getting closer

hi

I watched the moon burn up last night,
And a tidal wave came when we were all at the show,
I hate to say that I wasn't screaming or scared.
But I wasn't.
I let go of the car I was holding onto and the wind
or something like it took me down the hill and let me off
slowly and gently back on the solid ground.

I am listening to the couple who lives next door fight.
The husband just said, "If you don't shut up you're gonna be dead."
They have two kids.
I don't know. We're all fucked.
I think I used to be a lot worse of a person.
Now I just feel sorry for myself. And that's just as bad.
But I don't have to.

Grace will be simple about it.

5:12 PM Saturday December 19, 2009

I'm sick. I feel very weak. I keep looking out the window at the snow, and the brightness makes me dizzy. I can't eat anything. I don't know what's wrong with me.
I'm too tired to be sad right now.

This is the winter.

There is a Douglas Fir growing
underneath the water tower in Monesson.

I can't be sure, for it is rather far away,
But the top of the tree seems to be touching
the base of the tank.

Maybe there is a foot or two of space in between.

Like your mother in the church, with her black stockings and her brown heels and her white dress. You knew, even then, how to be embarrassed.
I walked down the road with you, for miles we went, and it was so cold
and you told me what you told me. How when you were little...
When you were only...
When things were better than they are now.

There is too much to show you now. I hold many boxes at once. Like Annie Profit, though, nothing in there is mine. I fell off and forgot.

I said,"come inside." Careless. Breathing.

Big pieces have broken off. Ice that had hit you in the face.

People talk to me. With smiles.


It is still nothing like you walking towards me.

True Love. A short Film by Emily Volkar and Kimberly Diamond. Thank you to SNES.

i'm losing

"Oh, it's okay."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. I'm fine."
"You're lying."
"I am. But what difference does it make?"
"None, I guess."
"Right. Then see ya later I guess."
"No."
"What else?"
"I love you."
"I don't know what that means."
"Neither do I."
"Okay. Well. Why did you say it?"
"Because it's true."
"It doesn't matter."
"Okaygoodbye."

a dream

must write this down before i forget.


he was having a party at his house. i was not invited. she was invited. i think that's why i wasn't invited. everyone was there. there was a keg. everyone was singing and dancing around. he saw me. i wouldn't talk to him. practically refused to. he left.
i finally walked into the room where everyone was. girl was very annoying. she kept staring at me. she was talking really loud. at one point she was looking at me and talking really loud so i just stared her right in the eyes and shouted "shut up."
with a lot of emphasis on the shhhhhhhh part. she didn't get it. i felt bad a little.
then she came over and sat next to me and started asking me questions. i was polite. everyone else left the room except for me and her and him. finally i got up and just left.




i must be crazy. i hear ritz snoring underneath my bed.


i think this is all very good for me. gettin the crazy out. movin on.

It's the season

The man across the road; arms crossed,
with his mind occupying nothing.
The snow starts. Last evening it was there,
but you were not awake to look out the
front window.

You saw him, though, last year. Waiting.
You thought of your own lost ones,
always lost. It was never there.

You walk to the front door, forgetting your hat and mittens.
It's cold. You walk toward the man, and stop
at your side of the street.

"Hello young man."
"Hello."
"It took you a long time."
"Only a year."
"You forgot."
"I did not."


That's right. You never forgot.
You held yourself at night and kept away.
Cause why would you ever want it blown open?
Cross winds occur nightly now, and the snow
tells you so.
You still don't know which way to go.

You see their smiles in your sleep
and try to dream of other things
but the warming keeps you paralyzed
there is nothing you can do,
you already let it go.

Next winter the man will be there, too. Waiting.

venetia, pa

Still awake. Gonna have a cigarette in my room. I gotta get outta here. Quick.

day four without a cigarette. I feel okay. I thought about it a couple times today. But yesterday was pretty bad. I was super moody. MOODY.

I just finished Heather and Allison's birthday present. And I made something for Kel just because. I feel pretty good. About things in general (i think.)

Today my family kept asking me where I'm going to work. I kept telling them "I don't know."

I don't know.

fuck it

Today all day without cigarettes. Tomorrow will be the same. Not by choice. I'm doing.


Knulp was great. Kelly read it so long ago. Not that long ago, but I feel that things
were very different then. I think I moved into her room right after she finished reading it. Here is an excerpt. I believe it might be Kelly's (for there was a feather near it) and maybe my favorite:


Knulp said: "Every human being has his soul, he can't mix it with any other. Two people can meet, they can talk with one another, they can be close together. But their souls are like flowers, each rooted to its place. One can't go to another, because it would have to break away from its roots, and that it can't do. Flowers send out their scent and their seeds, because they would like to go to each other; but a flower can't do anything to make a seed go to its right place; the wind does that, and the wind comes and goes where it pleases."




I finished this book very quickly. It's a short book, but I grew very accustomed to the language and presentation of this book immediately. It is almost five thirty in the morning. Knulp was a man who traveled his whole life. He fell in love at age 14 and she broke his heart. He assumed that he would never be in love like that again, and protested that he was not to God, nearing the end of his life. God said, "But you loved Lisabeth, and Henrietta, did you not?" God also reminds him of other joys in his life, where he felt it in every bone of his body. Knulp laughs and says, "Yes I suppose you're right" He understands that life would be quite different if even a day of it had been missing.

This makes me think of days I've been having at home, how empty I feel. This strange loneliness that reaches me only when I think of those I'm not around any longer.





You want to be better at living. To feel more of what you want to feel. You can't allow myself to be a pin cushion. My bangs are getting longer, and my legs look it when I sit indian style. One talks of hurt, and how she wishes not to hurt her lover, but she does every single day. All the time, it hurts.
I suppose I'll lock her heart in a dark room, with her inside as well.
Let her miss the days and the easiness of breathing.
Make her regret the carelessness. less ness less ness less ness ness.



Many things were tried today. I hold secrets like small candles. Nobody knows.
I am happy for this. I am happy that I still live life trusting everything and nothing all the time.
I amount to nothing. You hold piles of gold string in my dreams; hold them up to my face and show me how I can't touch it. Tell me why: because you feel too much. You're not real enough(fakeenough)to see things as they are.
"There's no fucking magic. Get the fuck over it."

Get over it. Hmmph. Umm. mmmm. I'd rather be consumed then left alone entirely.

to love without ever knowing

Had a dream I did horrible things last night. I lied about them.

I watched a movie last night. Here is a monologue from it:


Everything is more complicated than
you think. You only see a tenth of
what is true. There are a million
little strings attached to every
choice you make; you can destroy
your life every time you choose.
But maybe you won't know for twenty
years. And you'll never ever trace
it to its source. And you only get
one chance to play it out. Just try
and figure out your own divorce.
And they say there is no fate, but
there is: it's what you create.
Even though the world goes on for
eons and eons, you are here for a
fraction of a fraction of a second.
Most of your time is spent being
dead or not yet born. But while
alive, you wait in vain, wasting
years, for a phone call or a letter
or a look from someone or something
to make it all right. And it never
comes or it seems to but doesn't
really. And so you spend your time
in vague regret or vaguer hope for
something good to come along.
Something to make you feel
connected, to make you feel whole,
to make you feel loved.
And the truth is I'm so angry and
the truth is I'm so fucking sad,
and the truth is I've been so
fucking hurt for so fucking long
and for just as long have been
pretending I'm ok, just to get
along, just for, I don't know why,
maybe because no one wants to hear
about my misery, because they have
their own, and their own is too
overwhelming to allow them to
listen to or care about mine.
Well, fuck everybody.
Amen.

everything. maybe. is bullshit.

this is it

days alone.


Good thing I'm listening to a tape and not a cd, because Ritz likes to sit atop my boom box and when she jumps off, the cd stops. I'm lucky this time.

I just put on an old sweatshirt that I haven't worn for quite some time. Bright orange. Can't remember where it came from. Has a deer on it. I think it's a hunting thing or something. Anyway, it has a huge piece of dirt caked on in one spot. Haha. Wonder what kind of trouble I was getting into.


Yesterday and today I listened to two Elliott Smith albums, two Rainer Maria albums,
and one Drought album. I would say these all sum up my current feelings fairly well and have made me feel somewhat better.

Today I advertised my services around my neighborhood. I hope this works out. I really do. It would be nice to have a source non-corporate income.



I almost forgot it was twilight.

HOLY CHRIST.

an honest woman. supposedly. maybe.



Here are Two Things (songs) that I've been thinking about:


The impact, the aftershave, the european cigarettes
The taxi, the alcohol that lingers on your breath
The lipstick, the street lamp, the woolen overcoat
The front desk, you tell yourself, it isn't over yet

Second best, oh second best
I can learn to live with this
Plus I really need a rest
After all what's wrong with second best
What's wrong with second best

The motel, the distances, cave into kisses cold and wet
Familiar exchanges, like needle pulling thread
The empty movements that once were so inspired
Desperate attempts to fan the flames without a fire
The mattress creeks beneath
The symphony of misery and cum
Still we lie jerking back and forth
And blurring into one

Second best oh second best
I can learn to live with this
Plus I really need a rest
After all what's wrong with second best
What's wrong with second best




----------------------------


the body has got to be worth saving
eyelids are shining with headache and perspiration
morning is finding good intentions under sleep's persuasion
the body has got to be...
our past lives were too heavy and too expensive
now we're paying together for our inventions
maybe there's a ceremony
written down inside the body
where maybe no one ever sees
you begin like a lion and you end like a lamb
molars are grinding inspiration down to nothing
where are the instructions
on how to keep it going?
the body...
a patient motor in secret is whirring
binding together what was broken
with the heart's string
to have without keeping
to sigh without boredom
to know without thinking
and to love without ever knowing
maybe there's a ceremony
written down inside the body
where maybe no one ever sees








man. some days are so still. some days you can just watch kids laughing, or leaves collecting at the bottom of a chain link fence, or the sky in the rear view changing colors faster than you thought it could...and you feel fine. Some days. If I didn't have those things today...I'd probably feel a lot different right now.

feels like i have nothing

so i stare at the things the sun makes

something old i found.

i would not mind it if your grandpa's ghost woke me.
cause i know you loved him most, no i wouldn't be scared
on this couch with this aztec blanket wrapped around.
no, i'm good right here and the ticking of that paxil
clock ain't bothering me as much as i thought it would.

you don't know what this means
there's great magnitude here
but you can't see it. ohhhh
it's okay, it's okay, it's enough
that i feel safe.

she's happy, my friend, with you and i don't know
if you treat her good, but christ, how you've been mistreated
too. i try to relax, seeing your arms entwined in a basement.
whoami to judge your uneven love? perhaps all for the best,
you breaking her warmth over and over, is there even any
right way to be, ever?

you don't know what this means
there's great magnitude here
but you can't see it, man
it's okay, it's okay, it's good
that we never know how anything's gonna end.

or even that there's possibility for it to be without an end at all.

can't go to sleep. found some old clothes of mine. my room is just about finished.
i feel like i could become whatever i want to be. being away from people allows you that. maybe.


thought i could change something, in experiment.
did not work.
am what i thought.
that is okay with me.


i am in love.


i read some really good haikus last night. i wish i could remember them.

behind 709

this is the day i got stoned, freaked out, and didn't go back into work after my lunch break. i came here and calmed down

******

wake upppppppppp

HEY! THIS IS THE WORLD! YOU ARE ALIVE!




have i ever told you how much i love rye bread?
i feel i could if i tried: live simply.
i can see what i feel for all of you. and it's real.
at least i have that.

old room=new room.

So, I'm workin on my new room. Listening to get up kids. Might as well be 16 again.
Fuck, man.

Hello Again.

So. Since I've moved home, I'm going to be bored a lot since I don't have anyone to hang out with. This means I'm going to start doing stuff with this blog again.

I just moved from Johnstown, PA.
Now I live in Venetia, PA with my mom.
We'll see how this goes.
So far I feel pretty good.

men pacing on rooftops in the sun
and clouds above them, almost high enough
to see the rollercoasters in the distance
no wind, just beating heat on chests and backs
and upon themselves, the men take in
the empty questions
"why am i here?"
they answer themselves with,
"where else would i be?"
come up short.

a kid kicks an empty pop can in the next town over
his best friend trails behind and watches
he's holding a fist in his pocket
just waiting for something,

everybody in this town waits
while everybody in the next town waits
while all the faces in the next next town stare into
the blank screen of every single day.

laying listless but can't move.


down here it's just winners and losers and don't get caught on the wrong side of that line

i'm tired of comin out on this losin end.

Feeling much better, much more real,
much more alive.
Got all cut up, got done with him cuttin up
and i was not the one to run
Made up so much of it, gave out more than that
got a big dumb dull nothing back
Wadn't upset with it, knew what was coming from it
busted through the wall anyway
I know what I'm doing, I know what I did,
there's no crawling into holes now
I'm much better for it, I've grown older cause of it,
and he's still folding in on himself
There's no one else, there is everyone else and
last night I dreamt of liars
We're too ready for it, I'm all gone and here and present now
And things will fall in, and roll off like everything else
And I will welcome it. Still.

It wasn't the softness of his summer 

rubber fingers,

but the death behind the blankets,

beneath the searching palms

and the empty pressing into my back.

face it.

Am I impervious? I once thought. Now I think not.

Two books.

It's a toss up night.
Keep fallin behind, not bein heard, not bein seen.
I remember how easy it is to not be heard or seen when you're sad.
Forgot all about that, feigning perpetual "okay-ness"
Keeps people at bay quite well.
Afraid to get to the point where you can't put your shit away
and people can see it and then regard it with hands open
or dismiss it with faces turned away.

I bet there is enough time, though.
To go thru this folder of randoms
Unidentifiable spirits, aching calms.

You would read them in a deeper voice, trying not to laugh.
I would be intent and sincere and
you'd fall deeper into the bed, it sinking to a space
I did not know about before.

For example,

"Libby on the couch, Jenny in the sand.
Penny in my pocket, Quarter in my hand."

You would read that and think of the absence
of the bottom of all your pockets.
No bottom, no found, no discovery.
Some things more precious than others.
And we would pause too long cause
nothing will ever fill that blurry, senseless, creeping absurdness
that is always placed firmly between our faces.

I would read Chapter 78, an excerpt:

"...you wake to nothing the same. and you have changed, in your dreams.
what've they made you, but less afraid?"


You would never hear about the morning the house shook.
Or the front yard back yard too-long-dwelling-before-recognizing.
The twisting, the shrinking of the things that are supposed
to keep me comfortable.
The reckless abandon.
I'm done. It's here. Let's go.

Today is a good day Today.

I woke up this morning and I was shivering. This was a welcomed shiver.
My room feels good now that I moved it around.
Things feel closer to me. Myself, my dreams.

Everything felt soft to me this morning, and even now.

Walked to work with my shoes in my purse and bare feet
on the sidewalks, streets, grass, rocks, rain.
It was pouring. Thought about asking a roommate for a ride, then
understood how much better my day would be if it started with
just me and the rain. The rain. The rain. The rain.
Tarp Rain.

Daydreaming some simple things. Plausible things, but things that
rest solely on single decisions. Moments. Pure and fleeting.

Ahhhh, days of rest, thank you. Days of solitude, thank you.
Days of utter emersion and confusion and not being able to
see straight from all the gushing. Thank you.

moving faster.

I've been asking myself lately "is it too much?"

The answer is probably yes. But what does that mean?

Does that mean that I should stop what I'm doing, eventhough

there is some un-ignorable, invisible pull urging me to

run so fucking fast head-on right into it?

And what is the worst that shall happen to me?

Hurt, reclusion, anger, depression.

HA!

Well, okay. I can live with that.

went to the river with my gang today. couldn't find the right spot.
river had shit in it.
sat next to it for a while and felt the breeze.
lovin livin in pittsburgh.

see? it evaporated.

I just looked at a lot of really lovely things,
and christ I'm just wading through the waters.
I see why people revert.
I see why people stay inside of their rooms.
There is more magic in there
and in their hearts than is recognizable
or communicable through conversation with even the most charming of folks.

I know that underneath everything on top, there are bones. That I own.

you do not.
own them like i own them
although you feel them in your sleep
and i let you see certain things
that you can see
but you are leaving full jars of water on
my sills
and there are no filters to be found
in any of your bags or my bags
or under the bed because it is bolted to the floor
and you roll off when you get too bored.

you spelled ecstacy wrong

Lead a normal life