Friday, July 31, 2009

im the lucky one here

Drinking, drugs, alcoholism, addiction.
Want, need, give, pull, kick, scream, die to live.
Snort, gulp, burn, smile, cry, scream, silence.
Love, hate, hate love more.
Drag, exhale, drag, exhale, drag, snub out.
Write, pour, write a little more.
Think. Drink, drank, drunk.
Wake up, black out.
Wish, want, smolder, ashes.
You did this to me.

The process of being an addict is as gentle as a plane landing in water. Underneath it all is a raging desire to be what you're not and not be what you are. Seeping anger into blood like chamomile in hot water. Let all good be erased and replaced by destruction. Sad, sad, sad. Happy that you're sad, sad you can't seem to ever be happy. Being scared to the point of sobriety but never allowing it in. Killing yourself slow and deep, like one last good fuck out of a relationship.
I'm reading a million little pieces by james frey, again, and again, I'm so happy I'm not him.


Monday, July 20, 2009

unicorns vs. centaurs ; reality bites

topic of the day: letting reality hit you like a ton of bricks and hope to still be standing after the fact.

i have wanted to be a unicorn from the tender age of three, when my father won a tawdry enamel plaque of one for me at the fair. i became obsessed with them, unhealthily. which worsened when my mother made the mistake of renting 'the last unicorn,' an animated feature with the voice of mia farrow, which i rented every weekend for the next seven years. a cataclysmic mistake on her part, i would cry and bang my fists and feet on the floor, protesting to her, "no, we just rented it every weekend for the last five months, why don't you try something new. Sleeping Beauty?" -wails grow louder - "Cinderella?" - people whispering - "This is ridiculous. The rescuers?" -displays being knocked down - And with one final kick, the movie was in my hand and my mother was pulling me out of the store. it would have been much easier for her just to buy it for me, but i think she liked hanging it over my head if i misbehaved, which was every day. didn't clean my room; no mythical forest. don't want to do the dishes? no magic-tipped sparkly horn. my mother was a very smart woman.

i owned unicorn books and legends, plaques and pictures and stuffed animals. i played games by myself about the fairies and gnomes and talking trees that befriended me, the most beautiful unicorn of them all, and about the dark forces that threatened the good magical forest creatures. i was a "unicorn" for halloween one year by my mother's hand, and i put that in quotations because it almost never happened. it almost never happened because my mother, though an artist at heart, was unable to appropriately costume me as according to my imagination, which was obviously very detailed in it's individual semantics. i do not consider a cardboard paper towel roll a majestic magic horn, nor were the tinsel silver streamers she stuck out the back of the white sheet ( which she somehow confused as an equestrian body) congruent to the bundle of tail on the glorious creature's hindquarters. my ass looked like a party favor after new years eve at tommy lee's house - wilted.
i trick or treated that halloween.
but i wasn't damn happy about it.

so anyway... unicorns. love 'em. think it's great that they can just be reclusive and beautiful in the same breath. they just hung out with their forest friends and had some good downtime. cool off in a waterfall, lay down in the shade, prance in fields of daisies... that sort of thing. everything i've ever wanted to have in life, BAM. unicorn. done.

i'm aware now that this will never happen. with the economic recession so far along in it's pregnancy, who knows what the price of daisies are? and magic horn cleaners? forget about it. that shit's expensive, and they only carry it in whole foods. the point is, i had to grow out of my delusions that i was one day going to be a mythical forest trademark. the same way i had to understand i was never going to be a five foot, 90 pound ballerina or a harvard doctorate scholar. there's a certain reality to these things, and they loom over our heads and on the back of our minds while we are lying to ourselves. at best, after all these years, i could really only exist as a centaur, just for the simple fact that i could at least still score some dates with humans without wondering if they only ever wanted me for my horn.

you know?


Thursday, July 16, 2009

submersed in teele

the smell of clean, all
around me, fall
peeking it's head
out of the muggy
breeze, as late summer
settles into it's
big, white chair,
sipping mint juleps
and watching its
flowers bloom.
people are pretty,
in this laundromat
fishbowl, this
sanctioned delouser
station; the sun
is setting over
the tide, and
as i giggle about
the bad joke, the
calm all around me,
in the purring cars
and bustling
pedestrians dancing
across sidewalks, the
hum of the dryers
as my ornaments
shrink from the heat...
this dusk is my head,
at rest,
for once. distraction
does wonders
for decision making.

my clothes are almost clean. i had a chicken salad wrap for lunch, which means my money is evening out, and i will have a new resume as of midnight tonight. i'm not a pessimist, as someone so recently told me about the entries in this blog. i'm an optimist with a jostled view, that's all. i know things will even out, that everything will turn out all right. or at least, turn out the way they should. i don't think life has to be sunshine and disney birds all the time. in fact, if it is, i'm pretty certain that's a chemical reaction due to the prozac cocktail america likes to think helps us out.
things, at least for my one day off, have been good. i like the last couple of hours, and how, even though spent people watching and rewriting my career on hard copy in the coin-op laundry on the corner of broadway and curtis, it has been enough for me to appreciate these days. the days when i feel strong. when i know the sunset will give way to a sky full of unlimitable proportions.
there is beauty on both sides, the dismal, and the decadence. i told that guy that if happy was what he wanted to read always, he should hole up at night with his blankie, thumb, and a good judy blume book. even though my ending turns out just as happy, at least he can wear a smile all the way through "are you there god? it's me, margaret."
:) enjoy the rest of the day off. i know i will.


Sunday, July 12, 2009

april showers

these flower beds, with
geraniums and
daisies and little pink
roses, a rebirth
inside their earthy
bed; look
so bright behind the
fence, pickets
like turrets on
a castle, spikes
of their fortress,
on their soil
they sit, every
day and sing
as i pass, taunt
my hard-earned
poverty with
their fragrant,
ornamental lives.
if i only had
the time to garden,
the money,
the patience;
sing sweet, little
buds, while
i pass, for now...
you will fall
into winter silence
soon enough.


Sunday, July 5, 2009

blame it on the (insert something other than me here)


someone give me a goat, so i can can scape it.
oh, wait.
i guess that's me, the only fool in the room.


the bus was late

sunny, light, and
calm today,
smiles come
easy among
the warm gold
rays and lift
the bad, if
only for a second.
this worry is
heavy and winter-
dark, and dripping
in irony.
what messes
we make
on the path
to successes,
littered in this
winter and

this last couple of weeks has been too much for me. i want to crawl into a hole and admit defeat, even though i know i won't and moreover, i can't. i can't fall victim to being a victim. i can't stand people like that. they can't take responsibility for what they have created. well, only when it's a benefit to them.
i just wish that money wasn't so important to live. you know what? fuck wishing. i do it all the time. no more wishing. that shit doesn't happen, there is no fairy godmother with a damn swarovski crystal wand. wishing is imaginary. i'm all about making it happen, which is why i'm going to stop writing here about wishing and go get my resume re-written from the great hard drive crash of 2009. yeah.
can't give up now. might as well accept the failure and get back up for some more. inspiring, isn't it. : /


Wednesday, July 1, 2009

like crack to the head

Me, I'm a Creator
Thrill is to make it up
The rules I break got me a place
Up on the radar
Me, I'm a Taker
Know what the stakes are
Can't roll it back, it's understood
Got to play our cards


I know what you here for now
Words out you're an idea whore though,
now don't you crush on me
I'll see you in your pipe dreams
whether or not you know it's true
You're who they dictate to
That shit must hurt real bad
fakin' what you wish you had

creator, santogold

i'm just saying. give it a whirl, it will stick inside your head for days. it's a lovely little ditty. and, it's about me. what more could i ask for? :)