i no longer see where i end and where the rest will span
my heart
is desert
my heart
is sandstorms
my heart
is oceans raining from the sky Last Saturday i went and saw a movie all by my lonesome. it was a disturbing experience but a needed moment of forced self confrontation. i sometimes read the posts from this summer and i die a little bit and want to take them down because they are...gahhh...they are little monsters. but let them serve as sweet reminders of human progress. HA! Interview with spike jonze is below. as you can piece, i saw where the wild things are. it was nice not having a companion in a packed room of other 20 somethings. they mainly avoided all eye contact with me. something about traveling solo is bold and it's crazy how people interact with you. because they don't.

SPIKE

there was so much i liked yet so much i disliked about the story line as well. no denying though, it was beautiful and well done. of this man?

i'm not sure i have, but i found this global conspiracy to be all consuming.

that man written: October 17th 2009

remembering one night in shanghai. feeling like all those love letters being rung dry after years cast out on the paper sea. so many pretty fishes, so many pretty words of ink, and those chattering night birds in the lumbering trees, that there's enough pretty to fill the holes of our modern sound. so pretty, all these precious things. so pretty are these breakable things.
that i have two tracks getting ready to be pressed, kicked, and pushed all up in your face.

hellcats and 1,2,3, here we go.... darling sugar puff boys....cant wait. It’s a sure thing alright
The doctor with his stethoscope
The metal tools that come and go
Because they are dirty
With your gunky weird
And must be sterilized and purified
And ready to be reutilized
And back for better use
Or maybe just the same
Use as before
In a freshly opened door.

But doctor, doctor
come and take the woe away
Of these 4 walled days
And dim lit stays
And give me someone to laugh with
Someone to align with
Who will never want anything more
Then for us to lay head to head on the floor
With our record collection in fearless reach
And soft carpet for our well thought
Nostalgic feats
In remembering the name of that guy
Who wrote that song
That together we can hum along
Yet we’ll never remember the title of.
But damn, that man sure could sing.

Someone who likes me
for being crazy ole me
which really is, a crazy me. It’s wordless insanity.
Someone who won’t come with
restrictions and warnings
Ill forget to heed.
Because I wont remember not to like you,
I’ll want you anyways. Regardless of the hazards.
Regardless of the timing.
Regardless of the lack of lining
This heart does need.
It has no buffer and thumps so hard
I can hear it in my forearm
Just pump, pumping away.

Someone who appreciates the time
I’ll always need
Alone in my head.
Who wont interrupt the silence
of my eyes staring dead
Into space. Into my intergalactic war
With the starship transformer of words
As they interlock in this darkened place
And form statements, I’ve always wanted to convey
And am now babbling outloud
In my head and through my fingers.

Someone who wont interrupt
Our melodic and harmonic play
with notes about how their heart does stray
Away
From the tender I press into them
From my softened lips
Onto their dewy skin.
Someone who wont ignore me,
Because I don’t think I can
Hear any of this woe anymore.
I’m not really that into dissonance
And I’m an open minded gal,
But I want us to sound pretty together.
Not choke each others
floating swoons
With bitter crap of our past
Making it’s way into our new composition.
Making it’s way in,
To destroy and end the score
Of our lovely duet for two.
Our lovely, honeymooning tunes. Your name is horribly misspelled
In my phone
And while I consider the possibility
Of fixing it
I imagine that our conversation will surely be dead
Before I’ll have ever learned or read
All the letters that make up your name correctly
or tasted how they will flick off my tounge.
Besides, it sounds better spelled this way-
Anyway. And sounding good don't come easy,
but by accident.

And I look unto you, puffy cream cone head boy
With jittery thoughts and your city slicking cowboy charm
And wonder why you are such an oxymoron.

Why am I such a foolish fool
For them puffy cream cone headed boys
Or the shaggy ones that flick their hair
In the misting morning air-
And make me ill behind these weighted ploys.

So solo, on my majestic purple painted steed
I’ll frolic-
Into valleys, plains, castles and kingdoms
That I very well have researched and know-
And play to kings, princes, and their loyal dogs
My puppet show. My modern, new wave, rock, feminine,
Gorilla-esque, surf infused, folk indie pop, puppet show.

Oh, how it feels to be liked.

I got the cool wave of something
That feels like happiness but it's syndicated,
And fabricated,
Dropping into my bloodstream, running me dry, dry-
But lord, I feel mighty high sitting here.
Watching the stars melt on the sidewalk
My hands fading inside me-
I am penniless and poor with only my thoughts
Produced in 2 minutes and 30 seconds
Of commercial musical joy,
That with each second become the hallmark,
Of my great sadness. My great hope. My sense of responsibility
for you, is weak
And though the sun
may peak
Her bright and shiny head,
I am four steps from dead
with whiskey in throat
striking up a winter laden band.
One hand over my eye
and another open in the dark.

Through the city harbor
blind cat ropewalker
down to the skylit charmer
into wounded arms
and gaunt and weary couches
I am wilting away.
With your breath hot on me
sedating my needs
like I sedate and taint you-

But suffocate, suffocate
Disintegrate and fascinate
all my childish fantasies
of being pressed into the trees
pressed into the dirt,
Your hips slipped between
a little exposed thigh.
Pressed and suffocating-
under your weighted throb. just around the corner. my little heart bleeds for this month. if only i hadn't made it so much worse. if only. but i did. i think its appropriate to say, yeah, that hurt. even here, even in my little ole blog that maybe a handful of people are actually seeing, i can't explain myself fully. theres so many layers upon layers of hurt and pain coursing through me and not a soul to be next to my face telling me its going to be alright this time or really ever. alone, i am as it seems i am mostly, and selfishly, i realize that i am not alone in this dilemma as most go through this often. it is just so loud a tune of loneliness in this house and in this world that i am continually listening to on loop and for once, i'd like to hear something else.

this is by far the hardest point in my year for personal reasons. no, not pertaining to my birthday. i am quite happy to be turning older, but i sometimes wish i would finally listen to my own advice and not face oncoming traffic with open arms and a smile. i put myself in the way of future let downs and heartache and it seems that those who try to be a real friend, i turn from and lose, and those that don't want that burden, i try to haplessly lean on and then lose. i've lost someone dear to me in this month and year after year, it doesn't get easier, i just get better at remaining silent. unfortunately, the symptoms are recognized, the condition diagnosed, and yet, i keep on keeping on with my foul games. im okay sometimes, being the vessel, being the person that you just dont know, being just an image, but i really hope theres more to me in there. something someone will want to get in touch with.

enough of the self pity. there are clearly bigger things then me out there that are far more pressing and in need of concern. but it feels good, it feels like decompression to share, to write, even if to no one, maybe someone will finally hear me and answer.


ghostly images from a night on the town. ive made an audio rendition of the night. i recorded various conversations, the music, cab drivers... A train ride to the city as she sweats
Graffiti on the shoulder passage
Discarded train tracks where they wreak

The pavement never seemed so clean
Against the filth of my beaten soles
Against the heat of their boring holes

But I knew long ago, that it was more then
Just a simple combination to escape the ease
It is diabolical plot against your bedroom hollow
And as I lick the walls and peel the paint

Maybe you will feed my empty reprise

The sunshine reflects from the blinds
I hold my tattered sweater close
It is the cascading of feasible minds

The purple flowers on their wall
Casting shadows on our petty pennies
Never bloomed after the frost of fall

But I knew long ago, its not perennial
And though it may never come back to me
I wont forget the way, it looked so long ago
As I walked by your garden trees

And it wont escape me, like a prisoner I hold it close
Onto the last remains of blank tomorrows
And with a white slip in hand, with no words to begin
I recite my empty pleas

But I knew long ago, that it was more then
Just a simple combination to escape the ease
It is diabolical plot against your bedroom hollow
And as I lick the walls and peel the paint

Maybe you will feed my empty reprise youth youth
fading hard and fast
in time ill be an image
in the tray you ash

hanging sideways
off the table with wine
downing these pills
to keep lovely eyes dry

running through the miles
of the creaking sky
foolishly wide
foolishly beside myself

come back to me
blow invisible kisses at the sea
lets get drunk on rotten wine
let emptiness feed our rotting minds

you were contemporary
beige skin on royal sheets
your shoulders, coat hangers as you walk
down avenues, through neon lights

your face firmly planted in the pavement

you are merely
invisible photographs
in a mind getting frail and cold
i spend a uniquely massive amount of my life in the bathroom. not sure why, i like being in there. its kind of fun. its like pressing restart everytime i walk back out. here's some writing on the wall i found. this person, mickey, i've researched and found does actually exist. oh mickey, you are oh so fine, immortialized on the bathroom wall.
regular sunday. full of boredom and intrigue. looking through carts of music like a flesh eating disease. something i wrote a couple of days ago.
____________________________

it is temporary

it is temporary
the mirrored faces reflecting back into one
it is as temporary as the sun

it is temporary
this burning body of youth
it is temporary insanity
and temporary truth
and moveable pieces
in the bottle of corked vermouth
it is ungrateful youth
and all her fantasy
and erotic opportunity
the days of endless sunshine
fogged with cascading rain
full of superficial pain
that only sets into the skin to rise up
much later
blemished traitors
of your failing past

it is temporary
the primping of memories undone
it is as temporary as the blazing gun

it is temporary
it is fleeting
and no matter how these products
keep us believing
they are nothing more
then distractions, they are deceiving
as the sand is thrown in our glossy eyes
and stars that once opened in the night sky
just for us
open no more
and we retire from the bridled gore
of youth and her tireless war
and forever more
must sing the songs of fading youth
and curse the uncouth
the way the years
have wandered by
without any proper goodbye
and we, as strangers
in this looming unknown
we must come to know
as past our prime
past our time
and be spectators
into the theatre of vanity
we are now excluded from
oh, how we wish we’d undone
the regrets and missteps
but we are denied
to ever confide
the wisdom we’ve gained
since beauty and youth
have fled
we are condemned
to be voiceless passengers
on our train ride to the end

yet, this is temporary
as temporary as you and i
the ailing sky
the aching stars
the rolling hilltops
tracing to the mouth of the river
and when we are at once delivered
to a final resting stop
we pray, we hope
as tooth and nail dragged
we try to cope
to be temporary no more
temporary no more
temporary no more
temporary no more
can't sleep. so i'll share instead.
this is what im dreaming of right now.
i can't tell if it's dusk or dawn though.
the thought of that being dawn horrifies me.
breaking dawn is the hue of sickness.
dusk on the other hand.
the shade of comfort. yum. this template is hideous. it must be changed and will be. patience my friends, patience. Hey hey hey.

Look who's finally made it on here. Welcome to the blog. I don't have much to say right now, but don't you worry, I'll be back shortly to update and discuss some things that have been puzzling me. In the meantime, check this guy out. My favorite artist. Mark Ryden:
http://www.markryden.com