Life Story (III)

The moon peaked its left shoulder out into the night and curled into itself for one last glowing moment, one more night, gold, gray craters and all

1.
why would it help me to see him break
and am I creating the absolute perfect storm
he said you’re masterful, bellowing from above our pristine white sheets, our comforter stained only briefly from sex

The moon’s right shoulder itself nudges itself out of the sheets like a missing kid with Björk knots tied in her hair, like cherry red wine lipstick,
shade so brown it highlights her yellowing teeth

2.
You saw me shrug and maybe that’s why you insist on apologizing these days
when we should just be shutting screen doors and maybe the fireworks never end and let’s hope the mosquitoes never do, arch legged, heat spreading, until we can’t keep from falling forward into the night

the horseflies that swarmed us in the pool
the diagonal neon stripes of my swimsuit packing me up like ribbon

3.
he said the fish are in the next room and I heard the kids are in the next room and he chastised me for hearing that he asked me to press harder he asked me if I liked touching a man the age of my daddy

his hand reluctantly on mine in the honey wood paneled courtroom cheaper and less photogenic than CSI.
The cigarette is to blame, the cigarette but will get you every time so I switch to smoking bidis, eucalyptus leaves going up in flames

4.
I’ve seen your eyes open and I’ve seen your eyes closed and I mistaken yours for someone else’s and his for his and hers for her and his or hers for his or hers and princesses with satin sheets and

the Power Ranger poster you stuck up your sleeve
your own blood keeping your own blood away she found the worms while she felt them crawl over and she rested and she rested
she was always allowed to rest even with a sword upside down at her feet, even with unbelievably sharp kitten claws even with our secret language and all of the secrets she had

Life Story (II)

Cont:
Jason Priestley said he would call me Alley Cat and
a mysterious Ethiopian member of New Edition threatened to marry me

1.
Gone before I knew I had it my cat smashed by my dad’s guilty tires
some strangers hand down my snoopy boxers, some stranger not a stranger but love, cookie cake and Anthony M

take it all away, some thing and blue and black polka dotted panties
take it all away, the blue and yellow sunflower porch, the screened in glass, the bugs, the heater
and the fan take it take it take me take me all the way

T from Amsterdam and A Xander plump perfect as simple as a striped shirt and a curl on his head, as simple as wonder years.

2.
God gave me something different.
God please help me belong

S’s parents are put a rock in their yard that we all need to talk about and there is condensation on her car and hickeys on my neck in church and yes
yes we were kissing in the car one of us wearing the stolen silver dress that both of us lifted from the Gap, it’s all documented, Mickey and Mallory, we documented it the best anyone knew how

Navy blue Victoria’s Secret stretched across her pale hips her pants loose and me seeing right through, wanting to slide my hand right through under the circus tent I imagined there
covering the kittens she raised in elementary school

3.
The swords in her father’s garage, similar to the area into which I invite you down, short steps
people are walking into our downfall
we are walking into the fire holding hands, mouths touching wings

Life Story (I)

Preface:
The moon peeked one shoulder out to the south of the western horizon
The bay, not the ocean.
And the ocean was not the bay and I threatened myself with a hand down the pants and my breath slowed as if I were breathing through an apple and I remembered dinner and so many things, the silliness of dinner, the silliness of everything, my red short shorts, my red shorts.

1.
Terry cloth splattered with the pain of past lives, my first house when everyone came over and painted for pizza and beer

Slumber parties, letting it go letting it go
the ways I clean up after myself, the ways that I don’t
my finger between her boobs, candy hearts pressed together
celery between boobs autographed by Stormy Daniels

An auburn haired husband and the two guys next-door, one dog named Foley
mowing the lawn
my daughter says she almost forgot what lawnmowers look like

2.
The lion haired girl from whiskey river, chef pants and table cloths
bikes & roller skates & my Mercedes SUV

plus the shots, minus the shots, the shots may be taken all on their own staring into the sunset while he talked about his dog and I discounted everything

3.
The man who are stuck his wedding ring finger inside of me in the fourth street parking garage who drove all the way from Fredericksburg for me
just to unlace the breastplate shoelaces of my deliberately plaid schoolgirl dress

knee-high boots stacked on stacks on stacks of instability and proud of it, the arrogance of it, rightfully arrogant of it
I deserved everything and I knew I’d never get it.

4.
But I got something, I got everything I wanted
everything I ever wanted maybe is the opposite of anything
Thigh-high socks
smudging silver mirrors fogging up paper towel dispensers, dirt Collecting, fog collecting on them
the bathrooms in TGI Fridays and the white dress smashed in the middle with a sunflower that got me sent home for its length
and I changed, I had to change

Life is hard, man. Here’s me with a chicken.

Other good things:

I had a great time at the North Park Book Fair and sold lotsa Crystals books. If you missed yours and want to buy local, check Taboo or Verbatim Books. 

Submissions for the upcoming issue of Throats to the Sky Magazine close on July 31. Please send me your sex positivity!

I earned my aerial yoga teacher certification. Here’s a shitty screen shot of what I’m pretty sure was a killer impromptu Nina Simone routine.  Imperfectivity intended.

Taking a couple of weeks off to revisit the past. Come play with me at Pier to Point Wellness on August 15! I can’t wait reconnect.

 

Sunday:
I should have been laughing a long time ago.

Monday:
“Anything that leads you to yourself is meditation” [Osho]

Tuesday:
Garett Joseph Henneberry
9.14.1846 – 12.3.1924
1942 – 1846 = 68
Co.H.69
ILL.INF

Wednesday:
…the slippery fabric of a sail seemingly negligently, erroneously hemmed just below the bottom of her ass cheek instead of fitting around it…

Thursday:
…my good cheek facing his whole face, grow your palm up my neck and make a vase with our fingers…

Friday:
I can’t understand a single word which makes me relax somehow, leaves me feeling relaxed because there’s nothing I can do.

Saturday:
Sometimes we sit like chickens on eggs, our eyes cocking everywhere even as we settle into our spot in the dirt, the sun golden and nodding yes, maybe. Yes, now.

Saturday

sitting in my
hanging chair,
store brand seltzer
water mixed with
strawberry THC
listening
to songs too
fast and loud
imagining
you
getting into
bed at night,
muted blue-green
walls, naked
knees and rolling
shoulders
lit by the
television and
the moon

April 18, 2021
Three morning pages just do it Just do it & get it out. (Get it out!) Yawning, houses, dreams, blue calcite abandoned. I wonder why he rolls up his sleeves like this.

April 19, 2021
Sunday school again. What am I doing wrong?

April 20, 2021
REEFY SEAWEED.

April 21, 2021
Decisions.
Thumbs up emoji.
No decisions.
Be nice to each other.

April 22, 2021
You think everything happens for a reason. you say you don’t, but you do or maybe you say that you are open to the possibility of things happening for reasons that feel good but maybe they don’t and maybe now is as good of a time as any to quit my medication(s.)

April 23, 2021
Ex: “Shooting star of thought”–SEE it but don’t attach to it. Not NO, but rather “non-attachment to”
Ex: See a thing, believe in a thing, prey to it, give it good energy

April 24, 2021
(coping mechanism)
After a while they don’t care either.

Is this bag yours? Can I sit here? I’m going to smoke a cigarette but don’t worry, I’ll smoke it over there. Can you believe if I smoked right here? That would be so rude! (Smokes half a cigarette a few feet away, finishes it next to me on the bench.) Are you writing? Is that a diary? Do people still do that? I thought people only typed now! That’s wild! What are you writing? Are you writing about the hot white guy that just sat down next to you? What is that are you writing in code? Is that cursive? Are you writing a book or something? Who’s your favorite author? Who was that one guy? He wrote Catcher in the Rye. Yeah, J.D. Salinger, that’s him. He was from [some city he was not from.] And he only wrote that one book! Can you believe he got that famous and he only wrote one book?! What was that kid’s name in the book? Yeah, Holden Caufield. Didn’t he like go prematurely grey or something? That’s me, look! I started going grey in high school! What’s the name of that guy who shot John Lennon? He liked J.D. Salinger, right? Yeah, I think he was like holding Catcher in the Rye when he shot John Lennon. It was the guy who shot Regan, though, who was obsessed with Jodie Foster. I called out of work today. I was like hey sorry, can’t come in, I’ve got Covid. Just kidding! Where are you from? You’re hot. I mean, I can’t tell if you’re hot because you’re wearing a mask and sunglasses. But yeah, you are hot, though.

A little over a year ago, I began documenting the quarantine by posting about my day-to-day life. I fascinated you with tales of weed and Legos but after Day 77 I moved on. Re-reading that final quarantine post now, I suppose I stopped because I was becoming too successful at life. On Day 77 I managed to meditate, not burn eggs, and open mail.

After the quarantine series, I found myself searching for a subject. I wrote about bookends, masturbation, and Christina Applegate I even brought back Sex Without Having Sex. Lately I’ve had less to say. Or I’ve had less to say here. I recently filled a Decomposition Book (ambassadorship please) in under a month. Wanna hear some of the highlights?

February 27: It’s been a long time since she sent me a picture of her tits. 

March 6: Does people watching enhance the jam band experience?

March 16: The dreams are mostly the same I think but I want to remember them as much as I want to read & eat a banana. Eat a banana & read.

This is me, you guys. While it’s true that I’m a skincare expert and music video analyst who can write a mean egg haiku, I’m also just an average girl overdue for a  manicure, drinking weed (ambassadorship please) and experimenting with hats. From now on, you can expect to hear from me more often. You can also expect what I share to be random, poorly thought out, and likely uninteresting.

If you’re with me this far, though, I love you more than you could ever know. Onwards and onwards!