I’m in the process of building an airplane till it’s stable enough to sit in.

Never never never to fly again.

But still.

Walking past these store windows and I see… I see which type of wings I want to buy.  I wonder how they’d taste the air.

I don’t get to taste the air.  I’ve had the runway.  I lived there for six years.  Should have disabled it.  Jammed gum in the ignition so no key could fit.

I didn’t.  Key went in easy.  The wheels started turning.  Nose pointed straight up and y’all still f***ing dragged me back to this this this SICK EARTH.  I wanted to bring you with me.




When the sun is gone, the soul’s clarity fades.
There is nothing but idiocy and mistakes.
We are half dead, inanimate, exhausted.




It’s like I was dancing on the sun… can you even imagine what it would feel like to be yanked back to earth?

Or like I found a wormhole to a universe where everything made sense.

I don’t wanna tell people about it because it’s so psycho but it’s also the only for real thing I’ve ever felt so it’s hard to keep it in.

Feel myself listening so hard for your reaction… like will you feel this combustion if I tell you about it or will it just be psycho?

Bird Sings Why The Caged I Know – Atmosphere

[Intro: spoken]
Regarde le serpent mignon. Mords-tu, le serpent ? Salut

It’s the bird, it must have been the bird
Disgusting critter, it must
We should have known better than to trust
This disease-infested ball of lust and carnage
Piece of garbage with wings and she has the guts to sing
Get the bird, catch her, shoot her, I don’t care
Get the bird, bring her down to the ground from out the air
Got to tear her apart, let me at her first
Sink her to the level of the rest of us that inhabit the earth
What’s she thinking
Does she really believe
That she’s above the creatures that work the dirt and the streets
See her up in the tree, looking down at you and me
Like she’s chosen over those who walk around on two feet
The bird, the melodies she play
The music she make
Rubbing our faces in the feces of the daybreak
Trying to remind us, it’s time to awake
Antagonizing and instigating my hate
The chirps, I’ll turn them into screams
My feathered friend’s end will justify the means
Disturbed, I’ll grab her by her beak
And swing her in circles until she’s too dizzy to speak
Well I’ll shake her from her branch, tear apart her nest
Break her skinny legs and fry her eggs up for breakfast
(She’s a snake that can fly)
She’s just food for the fleas
She thinks she’s better then me just because she’s free
I’ll shake her from her branch, tear apart her nest
Break her skinny legs and fry her eggs up for breakfast
(She’s a snake that can fly)
She’s just food for the fleas
She thinks she’s better than me just because she’s free


People I meet usually “know somebody” who is bipolar.  I don’t get any depression or sadness whatever.   I just get mania.   This was my second episode, last one six years ago.  I am so so so sad it happened because recovery is HARD. Picking up the pieces is so difficult.  I cheated on my boyfriend.  I crossed a lot of boundaries.



I have danced with God or the Universe.  People don’t get to feel that way without taking drugs.  I do.  I have.  I knew my purpose.  Then it devolved into a hospital stay, as usual.  But before.


I danced with the universe.

I had big plans. Huge plans.

End world hunger, end poverty kinda plans.

Buttttt then my friends realized they needed to put me in the hospital for mania.

I’m still wrestling with this.  Who the hell am I?  What is wrong with me?  I don’t know what to do, how to feel.  I’m in “recovery”.  Felt so alive, felt like I was realizing my true purpose.  I mean.  This has all happened before, six years ago.  Just a rerun I guess.  I take my pills. I do that much.  All my muscle has deteriorated. Not working, not dancing. not sure what I am to do.


If this disappears it’s tell me its okay by gnash.

for my favorite dancer

Your eyes will blaze, your heart will be seen from space

your love will knock people over

I’m ALL IN motherfuckers

Would you give me permission to s(care) you if I could convince you this roller coaster has an endgame, that I’d always always bring you back to safety… not only that… you were safe the whole time.

this is just how rollercoasters are built.  Let’s fucking DO THIS.

I’m all in, 100%.  I’m your ride or die.


Let’s roll.


I want to be thrown through the window.

Metaphor for surprise, perhaps terrifying but. . . you’ve lived your whole life inside.  You can see the sky.  How would it be to taste it on your eyelids?

I want to taste the sky on my eyelids.

Metaphor for (exploration? mysticity?), the strangeness of the absolutely new, to turn the page of evening and find

bones of water, excavation of consciousness

Year zero constellating my fingertips.


Feel like this song is not… quite… representative of the poem.  Whatever!  That’s what’s called a mixed bag… so what if there are hundred dollar bills stapled to the back of your radiator?  Who could make staples that strong?  Wizardry.