what a little
these last vestiges of my patience, splayed and left stinking and wet on the sidewalks, would have been all that's left. footsteps and distant eyelashes. scratching on sheet beds. and shower stalls. stilted late night textual misery. plied out. and strange. so. much. strange.
there's a roundness to my face that's inescapable. as if some phantom pheromones sit, just below my jaw bone. some sick joke about being a woman. it mocks. the roundness i'll never quite fill out.
i saw the moon this morning.
for years, i thought i was smiling with my eyes
I'm not surprised about the disgusting horrifying day we've had. The law was probably upheld. Which is, of course, usually the problem.
the only thing that courtney love and i
i had a dream about you, the other night. it was one of those things, where i wasn't expecting to see your stupid face. and then you turned up, and the whole thing turned into a drawn-out never-ending chase. to find you. and when i catch up with you. in the dream, like. you were the same you that i hadn't seen in years. and i'm not sure, when i woke, that i was so surprised about that. only that there you were, in my subconscious. turned conscious. again. it didn't bother, me. really. you won't be the last thing that i never stop running after.
i used to try to document everything. every message from everyone who ever loved (or said they loved or those i tried to love and ended up hating or vice versa). note cards. and postcards and tickets of every sort. planes, films, mini-cabs, buses, museums and pubs. i saved every photograph. digital and otherwise. saved. not savored or learned from or sanctified. no. that would be one thing. but it isn't. it's something else. and, if i'd kept it all. now. i'd make a super speed version of all those late-night photograph mistakes and videos of drunken, philosophical, insane, raving manic versions of myself. all these carbon copies mashups. cataloged and ready to prove me wrong or you right. to sneak some secreted version of the whole goddamned thing onto the record.
i'm not always that great with names. faces. facing up. finding the right words. now, when the day ends. i don't leave it where it began. ready. i stay up late. searching through odds and ends. washing up. trash teevee. accomplishing nothing. here, there are pills for back pains and the aftermath of a great night with good friends. homemade coconut milk banana ice cream. and when my teeth buzz, and i watch a spider speed out from the gap in the open window and down the wall, i think. jesus. fucking. christ. how in the god damned ever loving hell am i ever going to be. any good. to any body who ever really needs me.