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.