can't find nobody home

tired and lonely from the day
from these restless hours of avoiding thoughts of you
i agree
to keep him company
and we eat dinner
sitting across from one another
on the floor in my living room
dressed only in my cotton pajamas
we share thai take-out
white pails of greasy noodles
heavy as the silences between us
i try not to look him in the eye
i try to be invisible
drunk on cheap wine
and insatiablility
we walk through the neighborhood in the glowing dark
through the steadily melting shifts of ice and snow
and the only time i laugh
laugh out loud
is when i think of something that happened
hours before
and i ignore the fact that we don't really care for one another
that what we really are is
the consequence of proximity
and timing

jules just called to tell me that i'm a liar and that he doesn't trust my judgments or decisions
i say
find someone else to call in the middle of the night
he snorts into the phone
like a sick dog
and i find his attitude his never-ending lack of respect for my feelings -- my emotional stability --
fuck off i say lazily
and he spends long tedious moments telling me how sorry i'm going to be when he's gone, when i've allowed my own foolish selfishness to push him straight out of my life. he presses me. tries to see if this time, this last shove, will send me shooting away again.
look. i love you man. and i'm not sure why you've always got to make that so fucking difficult. it's really not that complicated.
i say more, then. about being self-righteous and manic and getting his head right. about not using me as a target for his constant confusion about commitment or whether of not he can or does or ever will love sharon enough or find solace in that. you make me tired. i say, after a silence too long. he hangs up the line. childish and aloof. you make me really tired, i say again to the dead space that's left -- into the empty air of my office.

and maybe that's where it ends

i just keep writing things these days and then deleting them
suddenly all my thoughts have come loose
refuse to be pinned on the page
or maybe, maybe
it's the reality that
some things are better left unsaid


linked jess

the best line from a student paper, ever

And if that wasn't enough, they stole all the porn.

on wanting something so bad(ly) you can't see straight

sometimes all you can do is go for a run in the freezing cold and hope through the exertion that your body will forget itself

ringing in my ears

again at two in the morning, i answer the phone. his voice wanders through the miles. through the thickheaded results of too much alcohol. even blinking against the dark makes me nauseous. open the window. hold the corner of the sheet between my fingers and fight the desire to bite down on something hard. he’s tired and alone. together we are restless. a conversation of languor. i’m alone, he sighs. and i ring empty with the inability to soothe this ache. without a salve for wounds i’ll never see or know or claim as my own. sometimes words are always never enough – especially when they are all we have on which to rely. against the tones of his crying, these familiar acts of absolution, i offer my love. until the words lose all relation to sense or adequate definition. like a lie. like truth. until he’s righted, i say the words over and over again.

on the way to the fountain

i passed a young man sitting on the couch in the hallway
he sat with his head in his hands -- bent over into his lap
i got my water from the fountain, but couldn’t leave without a word
are you all right? I asked stupidly -- genuinely
He said yes in that way that says
Maybe. Maybe I am, but I don’t know. Maybe I don’t know anything.
i recognized it from years of practice.
need anything?
a tissue?

i held up the water and indicated
perhaps some tea?
he followed me back to the office
all sniffles and wet eyes
i gave him a handful of napkins from someone else’s desk drawer
and we sat together and sipped the results of hot water and dried leaves
a nice kid having an incredibly bad couple of days
i slipped him the number to the counseling office
as he was standing in the doorway
saying unnecessary thanks and apologies
afterward i felt like crying
then didn’t

he came back a few minutes later
he’d forgotten to ask me my name


antithesis of a hero

it was the site name that caught my attention
and when there's more time, i plan to go back
check it out

instead of working

i've spent the morning reading about entanglement theory
and talking to david about invisible strings

on the bus

i always sit near the guy with the grey tweed jacket
and read the newspaper over his shoulder
or stare into the back of his silvery hair
today, he just smiled in my direction
and handed me a section without a word

taking up a collection

if anyone is interested in making a contribution toward some plane tickets
for this girl to take a trip to england
well, that'd make me really happy

current resolution

move to africa and spend the rest of my days
under the cover of books --
photographing jak

riding in cars

most of these past words are an incredible waste of space and time
but sometimes that's just what i need to keep from going crazy

4:30pm on a Friday
couldn’t get much worse than this

i dress myself in these episodes of destruction
allow every word
to snip like scissors
against the fraying edge of fabric

jay calls three times
in the span of thirty minutes
and they argue
he won’t relinquish possession of the phone
i wait
cringe when his voice screams
across the world
if you don’t let me speak to her
i swear to god i’ll kill you

the remainder of the conversation
a mystery
after i close the door and set out
in any direction that isn’t what that was
create a new space in time
and hear my own words
hitting back like the wind in my eyes
i can take care of myself
realizing the full childishness of my reaction
the whole situation

my return is quiet
i don’t cry
ask for explanation
or apologize
feeling like i’ve just fallen from a tall building
like i want to close my eyes
and not feel unconscionable

on the back of an envelope i write:
running from someone
on icy snow makes sounds like
the breaking of bones


look at this

excellent good fun

the clarity of looking through

everything comes through his eyes
immediate recognition of all the failures
every gesture a reminder that i am unfit
the way he moves makes me restless
makes me want to forget the sound of my own voice
his look arrests
a blankness that translates clearly
you are dangerous to know
you ruin everything you touch
without me, you are nothing

looking past and through
i only see the promise of his eventual departure
the snow falling in piles
on the other side of the window
and it only slightly stings
like long endured cold against the cheeks
when he falls into denigrations of my physicality
you’ve gained weight
he admonishes
your hair -- too short
you’ve changed
and I don’t hesitate to say
to feel
to know
i have

turn me up some

yeah. dig it.
busta stylee

already feelin' betta


it's afternoon and i've managed to make it through the whole morning without having sex with anybody.

evidence that some things just don't need to be said aloud.

i hate it when

i've no fucking idea what's going on

stolen from an email to a dear friend [slightly modified and without the benefit of context]
not to lessen the importance of the intended audience, but because it’s on my mind

I'm happy living alone. I mean ridiculously happy. I don't feel sad when I come home to an empty apartment. I don't feel sad when I crawl into bed at night and there's no one else there. I don't mind cleaning up after only myself or ignoring the dishes. Or doing the dishes. Or taking a shower at 3 in the morning, simply because the mood or desire strikes me. I am not sad. Nor lonely. Maybe I'm living in a dream.

I don't go out much. That too doesn't bother me. Instead I spend inordinate amounts of time on the phone talking to various friends from home or otherwise -- or to my mother. Mostly, I let the phone go to the machine. I've become one of *those* people. I screen my calls. I hide behind the confines of the internet, the computer, the machine -- distance myself from anything real. Maybe I mean realistic. And I'm okay with that right now. So, I sit in front of the computer and read Walden. Read from my Ecocriticism reader for class and write papers about how people need to go out and experience nature. That's a lie. I don't. I write papers in defense of writers like Delillo and Wideman and Carver who maybe didn't go out to the wilderness to live and get away from the trappings of men, but instead write about that world from within -- exposing the places for what they are. But it's still about place. It's still, inherently, about the absence of what Thoreau is talking about. You don't have to have trees to find place relevant. Right? I think that's what I think. But I'm sitting in front of a computer and likely I'll not go outside during daylight hours for any more than spans of 7-10 minutes while consuming cigarettes.

is this like that tree in the woods thing?

something fanfuckingtastic just happened to me
and now there's nobody to tell

i've not done anything worthwhile in over an hour

save sending overdue words to a distant friend

it's always smart when the most logical analysis you can come up with equates to this:
ack. who the fuck cares? they're all a bunch of dead white guys anyway.

just like hard candy in the windpipe

sometimes i wonder if it’s possible to choke and die on my own narcissism


senseless and tired
i call paul
searching for the solace of history
he allows the indulgence of remembering
to feel sorry
to engage in the selfish act of sobbing into a telephone
until i’m useless and dry
filled with a dull calmness
about someone loved
and things that can never be changed
leaving an irrevocable pressure
against the backs of my eyes
a tightness in the chest

trying to pound out these feelings
these words that don’t want to be contained
through the soles of my shoes
into the cold dirty asphalt
i run
miles and miles
pushing myself farther away from home
trying to lose my way
to get lost
amongst the noise
the lull of the passing cars
cold wind against the base of my neck
until body and mind became numb
the personification of the word
leaving only the eventual return
the ache of knowing i’ve gone way too far
searching for the strength to bring myself back

things i should have said closer to the new year turning

one of the best things that happened to me last year:
stv linked to recimo for being weird
but for some reason he kept reading (and somehow got mrtn and dvd linked up also)
i've been grateful for the comovedy.
thanks stv. thanks boys.

on being strange and ridiculous

maybe i’d forgotten that caring for someone can hurt
this morning i had the distinct sensation that i’d been kicked
and now i ache because of and in spite of and for all the things that might just possibly make it all go away
like the weighty delicateness of lips on skin
an uninterrupted conversation


to jess at my mental milkcrate
for the link and the words
of which, i'm sure, neither me nor my writing are worthy
thank you just the same

it's funny to think about some of the reflections, there, on the things i selfishly pound out to post
i've often argued with friends that i don't write poetry
that i don't think of myself as a writer
perhaps i feel i'm not allowed -- maybe i feel bound much like jess says about her own writing
that i'm holding myself up against standards which don't or shouldn't apply

right now i'm just thankful there's someone else out there who thinks there's something here to appreciate


jules is in love with sharon
and he calls to tell me so
we talk for over an hour
about things like redemption
the way the right person can make you feel
short of breath
without words
or explanations
this defies definition
he whispers across the wires
against my closed lids
what am i going to do?
he asks
as if i’d ever know
let her love you back
i offer under the cover of warm blankets
and miles away from there
i’m not sure i know how
his voice catches – breaks – after a silence too long
who does? my voice says
and the words feel like weights too heavy to keep carrying alone

reasons to keep the bathroom door closed

currently contemplating popping over to my neighbors.
if only there were some kind of polite way to say:
hi. just wanted to let you know that i can hear you quite clearly having sex in your shower.
so, uh. yeah.
instead, i've decided to turn up the stereo.

on why my mom is the coolest person ever

received a package from her today
ripped the envelope open, then laughed at the contents
still more at the note which in its entirety read:
you can never have too many of these

guess she noticed

all those times i've said i was pornography

sorry to disappoint the person who came here searching for imogen + breasts

getting screwed
knowing when to keep your scarf on

things started out well
to the tones of his laughter
and conversation that feels endless
like a kiss you never want to leave
satisfying. wholly intangible.

later, upon stepping outside
i fall out the door
full on into at least two feet of snow
while talking on the phone
we laugh and forgive ourselves.

while slipping out of wet clothes
i say how did snow get there?
and search tirelessly for my chapstick
contemplate leaving the house late and unexpectedly
knowing the measure of the music’s end

until later

when the realization stings – too late
like ice on naked flesh
no matter what
we’re always what we are
and where

right now i need a hot bath and the divinity of sheets against skin

boys between the lines

reading when the phone rings. he sounds quiet. deflated. it’d cost me $600.00 to get to you right now. and i don’t know if that’s a request – a declaration – a need. so i say nothing. and think, i’d rather he didn’t. he doesn’t bring it up again.

i’ll call you later, i lie. already in my closet looking for something to wear.
he mumbles into the phone. saying something about the snow. about mountains and sunlight. but i’m missing too many of the connections. maybe i’m just not in the mood to make them. i was thinking of coming out next weekend, he ventures. and i wonder if he’s drunk or suffering some other temporary insanity. and so i say you sound like you could use some sleep. we’ll talk about it later.

now i’m all dressed up with no place to go. just the desire to be gone.
because i know i’ll call back.
i know i’ll say it’s okay
even though it isn’t.

the irresponsibleness and inclination of words in a hallway

two young men stood outside my office door this afternoon chatting raucously. i tried not to listen in. but their conversation kept getting in my way. what started out as immature bragging and explicit sexual remarks, steadily devolved into a one-upmanship of female degradation – violations – abusiveness. the boastful tones and overall sense of prowess they apparently reveled in left me seething. when i finally couldn’t take it any longer, i went without thought of repercussion into the hallway and said as calmly and nicely as possible that i found their conversation very offensive and inappropriate and asked them, if they were going to continue, to move elsewhere. the bigger one rolled his eyes, then looked at the other. the other looked at the floor, then back to me and said flatly, shrugging his shoulders, “it’s a free country.” they laughed. i shook my head and decided to turn and walk away. his voice followed, “why don’t you just shut your door you stupid bitch?” more laughter. i’m not sure what else i could have expected. went into my office and at least had enough decency and self-respect not to cry.

the subject lines (in order as they appeared) after 7 days of not checking an old email account

see us do it for free
crazy sex online
enter to win! ………………… Entry #34271
watch us screw14895
traffic report
Your Daily Subscription Digest
Did you know about . . .
Hot Naked Bitches
Computer Drawing! Free! . . . . .Entry #
Sex Shows
Your Daily Subscription Digest
Traffic Report
Your Daily Subscription Digest
Real Live Sex Shows
Attract Men or Women FAST
What u doing? : )
Newsletter Dancefestival 2003 Season
Your Daily Subscription Digest
Want a free laptop? …………….Entry #23862
Helping you save money and lots of it
Your Daily Subscription Digest
Shake it
Head & Rotor VE 05/01/01

what's up buttercup?
reasons to check my mail at this time every day

the super fine ups driver

condradictions in sound and sense


now i can't stop singing the song "gorgeous" by The Start using this word instead.

snow feels like songs under the porch lamp at night

we are responsible for ourselves in every moment
because it seems so much easier to apologize
than to exist in ways that don’t allow us to do those things for which we might later feel sorry or regret

words are just words. and most of mine fall apart slowly after leaving the tongue – break down between the contrast of text to screen. loose from context or adequate placement. without thought to recompense, i still allow them to move along. routing a map that seems likely to have no end point. and that will just keep me hungry – plodding recklessly along its borders until i’ve circled back – found no home – no sense of space or place. nothing on which to lay my head. stop my thoughts. lately i’ve not thought intently enough about the power of language, of place, of the inherent unfitness of unchecked emotion. through a self-immolation of revelation and reveling, i move. unsure. and yet still moving.

nothing worth posting

luckily, i've been so stupidly happy (and occupied with other things) as of late that there seems to be nothing left to post here. i need to take more time. to think and write and reflect. soon.


paying attention to details

i've just emailed my mom a picture of my bed
wearing the new sheets she'd sent to me
only to realize after the fact that
there's something slightly embarrassing
and slightly visible on the nightstand

here's to hoping she doesn't notice

have to have

i must get some things accomplished today
current plan:
drink loads of coffee
and stay in my pjs all day

reasons to start screening my calls

he rings and says, you're over an hour late
and i can hear commotion in the background
music. glasses clinking.
a woman's voice wanting to know where he's called
he ignores the question
i'll just drive over and pick you up, he indicates
without question or, apparently, interest in my desire
i've no intention of coming over
he laughs heartily into the reciever until he realizes i'm serious
but i really appreciate the offer, and i tell him so
with as much sincerity as i can find

linkage (because it just feels good)

without clear reason, i went here
and kept reading until i was out of room to scroll

because i can't seem to get anything else accomplished

i've spent the morning lost in classic chinese and japanese love poetry
staring out the window
many of the poems are about lying awake at night, missing someone
and now the words have begun to blur together
all meaning escapes
interrupted further by the dull ringing of a telephone

what i want right now
[okay, straight, one of the things i'd like right now]

is to hear the song Stay by Coal

Love, Devotion, Surrender

on the balcony
i dance for what feels like hours
with charles
a friend of someone still unknown
here from out of town
listen to the beat drop
drifting up from the downstairs neighbor’s open window
and even though it’s freezing
he smells warm
of oregon wine and cigarettes
his skin under my hand
like an unwrapped hershey’s kiss
i smile when he offers to drive me home
remembering the things that make me feel
and that i’m scared to hold onto
excuse myself to call a cab
and arrive safely at my door

this has got to stop

just received a call from N.
gotta get ready -- apparently i'm needed to complete a hot night of drinking and debauchery
(and i was ready to curl up alone in front of the television)
god, i love boys

off to pick out something to wear


jay's just exclaimed:
i'm not conceited or anything, but i'm seriously in love with myself
all i can think to say in response is:
hell fucking yeah

are you tired yet? i've forgotten about the time distance
fuck, dude, it's after two in the morning and i'm still drinking straight whisky from a coffee mug

things that sound good

in the midst of a late night conversation with jay
and i'm feeling weak and vulnerable
saying things i didn't intend
a result of unsorted feelings and not enough sleep
neither one of us are in any condition to battle the other's
propensities and desires
right now he's whispering something about the cool calming feel of my skin
against that place where the shoulder and neck connect
[. . .]
did you at least get some business done he asks
and i play coy. pretend i don't know what he means.
we laugh uncontrollably after he says,
there's 30 minutes you'll never get back
and i say no fucking doubt
[. . .]
he asks questions that i don't want to answer
instead i say, "i'm not a playa i just crush a lot"
now he's singing the theme song to rainbow bright
against my protestations
and i'm at that stage where even straight whisky over ice sounds like a good idea
as the sweet burn numbs the back of my throat and filters through my blood
i press my lips against one another and think about other unnamable things that light me up
he says, i hope i'm not the only person alive who knows how fabulous you are
and i laugh at myself and say, i dunno, boy, i dunno about that at all
we're currently missing letters like m's and n's and talking slowly
and i say, among other things, that i need to slip between the sheets to dream
even though i had intended to say it to someone else
and we're just drunk enough to say i wouldn't admit this to anyone else
that we're both way too scared of too many things
and we admit that what we really do want is stability and trust and, above all else, love

maybe sometimes mostly i think you might be like

that feeling –that takes hold after having too many cups of tea – of caffeine – when i can’t sit still or breathe easy – can’t shake the desire to speak too quickly or soothe that slow palatable ache in the chest – the ache that rings in my ears and in every last one of my teeth -- producing the unmistakable urge to bite down on something hard

instead of playing video games

i'm off to soak up some supa-jet li action in this movie
dig it

stuck in the middle with you

i've had all kinds of techno problems today
(and where have you been?)
but the latest strangeness seems to be that
the drive won't eject the cd
(yes, i've tried it a million times)

help! any ideas are greatly appreciated.

for all of you cold saps

i've just returned home to a bright sunny day

waiting for a cab

an instrumental version of "never can say goodbye" swept down the sidewalk
i stood there alone and thought about how strange it feels to get off a flight
knowing nobody's going to be waiting


i'm thankful for the soft sound of snow falling against the sidewalk
for the quiet moments that allowed me to notice it at all
and, among other things i cannot name, CCR on the radio

at the movies

chocolate covered raisins
a large coke
[or save the money for an afterward trip to the bar]

what do you order at the concession stand?

always emerge.
and i know i could use the collective $200
given money
to change my tickets
leave immediately
as equally as i know that i won’t
because it’s the right thing to do
and the wrong thing to do
always circling the same outline
arriving at the same answer
healthy situations should not leave me
unable to sleep or eat
without the desire to do anything at all
hating myself for someone else’s reasons
by someone else’s standards

change the pattern
change it now

could it have been too much?

without much deliberation, i've just closed an email message with the phrase:
all my love
then almost instantly felt something wicked at the base of my neck
maybe that's declaring/assigning a bit too much emotion?

i don't do new year's resolutions

but if i did -- mine would be to:
eat more cookies

what i tried to think about over dinner

how much is time like aluminum foil? at once incredibly smooth and easily wrinkled. creased. imperfect. reflecting and reflected. protection. fragile. sharp edges. easily torn. it’s something to be used carefully. if you’re working with the wrong side up – it’s dull.

phrase of the day

(all together now)
check yourself before you wreck yourself

didn’t i post something once . . .

about tracking dvd’s tea disasters?
this is clearly one of them

posting lots of random stuff after the fact

wishing on final destinations

from the airport, i call
even though i know he’s in arizona
waiting for his own flight home.
into the answering machine
i describe the way the carpet
makes me feel:
resplendent with sea sickness
and the propensity to run at full speed
the other morning
you said i smelled of cinnamon rolls –
face fully immersed in my hair.
i hope you never change.

they’re calling my row
and i trail off
hang-up without knowing for sure
what i’ve said
if i’ve said goodbye
instead of getting in line
i rush to the ladies room
and throw-up until final boarding call
wondering how i’m ever going to get where i’m going.

quotations o’ the night

Aw, fuck man, I’ve got to get home before the streets get all sparkly.


Wait. Wait. I can’t see over my cheeks.


Person 1: And then you’d be all sticky and shit.
Person 2: No way, she’d have worn all the sticky off by that point.


Me: I’m not going out again tonight.
J: I promise it will be all kinds of fun.
Me: The last time we went out together -- we ended the night with three dirty red heads.
J: And your point is?


Smile if you own a set.

the troubles with boys

During a late night conversation with friends, Jay and I disagree. It’s the one about writing – storytelling. I’ve said I’m not a writer. Jay and the boys don’t like the sentiment. They follow his prodding like open mouthed baby birds and I wonder if they’ll peck themselves to death if left hungry for too long. They want me to take my turn with talent. People have been singing. Playing instruments. Reading poems. Tell us a story they’re chanting. I don’t do that I say through the rhythmic clashes of their glasses against the tabletop. Come on Jay chides – digging his fingers into my thigh -- move us with some words. Fuck you, I mouth and then laugh to break the tension. Scan my tired memory for something. Something short. Anything. Take my turn. Stand on the coffee table. Not sure if I remember all the words. Sigh.

The metallic tastes of fingers
And other unnamable pleasures
Of distant metallic tastes
Held swiftly in the mouth
Like the barrel of a gun
Clutched between teeth
Pressed like a thumb – against the tongue
And at times
Guitar picks
Plucked from hands
To be sucked
Like piercings
In ears and other places
Or the blood on a lip
That’s been bit
By a mouth poised full of

one more conversation that involves the phrase

I wish you didn’t live so far away
He says. As he grabs my hand
In the rain
Under a blinking street lamp.
I close my eyes
And hear my own voice saying the words
It’s like talking alone in a dark room

The emptiness of a life without witnesses

Decide in less then a second that
I’m an idiot
I’m no good with men
[especially the variety I tend to attract]
unfathomably uninteresting

this should be a romantic moment
I open my eyes and
Is still there
Nothing about him – the situation – has left my insides feeling
Crushed like an empty tin can

I say the only honest thing that comes to mind
I have to go
back away
I hope I see you soon
He stammers. Still holding my hand
I shiver as I walk back to the car
And not for the cold