if only, if only, if only, if only, if only...

today has been comprised of reading kerouac, listing to lipscomb, and cooking stuffed bell peppers.
my mother was kind enough to write me up the basic recipe with suggestions and i tweaked some things, as well.
they're stuffed with brown rice, spices, and various chopped up veggies that i sauteed--carrots, onions, roasted tomatoes, black beans, an a bit of corn. i would've put feta on top but i was out, so just used parmesan.

j'avais rêvée pour vingt années.

today is my last day of being a teenager. i feel as though i should do something rebellious...since i foolishly forgot to include that aspect in my teenage existence--such a waste!

my dream life has consisted of you, exclusively.
it kills me, darlin'.

so, i was waking to my car and i hear a "hello" slap the back of my neck. i was going to turn around to see who it was, but there was another guy walking the opposite direction, and i figured it was directed towards him. i kept walking. staring to the side at my own shadow. then someone murmured under their breath beside me and a man's voice said "are you in architecture?" startled and stumbling over my own words like a fool gorging on anxiety and palpitations, i responded in "oh me?"s and "um"s...eventually getting out a "no." told him i just came from video, and before i could explain the wicker basket and rulers, he asked if i was "doing 3d and stuff." i kind of chuckled and said no, then felt bad because he was serious. i asked him what his major was and he said computer science and informed, without my questioning, that he was indeed a geek. i smile and said "that's great, though." or something of the sort, trying to be nice and all the while hide my state of bafflement. he quickly switched back to me and asked what i was doing in video, and i explained it poorly. he got to his car said "well, take care." and i said "yeah, you too." then continued walking.


it's so odd to me that these occurrences are so rare. strangers speaking to each other. then leaving and never knowing anything else about the other's existence. and i guess they linger with me because those conversations don't have a past or future. they're a moment--and that is all they ever will be.

can't get enough.

two shirts, one enormous ugly sweater, an obnoxiously large scarf, tights, jeans, socks, boots, and my hair's all waded up like a bird's nest. still shivering. i would not do well in the frigid parts of the country.

it appears, that in my slumber, zora discovered the yarn basket.
i woke to a plethora of tangled string wound and strewn about my abode.

you know..actually, it nearly resembles that marcel duchamp installation:

why is it that i must be savagely detached in order to long for attachment?
and why once attached must i so heavily yearn for such detachment?
what is it to be free, i wonder?

i really miss my cello. playing the first note was always my favorite. deep and crackly. like an aged smoker trying to sing about their lost lover, and weeping. feeling the melancholy seep out of it and into me. but it's all dusty with broken strings and a fallen bridge. a dilapidated sculpture that looks like the inside of me. sometimes i try to unzip the case and hold it.. but all this sad eerie neglected silence cuts into me. i can't take it.

can't get enough of this woman. so obsessed.

what really gets me is that you have no clue, honey darlin'.
nobody does.
but here i am, here i've been, dissolving into waltzing thoughts of you. for so long. so peculiar.

clammy cold wood tainted with remnants of old paint (which i'll eventually have to scrape) kissing feet. heater humming, hummingbird, hummingbird hisses. honey bottle on the pearl colored counter. holding this cup of hot tea, slipping from esophagus into a hollow belly coffin of hunger. filling shaky flesh with warm steam. quilt covered quivering bodies, broken strings tickling tenderly. drawing heavy breaths of cosmos into being. starry speckled sky flooding tired eyes. drifting into a loony moon mind soup. pen pulsing sluggishly. watching wearily through foggy second story windows as a muddied booted guy walks down the ally. head hanging in the dank air, sobbing or stoned. wind whispering sweet dreams. everything will be okay, eventually. but not for now. slipping from lips, gargles of "good-night," tuned to tired tongues twisting through throats. and making note--don't forget to pick up your fallen lashes in the morning, to wish upon, clumsily.

dreamt that tom waits read me the constitution.

can't sleep, so i'm reading pages from my diary to zora. it's really quite cute. how she stares at me, wide-eyed and purring, like she understands every tangled sentence.

chattering teeth.

staring into an empty screen. cursor blinking monotonously. like my heart. i have no fury and am surprisingly not saddened, either. it's reached the point where only laughter seems applicable. and i'm content with that. it's nice not to feel. to be truly numb. scrumptiously void. i hope to stay this way for a while. i really do. it's much easier to carry on with necessary mundane functioning in this setting of human existence, if i do say so myself.

moon full, mind full. i nearly forgot.
consciousness hanging on lousy hinges.
new memory posted, nevertheless.

love of my life, happy birthday, jojo <3
i've been listening to you relentlessly today.
xoxo.

i'm so utterly out of my mind. classes commences yet again on the morrow. i do not feel ready. at least it will be a distraction. guess i'll take a shower, find some frumpy outfit to wear, set my alarm, then read until my eyes fall weak to keep from worrying.

drowning in placid reveries of golden honey dripped irises and muck. i'm sick to my stomach, darlin', i'm sick. and i got these aches in my neck from daydreamin' too much, you see. because i've learnt that these times call for abundant thumb twiddles and rocking chairs that creak, while smearing red deep along silent lips under thick tattered tapestries...i'll be mighty fine, eventually. dark dancing with elusive shadows, which twist abstract transparencies of me along the milky wall or loopy bridge or muddy streets, sometimes. 'till heartbeats and eyes leak all lazy and dank. i'll be mighty fine, i will. 'cause i figured out that gorging on words like strings of spaghetti and cups of sweetened coffee do wonders at filling up the empty, empty.

i was doing so well..now everything's just all jumbled up again.

i don't know how i'm going to make it through work today.
my emotional state has been haywire since last night.
i need today for contemplation and silence and daniel johnston.

working is gonna be tough...

i went to the daniel johnston concert tonight with anne, and i knew it would be good, but i have no idea what the bloody hell just happened. and not just to me, i know every single fucking soul in that muggy dim-lit room all felt it, too.
i'm..i'm just so heavy. i mean....heavy. that's the best i can describe it. like a sunken ship rusting in those untouched depths. and there are these eddies churning inside the middle of my being that i know will never leave. his shaky voice of longing and jokes and truth. his trembling hands. his closed eyes. beard covered in cake. a, now, fifty year old dreamer.
i felt him hold each of our hearts tonight. and i felt his, tattered and broken. completely shredded. so helpless. with nothing but a cheap guitar. it hurt so terribly. i can't even type or attempt to explain this to you any further. i am eternally haunted and eternally caressed.

anne got a recording of "true love will find you in the end"
listen here.

internal weaving.

i just had the most beautiful moral-filled dream. woke up unexpectedly. it'd probably mean nothing to anybody else, but i have to write it down before i shut my eyes again in fears that it will wash out of memory.


we were living in a small cottage, deep within a desolate land where every road was laced with trees on both sides that arched over. i was outside, tending to our garden. the atmosphere was drenched in gray, so the roses looked inexplicably vibrant. you were inside, baking. you had big headphones on and were dancing around without care. i came inside and reclined on our window-seat next to the soft lazy lamp light. i shifted between watching you and the rain. everything was finally simple. i could feel that the wall between us had been demolished. we were so free together. you walked over, sat down, and said, "tell me something magical..like the time you told me about your friend who was afraid to fly on planes, but he got on anyways, and it landed him right in front of the moon."

i wasn't, by any means, expecting this to happen so suddenly.
all of my veins are quivering with each pulse. i have yet to tell if it's the frigid weather or an attack of anxiety that's got me uncontrollably shaky.
i want to write more, but i'm in a state of bafflement.

the ear longs to hear what the heart already knows.

i keep having this dream about a mesmerizing book. but it's in russian. the cover is off-white like a grimy pearl and the title is barely visible due to it's old age and set in a faint goldish text. i remeber that it starts with the letter "t." there would be a page of russian text on one side and an english translation on the other. and every time i read it, i cried uncontrollably. and i never get past the first two pages. when i wake i cannot remember the title or what the words were. only the overwhelming feeling that i was immersed in and how the book felt within my hands.

i'm crumbling. all this rubble is me.

"if i never see you again
i will always carry you
inside
outside

on my fingertips
and at brain edges

and in centers
centers
of what i am of
what remains."

--charles bukowski

never knew i'd be walking, wounded, on all this rubble. emptied of everything. staggering, yet free. wings, unfamiliar. feathers slicing flesh.
...so many feathers slicing flesh.


"i didn’t want any flowers, i only wanted to lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty. how free it is, you have no idea how free."
--sylvia plath

attempt #1 at becoming free:
my brain has quieted, my heart has settled.

i'm more tangled up than the roots of the eldest living tree.
8:37, and i'm going to bed.

i've been listening to nothing but tom waits and leonard cohen.
can't stop.

my sweet baby.
we love each other entirely too much.

my skin, my hair, the clothes i wore for two days smell like an open fire. these lungs of mine feel like chimneys must. and my bones are creaking like the wooden floors in that ramshackle victorian house my father almost bought when i was younger. but this smell of dead earth set aflame which has seeped it's way into me, is fading. everything is altering. i feel it more than ever. the new year never fails to entice and frighten me all in the same moment. this year i sat stoic, gazing into those flames kissing the bottoms of my outstretched feet and other limbs. drunken howls soaring, vanishing. everywhere, last years lovers forgotten, and new ones already clasped in arms and on unusual lips underneath old trees and ancient stars. there is a caged dove inside my chest. i've kept it there for some time now. this year, i'll let you free. somehow. i will. whether it's a proclamation or a fly into voids my heart nor eyes obtain the capacity to perceive. i've jut gotten so attached to the mystery. and, darlin', you know i love a mystery. i really wish there were farmer's booths on the sides of highways that sold fresh hearts instead of watermelons.

i've got good feelings about 2011.
..which perversely means, it will likely be wretched.

i have the most horrid headache.

i don't understand why these debilitating things keep consuming me lately. used to only get them on very rare occasions, and when i did, they were hardly near the extent of this.
forgot to eat today and haven't been able to sleep, so that could be a contributing factor. but for some reason i cannot even think about food without nausea slipping through my veins.



i saw "howl" tonight with anne and alonso. i'm a bit bummed, to be completely honest. the cartoon segments were totally unnecessary and utterly distracting and slightly sickening. but i loved the hazy blue smoke filled rooms during the interview segments. they did a good job at making it look old and somewhat grimy. ...it's just...i can't shake those cartoon segments. oh well. i'm glad i got to see it.



on another unrelated note, it's patti's birthday!!! i love that lady. so to make this somewhat related, i'll attach a photo of her with allen. perfect, right? and so adorable, too!

















it will be 2011 soon and hopefully by then this headache will have subsided.
goodnight, xo.

there's something thrilling about pricking my finger unpredictably.
a single beguiling drip of blood suddenly emerging from the trembling tip.

it was only an accident.

i know we're both dreamers.
and i know that's all i need to know.

i'm developing an odd obsession for a-frame houses.

i've been awake for about three hours now. already had my first cup of tea. not in the mood for coffee. don't know why. zora (my cat) woke me up, as usual. she has developed the notion that i must be conscious in order to snuggle. i can't get upset, though. she's too endearing. anyways, i had a bizarre dream. it was all over the place. it went from horses, to fragile white boats on dark emerald waters, to knitting (the needles were really neat, though), to dreaming semi-lucidly just to see if i would be able to get out of a yacht if i were ever rich and in one alone that began sinking. i got out. i had to break the window. the water was cold. but i woke up to kitten nudges before i could ever reach the surface. so who knows, maybe i did drown. i feel like a part of me withers and dies every time i wake up anyways. subtly. delicately. eternally drifting in those bleak waters. eyes like cursed pearls.
i hope it rains today.

black swan was inexplicably good.
currently cuddled in quilts, reading whitman and crying.

i should get some sleep.

highlight o' the day: mother "mewing" like an infant cat to insist that it was, indeed, an applicable scrabble word.

guess i'll just have to learn to become fond of these elephants.

pauvre bébé.

there is a shard of broken coffee cup on the wooden floor next to my bed. it's small and green with brown speckles. sharp, too. i thought about picking it up. i still remember it's there, so i'm cautious lately. but, i i'll step on it eventually. probably after waking from some bad dream and can't sleep. i'd be getting up to brew some coffee or tea. then step on it, suddenly, just like that. and then, throbbing, i'd forget all about any nightmares. fall asleep unbandaged on bloodied sheets, sweetly. sort of crooked and smiling.

1:46 a.m., i've been awake for too long. every time i look at a wall, or something somewhat stationary, it starts bulging and moving in all sorts of contorted ways that it's not supposed to. frightful and fitting for the way my brain is feeling. sickish, so lost and hesitant. hallucinating manically. i'll find my way, somehow. start by tracing these flimsy steps. or something.
i've been waiting for the murky sea to breath deep and erase them all. disorient memory beyond recall. don't know what's taking so long. wish i could be a rootless vagabond. and forget you, casually.

every time i hear the word "disgruntled" i think of a stomach growling.

wish i had the guts to watch the clouds wallow back to where they once were. but for now i'll keep scrying into muddy eddies, fumbling back on themselves. like my breath when it wants to tell you how beautiful i think you are.

haven't ceased shakin'

get this:
late tonight/early tomorrow morning there is going to be a lunar eclipse.
this, and the full moon, just so happen to coincide with the winter solstice (extremely rare occurrence!)
additionally, there may also be a meteor shower during the eclipse.

FREAKING. OUT.
and hoping the clouds clear.

oh, how i wish i had a vast collection of moo moo dresses.
and quilts, would be lovely, as well.

in other non-entertaining news, i've grown rather weary of this hair of mine.
not too sure if i want to keep growing it out.
i almost chopped it all off today. almost.
but i still haven't decided whether or not i'm going to get dreads.
if only i weren't so indecisive...

this, hilariously, is what i looked like today--such a mess. hair 3/4ths up and no makeup. horrid. just horrid.

merwwwwwow.

all these floppy words fumbling from obscurities. gargle and spit. watching as cerebration slops out of the pen. syrupy slew. discarded mind gulps perpetually leaking onto tattered pages. where's the plumber? dear gumption, you are lacking.

i was walking. i don't know where, exactly. some wild empty desert land, two men talking lethargically on broken wooden patio steps painted halfway, then forgotten. brown leather boots and white button shirts. eating out of translucent tupperware food buckets and taking heavy swigs from brown bottles made of shiny glass that a small child would step on five years later. i muffled them out. stepping over rusted barbed-wire and long leftover scraps of renovation. feet bare and vulnerable. the sand was sturdy. then reading my mind, it swallowed me. i must've been further than six feet under. still breathing. sand sliding into lungs now. reaching. but not screaming. it didn't take me though, and i don't know why. my fingers clutched a sunken branch. i could use it to get out. but waited. not breathing. then crawled to the surface, just like that. without even thinking. exhumed. wind blowing in my hair again and sun kissing my sprinkled salty earth flesh, disgusting. those men are still speaking. about women and how they've grown tired of "always having the same ol' tuna casserole for lunch." i must've not been buried long enough. keep walking.

"you're a tormented little artist."--dad

sitting in attics watching dust, gold and glowing glitter-like dust billowing inside rotten peach houses against puffy plum skies. carrying satchels stuffed with clumsy memories. glitter dust leaches, falling. still gold. flying. sinking. back into skin, again. and lungs. memory. running in loop-de-loops and upside-down crosses on burning streets. sun scorching corneas and bare toes. moon drooping in now. easily. but suddenly. somehow humble. though, spilling spells out of craters and into half-melted vanilla milkshakes. eat 'em up. swoon too soon. mistakenly falling against unknown street poles. knocking bewildered minds into slumber, so deep. body sinks. with the lazy roots, now. gone. rotting into eternity, once again. as only closed lashes, latched, could know.

i tried to listen to her thoughts, but they were all empty--only filled with dreams.

i had a dream about joanna newsom.
she gave me her autograph and wrote me sweet letters signed with x's and o's.
later, when i was home again, there were two tornadoes in the desolate distance. lurking toward me. the sky and the storm where in black and white like an old film from the 40s. everything else was normal--but dimly lit and glazed in a deep yellow hue. all i did, all i could think to do, was hurriedly fold up the autograph and letters and put them deep within my pockets. i took some photographs of the storm, and went to sleep knowing that when they found me battered and dead, they'd find her too. then all the obituaries would write about how i loved her too much, a "bedraggled ghost of a sonnet."

people say "love is god,"
but i think love is the devil.
burying itself so deep under oblivious flesh,
you'd have to have an exorcism to get it out.

i love little things that happen like that in grocery stores after work on the cereal aisle.

in the bathtub, palish white, scalding water taunts the brim. the submerged flesh cannot distinguish between extremities of hot or cold. seeping in every pour like quick needles, it hurts so lovingly. head drooping to one side. fingertips and toes wilting like the roses in your neighbors garden you tried so desperately to water with your secrets as a child. you can feel the weight of each exhale pour out of your tired lungs. the breath, is the heavy one as your body mimics an ownerless feather. perhaps from a crow. or cardinal. maybe a meadowlark, skylark, albatross? it's hard to say.

worn through.

thus far today has consisted of immense frustration, unfortunate events, a newly acquired foul mouth, and profuse bleeding which has yet to cease.

unsettled.
(and on top of it all, i've grown ill)

"but i fell for ya, honey, as easy as fallin' asleep."

hush, hush, hush. turn the fan on (or the heater) and slip half your body under the woven and stuffed sheets. and now it's not your father, but the night that is snoring fortissimo these days. keeping you from sleep. and maybe it's better that way. considering lately you've been nothing but a figmented dream cinema. so detached, darlin'. but (unlike the others) you know "detached" also means "free," "unbound," and "extricated." listless, again, you will your eyes into slumber, slumber, slumber.

panic.

new photograph/memory is up. which you can view here.

today was dreadful.

though after work i went with a friend to lucky burger where we both indulged a veggie one.

such an adorable little place. however, it makes no sense. the building is in the shape of a barrel or keg of sorts. it's painted blue with red and yellow writing on it which read "Lucky Burger" and then embellished with tawdry stars. on the inside there are ceramic sea creatures along the boarder of one wall, a poster of bottles on another, a chinese calendar by the register, and lots of other works of art that do not at all coincide.

so cute. if you live in houston, i suggest it.

i've been staring at the moon ever since i got back. and will likely continue to do so for the remainder of the night.

so long.

i wonder what felicitous fallacies will premier beneath these heavy eyes tonight...
off to morph into a dream factory,
xo.

my papa bear is in the hospital.
..i can't even type about this.

i love you, daddy.
i would give you my heart, but i'm afraid it's just as lousy.

future goal: learn how to quilt.

does anyone want to join me?
we can mail each other and sew pieces.
if you live close we can have quilting day get togethers and watch movies/drink coffee.
it would be fun.
just sayin'..

you've gotten so far under my skin that i cannot even stand my own flesh.

i'm so upset!
vija celmins is going to be giving a talk at the menil on friday.
and i can't go because i have to work.
ughhhhhh. not okay.

i feel it in my bones. i'm ready to move. not to a new apartment, or city--though that'd be nice, too--but rather metaphorically speaking, i'm ready to move on. sometimes i think i've let go too much. or too easily. i've grown rather good at it. don't get me wrong, i have got a heavy heart, but that's only because i know how to use it. just like an old tattered suitcase, i know how to tuck things away in there. it's grown weighty throughout all these years. sometimes it gets hard to breathe. i bet when i'm old i'll have scoliosis due to it's constant tugging. my thumb is red, not green. i garden often under this skin of mine. when i'm sad or bored, i start plucking out all of these roots you have left, and sometimes i accidentally pull a vein and it tugs at my heart. or sometimes it jerks a memory. but i'm pulling them all out. i've almost finished. i did a lot of gardening tonight. there are a few weeds i'll have to get in the morning or in my sleep. i daydream too much these days, that's when they all come back. now i've got these fresh roots attaching. casually finding their way into the marrow.

i honestly can't listen to her without crying.
joanna newsom is the personification of my heart.

they always say “hold on tight!”
though, i’d rather hold on loosely.

no matter whether it’s
inner tubes, subway railings,
or hearts.

oh man, i've been having the best dreams.
wish i had time to write them down.
but i must get ready for school where they will all fleet my memory.

don't know how i've managed to obtain such lousy circulation.
i'm currently sitting in front of my heater, drinking a cup of coffee, while wearing a sweater, two comforters, and a cat....though somehow i'm still cold?

this post is pointless.
so i might as well add that i've got a killer craving for some dried apricots.

i feel as though i've been drugged.
i need to write the most immense blog entry currently, but cannot because my father won't let me and everything is still unsure.

HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DO MY SCHOOLWORK WITH THESE ANTICIPATIONS?!
bloody hell.
the mere thoughts of this potentiality is intoxicating.

everything's all tangled up, honey darlin'.

it wasn't supposed to happen this way.

the joanna newsom concert was cancelled due to "soft ticket sales."
i don't think i've ever felt so deplete in my entire existence.

currently in mourning.

wake up and the mirror acquaints you
to two tiny zigzag scratches on your forehead and
three frail twisted lines along your porcelain shoulder blades.
they're already scabbed over, laced in pink flesh.
muscles ache and are tightly knotted.
you can't remember your own dreams.
and there, on the window seal, sit six eyelashes,
stationary and offering no sparkle in the stale sun of morning.

and tomorrow when your slicing apples, or your finger,
you'll remember
the heap of images that rested heavy beneath the
unforgiving skin which shield your weary eyes.

wish the rothko chapel were open 24/7.
i need to go sit in there for a few days.

finally.

i wonder if you've ever considered it.

this is how my brain feels currently.

also, my hair is sluggishly reaching a desired length.

goodness, i need sleep and a dependable heart.

all i want to do is stay home and watch harlod and maude while sitting in front of my space heater wearing an extensively over-sized sweater with my cat and a cup of hot coffee.


...contrarily, i'll be working to my wits end and schooling/working all day.
make that all week.
or the rest of the year.
or the next eight or so years.

cacoethes [ˌkækəʊˈiːθiːz] noun:
1. an irrational but irresistible motive for a belief or action
2. a chronic and overwhelming desire

heart is fumbling
under secondhand sheets and clothes that have grown worn and loose
pushing tacks in the wall
closing weary eyes

eyelids are like hexes
when they drop
cautionary tape won't halt them in the least
taunting and relentless in their unforgiving desires,
in their visions of what can never be
will never be

bottom lips bite as the word perishes from mouths
"never"
stinging and unkind in its parting
just like "love"

though love necessitates a deeper sting,
a heavy heart,
teeth that aren't frail,
and twenty-nine tissue boxes
(give or take)

new favorite thing:
singing macy gray's "sweet baby" to zora.

cutest thing ever.
she grabs my hand with her paw, and pulls it close to her endearing little face, and purrs, and then love nudges abound.

held the most beautiful snake in the cosmos today.
it's charlie's (my co-worker) purple albino reticulated python.

took a few photos with my phone..

charlie holding said snake:

























and me:

list of material wishes:
-functional typewriter.
-a bookshelf that allows for greater expansion.

i prefer my life daydreamt.

i've acquired new possessions that i'm quite fond of.


first item:
vintage map of earth's moon from 1969. it's rather large and measures 42"x27 1/2". it is topographical and shows the near and far side of the moon, plus rotation, tides, and lots of other interesting information.



















second item:
vintage framed print, circa 1900-1949. shows a lady moon gazing, seaside. the back reads "ALONE"
the print itself is a 6x4, thus very intimate and tiny.

dreadful tuesdays.
at least the sky has a belly full of thunderclouds.

today my painting professor wanted to pay me for the painting i let her have.
i quickly informed her that i would accept no amount of money. at all. end of story.
she hung it up in the painting departments office and told me that everybody has grown fond of it and i would now be immortal.
thing is, it’s such a crappy painting. honest, i’m not just saying that.
that's why i let her have it. i usually keep all of my work, no matter how horrid. but i figured she'd get more enjoyment out of it than having it sit in my closet for decades.
i do find it humorous, though.
the project was extensive, but basically it entailed choosing an artist and a toy and then using said artist’s work to make your own with the toy. there were three paintings due and the first was to replicate as closely as possible a piece by your artist (while still adding the toy).
i ended up with the combination of alice neel and a pencil sharpener.
my professor sent me a photo of it that she took with her cell phone,
so here are the two juxtaposed (the painting is modeled after neel's soyer brothers):

my head is clouded in fogs of nonsensical air. so i'm writing instead of doing my schoolwork.
...which i may or may not regret by tomorrow. i've reached the point of not caring so much, ya know?




when the feathers of your eyelids shut
and your mouth is running out

of words to play,
make sure there are eleven
pillows on your bed in november
and the doors are tightly shut with

paintings and tattered woven tapestries
wound and sprinkled in dilapidated dust from

memory’s attic
clutching the smell of year 1901
with chipped red polish,

unkempt on your lukewarm fingernails
complemented by tips the colors of rotten milk
and leftover fragments of yesterday still

wedged underneath.