again.

sorry ripped this off tumblr and CANNOT figure out who the original poster was.

This hits me.  I was not taught this.  I was taught only one thing:

No sex before marriage.

Okay I thought teenage boys were just horny and it wasn’t *really* their fault if they just pushed and pushed until you gave in.  I wish I wish I wish I would have known, when someone doesn’t respect the word”No” kick him the hell out of your life.  Once I left for college I never had problems with this again.  No one pushed it, because….

I make a point of ridding my life of anyone who is not good for me.  I have made a business of leaving people behind.

I guess learning things the hard way is the best way to make the message stick.

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terms and conditions

do you accept these terms and conditions?

I should have made you
sign a contract

I promise this won’t mean
anything

not even if I’m sober
not even on swingsets at midnight
river walks during floodstage

I promise you I won’t read between
the out-loud

I promise you I won’t give you my best
“let’s still be friends”
like an excuse
a bone thrown to the
most undernourished of dogs

(don’t treat me like
someone who needs
the pleasant lies of
anesthesia

this is not a disguise for
pain)

this is indifference
and we can have it
too

promise


hmmm hmmmmm reading through some of my older poetry and it is VEH HEH HERRY interesting how I used to feel about certain things.

It bothers me that I don’t even remember who I was talking about at certain points.

sometimes the rain is easier to trust than whatever half assed sincerity you’re trying to sell tonight.  what could be less complicated than two hydrogens and an oxygen? Science is honesty.  You? More unpredictable than lightning, and I never stay in the same place long enough to get struck twice.  You’re out.

I can only guess who that was about.

map

one night when I asked you where you wanted to go, you said “everywhere”.  I remember that always.  For me, it’s the same. Sometimes I hope the world will be small enough to spill us back together.   Sometimes I know it won’t be.  When goodnight is finally goodbye, I will wish you with all my heart,

safe journeys.




manifestos

 

http://art-by-doc.deviantart.com/art/Ready-To-Release-The-Shackles-335911497
beautiful works of magic by The Magnetic Fields


and there you are

unconventional enough to
resuscitate my heart

the way you make me feel something like
13 years younger is
uncontrollable, manifested in
how I show you my art like
maybe you’ll tape it to your fridge

I am in complete admiration of
the way you hold adjectives and nouns
captive
mangle them up and sew them together
in a colorful mass of
tangled syntax

and I’m in constant
jaw-dropped
awe

everything you do hits me hard enough to
shatter my communication skills
brain-dead my
inhibitions and (oh now)
I’m a greedy child,
only three words saturating
my veins

mine
mine
mine
——–
something random, I haven’t been writing much lately that’s worth anything.  I had a good weekend.  my Bollywood (or Tollywood I guess they call it when it’s south India) dance for Diwali night went really well.  met someone who has the capacity to make me actually wish I wasn’t single. but I’m sure that will pass.  it always does.

I stay wrecked and jealous for this one simple reason

you know those people who smile like the world is all theirs?  These are the ones I can’t help but love.

I like happy people. and I’ve only really met two in the last three years that I’d classify this way.  These people I just watch and watch and watch, because everything they do intrigues me.  Confidence without arrogance is a rare and beautiful thing.
——————————
My heart has ADD.

—-
random A.B. quote

It seemed obvious to Bebe that she needed to remedy the situation, curb her spending. So she put away the bill and logged on to Amazon.com to look for a book on the subject. She did a search and found ShoppingStoppers: The Breakthrough Best-seller that Can Help You Curb Your Compulsive Shopping. She clicked on it. The book jacket appeared on her screen. Beneath the book jacket, the text said, ‘Customers who bought this book also bought…’ and then listed seven other titles. So Bebe purchased them all, along with a book about investing in Chinese artifacts. She logged off feeling tremendous relief.” 

-Augusten Burroughs – Sellevision

In other news I’ve been listening to Taking Back to Sunday all day, (their 2002 album, Tell All Your Friends)  and it just takes me back to my junior high days like nothin’ else. the first band I ever really loved.

Fargo life

One thing:  “You have a great personality” is not a valid pickup line if you don’t actually know me.     For real,  the men of Fargo need to get some better lines.   During these two minute interactions, you see a combination of what you want to see and what I want you to see.

Certain brands of confidence freak me out.   It’s the predatory arrogance I can’t handle.  It’s all because of a little book called Rose Madder by Stephen King. After reading this book I became very frightened of men who are too sure of themselves.  (did you know you can download this book as a pdf?? I didn’t either:  http://gpnp.net/backshelves.gpnp.net/the%20shelves/authors/Stephen%20King/Rose%20Madder%20-%20Stephen%20King.pdf)

And okay, I’ll be honest.  I REALLY like being fed lines. I love being told that my smile is “radiant”  and “lights up a room”.  but come on.  I know you’ve given this crap to a million other girls and I’m not going to fall for you that easily…  I will however sit there with a big grin on my face consuming your flattery like a huge slice of apple pie. 

Tonight I am dancing to a Bollywood song in front of a huge crowd of people. annnnnd I’m still nervous as anything so pardon me while I go practice.

GURRRLLL HE BE SO FINE!

there’s this thing where I get really into a guy and I think that if it ends I’ll curl up in a ball and die.

and then it ends.

and I don’t die.

two weeks later, I end up chasing another car.  different color.  same level of oh-em-gee preteen butterflies.

I am so lame.   see I can sit here and observe all this happening,  and I still think this is the exception.  EVERY SINGLE TIME.

I’m not a freakin’ teenager.  I am an adult.  so they tell me.

sloppy love-poem hammered

what is WITH these poems???  mek;ladskd.  people coming to my house. several that I have a crush on, which could make for an interesting night of Shakespearean proportions.  The comedy! the drama!
——

 well I could have been
in love
but there is a
distinct possibility

I was just intoxicated

I’m always getting drunk
on things that
aren’t alcohol

metaphorically sloshed on
the snow, the rain,
frank sinatra songs

I got smashed on a swing-set
once
you know
limbs furiously
stabbing the sky
screaming into the
wind

the way you believe
you can fly
for an infinite split-second

anyways,
that night it was you

sometimes
perfection
hits harder than an
ice-cream
truck,
harder than a
fifth of vodka

yours absolutely
floors me

Chivalry and Kitchen Appliances

though his armor is unmistakably cardboard,
glue dripping out from the
hasty assemblageThis is my assignment for poetry class:
Write a poem in the surrealist mode. Your poem should include genuinely strange, startling, vivid and specific language, images, details, and insights. Don’t confuse surrealism with formula fantasy or sci fi;
you want to draw on archetypal and unconscious (not conventional or cliche) associations as bizarre as anything you’ve dreamed. Be weird. Be unpredictable. Allow genuine randomness into your work

So here goes
____________
___________
Chivalry and kitchen appliances

She is a brown recluse spider
with a lidless blender

a very large blender
ominous in a vague
I’m-not-quite-sure-but-this-
crab-salad-might-have-fangs
way

she resides in a yellow house
in the middle of a maze

a very large maze
laced with auditory hallucinations and
fun-house mirrors

an enormous crowd of people mill about
clutching hedge clippers and
poorly crafted love potions

they are all searching for the correct path
they are all trying to be the first
through her labyrinth,
past the flytrap garden she’s cultivated,
to open the padlocked door

this latest is
traipsing along daintily
fancying himself a knight

 
he’s picked her flowers (daisies)
he’s written her sonnets (cliche ones)
he’s doused in Armani cologne (Devoted Infatuation No. Five)
 
the door swings open
 
our hero enters, offering his gifts up,
a blood sacrifice to Parvati
 
Into The Blender!
His carefully chosen words mangled up
and hurled back in a puppy-love stenched tornado of
floral sentence fragments
 
he stands bemused, awestruck,
covered in aftermath
 
an insect enamored by bright lights
he will stay
and she will weave her web,
she can’t help it.
 
(she never can)