OCTOBER 20
_________________________________________________

dimensions,
duality,
the amazon,
shamans,
nepal,
marijuana,
hallucinogenic drugs,
natural disasters,
transcending consciousness,
2012, peace, calm, joy, LOVE LOVE LOVE,
psychics,
mayans,
astrology,
tattoos,
enlightenment,
buddhism,
being poor,
caring for plants and animals.
A FUTURE OF REBIRTH AND LOVE.
I am a Bodhisattva and a writer.

Looking forward to the future in this list of plenty, Jess.  Good stuff to write here.

LOL you must have been watching Taboo!

taboo? i don't have cable, well, actually now, i don't have a television lol

thanks sue, just rambling today about stuff i've been reading a lot about lately. ever read the cosmic serpent by jeremy narby?

No.  I don't know him.  Is it good? I'll see if can find it. I'm reading Vonnegut's posthumous book just now.

Sue

Then you were channeling the tv program LOL

Two nights ago it discussed:
dimensions,
duality,
the amazon,
shamans,
nepal,
marijuana,
hallucinogenic drugs,

transcending consciousness,
        peace, calm, joy, LOVE LOVE LOVE,
psychics,
mayans,
astrology,

enlightenment,
buddhism,
being poor,

A FUTURE OF REBIRTH AND LOVE.


 among other stuff. It must be in the ether. Fun!

cool cool

OCTOBER 20

______________________________________________



my poor beauty's attempt


last night
she said,

“sheets wrung dry,
stained still, ha-um,
but you can stay,
hold you, I'll, well,
if
you
want”
 

think i
might’ve
even heard
a slight
purr


______________________________________________

how i rhyme

we can go in to
the trees
and creeper folk
can’t be having these
and you should know
about

sammy,
likes redhead
lasses
and if you’re wise
you hate bastards
and when i feel right
i’m tripping on acid
and when you and i scratch
the beat bangs masses

 :P

_________________________________________________ ______
DIARY OF ERIN
born: 5th day/tenth month/1988
purpose: contemporary theorist
smoked: too much
saving grace: loving

so i wrote me dad and said, "dad you heard me wrong. it's not that i think highly of john's mom, i
care about you guys more than anything in the world, i just disagree
with mom's opinion of what i should be doing, and honestly, its my
choice, i'm an adult and i need your support. yes i spent money on pot,
because i depend on it to make me feel better, and now i'm getting the
help and medicine i need to stop doing that. dont you think i'm
embarrassed? but maybe mom is a hypocrite for smoking with me 24/7 when
she was in oswego, ask her about the weed john drove all the way to
buffalo to buy for her, because john loves and connected well with mom
when she visited. please read my letter again im just trying to show you
the steps im taking to be responsible, and it just happens to be that
john’s mom is helping me with it. just because i didn’t choose staying
with you, doesn’t mean i don’t love, care or respect you all.

and then, a few days, later
i got a letter,
in the mail,
it said,

"Erin,

You will never come close to what your mother has gone through in her
life. Justifying your actions by equating what you have to what your
mother has is pathetic. This not a game and it is certainly one you do
not want to play with me. John's mom can drop dead for all I care and
John can go with her. You are a victim of what you think is love and it
is sad because there is so much more in life for you than this. I guess you
just do not realize how serious this is right now. If you're an adult
then pay your bills, don't drive an illegal car, manage your money,
don't rely on other people to cover your bills and buy your trust, act
like one. And John since you are reading this FUCK YOU ASSHOLE! If you
think you can do this and nothing will come of it you are so wrong."

well, i'm climbing
up to the attic
now and
you
wouldn't
want to get up
there with me
________________________________________________

Love that Saving grace : loving, Jess. Very wise.  I love the characters in this.  Especially Erin.

Love Sue

OCTOBER 22

_______________________________________________

revised poem.....

evening hours

first
the green strands of yarn
peeling off the couch,
as they like snakes slithered
towards me,
I grabbed the stereo
which was howling echoes of
the bars on the west side.

they coiled
around my feet,
and a skirt formed
cascading
around my legs, glittered
with sparks of Christmas
lights wrapped loosely on the
coffee table.

my hand
shook magazines off the
side and as they hit the ground,
the print became distorted, with
words like “coy” and “jab” being
sprung like mattress pads
off the page.

the keyhole beckoned me,
and the three feet from the door
seemed like miles of iridescent
desert,
the snakes back, let their grip
off my ankles and floated
across
my hardwood floors that were
dusted
with amber-tinted incense
and magic hat bottles.
Once I made
it to the door, the tragedy of life
sustained me, as I pondered
why
i was there.



this is the old one:


first the green strands of yarn
started peeling off the couch,
as they like snakes slithered
towards me I grabbed the stereo
which was howling echoes of
the bars on the west side.

they wrapped around my feet,
and a skirt formed cascading
around my legs, glittered
with the heat of Christmas
lights wrapped around the
coffee table.

my hand with great
tremor shook magazines off the
side and as they hit the ground,
the print became distorted, with
words like “coy” and “jab” being
sprung like mattress pads
off the page.

the keyhole beckoned me
and the three feet from the door
seemed like miles of iridescent
desert, the snakes back, let their grip
off my ankles and floated
across my hardwood floors that were
dusted with amber-tinted incense
and magic hat bottles. Once I made
it to the door, the tragedy of life
sustained me, as I pondered why
i was there.

When I was reading the second version, not knowing you were going to give the earlier version too, I was remembering the earlier version. I like the second version because of the varying line lengths, which increase the anarchic feel of the piece and open it up a little visually.

Rick

thanks rick

OCTOBER- I am your lame cigarette, who burns wrong, so you don't notice, when you ash me too quick.

DIARY OF ERIN- quick, little all about me for my respected fans, Pete, my cat with raccoon tail, and Tonks, my gray dwarf rabbit. well, let me see.............................................. ............................music, i love the dedication albums and drought 3 by wayne, and cassidy is crazy. i recently read that 71 percent of marijuana arrests are people under 30, so really it's a war on youth and i find this compelling. and all this.......i like playgrounds and colors, weirdo love fiends like myself, the cosmic serpent, the game cigars in honey and kisses, not hershey. and finally, i am a writer, but a Bodhisattva first.

Dear Jess

ah yessss.......

the keyhole beckoned me,
and the three feet from the door
seemed like miles of iridescent
desert,

true Bodhisattava talk......

nice poeming !!!!

miles of smiles
silent lotus

true Bodhisattava talk......


i hope to fulfill my destiny :)

blanket

i’m
peering, through
its threads, the tint
of flamingo light
hits it right, so
the colors all
mesh from turnips
to peppers, with white
gliding throughout, and
as I bring it close,
i breath in and out,
deeper where
muscles soften and
melt, where sparkles
of golden wisdom flow
through mind to world,
to you, sir, and you,
father, I bring it close
and the further i push
the air out of my
lungs, the more the
blanket begins to breathe
with me, pulse with my
every sigh, like LSD,
where everything is
just alive
and that is all required,
to not be humans doing
but humans being, to
guide love, and to finally climb
twisted deoxyribonucleic acid
slowly and to see tranquility
existed in life, after all.

can you drift?


see about beyond


floating upstream,


when you’re just


in bed, alone,


half-in, half-out,


tapping into the


fifth dimension


with each quick



breath of the
universe.

grandfather, i heard of you...


Mindlessly curving through the walls of infinite reality, depth perception doubted his insanity through retrospect was obvious. He, defined, by apples and oranges, he loved both. Apples he peeled like one line snakes and oranges squeezed tight until pulp was worn on porous ceramic. His martinis round the clock, friday nights in new york city with his one buddy.

the waiting kills me



this is my heart
scooped open,
carved out to its hat’s
brim, scraped until
snapped into two
over
our
parents
empty
heads,
each fleck of me
spirals through
their brain
and my heart
reveals you,
skipping rocks
over lake ontario,
eating pineapple
pizza after vanilla
dutchies on concord,
held up in your arms
in our pink bathroom,
rrazor on the ground,
shrieking, at the hospital,
at delmonico’s for steak
dinners in syracuse at
six months, i’ll never forget
how you looked that night,
and there has been so
such music, from dilla to
cassidy, i knew you’d love
biggie, falling down ice at
tinker falls, my glass slipper
caught by you, my face red
from rusting, sharing a
joint and a cigarette in
the park, even the mess
of drunken nights,
whether it be peppermint
shots or chocolate cake
ones, i’m leaving you
for a bit, but
each piece
of you brought
back from doctor’s
prying is refreshing
even every blacked
out childhood
moment, i
emphatically
was created
to balance you,
while we all
sort of stand
here, on tight
rope, waiting. 

your style is so captivating
very much enjoyed

Stella

Lovely images Jess, I feel anxious for them both.

thanks stella and sue :)

without you

and here i lay
like death on a sewer,
losing grip.

papillon

i caught
you
beneath skies
touching my
nose, sweeping
up thin air, between
trees.

only the clothes on my back

i
have
only
this pink floyd shirt
and these paint stained shoes
and
the state in which
you both left
my
heart.

#19 is excellent Jess. The form really works with the poem too.

B.

I'm scared. Shitless. No medical insurance. No car insurance. No car. No college degree. No job. No family. The only hope I have is you Steven, please, don't disappoint me. And before the next time I'm blessed with sleep, I'll pray that these words won't be my last.

thanks B

Jess
cool, bueno

into two

is a dong for me in 19
try: in two
maybe


and 25 is just superb
keep it coming, Jess

t

I’m weightless                                                                                                                                                                                                                       
Off bud my beau grew in buffalo, he’s facing, me and there is calm between the storm. Last night, he, with two others, comes for me, through eight hours and four joints. He came, because I punched, my dad in his right eye with murder in my face, falling down stairs, out into the freezing night with sneakers too big, five miles down the road to hear no dial tone, I hit the streets and cry for the universe to take me. Pulling around the corner, a woman coos, ”Come into the car, it’s too cold for you to be out there. Where am I going?” “Um, Ridgeland.” “Where are you coming from?” “The getty.” “Oh, my, that’s mighty far, why were you all the way out there?” “Can you pull over here. Thanks.” I crawled into the unlocked camry but wind blew winter into the car. Back in the house, she tells me I can stay the night and I can leave with the clothes on my back, (and the three rings I stole from you last night plus twenty bucks left on the kitchen counter all stuffed in my bra). 5:30 AM: Shoes hit wet pavement, pound, pound, swiftly moving, she’s threatening to call the cops, I pop into the aquamarine Nissan with faint headlights hitting the early morning fog. “Drive, hurry, go!” Four hours flat it took to get back to Syracuse in to the arms of friends who consoled and calmed. Back in buffalo, with him and the mother-in-law and the alcoholic uncle who needed a place to stay, on some bud, my beau grew, feeling weightless.

— rocks, Jess

ciao

T

thanks dax

mishaps are makeshift losers like scooter riding scooter pie eating school kids licking their chocolate lips

the beginning of my twenties: mom and dad followed footsteps they swore to avoid, devoid of emotion: that is the first crack of the rock, it breaks open when you want to murder your parents and its sediments cement together when your love picks you up and puts shape to your pieces, to haste: without anger, for attachment to buddha (like christ) in essence, the beginning: of my twenties.                                                                                                                         

grandma smokes, heavily, former actress who knew rosemary clooney, she was beautiful, a tanned brunette with purring eyelashes, but everyday she sunned outside, and chain smoked, and slept with twenty year olds, and bought weed off my mom who charged her double for a gram on friday nights she entertained her theater freaks to rocky horror on her projector that grandpa has from work at 20th century fox, she aged wickedly, with wrinkles and anxiety, and she died out of fear, and no one mourned because she was cruel once her husband passed, but i did cry when i read her eulogy, out of sheer woe, for a moment.

35 is a rich, complex portrait

rick

yep.

I'd love to have purring eyelashes,  Jess...did you inherit?

Love sue

She was a selective mute by four. Her childhood remembered by panic attacks at nights when she couldn’t sleep. She became accustomed to abuse; one hit doesn’t count right? She can see her mother crying on the stairs, her former heroin addict husband keeps stealing her morphine. She hugs her mother and says, “Love is hard, but you can get through this.” At twenty, she punched her father for the first time, as hard as she possibly could and they never spoke again. Her mother has been dying since she was five, the anger keeps her sick. The girl finds calm in Buddha and her higher self. She finds calm in love, but sometimes it’s hard. She loves the beautiful, and hates fashion, her tattered clothes speak volumes. Her eyes purr like her grandmother, she takes after her family from Minsk. She is observant and finds dignity in grace. She’s tried three times, and didn’t expect to live after the totaled jetta.

build up and burst out...proud of you.

Lov esu e

I don't care if you steal money                                                                                                                          clothes and things are just clothes                                                                                                           and things,                                                                                                                                                           I still hold this gem:                                                                                                                                      we    are   spiritual    beings    having                                                                                                                 a human e x p e r i e n c e.

That's right cunt, I'm high as fuck. Fucking blitzed. But it's the weekend, so whatever. And guess what, your college reject just picked up a full-time job, and after I pay off my medicals bills, I'm going to get a nice, spacious apartment in the town of Tonawonda, and on the weekends, when I don't have to wake up at 5:30 am for work, I'm going to get fucking blitzed, with the guy who disproves your theories on love. High as fuck. That's right, CUNT.

.

Oh, and did I tell you about pornographic Frank? Pornographic Frank was my driving instructor when I was sixteen. I remember one time, I was driving, so I'm not the best driver, and Pornographic Frank is asking a question, "What do you do at a stop sign?" I say, "You make a full stop." And Pornographic Frank goes, "No, no Jessica, you make a complete stop." Then I said, "What's the difference between full and complete?" Oh, that pissed Pornographic Frank off, "You know what the fuck is the difference between full and complete." So, I said, "Actually, Frank, there's no fucking difference between full and complete. They're fucking synonyms." "get the fuck out. Switch drivers! Sophie!" Oh, but that's not the story I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you about how Frank became Pornographic Frank. We had driver's ed real early, from 6 am to 7:45 or so. And Frank liked to start his day stopping at Anthony's deli where he would stuff his fat face with a bacon, egg and cheese every morning for say twenty minutes. And we would wait in the car, bored as fuck. "This guy is a shit-head.", I say. Chris was sitting in the passenger's seat. "Hey, Chris, open the center console, it probably has porn in it." Chris laughed and opened the center console. And, yea he found porn, but it was different, it said, "Willing Fathers and Sons". Incest Porn. We reported Pornographic Frank and he quickly resigned. Oh, and Pornographic Frank,was the Coach of Harrison's Junior Boys Baseball. Cheers Frank!

These last two are fantastic Jess.
And Porno Frank sounds like a sick fuck.

B.

.

We were at the pediatricians, I was twelve. "Ok, honey, take this cup and we need a urine sample." I couldn't, anxiety, horrible anxiety. She took me down to the bottom floor where there was a soda machine, I drank five bottles of apple juice. Still couldn't. She doesn't trust me. Walk back to the camry, inside she slaps hard as hundred horses. We get back home, and I lay down and curl up on the couch. She's on the phone and hears me crying. "What the fuck are you crying for?" "You didn't have to hit me mom!" "You're a fucking a baby. get over it.

lovely poem dax, indeed b.

for a lovely lady, indeed

ciao

— now showbusiness, fuck

i don't want it to ever be okay

really.
in fact,
if it could be as
fucked up
as possible,
i think i'd prefer
it,
besides,
when it's
all okay,
the writing
is
shit.



(David Foster Wallace- I think it's the best time to be alive ever and it's probably the best time to be a writer. I'm not sure it's the easiest time.)

.

Dark, cool Syracuse wind, just around the loop of Concord, walking with new acid awe, "The trees look like were on a stage, like they're not real."
"Maybe you're viewing things more accurately, ha."
I thought I'd have some revelation, but the only conclusion I had was a now unexplainable hatred towards Quakers and Wiccans and that I have the sense of humor of a fifteen year old boy.
There's the house with the broken stairs and the windows popped out on the cylindrical front replaced with plastic that was howling. "I don't want to go over there, creeps me out sober."
"Oh, come on, just a bit of plastic in the wind."
Unexpectedly, as we passed, pitbulls barking, (am I dreaming?) growling, right behind the black Cadillac and the metal fence, with presumably vicious eyes and teeth. I wonder what it was like to hear two kids screaming, feet hitting the pavement and short on breath. Suspicious, no doubt. Steve jumbled the keys while the neighbors were yelling, I say, "Get the fucking door open!" Inside was a blue-lit safe haven. the living room was glowing cerulean and I fell to the floor breathing and laughing.
But that was almost a year ago, and right now I'm sitting behind the counter of Bob Mason's Service and this woman left huffing about the cost of her repairs, can't she smell the minimum wage off of me? At 4:30, I wake up, more like 4:50 after I dabble with the alarm, drink coffee with caramel, have some generic brand Cheerios and head to work for an eight hour shift of tens, fives, $2.89 plus tax, energy drinks, dutchies and twenty on three. One year prior, I was looking in the mirror thinking I was the ugliest person in the world, but that's common. I want my shirt off, and my skirt. I don't want to wear a bra or underwear, I want to be draped in scarves of all colors and dancing. He watches me slink around, nipple exposed from a drifting wool. I explore my cunt, pink and soft. I straddle him on the couch for hours until I can't fuck or be fucked anymore. It's seven and the sun burns, "I just want to fall asleep, I want this to be over."
"Soon enough."

.

#52 Jess, wonderful writing from the hard edge...unbeatable end.

Love Sue

a model's daze

i can see
her in monet's
hayfield,
wearing a white
and yellow
scarf, with
pouted, red lips,
crossing her
arms, wondering
when she
is leaving, and
she never looks
as warhol
beautiful
like she does
in W magazine.

this got me thinking greatly
— a great cue, for me
great schools, minds and labours
loves and uglies
what is, was, should bees
to dust

— a flake of snow
upon a mountain fell

thank you, Jess

ciao

d




.

2:37 pm

would you rather
have button eyes
or kaleidoscope eyes?

that's easy, kaleidoscope.

that would be
fucking awesome.

yup.

i want to see a movie

what movie?

the one with
that guy.

what guy?

oh, you know,
that guy, who
was in all the
movies.

ha-ha, be
more specific.

they're
humanitarians.

?

oh yes, i remember,
brad pitt!

oh, what's the
movie called?

oh, god, i
don't know, something
about a zipper.

she giggles

im a stawberry
salt shaker
watch   me   shake.

you on drugs.

would you like to join me, sir?

she giggles.

me and the world
love this girl, but
she lives in dualities.

my boss is a shithead, ha-ha!

therapist said you should quit.

i know, but you know what happened today?

uh-uh.

This nice woman came in, pretty smile, older but she had black skin that stayed smooth. She asked me how i liked working here, and my reply was lackluster. And she goes, "Well, you should stay because you have a beautiful personality." I turned bright red, of course, but it made my day.

all hail the wo0o0onderful jessica.

oh, shush!

she giggles.

.

in the times of men

we have seen
what men can do
and it is nothing.
few can find peace
and love, many consumed
by money and war, our time
here is to prove our
worthlessness in comparison
to the universe and die.
and our souls are one again,
we connect to the spirit
we desperately searched for,
as it rained through the trenches.

the most wonderful woman

there are certain qualifications
for such a title, a kind smile
and eyes help, and
hair that compliments the face,
she doesn't wear jeans, and she
takes long strides, she hardly ever
dresses provocatively except in private
evenings. she hasn't slept with many,
but each time, memorable. she is
soft spoken and polite, she is not
afraid to stand for truth but knows
when to not stand at all. she has no
need to be a mother, but she could
if desired. she is well-read
and discusses poetry and politics,
against a society with a television
cultural downfall. she is
the most wonderful woman.

mountains and seas

as high as the mountains
and as long as the seas
are my nights,
                    whether it be
                    ecstasy on christmas lights
                    or acid on a
                    walk in the snow,
parliament chain smoking
or anything chain
                    smoking
i live for the nights
with the greenest sceneries

the sta

rs
have
nt ever
glow
ed the
way they
do when
you run
your fing
ers throu
gh your
hair

space

can be a clever white block
or a room
draped in aztec prints
or the distance
we keep

am i david foster wallace?

will i travel
where he has traveled
will i find
the same conclusion or
do writers kind of start
off with the same
notion
is that why we write?
it's just like
when the planes
hit the towers
every time you
heard one whizzing
by, you pondered,
"i hope its
only aim
is the sky."

      xxxxxxxxx  .  .  . 
                                keep ém coming, Jess
                                                                     this is a christmas eve click





.

I love this poem so much I want to take it back behind the middle school and get it pregnant.

*courtesy of '30 rock'

thanks all, love love 30 rock quotes :)

staring into the barrel of god's shotgun

all life is in childhood,
beauty in a child's
defiance of rules, if ignorance
is bliss, oh, to not know of rules!

even in teenage years,
the child still rebels,
the one last fuck you
to the world, before
assimilation
              (or in most cases, exclusion)
      to society

                     hail the man!
                     who stands
                     on the piano
                     during the opera
                     and jacks off
onto park avenue ladies
and their expensive dresses.

or to any man!
who does not
limit youth
               to
                  youth

we are in the real shithole of life, when mentioned in conversation, "at least we're not being shot at!"

LOL, in other words. It's not the God is always watching, it's that he always has his sights on us.

life is a fuck hole

you get fucked in,
you get fucked over,
and then you fucking die.

so said a gypsy in Italy,
after selling me cheap
designer perfume, her tits
hung low and were draped in
beaded necklaces

she reminded me
of me

a few months ago,
an american gypsy
selling gold
for fool's comp,

it ain't wort nothting hunney, if it don last!
       i hear gwen’s voice, thick , Jamaican, she raised me
       she taught me to sew, to iron and fold clothes,
       and how to curse god’s will in another language.

p.s. fuck ending this poem

a- fucking-men

these are two real letters, and i love what was produced from it

Dear. Mr. Seligmann,

I understand death more than most. I am very desensitized to it. Anytime I've tried to kill myself, it was purely because I truly believe in death there is peace. We are free from the dualities on earth, there is no sickness or mental illness. When we die, we see all the limitations our bodies really had on earth, and how freeing it is to be a spirtual being not confound by anything. If there is any real death it is the death of our spirits on earth, we lose ourselves, we become obsessed with plans we did not make for ourselves, education, money, children, family. I want family but not in this world . In 2012, hopefully we will be able to move towards a more peaceful, loving society. Until that year, the entire world is so thick in misery and some of them don't even realize it. I'm back home at my parents visiting. I see them differently, like they are my children. I see the hurt child in them, and it's still there. When i was young I thought my parents knew love, truly understood its concept and need, but they just need love like everyone else, and now the whole world is lonely. I hate the melancholy of my poetry, I feel like anne sexton, I only find sanctuary with my husband, and yet im following in the footsteps of every writer it seems. Drugs as an escape, suicide as an inevibility. If I live to be old, it's because I am a storyteller, and despite my own personal beliefs and failures what have you, I'm gonna have to stick around, because I think there are going to be some very good stories to tell. 

Sincerely,
Jess

Dear Jessica,

Yes. Yes. One of the most beautiful and transparent things I have heard from you. And what you have seen about yourself and your life and your family is honest and real on this cold, cold late winter's night. We are all children groping and searching until we find a purpose with which to fill our days and give us warmth. Tell your stories. Reign in your anger and rage and disappointment in order to tell a well-wound tale of agony and beauty and truth.

It is so easy to strike out at the cosmic injustices and so much more difficult to delineate for yourself and for others the parameters of your plight. But the difficult is almost always the more beneficial path:

"Soon you will have to choose between what is easy and what is right."

There is no peace in death, no escape, for it is nothing but the lack of living. It is part of life's stark symmetry: you didn't exist once, you will not exist again. You have this brief brief time in between, and so it is precious; it is but a breath on the wind. The question presents itself to you as it does to all who have the strength to hear it: what will you do with the time given to you?

Stand up, Jess, and tell your stories. Share your life and your visions, for time will go on with you and beyond you if you do.

Sel

Thanks for sharing that Jess. What is easy and what is right.  I'll be thinking about that all day. Great notion. 

Good to hear your voice

love sue

thanks sue :)

 American mind control

God? mother brother father teacher politician priest rabbi government
                      government
                      government 
television
Newspaper books television internet  TERRORISM
                                                                    Fear
                                                         Fear
                         Fear
                                                             DEATH DEATH DEATH regret
                                                                          WAR
                                                                                    Crimes
                                                                                              depression
P    e     r
   O    t     y
       V                                   the s I x t I e s
   


The eightie$                                                 women make babies. Women make babies.

The man needs as much as he can get.

Sounds like background sound on a Zappa record.

:)

I wish I could sleep

Or look at a piece of cake

Without thinking about the calories

I wish my father was happy

And my mother was healthy

I wish it could always rain

Lightly on my face

I wish a man would listen

To me and not look

I wish I could dance

And never fall

Off the bed during sex

But I'm just a klutz

With a lot of dreams

slay the fox

like
campy
cheerleaders
for war
on steriods

dumb
down
us

#82 Jess, bloody marvellous.  Describes the tightrope walk of life so well.

i fucking hate myself

if you met me
you wouldn't like me
i don't like me
i look nice
and that's what
has kept me
from getting
caught

you don't need to know
what i did
i know what i did

i thought i was nice
but it doesn't take much

to be a criminal
not much at all

detachment
is the most
dangerous feeling
in the world

it's how a mother
can kill her child
in cold blood
without a care

there are none for the careless

in scenes of black and white

are the times of my life
where color is abandoned

the train stops in amsterdam
and the dizzying array of bells
ends
out the window
are bare trees
passing
water interrupted
by patches of ice
leaving ducks
to skate

there is a choir
of passengers
humming to me

whispering, "i know why you're here..."

as i stare out

i can't even cry
i know there is more to this

when i was young
my room had no windows
but it didn't matter
i was a dreamer

imagine the dreams
you would have on
tops of mountains

"it doesn't matter, i love you"
i tell myself

my mind is sick
             it can't decide who i am
             it can't connect with anyone
it leads me to the darkest places,
where reason is a hindrance,

it's easy to hurt others
when your hurt yourself
 
i've drank myself into oblivion,
i've smoked so deep into black

there are always offers,
and they can get me anything

let me drive into the desert,
where i am son to the sun,

have the oceans take me into
its waves,
pop my lungs
so i breathe water like fish

burn me alive,
so only the good remains

i cant write anymore

i cant think

everything is sparking
through my brain
im having conversations
with myself
im thinking while
fucking
i cant escape
my mind
i hate my mind
i want to die
i need to be
released

going away for a while, off into mountains and seas

Enjoy the travel.

Rick

Come back safe Jess.

down with the puppet master

she says
you can make it
as long as I
pull your strings

identity
is for smelly girls
and tight pants

you can
waste away
in
your words

no one
looks forward
to aging
anyways
honey

i can’t
remember
sex
and lunacy

i need
something
to make me
scream

you know the world's not right

when god
is as costly
as war

Wow,  two well good writes there, Jess.

Puppetmaster, I like how the narrator sees throughthe bullshit.  Very savvy voice.

and #92...a great little aphorism.

92 is a gem

Rick

sin you is to sin

i need
to rub
my palm
against the dirt,
break apart
the sticks,
feel the
breeze
to see if
i'm there.
va
va
va
valium,
go! go! go!
don't worry
i'm a cheerleader
now, with nothing
to say,
i'd fuck a stranger
to get some feeling,
maybe it's better
to be crazy than
to have a mind of a
refugee slaved
by pills of milligrams.

it was a joke

some fake psychic
predicting in
front of a friend
that i'd die of
an overdose at
27
we had to tell him
the truth, he
was heartbroken,
because he had predicted
it too
but, daniel
i won't have stretchmarks
from kids
or have to hear them
crying all night long
or watch my parents
die
wrinkles aren't pretty
even if
they're from smiling,
isn't
that
right?

no, it's not
smiling wrinkles are the
sound of the sun-
frown crinkles are just
well,
 fucking bitches-

#96 great poem the story the stretch marks the wrinkles. 

My brother was told he would die at thirty-one from a palm reading in his early twenties...it blighted his life for years.  he's forty six now, he has stretchmarks and wrinkles.  He's happier by far than he was when he was wrinkle free.

you two are some cool cats :)

Mother I will do as you say
Your recipes are safe in my grave
Stars burst in a flash of light,
Seldom do they cry

claustrophobic
in my body
i think my left
and right
are playing me
against my skull
now and then
it hits me hard
i called him
to say goodbye
he won't
let me go
am i really
worth saving
lately
i don't want to
play the game
i tattooed
a peace sign
on my arm
in hope

but,
some day,
oh, some day
to live for
some day

drains the last pipe

i'm not
talking to
her

she's
depressed

i don't enjoy
feeling her warmth

it makes her
act up

she can't
finish
anything

if she keeps
this up

i'll have
to buy
her a friend

Dear Jess

Very nice !

a warm smile
silent lotus

91 AND 92 -- great stuff.  Wish I had time for more.  Will return.  ld

why healthcare is more important than afghanistan

he wears
a black trench
and a black cap-
and i have to tell
myself
he isn't there

my mother
doesn't
like to discuss
it, she hands me
a valium

i can't
show my legs,
with dried
red pinstripes

wishing,
for cancer
or car accidents

knowing
why i'm here,
but not willing
to stay

because
they say
they care,
and there
is nowhere to go

not for free

the cycle

it goes back to
the great depression,
great grandfather william
was rich during the roaring
twenties, he afforded you
luxury in new york city,
the nanny round the clock,
then lost it all,
he began hitting your mother,
alcoholic, she left him...

then you,
married my grandmother,
drank martinis for
breakfast, lunch and dinner,
beat your wife until
she would hide in a closet
for hours,
and had everyone's respect
in the high society of
new rochelle,
the cops came and swept it
under the rug,
you had two beautiful
daughters,
and you bruised
and molested my mother,
but not her sister,
so my mother
gave her hell...

my aunt
has two beautiful
daughters, and
no therapy,
but repression,
she works
and socializes
non stop,
the daughter
that couldn't
handle her
standards,
started losing
her hair at twelve...

and mom had
my brother and i,
the first five years
he didn't have to see,
but i remember your
violent fits, smashing
dad's guitar, throwing
coffee mugs at his face...

he taught me
my thoughts are useless,
money defines success
and it's okay for him
to take his anger out
on me,
and i took it out on
my brother...

i cut myself
in the only place
no one but me
can see,
i think a man
will never come
near me...

then i meet
him,
he kisses my
scars,
he will never
afford what you
could dad,
but he would
never take
away my
innocence,
he restores
my purity...

i am
eternally
grateful,
to have found
the man,
that will be
the wonderful
husband
and
father

i really have only two memories of my grandfather that stuck,
when i was five and staying over their house,
and they began to fight,
like alley cats, like shattered glasses bashing,
he went into the living room
and sat in his chair,
grandpa, i whisper,
do you love me?
of course i do.
then you should
love grandma too,
like you love me
he's crying,
and i reach for the
newspaper,
look grandpa! the
yankees won!

the second time
was at rosary hill,
he was dying of
pancreatic cancer,
it was a slow death,
i danced and sang
for him and the patients
in the lounge,
you smile with your eyes
like me

i love this song, you know when you feel like a song defines you....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=11dfxny7zZw (The video's owner prevents external embedding)

life

living in an illusion
earth if for creation
baring your broken
soul bones
for
you
and me

being away from you

i see truth:
after you
hang up,
i hold the phone
to my heart and sigh,
and when i told you
this and expected
a laugh, you said
you did the same,

it has always
been you
steven

i realized today

that being
in love
is being
five years
old

These love poems are magic, Jess...
may you be
as happy as me.

i saw you
like a canopy of sky
and light,
ever present
with
soulful heart

I might want to think of something other than soulful, but I agree these love poems are making butterflies in my tumtum- :)

nothing is better
than the light
of day,
the cool dark
of night,
the sanctity
of dirt...

there is peace
in
green,
blue,
brown,
eyes

there is happiness
without
ego

there is love
for you

the animal
has no doubt,
the human
can create...

most choose
the simplest
form,

i can't say
a child
would fulfill
me,

but these words
make life
worth living

i often
ask myself
why i keep
here, when the idea
of death excites
like no other,
and it is
curiosity

i want
you inside
and out,
near the
smell of
burnt fireworks,
crosswalks
and tree limbs,
over blue ribbons
and through
eternity

father:
you don't need pills!
it's all in your head!

i wish
you wouldn't
seek small
pleasures,
over lasting
happy life,
if you
could see
your lovely
soul and future
endeavors,
perhaps you'd
avoid the
gutter
life

because
life isn't easy

because
happiness
is the hardest road

because
you love me

because
you're too
wonderful
to do
nothing

because
i love you

i'm being reunited with my love,
my love, for his birthday, his
gift is driving sixteen hours
for me, my love, he knows
i'm waiting for
him and
no one else

to stars
and skies, my love,
to the backdrop
of new york city,
we find the soul
of life, my love,
from mother's milk
to
your arms

my body
misses your
touch and
time, my
love,
tonight
is for us

forever
is close

having a man
to love
is just as
hard
as having
no man to love,

and none of
the above
can seem
to realize
the other
loves in
their life,

as if fucking
makes life
complete,

you can
tell me your
secrets,
and desires,
you don't
have to love
me, to trust
me

i can
be your
saving grace

i can
see the glass
in grass,
ahead for us
each step will
twist our ankles,
i won't be
the empty vase
sitting at the
table politely,
i'll be bashing
my head into
the earth, with
smiles helping
me see clear,
every day
a new lesson,
with no promise
of tomorrow,
but i won't
live for tomorrow.

about blood

flow from
resist cause
die in
where you shed
live
in
or out

i
just want
the world
to be
madly
in love
with everyone

i'm already winning the race

so stop
with your rabbit
lines,
watch me cross
into his eyes,
since i was seven,
i'm ugly, i'm fat,
you were lying,
he took away
all of it,
i felt like
marilyn monroe
on ecstasy,
and five weeks back,
and you seeped in,
visiting him
and fucking with
a shirt on,
why is he with me,
he can do better,
i tell him i'm sorry
over the phone,
he loves me, baby,
i'm beautiful
with you

your lies
are so thick,
they are
your truth

I want them all to go away;
To die.
Don’t show your eyes that way,
As if dying is anything,
Just like passing through the
Holland tunnel
Without the absurd price.

i hate
photos
of happy
families
with a mom
and a dad,
so loving.

i can't
remember
the last time
i was smiling,
i left it in
buffalo, poor me.

on the way
to work
at the supermarket,
eight in the morning
you call me a fucking
cunt.

i hate weekends,
vacations, when you
stay home, when i'm 
not alone.

and it seems to
rain all the time,
doesn't the sky
know i need to be
outside.

two weeks left,
and i finally know
why,
i found my man
at twenty
and not twenty
five.

you see,
without him,
there would
be no
family...


so when i
look at photos
of a happy family
in a foyer,
i just see him
and me.

haven't had
a hug in
two months,
but your
bear arms
are waiting
for
me.

Love the bear arms jess.  very close in the feeling, as always.  do't work too hard! love sue.

when dealing with the crazies

it's best to keep quiet.
if you're paranoid
your father's going to
kill you,
keep turning your head.
you have nine days left,
put your headphones on.
if there is nobody for you,
walk through the trails.
someone is waiting for you,
in deeper pastures.
need your head straight,
then keep straight.
you notice the crazies,
without those goggles on.
if you've had the same
pack of cigarettes
for three months,
you're on your way.
when you're angry,
you're one of them.
i'd suggest keeping
your mouth shut,
give a card on
mother's day,
and when the move
is right,
vanish into
thick night
in your
white dress.

Again, Jess...wonderful how you isolate one physicial area/feeling, in this case head position and use it right through the poem...Lovely temptation to follow the narrator in the closing line...

well done
missed this jess, thank you
good move too

d



.

dreaming of america

i'm paused
to hear a woman
waiting in line
behind me,
"she went had
two babies just
for some mo'
money."

i'm white,
from westchester,
running through my mind.

in seven days,
i might be in a shelter,
and the vegetable garden
behind the abandoned
house
will still grow.

i only have you,
and sometimes it's
not enough.

it always
happens
in august.

maybe the heat
makes me crazier,

and all of a sudden
i'm cursing the dull
razor,

crying,

and waiting for
a reply from fafsa
to see if i can
go to school.

the morphine woods

call me,
tell me,
lay here,
shoot up,
too much,
sleep naked
into the void
and when
everyone sees
you in the coffin,
they will say,
"she looks so
peaceful."

Jess, it's a pleasure and a privilege to read your writing.

Thanks,
cheryl

finding peace

in the last days of august,
the heat is gone.
he told me,
he hated me
on those hot, yelling days,
and now i see no stress
in the breeze of life,
a dream reality,
filled with the notion
that you could love me.

i had a dream
last night
that i was
being waterboarded
and today
i fantasized about
being a fifties
housewife,
i'm not sure
what that says
about
today,
but i thought
i'd share

jess, that really is an interesting pair -- water-boarding and a wife in the fifties.  I think punishment s'posed to mean you're afraid or that you feel guilty, but time-travel?  Not sure about that.

Best place to start would be:  how do you, personally feel about housewives in the fifties?

liking 140 pretty good.

Yep me too.  Like the fifties bride idea too...such fab dresses.

there's no milk

eggs
bread
butter

we're waiting
on food stamps

living in
an apartment
that fits
a bed

with no
money

and no
reason for
optimism,

we're
blissfully happy,

my father said,

you can't live on love,

what he never realized
was
that's all there is

conversation i hope to have with my child

do we live on earth, mama?

no, the earth isn't actually real

then where do we live, mama?

we live in a dream, like the ones you have at night

so, i can be anything on earth, like my dreams, mama?

anything baby

am i real, mama?

you are when you listen to your soul

how do i do that, mama?

you be the person you want your child to be

crying
and
laughing
at the same time
is insane

she,

was
crying
and smiling
as she told

me not to
worry if i
made her sad,

that nothing
in the world
could make
her happy,

anyways.

Love this Jess.

thanks,
cheryl

the year
reads back
like a camera
out of focus,

all i can see is the now

and sleeping
has never been easier

quiet days

over the fields

from the plane

it is not real,

we've always known there
is only truth in love.

i spend my time,

trying

to be.


the freedom

is for few
when they die,

the others
will

have to


retry,

i feel like

i've been here before.

i feel like i've been here before.

i keep coming back,
until i'm done.

when i found you,

i felt alive,

i found who we all were
not far inside,

you are me
and i am you

we are

who created this place,

no need to see god,

everyday

i wake up

and watch...

the
world.

Just lovely.  A poem to centre me.