it's gradual, i'll get there

what's hard? thank you's are hard when you are biting your tongue but i'll try to mouth it out anyway... it's hard thinking you are too dumb to stand up for yourself, as beautiful as you are. and just thinking that, as i'm talking to you, because i think you're more, so much more than what you have presented to me as the school project. it's hard watching what you do to me when i passed you the other night on the street, i was in a cab and you were rolling a cigarette and time stopped and i couldn't believe my eyes even though my throat felt it; my throat knew what was up. it's hard knowing that you're living a simple southern life that allows you to be lazy and quote-unquote "successful" in you're own right; it's like that family guy when stewie says "the george lopez show only perpetuates that george lopez is funny" that's what i feel about you. your bullshit lies and blue-green eyes don't sweep the stupidity you've offered under the rug. and another thing. who tells someone that you're moving to the acrtic to basically show up on your doorstep uninvited, and all because you were "selling your truck" which i don't believe for a second because i don't believe any of the candy sweets that fall from your lips anymore, no matter how beautifully you try to adorn them. you with your nervous twinges and "secret" hinges, with the hands you so GRACEFULLY let down that day on the couch. you who came into my house and slept in my bed and listened to me love you for hours but when it came down to it, he was just too something to let go. i guess that makes me too easy to let go, too soft to hear, just all the bad "too"s that you could think of, that's what i am, i guess. you are selfish and your words were drenched in honey, the sweet NOTHINGS you let through to the other side of those swinging doors in italy. you taught me about leather, about what happens to it when it's not bound properly; the belt broke. so take that metaphor cause it is the best one i can compare to you and me. hmph. the other side of what? i'm saying as i look into my past through words inked on loose papers bound on a string (irony - that's how i feel about you and me too). the papers have started becoming unbound. so has my patience with you and with me for loving you so hard. you are a beautiful woman, but you're too weak to move (and i mean move not move, and you know what i mean). you're a talented man with no meaning; the one that made me cry, like for real cry, sobbing and heaving, ribs cracking. you have a mountain instead of a molehill and you're really not all that great but the bedroom walls loved us, the way i thought you loved me. you sing me whiskey poems and lure me to bed with perfume i can't somehow resist. you're a girl that refuses history, and puts cd's on repeat, even though the song is just awful. it's hard to see the things that make me sad for life so i'll show them to you so you can keep me company with what i think about when i think of you. and these, how i love to counterbalance and why you have made me feel what i do when i think about the things that make me sad... these, the ones what open me - walking in amber, drenched in dusk, staring into eachother with smiles brighter than colgate could ever imagine. how good the wine tasted when we were both in on the secret, how the rest of it stopped mattering the way it does now for some reason. "this is my first time doing this, i hope you don't... um..." i said to you, into winter snow, warm with candles and youth and lust. "this is my first time doing this, i hope you don't... um..." you said to me, mouth muffled in coves of sheets and humidity. his sickness wouldn't have been as easy without you, and i should say thanks at some point i guess, cause your misery kept me company. the snowstorm was magical, holding hands and finding our way between warehouses, trudging through and through. i love you. but i'm bruised, and you should know, cause i deserve you to. i'm sure my list is longer but i can assure you i have tried to bite my tongue and turn my head and hold my hands together when i talk and avoid your eyes or the thought of you near me or inside me and i promise that i will continue to do so cause when it comes down to it, you have inspired me and i have to thank you so i am even though it may seem like i'm not. but i am. thank you. ~k.

tattooed

i didn't ever even look at what ink saturated your skin.

now, upon closer inspection,

it seems you were a

distraction

to your art.

boring.

boring.

boring.

i feel like i've

seen you a thousand times

since way

back

when...

ink is such a temporary relief

to the reality of skin.

~k.

well, you were the one who signed the deed

i lived in florida for the first seventeen years of my life. born in nineteen-eighty-something, i have experienced incredibly disgusting weather. during the summers, it has gotten up to 115 degrees in 100% still-dripping wet- humidity. it feels for most of the year that you are renting gum space in a gingivitis-infested mouth. then we get about three weeks of decent fall weather, a week at a frosty 54 degrees for our winter season, and then BAM summer is here again.

spring doesn't exist in florida. it has been phased out completely because really, it just got in the way and always copied fall. that bitch was ousted.

so anyway, because our prominent season, summer, ruled the place, he decided like the dick that he is that when he had to give way to fall, he would make sure that transition was something fall had to earn rather than just be handed to (he was technically the one who voted out spring due to the fact that she had grown tired of their relationship and was beginning to crush on fall, and summer got PISSED). and this is what we know of today as the southeast's hurricane season.

the atlantic's season began on june 1st, ends on november 30th. if there's not much activity out there, we get a lot of tropical storms and daily rainshowers. if the pressure systems are actively butting heads, they produce a hurricane. it's how it is, our hurricane days are comparable to the midwest's snow days, and yada yada yada... a downfall of living on a beautiful beach in charleston, south carolina in 1989 is

,

meet hugo. hurricane hugo. i had family who lived on the barrier islands for years, my great aunt and uncle. my uncle don loved crabbing and every time we went for a reunion or whatever we always got to eat pounds of crab. shit was good.

enter hugo.



do you see that??? those are sailboats on a house. SAILBOATS ON A HOUSE, PEOPLE. sailboats don't go there!! oh, and not to mention this...



doesn't look like those kids will be taking any "joyrides".

hugo was exceptionally bad, starting off as a category 5 and bouncing off islands from guadaloupe to puerto rico before making landfall on the isle of palms, south carolina. even though it had fallen to a category 4 by the time it hit it killed about 40 people and left 100,000 homeless. it was the most damaging hurricane at that time, causing 10 billion dollars of problems.

10 bilion. that's like, 17 billion nowadays, at least. that's like how much soderbergh gets paid.

since hugo, there have been ten category 5 hurricanes, about half of which have hit florida. the other half have gone gulfside (i mean who wouldn't? the yucatan is gorgeous this time of year), and one of those was one of the five deadliest hurricanes of all time - katrina.

in the wake of having a category 2 storm, irene, hit new york... i would like to touch on something. although i had a blast during the storm getting fucked up with natalie and listening to irene's pathetic rumbling on the other side of my (open) bedroom window, i know there was severe flooding and that this hurricane has taken 24 people's lives. i feel for the people who have lost homes, had property damage, known someone who has been hurt or has died during the ferocity of this type of natural disaster. it is the price we pay for living in certain areas of the country.

we sign up for where we live. like beaches? hurricanes. like country plains? tornadoes. like living on an active volcano? lava. earthquakes. kimodo dragons.

the weather channel warned you: if you live on staten island, you're going to flood. if you live in the LES or battery park or seaport, you are going to flood. manhattan is an island, people!!! it is SURROUNDED by WATER. IT IS GOING TO RUN THE RISK OF FLOODING, AND NOT JUST DURING A HURRICANE.

you signed the deed. doesn't mean that you deserve to die. but it does mean that you should listen to the weather channel.

braving the storms we got was a fun part of my childhood. we used to go out with helmets and baseball bats when it would hail. i never lived in a place that was crazy flooded like staten island or new orleans, but we got a little bit of lake overflow that was a bitch to clean up.

hurricane damage is shitty and slow to forget, and i'm sorry to all those who have ever lost anyone or anything to one. but next time, if you don't like the chance of having to brave a storm, then live in arizona. i hear it never rains there.

~k.

diary of an oxygen thief

"i liked hurting girls.

...

loved it. i didn't care how long it took either because i was in no hurry. i'd wait until they were totally in love with me. till the big saucer eyes were looking at me. i loved the shock on their faces. then the glaze as they tried to hide how much i was hurting them."


this book, as narcissistic the copy is, struck a chord in me. i've been there. i know what he did to those girls mentally. i've done it and had it done to me.

it's premise is karma's inevitable boomerang... hurt and be hurt back. punish someone for loving you because you are angry they could be so dumb as to love you in the first place. and acute awareness {sadness} that yes, people can be that cruel and fucked up to you.

i guess there is a monster in all of us. at least knowing someone out there can think equally cold thoughts about what love is for raw value... that's more than refreshing.

check out the book. i would give you the authors name but it was written by anonymous.


~k.

drunk

one liners are so
funny until
they happen to you.


this week is an anomaly. faces and words mean nothing.

in a relationship

"but
"oh, you're so
..."interesting -

hm.
i am.
sooooo many things
you will never know
and that's why

"soooooo interesting"
happens.

too bad
the minute man
is giving out parking tickets.

~k.

sweets

"they" say that smell is the one most important key to memory.

okay, "they", i might agree.

the smell of someone's skin,
a t-shirt,
a sandal.


a beach bag, you say? well,

her name was lindsay.

your cupcakes
and your breath
and your
real-estate-

are sunny-side-up
to me

you

expensive

thing.

smiling
through my teeth
without spaces.

~k.