frantic eyes poking out of a vacant face.
i suppose, her little girl will be told stories about how good her papa was. how brave, and kind, and lovely he was; how his friends loved him, and his wife loved him. she will likely be reminded of how he loved her because she can't remember. perhaps the little girl will understand one day, perhaps she never will. perhaps the polka dot dress lady would think she was the only one who still saw him, in her room, you know, when no body else was around; that he still spoke to her, and caressed her cheek, and smiled lovingly into her face - perhaps she will never let go. perhaps she will become a living shrine to the one she loved, with no room for any other gods in her cracked and leaky bosom. perhaps her Hail Mary's will be said with more ardour when she clutches the gold crucifix that hung around her gaunt neck.
perhaps it was all a dream.

if, you feel sick, just...

Friday, July 28, 2006



I'm gone. For a week, at a cottage, on an island, with my family.
I'm going to drink lots of tea, and write a lot, and do everything with my family.
I probably won't write that much actually; depends, if it turns out how I expect it to or not. I will read a lot though. And tan, and swim, and play scrabble, and pick flowers, and visit the tiny church there, and go on long walks, and try climbing trees, and squish the sand between my toes, and dance alone, and be cozy, and sleep, and wash dishes.
dreamy...cozy and overcast, i want everything in wool. wooden bedposts and brass knockers, the day and night lapse into each other and spin my days into gold...exhale, like you need to.

Monday, July 24, 2006

so it comes down to wanting what you can't have. oh tripping over simple truth...but what's wrong with wanting some things? that's when God appears to be a big meany, holding good things back from me - but that's a lie, from the Father of Lies, trying to discredit God's goodness, His goodness which is evident in His Word, "I will satisfy your heart with the desires of your youth". I just don't understand it all.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear you,

You are un vaniteux. So why do I like you so much? It's not even liking you...I just have an insatiable appetite for you. You're challenging, and while you're as ordinary as all the people I reject, yet the fact that you are happy that way gives you a superiority over your peers; and it's addictive. You're not too far from the rest of them, and I'm dissastisfied with them - but you seem to have a secret, as if this normality of you isn't true, and I am obsessed with finding out if I'm right. Or maybe that's just it - it's all about me; I need to know, I need to be right, I need to win - as always. Perhaps this one singular feature about you that has me mesmerized has one singular purpose - to break my vanity. "I could more easily have forgiven his vanity had he not wounded mine." ugh. It doesn't help that I romanticise it all; and lie about it to myself as well - you're probably not AS vain as I make you out to be, but your continual indifference towards me makes me think you must be the most proud and conceited person alive - which, ironically, would make me the proud and conceited one. And this logic that bounces off of you and back at me makes me dislike you even more. Which only increases my infatuation.
I WISH YOU DIDN'T EXIST
I would sleep better at night.

Sincerely,
Me

Thursday, July 06, 2006

Sometimes, when I get tired of crawling on all fours and I feel like the city is gonna swallow me up I come out here, and...I feel like, anything can happen up here. I can, be president, I can lick the stars, suck the moon? Oh man, I'm weird right?...what do you wish?
...I wish, my mother were still alive.
...Oh..I know...
...When I was little, I told my mother I wanted to be a doctor, a veterinarian. She smiled at me, and she said, darling, you're gonna be, the best veterinarian in the world...
You are, I know you are, I feel it.
No, because she's gone now.


Antonio and Nina, Sueno

It's amazing, what pain can do. How it can paralyze us, and lock us up. How we let it do that to us...how we throw away the future because of things that have already happened. How hard it is to move on, to trust again, to love again, to feel again. Fear tells us, don't risk it, you're better off in the dark not knowing what you might lose. But, "it's better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all."

There is no such obligation.
- Virginia, The Hours.

but i spend so much time trying to figure out what i should be.

and i want to talk to Mozart and ask him what he thought
when he knew all about love but could love nothing but art.

mm i wrote this a while ago...

there is no "solution". there is only you. the way you are. with no frills or ornamentation.

when i was little i was terrified of swimming.

i fell in a pool once. i was too little to remember it but there were times when i was older that i thought i knew the feeling. water completely alien to my walking feet; the feeling of immediate threat needing some kind of counteraction; the only reaction possible is floundering; and slowly, slowly, losing to the inescapable pull...

now i want to be brave. i get in the pool and i'm completely willing to do what i need to do to stay afloat. and i'm trying everything i know.

but i don't know enough. so i'm flailing, and i know i'm sinking.
and i'm failing it all.

"the only one holding you back is yourself," teacher said to the little dripping girl in the swimsuit.

her eyes stung but it wasn't the chlorine...the little girl thrashed through a salty flood. she never could swim very well...

Friday, June 23, 2006

jewel jewel i love jewel
jewel is cool
jewel jewel jewel
good good
mm...pinkk..
and all these shiny pens for exams..
DONE !
almost
laallalala...
skeh. he's at his SECOND prom.
"big shoes to fill huh? BAHAHAHA"
...
sooo gingerale. yarm.
definately a guitar sitting in that chair. okay...
"remember the time you drove all night just to meet me in the morning?.."
ooohhh bright eyes...thank you for being on file share.
and i'm not blowing you off if i say i'm busy.
unless i am blowing you off.
FUSCHIA GO AWAY
so, butterfly on me.
annnd supposedly modest, suspiciously awkward...
shorts.
i.
me.
you.
sleep. sleep sleep time to sleep.
lightbulb yellow light
glimpse
good night <3