new york, new york

you're far too kind, you spoil me like Brussels in the summertime
like mother Russia in mid-July

0934PM EST

Thought of the Moment:
Of course, it's possible to love a human being -- if you don't know them too well. -Charles Bukowski, writer (1920-1994)

(thanks, internet suggestions... exactly what was on my mind)

sunday morning...

the miseducation of......
_____________________

a day of photographs; of trying to solidify the past; (the journal). (i tried calling him today and will try again). (i think i'd want my journal back, even if it was only full of words of others).
...
every memory is a memory is a memory never letting go of yesterday. so what is now then? now is the future and the moment we can no longer recapture.

...and saturday night

maybe

i think about you a little too much

ecstatic silence

at the state of antithesis

yes

how can you tell a memory is real?

and shadows forever

the city in the dream is the crown of isolation constructed solely of cobalt blue hallways and silent gray walls. at the end of each hallway is an exit, but the blinds are down because today is not the day, and the shimmering silver only adds to the hollow echo of the forgotten concrete. the dark air of the morning sun suffocates in its surface and charcoal lines the horizon. today is not yet, but tomorrow is too late.

when you get there, there is no other way.

2/3/09 2:19PM / lovelast

I was hoping it would melt rather fast
but as always it turns out your heart is made of glass
and I can’t let go of the past
instead of looking into the beautiful future
I feel it’s my duty to find a suitable suitor
supressed, i haven't surpassed
dealt with at last
i'm a liar locked in the present
inevitable decades dressed in death, descending
developed
but i stood still
too faithful my grasp.



(you can make the future
but it starts with )

i'm still waiting for you to call me in the middle of the night.
i don't know why
i haven't given up.
it's just the typical silly thing to do. but a dreamer can dream, right?
stop forcing yourself to sleep.
you are lucky insomnia...
lucky insomnia.
i can't believe i've left you out for so long.
but i can't be the ______

........................................................................girls

it always looks easy when it's not your puzzle to solve

letter of warning to a young patriot

i am not yours to keep
so tiptoe soft in your retreat
gold-leaf plated peel
petals burgundy to beet
once up on the top too steep?

don't be scared, now.
save your anger.
take an honor bow
and dissapate.
(unless the interest of games of strangle).

broken nails again,
open stairs and shadows trail again.
slow like snails and grand like moby dick;
soak in stares for however long supressed again.

don't be angry now.
be sacred for you have my blessing now.
safe of sorrow now, and hatred.
it's almost over.
yes, i've made it.
and it's not yours to escape it.

...waking up on the morning of 012209:

07. not yet
17. still early
29. almost over
34. too late
43. [on the other hand,] why not?

"it's ok," she said, "one day i will have money..."

to develop all those rolls of film

i stand alone

running across ten thousand acres
of loneliness, stark naked,
confronting the sacred sacrifices
I've made to withstand and live freely
in a world full of hatred.

i've thought this over, yes.
maybe even many a time.
my independence has grown hollow
after the voyages down the disloyal
dishonest and disappearing
vows.

and after all considered determination
dissection destined the verdict.
I am not dependent on my independence
I am independence itself.
and I stand alone.

ships in the desert

shallow waters

aeroplane.

all they're buying is the picture they remember seeing

"...she is smiling at the accoutrement she herself is wearing, or, with depraved delight, pouring artificial cream on a rotten fruit; and in time they will become sprightly, rosy, gormandizing oldsters- and still have ahead of them the infernal black beauty of oaken caskets in a palm-decked display window....Thus a world of handsome demons develops side by side with us, in a cheerful sinister way to our everyday existence; but in the handsome demon there is always some secret flaw, a shameful wart on the behind of this semblance of perfection: the glamorous glutton of the advertisement, gorging himself on gelatin, can never know the quiet joys of the gourmet, and his fashions (lingering on the billboard while we move onward) are always just a little behind those of real life."

today is your birthday

happy birthday, damian*.

*names have been changed to protect privacy

a time to be so small

through the glory of life I will scatter on the floor, disappointed and sore

this glory of life will be over sooner than you thought
all the people you've known won't matter anymore
and the few that stay will compose your core
there are none left so important to the ~~essential existence~~
these are the thoughts i think in the dark hours of the night
when i've given up all my might and collapse in a defeat of all its volatile attractions
but they are the most natural and the most terrifying for they are true
it's almost over,
it's almost over soon,
no need to hurry up
you won't get it done anyway
so i hang out with sharin and sune
go lick the golden spoon while the wrinkles are still fresh on your face
non one will say no as long as you walk blonde with grace
go on, no one will stop you.
go on, rot on the floor with the rest of them

so i hang out under the trees
and listen to their whisper

dEATH oF a dISCO dANCER

how soon is now?

I really wouldn’t mind if you called me about now
I really wouldn't mind
I think I deserve it
and so do you
anything to hear the whisper of your voice
tell me, tell me you are no longer far away
call me, call me, before I make the wrong choice
I have so many things to say
I really wouldn't mind, I really wouldn't mind
get through to me somehow
right about now
right about now

5:27 AM january 14th 2009 referring to a thought that occured around 10PM on the evening of january 13th 2009

colorless asthmatic moments suspended in an allegory of distances grown close

.

the kind of loneliness that lasts longer than a few burns
of the spoon, the kind that keeps your heart
beating at dangerously slow paces… I wait. it’s not for
tomorrow or
the day after I hope, it’s for the day we meet again,
so I’ll wait, I’ll be patient, patient as the panther,
watching her prey.

I’ll be quiet,
and I’ll sink away into the soft nothingness of my being.
I’ll wait till my eyes close and I can barely see through my eyelashes…
that’s when the world is at its best… seen through a thin line of light
between the black and the gray.
that’s all it is anyway, a line so thin you might not notice it
if you look too fast,

the kind of loneliness that's waiting on the platform, and
you’re the only one left and the next train is
only in four hours but you wait,
because waiting
is the only way.

january 8th, 2009 212AM in new york city

p2. it's almost over

while you wait,
it builds up;
with hate.
while you wait,
they create.
while you wait,
the hand gives in to weight,
the pendulum makes
no mistake.
while you wait,
the sand fills up the plate.
the hour has come
go now,
before the numbness overcomes;
too much has been allowed;
go now,
or suffocate.

it's almost over p.1

closed doors

The other day I read the words of someone I have much respect for and look up to. To say the least, I was taken by surprise.
It seemed strange to me how someone could be so dedicated to their job and yet not to their life. It seemed absurd to me how someone could not take full advantage of every moment and not have any interests besides the one thing they do. I suppose that's complete dedication, and though I believe myself to be completely devoted to about ten things, maybe I am just scared of commiting to one thing... or too curious.

the words:

"I don't make choices, hardly. Things happen, and you say yes or no - usually 'yes', because it's always better to do something. What's the choice? Somebody will say, 'Don't do that, you don't need to do that.' And I'll say, 'Why not? What am I going to do? Sit around the house? I'd much rather go to work.When I don't have any work sometimes, a kind of thing sets in where my mind shuts down. It's almost like hibernation. It's not that I'm unhappy, but I'm not thinking anything. Then I'll go and watch television. And after an hour or two, I'll think, 'You're just sitting there watching television and it's not even interesting.' And there's nothing to do. Life becomes meaningless."

the emptiness of tomorrow's disappointment
arrives early.
blinded by dreams of sunlight, they peer in through my window shamelessly.
another minute and everything will be fine then.
broken lost forgotten are too minuscule in this descent
just don't let the sunlight catch you asleep.

distant lands

i wake up drenched in dead sweat windows stale hail rains outside
no air
the other side of the bed is empty
and again I've been dreaming about uninvited guests.
you know, sometimes you can fool yourself into thinking
that something is good enough
but more often it is not than it is
again, you've failed
so i just listen to the hail.

hands shaking
idled enjoyment
anxiety overcomes
no responsibilities any more
go away.

.....can't wait forever

............to just be honest

.......(an honest wonderful life)

...demolished

maybe i hesitate because i know i will fall
i'm quick to fall into the trap
no convincing needed
i'm soft like that

but i can only hold my breath for so long

the kind of pornography i come home to

and i (can't) breathe again

what a feminist i am

why exist unless wish

i wish i'd known
not to let you go

chasing is tired
subject myself to running?
after someone i found cunning
i thought there would be more, you see
but it turned out you were the only one.
i'd gotten used to being sought
i'd never ran but there's a first time for everything, i thought
spoiled by new york city's boredom
i had no choice then.
you rejected me
because of the circumstances, i know,
but had neither of us known,
would you have called?
you're a fucking encyclopedia of witty expressions
and fast reactions.
you stand your ground firm,
proving your existence.
i just want to hide in a dark corner.
the charming socialite
(i was never good at speaking)
though no prince, more like
an ugly duckling,
that's what i find attractive
i am again after
the wrong thing.
but i don't want to let you go
so i hang onto every word
like a 5th grade girl
pretending not to care.
you won't make the first step.
i know why.
you're not my type
or my style
but intrigue creeps in
as does denial

i waited in the cold
i waited for your call
i wish i'd known
you were waiting too

(the thing not to fuck with)

(the rest of the image has been blurred to accentuate the more important aspects of life)

...

the sun will come up

the tea will boil

and the day will still be waiting

my white breath will disappear in the ahead of tomorrow

on the balcony

my fingers will shiver, but wrapped around thick glazed clay

they will retain their heat

only my legs naked red from the morning

will pale in comparison

to my blushing cheeks

your warmness around my shoulders

like an umbrella of safety

the sun will rise

and color the sky white

the rooftops will shine

and water will turn to ice

as I hold the handrail

blue hands under yours white

and lightness all over

now i can feel how high is the sky

hold on strong.

the steam rises and

the day is here

you can read it. (but you have to start at the beginning)

this will be the last time i fuck up i promise...

i like old men
and their smiling eyes
that follow all;
they know much more than I ever will.
i'd always wished
for gray hair and disappearing into the past
alas i am young and a woman
maybe there is some validity in my poetry
but most likely it is only stupidity.
read it and breathe its weight
i'll wait.
good ones know
the importance of
their solace
and their wrinkles.

lonevother or lovenother

***
in the place of his is another's,
the one from last march
how lonely to find out i have a type.
but this one is different
this one is kind
lalalala
now's not the time to be blind

..>>>>>

i'm in love with a boy named ______
i rest my head on memory's shoulders
while imagination gets undressed.
i watch as he smiles and quivers
nervousness overcomes.
i touched his hand today
a risk of spectacular consequences
or great disappointments
enough to make him pull away
my chains of insecurity
weightless at that moment
when will i see you again
it wasn't me that asked
tomorrow, maybe.
how nice it is to be in love

i was born

in the north
i carry with me a blanket of overexposure
i wish on falling stars
and eat snow
(i let snowflakes melt in my mouth)
i believe that coincidences have special meanings
and wear red socks
i believe in intuition
and instinct
and that all else is false
pretense.
in the polar night
only blinding black and
stark white
i was born.

people always disappoint

will you stop disappointing me please?

the sorrow was in the beginning

taken for granted

abused and drained

it's not something i could explain

even though it always ends in laughter

its never hard to tell when things are done

.
i looked for you
as dust rose
and passed

hold onto the mast,
my small little
my one

hold on strong
nothing is done

distant lands,
frozen, peel
grow

my newly painted hands
know

my newly painted hands

fell through sands
felt like sand
held hands
melt the coldest
…

i didn’t mean to kill you
forgive me, please
at least now I can steal
your crumbling tired knees

my instant plan
...

still, yours, the aftertaste
but it’s too late
too late
...

hatred lasts
and only glass
breaks vast
glows
the rest
unsurpassed

...

and the sky was

beautiful beautiful

today

is a good day to stay home and listen to pink floyd and make collages...

death is cold.


but life is strong



.

getting stupider every day

ain't nothing like waking up to miles bringing me smiles on a sunday morning ...

you look so fine

i want to break your heart and give you mine

...the hard fall

"...nah, man, I don’t wanna make anything that’s ALL RIGHT. I wanna make something that’s better than the current masterpiece, I wanna make something no one has ever seen before. No, fuck being average, or oh, I’m better than that guy – no... I wanna make something that’s more beautiful than the fucking mona lisa, I wanna make something that when you play it, you want to listen to it over and over again, something that’s timeless, something you’re going to love more than the dark side of the moon, and want to taste more than your momma’s sweet cooking. Fuck being average, man. I wanna make something that will make people think. (pauses for a moment to think) And if I don’t, then I’ll die knowing I failed, I might have failed hard, but I tried..." - 49th bet 9th and 10th 10:53PM

california

my fucking valentine?

shit, am i the only one left who wants to put values into shit anymore? when i give you something, it's not cause i have extra or cause i don't need it, it's cause i want it to mean the whole world to you, cause i know since i can't give you the whole world, at least i can give you this

and every face looks like... the other one and something familiar again
anticipation but with no apex
cumulative compulsory comments and
i succumb
to you
and something somewhere, somewhere all faces look the same
and resemble the ones back home
sometimes somewhere home is far away
and nothign matters anymore
because you're not home.

can i write corny poetry sometimes? ok, thank you.

sometimes i wish i'd forgotten all i'd learned
all the hours it took to learn all that knowledge now obsolete.
one can only depend on oneself and here in these mountains i feel complete.
complete without you.

mmmmmmta

hey babe,

take a walk on the wild side

I race
with all my love
on face
and full of grace
my body’s lace
to come to place
where I can trace
your scent
and then in end
embrace

and cold the earth

I like dirty hair and not taking showers for days listening to music and not sleeping waking up early to see the sunrise and walking barefoot on the earth closing my hand in a fist and punching the cold air watching my breath dissolve listening closely to the wind and looking out onto the water the shuffle of yellow leaves under my feet the way my hand runs over the long golden hairs canine breath saliva on my chin white teeth exposed to the air cold like ice cream for the first time and it hurts in them but vanilla is worth it (hoping that childhood is not far away) but drinking away the game too complicated to play too weak to stay too scared to leave bitter betters the situation except for when it brings bitter memories but you laugh the pain and have another cigarette you sure look damn beautiful in that mirror baby, too honest too sincere people come and go but I still hear your breathing next to mine before the sun sets no regrets only after the night is dark and cold the earth turns sunrays bring the day and I take back all that I have to say silent

it takes a pool of knowledge
to convince
the shattered...
alas,
their thirst for dreams
has already
decayed

what it would be like...

...do you wonder, sometimes, about me?

...

sacred saints, sickly saints
stainglass waits,
for centuries stays

dreams betrayed,
trust decayed...
trust decayed,
smiles fade.

how could you john
how could you jade

all these years,
and silence fades

how could you make
me trust in your charade
i would have stayed

ashamed ashamed ashamed shame
and after all
success fails

you don't read haikus...

in the dead flag blues
I half smile at rejection
my heart beats for you

the city reeks of sex. it’s a full moon and a woman screams in the room next to mine. in the evening my phone breaks and I go downstairs to get it fixed. a white guy and black girl walk in. he's average looking, she's short and skinny, really dark. she has a curved nose and big eyes; sweat glistens on her black skin. although i am a distance away i can smell her. they both look in their twenties. they get a room for the night; she pays; 2 bottles of water, she pays. he tells her in english he’s tired so…...... sex and cigarettes..... he reminds me of _____

I am embarrassed by how little of the language I know. I envy how freely and fluidly the words flow out of even the ugliest lips.

during the day it is cloudy and at night it rains. Sometimes you wake up in the morning and it’s cloudy and you think it’s cold but then you get outside and the sun is blinding and all of a sudden it’s hot hot heat. and then it’s cold again and you don’t know where to run from it.

there is a permanent gathering of drunks and junkies in front of the main plaza. I spend the rest of the time hanging out with them. they tell me stories in broken english and offer me beer and we smoke joints. they're more fun than the average tourist or local... i take a few pictures and they don't mind. they’re so out of it, they’re too drunk to protest or even wonder.

today the african drummers were drumming as usual when suddenly a drunk joined them. he started dancing around, in front, any way he could. he had a beer bottle in his pocket and you could tell he’d pissed himself. but he was having fun. after the concert he was so tired he just fell on the ground and passed out right there, in the middle of the street.

walking home white and silver and blue confetti strings hovered over the river, statues, and teenage girls’ waists. the noise was on the other side of the river. It was more drummers, except they were all in white and had band drums. they marched like a real marching band. by the time i got to there they were nowhere near finished. the crowd followed them loyally, stepping all over my feet and clapping their hands in acknowledgement of their talent with severe gratitude.
later I asked a balloon boy why the party and he said, it’s a party everyday...

stubborn tiny lights vs. clustering darkness forever

…slowly shining in the low light, intricately engineered like a toothpick construction eager to melt in my mouth once your words spill onto this broken earth and deafen my sight full of hope and anticipation when you drop your icicles upon me and I wake up to your whisper…



no..... you could never be soft like the snow that welcomes me eagerly into her arms at any time of day, she shares her secrets of the melodious patterns that make up her edifice and I absorb not because I have no choice but because I feel the warmth through the ice and you, you are just still, still like frozen oceans in the ice age, still like the fires of emotions that died out long ago, still like sparkling water after it’s gone flat though bears the sour aftertaste, kind of like the kiss I wasted on you.

4th of july

blue lights, flashing lights
those who died in the afterlife
see the bright suicides
disguised as the fire

how many times
shots fired
how many lives
unadmired

independents lie
unashamed, expired
aren’t you tired of false lives?
no, they said, and fired

unnoticed, undeclared
couldn’t theirs have been spared?
under the bright sky
we all stared

in denial, with a smile
distracted,
as the sky turned gray
no one here goes on trial

secrets lie
under the bright sky
unashamed, in denial
secrets lie, in denial

the streets speak only when tired
but tonight stands out from all the nights
save yourself and don’t fire
please, America, don’t die

remember the kittens?

good times and fast times
long lines for white lines
spend time and waste time
and you were my last find
chicken and rice
but all worth the price
seconds for fights
and nothing is right
dreams too distant
just for one instance
I wish for resistance
but I guess I missed it
help me and save me
never too late to hate me
still I am waiting
and nothing has faded
remember the kittens?
in the alley kitchen...
time permitting,
we will go back
!!!

on nights of shallow joy fulfilled by holding hands with temporary strangers, i often wonder what feeds my growing fascination of a collision intricately staged beneath the dirt of night. the bones, crushed white and sticking out from bloody tissue, limbs broken into torn solid irreparable divisions, a sticky flood expands, taking her time, creeping as the sea of darkness flows engulfing villages and souls. the ground only waits. dark burgundy against the heat of asphalt freshly poured the morning of, the city builds, accrues, destroys with every burning second, freshly stoned by the oncoming traffic of lost dreams. shoot speed, kill light and so descending into plight can only take the blinding fright into inevitable motion. remote minds control close calls with caving walls with a ten second clip put on constant loop to provoke unsettled welter. attraction grows, and nights escaped by the tastiest of yellow drinks (downed much too often too fast to judge and reason with a mind that distantly resembles that of a thinking moving life form) accumulate into a pile of wishes long forgotten, given up on, stomped on and denied. with every setting sun i swallow cold and insecure battles, but show me the dirt pile, and I will pray that they return one day only to find me breathing and alive ready for the fight of life.
one step too early or too late and inadvertently I’d have changed my fate, but who’s to say she didn’t deserve the long awaited clean and sober slate?

hour days wasting away

the curtains behind yellow light sway melodically to the cold air rising from the air conditioners; they are long vertical planes, geometric in their formation, but soft to touch. thousands of air conditioners voom across the city, pumping cold air into dark forgotten bedrooms, where its inhabitants lie deep asleep in their dreams, unaware of the worlds outside theirs

anger mistaken for hatred

hatred

it was snowing then, and the snowflakes tasted
sweet on your lips, your fingers gliding
across my face