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Wednesday, June 1st, 2005
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Monday, November 22nd, 2004
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Saturday, February 28th, 2004
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Saturday, December 20th, 2003
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Monday, October 20th, 2003
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oh yeah.
and i was in some film.
and a newspaper.
here is the webpage.
it has a trailer.
but so do I
(don't fear the reaper)
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she has no job and no
money
and many many bottles of whiskey
and though she does look nice in her clothes
there's really nothing much more to it,
except for some witty remarks attempting to cover
the fact that she has
rubberbands for nerves,
a spinning compass for a heart,
and a corpse of a liver
all these voices she cannot understand
they are like tight ropes
and she cannot balance on them,
drama queens are everyone,
though perhaps she meant to type
everywhere.
she thinks she's accidentally trying to die,
she puts accidentally in front of everything now
she didn't think her body would let her do this to itself, either that or
she's too fucking strong or..."unkillable."
or just.......
LOST
counter THIS with THIS and THIS with THIS
and THAT and some more of THIS while you wait for
THAT
her soul for a world that doesn't move,
for the permanent immobility of the universe.
HOWEVER
she has an emperor
for a lover,
plans for a future
she is to supposedly
attend (like a funeral?)
and a keen writing instrument
to keep her warm through winter,
though it has no wires, just ink.
but...
she will not give up on october
drunk as the horizon is straight
wondering how the story would have went
had she severed her head from the sky
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Thursday, October 16th, 2003
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access denied, mon petite minet
A: soon
B: never
C: N/A
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Wednesday, August 27th, 2003
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I'm running my fingers across my neck like some noiseless violin and all I can think about is rewriting what I lost.
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Thursday, June 12th, 2003
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No
I'm not deleting this,
I'm posting so it will not
be deleted,
and till i reach that place
and time where I can
renew.
everything.
it's coming,
like an apocalypse
without the screaming.
or really, as much.
this will be a new plateau of excellence,
i guess.
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"the girls are back in town.."
look at this paper i have with instructions on it-
it's blank or
I'm nearly naked or
it's a baking soda ocean and
here comes the vinegar.
a few good men in christmas socks.
and i still feel strange, radioactive even.
like the parting of a sleepy idea and 'this is what it is' 'isn't it?'
oops, wrong direction,
make a fast-reverse and you're at it again.
he whispered, dreaming
"demon"
and I giggled up until
I thought
he may have been speaking
to me
what doesn't scare me is
what really scares me,
which is everything.
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but i am coming back.
and I can't comprehend the
gaps:
3/24/03
today is today is today. i've been virally raped. immunity or death.
-IMMUNITY OR DEATH-
and today is nothing, vaguely something, but nothing, no outcries, no flashing neon aspirations, sick and trembling yes, but no outcries. feverish and unfulfilled, destined to survive something i haven't the strength to. the weeks are flying by, like flying horses, clawing through the great blue sky, and there is color now and has been for quite some time.
3/28/03
AAAAAAHHHHH!
4/7/03
I.make.things.happen.
4/8/03
and i dreamt about bad spirits in the room. and i open my mouth to scream and there is no sound. and if i had to say i was something, if i had to
sum this up, i am, and will probably always be -
HAUNTED.
4/15/03
i jump into the puddles of blue and swim deeper and deeper until i wrap my hands around the rings of saturn and we waltz and waltz this day away
4/16/03
2 minutes of a break left and yet....
a lifetime of breaking....
the railroad rumbles by, crawling into the horizon with unstoppable pride in its own mortality.
someone walks with a red umbrella, through this garbled static of gray.
4/18/03
'and i know this much is true'
4/23/03
and he is stroking the phone cord with his finger..
he is writing a letter. i see his tongue persuade the envelope to seal itself indefinitely.
4/*24/03
neither fish nor foul nor good red herring?
somewhere, beyond the sea, i am not choking down "sassy sours" to subdue the emptiness of an eternity spent MIA. somewhere, beyond the sea, 'every little breath i take is a pretty little gift to you', and we share more than eyeblinks and carbon dioxide. but really i don't care. i just want a bagel. and not even that, a star. to call my own and in a dream i can run up and hug you from behind. and in a dream christopher walken does better impressions of himself than i do.
the train is arousing today. with its pulsing steel and seductive growl. pushing through the city like Don Juan, carving hearts into my pupils.
------
and so a new fancy camera and lots of possibilities,
possibly 'art school' and video production and blah blah, moving again maybe and so on but i'm coming back newer and focused and this poor past representation, how i cringe to type in it, and i'll understand when you all leave, though when i was watching the koi thrash through the water like razorblades i had a vision of my return, because someone is just giving me a new computer, and i guess we could meet again someday or perhaps i'm just reading too much john fante
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Saturday, April 5th, 2003
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--obviously I am a little confused, dazed &.
i just ---nah let's skip to a really great cut,
hair cut. he said his inspiration was clockwork orange and his 60s beatnik dad or my purse which i guess he thought was a Clashes' album cover, or the fact that those 60's mod squad girls in his picture were wearing a sweater I have and i pointed this out, Nylon went all Louise Brooks, and she is always going...somewhere.
no time for fancy witticisms
cut &dry
for personal reference:
mr. roger's vietnam scars
Lester Long [v.v] "and there are scars you can't see here and here"
The Dobbs/,
"Hi my name is Tasha, may I refinance your home mortgage? Please? FUCKING PLEASE?!"
nylon vomiting onto my hand, let's just leave our farewells on this paperplate:
"Thanks for letting me puke all over your house. We'll have to do it again sometime."
but more seriously,
and less deliriously,
which is more or less
impossible
for I, who must now scamper away,
screaming over the horizon
"I feel really dirty but have really clean thoughts."
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Saturday, March 1st, 2003
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rock music sidewalk ate our dark silent house
[backlog of events]
"I didn't really sleep
But I woke up in a van.
I think I am going blind.
[only my contacts were switched]
We drove to see our friend on tour in some city,
then later Courtney Love stole
a baby mouse from a snake cage
And put it in her pants pocket,
she would not give it to me and I knew
it would smother.
She was obviously a slut.
so i told him to get it out of her pocket.
am i too drunk to hold a mouse[?]
he'd actually have better odds
surviving the snake.
going to be "big movie star"
in some film where i am a nurse
and torture a patient and he does not know if he is imaging all these horrible things
or if they are reality, i hold dead goldfish and
straddle him
force feeding him maggots? i just glanced over the story board and agreed anyway.
nylon will be naked picking fish from a fish tree, she'll stuff a watch in its belly and send it down the river.
watch for me at sundance.
"there ain't nothing better than a girl who's moving on"
I sometimes wish the lines on the pavement were shortcuts between universes that could only be used from 30 stories up.
"2-27-03
I can't escape the 365 day tour of the girl formally known as MYSELF. My glasses are broken, I'm going blind, my heart is a moonlit prison yard from which there is no escape, and Mr. Rogers is dead.
Death seems a plausible excuse for not coming to work, there's blood all over my keys and, sadly, not one goes to the padlock around my soul. My head feels the way Courtney Love looks, I'm pretty sure I have a cavity, and my courtesy laugh is a sad temporary room where we both can sit and pretend I like you.
The only slightly semi-sweet activity I've engaged in was slathering my hands in Suave Advanced Therapy lotion. The only reason being, besides the humorously appropriate title, is that feeling my bare fingers, drenched in hot sticky liquid, slide and interlock in an erotic dance reminds me of how hauntingly tragic desire everything can be is.
this day is like fucking tasteless peanut butter.
"I really think we could make it girl....I want to make it with you..."
this song reminds me of serial murder, really hardcore bloodlust, romp um', stomp um', slice um' till they're red MURDER"
2-28-03
I feel like making lewd and suggestive advances.
I am a reluctant slave to the promise of a "better burnout."
I'm a giant dog running alongside my desires, tongue frothy, eyes like rays of gold, tarnishing as I watch them fade into the horizon...and yet..
my mind is clear, powerful, and compelled.
Even on those monochrome, drizzly days.
I haven't went underground in a very long time.
Those sort of caves with the calcium
smell and burmese snakes.
Wet, gloomy air, the sad and dangerous dripping, a sexual echo luring tourists from the path, pulling them close and deep.
can you recognize how complicated we humans have made our realities?
Is it any wonder turtles outlive us?
crossdressers, barcodes, nutrasweet, taxes, wires, passwords, spoons, rules, secretaries, postage stamps, viagra, DNA, RNA, genetically mutated lima beans, gatorade, powerade, computers, commuters, alarm clocks, fuzzy socks, mp3's, christmas trees, hairspray, layaway, etc etc etc.
You know what deer have? Forests.
Fish? The ocean. What do we call this?
THE MOLESTATION OF IMMORTALITY
aka:
screech
Crash!
Blam-O
3-1-03
"all that we are or ever hope to be we owe to the devil and his bootleg apples"
I like when grown men look through kaleidoscopes,
twisting youthfully as if yesterday they were collecting
baseball cards. All those crushed gems and broken hearts,
mirrors and light flashing the mind blank,
all that love and loss temporarily suspended
in a rainbow of possibility.
--------------------
and so rushing about
leaves our heroine
probing for minutes
soon a connection will be reestablished
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Friday, February 21st, 2003
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i don't know.
we have binoculars now
though they often draw the blinds.
i made a notebook for nylon and i
that we pass back and forth everyday or so
i read it at work
she, at school
i like to pour myself all over
the pages, i do this with people
because it is an easy way
to excite yourself
this computer has restarted 4 times
just now.
it must be convenient
having that option
there is an infomercial on for a yellowstone national park video
it has 3 hours of exciting wildlife footage and is hosted
by kenny Rogers
when i was there as a child i always had a curious desire to jump in
the hot springs but only
after my mother told me
i would die.
i need more penpals.
[deathbyinnuendo@aol.com]
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Wednesday, February 19th, 2003
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no internet connections are readily available yet
and watching the neighbors watch me as I watch them
is tiresome so
i will write to you because these excess words are beginning to fog up my head
if you want a letter or something just email me your address
we tried to get fruitbat stamps or houdini
the post office is like a 19th century train station
and the mail-women skip around wearing federally issued knee socks
i can't tell if people above me have sex
or erotically snore
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Friday, February 14th, 2003
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temporarily no internet connection
there is a guy who hangs out with corey feldman.
nylon is gone temp.
i am alone
but there is good water pressure
and plenty of apples.
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Friday, February 7th, 2003
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remember -
Don't Fence Me In Incident of 2003
and Sock Occult Stuff
nylon and I
are moving
into this
weird old
Berkeley Mansion
it is big and empty like my heart used to be
only filled with an immense natural light
and amusingly tall ceilings like church
as if we should be saying our prayers every night
for some reason
and I chose not to question this,
my bedroom is the only room to have a fluorescent light in the ceiling
as if it were 7-11.
walk in closets, a catacomb of rooms
so much light, like sugar and photons
almost spiritual in the sort of way that
makes you want to acknowledge it with
a huge metal statue of JFK's bust or john
wayne portraits in the cupboard.
we've decided against being tasteful.
I'll finally wake to the morning sun
instead of my heart sinking down into
a pile of ash composed entirely
of aspirin and fear.
medicine for a scorched purist.
I can call myself that.
I looked into it.
i will leave all computers and use Nylon's for now
here and there
until a new one can be acquired
or mine is fixed
i have no time which I will compare to:
pushing my car off a cliff and waving bye-bye as
Elvis screams out the back window
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deathbyinnuendo's journal