"- don't be so quick to knock it. People don't usually part with the weird shit they personally know because they know how easy it will be to punch holes in. Now I'm tellin you somethin. It's for you to poke through the soup and find the meat." John Patrick Shanley's 'the dreamer examines his pillow'

Thursday, June 01, 2006

4:07 a.m. if you think they're just words you don't have to think, you lose connections

I want to cover my face, cover it COVER it, cover it up, with... foundation, i smear it everywhere so my skin, my me is gone, hidden. And mascara. Black. and Red grease on my lips - and my hair, up! away - not me, not natural, not down, up! ! pasty white I look sick I look like a a ghost but my eyes are darkness-in dark. darkness in. I sway back and forth, my body is plastic, it is obectified, that's where I feel comfortable, that's what I need right now that's all I want surface, surface or all this shiiiiiiiiiit comes up out of me, all the dirt in my body starts to collect on my back as I kneel - it's safer down here, and rock and rock, to get the energy out, to keep it flowing so I don't explode, and I walk outside in HOT air and don't go out there! to my friends house my body is zapping and twirking, I'm fucking shaking. I can't stop. Stop. Won't get out. I'm touched. My fear is now out of my mouth in sounds that shake, that pierce, that aren't really there - breathe, he tells me, just breathe. i do, and another scream erupts - get out! get out! if I stop this thing it will stay glowing in me and cause damn physical pain as days go by, so let it out - but not all, i can't, there is no one here to recieve it, no one to be there in more than body and grasping and clutching and holding, no one who will sit and breathe in my everything with their soul where is your soul? Mine is out screaming why are you looking at me with one-inch deep eyes? You've cut yourself off - I've cut you off. but i cant stop - this spirit revulsion flying out of me is binding me to your body forever, even when you cut off your heart and I crumple mine into a wad of paper we'll be bound by this unlikable, unavoidable what that is steel between us.
But I am still me. and i choose. I make choices. You do not define me. I know this now. I know.



now, she is sleeping -
there's my roommate, sprawled out on her lush deep fluff under fresh white sheets - she farts. She's still beautiful, indescribably, long, dark, full beautiful. Red bandanna covers her forehead, limp hand on bare thigh, big lavendar t-shirt making her a child again, lips out. Feet like precious fruits, like round plums and soon to be walked on and made wood, but just breathing now and plump under smooth skin and rest.
That's now. Right now, I choose now. Now.


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