I have the best friends <3

Right?! Alex Montague epitomizes everything supernaturally-comsically-unreally right about California. I have it on repeat, she totally goes there! This is a poem I’ve been working on/ reading recently and it’s for her. That’s totally me screaming “Fuck Yeah!!” at the end of that!!! I ❤ you Alex Montague!!!!!

The Fly or Flies or Whatever!

If I was to point blame, I'd direct a finger at the humidity and the heat which I've never been a fan of, I prefer grey skies and boys in flannel, simple boys that don't want too much, boys with bad haircuts, guys that hate the gym, boys that can figure out how I can quit smoking, guys that want to get me drunk and fuck me, guys that aren't at all like me, obviously, I'm just trying to discract myself, while spending way too much time thinking how impossible it is to write in my room…and really, I'm not certain those are the kind of guys I like, how can I be certain about anything, whenever I sit down in my room to reflect and write a fucking little pesky fly lands on me and I grab the swatter and the next thing I know I realize I've spent an hour swatting flies and then I get distracted by feeding my cats while trying to determnine the cause for all these fucking flies that have infested my new room. Or worse, I decide to go to the corner store and get more fly ribbons which may eventually lead to thrift shops and 99cent stores shopping for heels, make up, expensive "immortality juices", and accessories and everything else I really don't need which tends to result in the day being totally ruined. The cats are a big reason the flies are here this summer, but their food and shit-filled litter box aren't the only reason they're here. I'm pretty sure they're coming in through the door cuz I see them in the starewell, so I'm not entirely convinced that a screen in my window would solve the problem…and it's way too hot to shut the window and, let's face it, I'm too lazy to ever go get a screen and install it, I'm really only capable of doing that which is irrelevant or for a lover, cuz I'm a total idiot. Am I wrong to think most guys would not let a problem like this be a problem? Is there something more pro-active I could be doing, beyond pinning up fly ribbon traps and chasing them around with a swatter? Swarms of them build up every few days and then I really have to spend time chasing them around the apartment swatting them…but I've kind of found a thrill in hoaning the nack for swatting flies. It's also a great excersise in hand-eye coordination which is an important skill-set for drunks to remember to develope. I've noticed when they land on the fly ribbon they give into death pretty quickly and die with their comrades without much of a fuss. As I watch them give into death with their comrades I become overwhelmed with a feeling of valor and wonder whether or not I'm wrong not to try and coexist with them. Should I coexist with them? Sometimes they wake me up, crawling across my leg in the morning when I'm concentrating on dreaming and scheming up my extraterrestrial alter-ego that lives in warp tunnels and strange lights and long metalic corridors… I don't know what nyc ya'll are walking around in but mine is gettin real eerie…there's this strange giant horse that keeps showing up, about once a week in my dreams, everytime it arrives I instantly have a gut reaction, like "what the fuck, it's that fucking horse again", that giant horse that stares at me with the eyes of Satan and whenever I allow my eyes to fixate on theirs, they come running full speed to kill me but there is always some weird guy who saves me at the last minute by pulling me into a secret sex party and distracts me from the horse. And once I look away from the horse and focus on some guy playing with their nipples as some other guy eats their ass or whatever the horse wanders away. What the fuck does that mean? I do know that killing the flies with the swatter is pretty instantaneous and against my values, which are anti-violent. But who always gives into their values? Once they started landing on me in my sleep I couldn't refrain from killing them…at first I thought I had bed bugs which really stressed me out…am I wrong to think most guys would never have ever thought twice about killing a fly…the other day I saw a fly get caught in a small spider's web as I was making coffee and I quickly realized it was the first, and, so far, only fly I've seen REALLY fight for its life. Whenever the spider got close it furiously beat its wings and caused the whole web to spasm and by the spiders erratic, running back-and-forth across the web, away from the fly movement, it seemed like by beating its wings, the fly made climbing across the web difficult for the spider. The spider even seemed to have a "what the fuck just die so I can eat you" psychic aura, and as soon as the spider retreated the fly calmed. The first couple times it happened I figured the fly had died and then again the spider would make its way toward the fly and I figured now I'd get to see the spider bite into the fly's head but then again the fly would beat its wings. I felt like a little kid, curious if this would upset me…but couldn't refrain from the act of watching…but then about the third time I realized how upset I'd be if I knew I was going to be another beings dinner. It's sort of the worst way to go, I think, as I would hate for my conciousness to end so another's could continue…it's the reason I'm always striving to be vegan and why I'm so paranoid whenever I swim out far into the ocean, which I really love to do, but I can never shake the feeling a great white shark is going to make me their snack. I guess it's just my ego which believes itself to be so much greater than a snack…however, if I were to die some other way, I wouldn't mind my body being used as food. It's my secret wish to somehow become like the defiant ninja-mermaid-warrior-scout who slits its belly so the rest of the pod can escape the demonic appetite of megalodon. As Megalodon comes racing to devour the ninja mermaid, ninja-mer just sort of dissipates into tranquility: to me that's love. And I just fucking hope the pod got away so that beautiful life wasn't lost in vain. I also really wonder if megalodon would actually be at all full after eating one mermaid? Seems like megajerk would need to eat the ninja then race off and eat the rest of the pod. Not sure how fast mermaids can swim in comparison to a megalodon shark though?! Maybe the fucking ninja mermaid was a romantic idiot unable to see the whole pod die, which I totally understand, but maybe the romantic merninja should have let megalodon devour the weaklings so the strongest could survive?! Maybe then the fate of the mer's would have been a happier one. I just don't want to be reduced to being only food: it's the ego again talking…for a moment I even thought about releasing the fly…so its fate could maybe be a little less irksome, if that's what you'd call the quick death-by-swatter and "maybe" it'd be painless? Really, how could I ever know?! Felt like I was just an airhead watching the dance of the fly beating its wings whenever the spider got too close and the spider continually running back and forth across its web, which, for obvious reasons, would probably be really fucking annoying for a little spider…which would normally please me as I have only recently begun to enjoy spiders and find cohabitating with them not a challenge…obviously this is a new alliance due to "the fly problem"…and I realized that this little spider who I've since befriended and often say hi to as I make my coffee "in the morning", showed me, "This is it"… this is the way it all unfolds…the fly beating its wings within the spider web is as good as its gonna get…fly probably thought it was great flying around but now, this moment fighting within the web, is as good as it's gonna get, this is the universe showing me this is it, this coffee is meta, nothing will ever go your way, nothing will always triump, it always comes back to The Never Ending Story, being alive within the universe is a chaotic fuck up, everything we want is an illusion, just as our lives are, our lovers are, our friends are, which is, secretly, the thinspiration I needed to stop running and go back to my room, look away from the glass of tequila, fuck all the flies, masturbation can make me forget that something is crawling across my foot, and I can write.

“home, sweat home”


California I’m Missing You….

Right now I’m all about Rhiannon Argo’s book “Girls I’ve Run Away With”…. not only is it a great read but she totally did it herself (and by that I mean she wrote it and started a press to get it out into the world). Right now I’m all about missing California, reading a lot, not going home with boys, playing with my cats, playing with my crystals, did I mention missing California?? This book is like salt in a wound. It’s making me want to smell redwood forests and eat acid and maybe disappear onto a misty beach. California?!!?!!?!!?!

Fall is Coming: Current Favorite Poems

On the day of your leave-taking

by Maggie Nelson

On the day of your leave-taking

I wouldn’t want to see you anyway

I want to be alone with my vagrant ugliness

Want the bridge suddenly to double its span

so the only parameter becomes the vanishing

of my already thin-soled shoes

On a Friday night, one girl hangs from a trapeze by her shins

You think it looks scary but having lived among them

I know there’s always a safety (in this case, the toes)

Another girl enjoys bars with themes

Another is painting bunnies in Kentucky

I am taking my welts to the tub

hoping the porcelain is free of blood and hair

The blood and hair I left there, streaking

the pale pink soap melting into the brick wall

which grows black and green with companions

People continue to grind the veiny fat into the asphalt

with their feet, it’s only nine degrees, my river rocks

now bearded with ice. So the fat freezes and a spoon

wedged into the cement glistens, I keep wanting

to pick up every hard and bright object I find

and put it in a Mason jar, then add blue pigment

and shake. Gnarled hand of green glass, leftover

confetti, petrified pieces of pizza that appear

near the trio of homeless men who watch a shaky TV

hooked into a generator in a parking lot, it’s where

I get my news these days and why not, they always

know the score, the five-day weather report. I can see you

boarding your jet plane, see you with your hat on crooked

as if you recently tumbled onto the planet out of the carapace

of a rumpled goddess. I hear the gulf is a little bellicose

but beyond that, livable, despite the depressing stats

from that part of the world, and you know I’ll be here, perched

into blotchy corners, not knowing what life

could possibly mean without its soundtrack

so I can hum along to its pain, as if its humdrum

or shared nature could possibly dim its particular

luster. But it’s the cold that makes my mascara pool up

around my eyes and gives a shock to my quads

as they push forward, the only idiot crossing the bridge

at sunset, but you have to march across the span

while you can, before winter’s sweet cocoon

gets punctured and happiness presents itself

as an option, and I have to accept the possibility

of another body in my bed. I keep dreaming it’s

someone else that’s paralyzed, a childhood friend

I’ve fallen out of touch with, I keep dreaming

we’re fucking but somehow never alone, sometimes

I think it would be so hot to fuck you with another

and other times I know I’m just making the best

of a bad situation. Have I mentioned I’m watching

a man softly cry as he searches for a lost pill

under the pillows of a sage-colored couch, he has

a cough that comes from the Underworld, one lens

of his glasses dramatically cracked. I want

to hold him, the way I want to hold anyone

who seems contagious. Maybe we could

keep each other warm. And you emptied yourself

twice into my throat and I remain utterly starved

for more, the smell of one sex intimating the smell of another

but who am I kidding, really, on this January day

that has dwindled into the single digits, in which

we have to pin the drapes shut with safety pins

and stuff towels into the honeycombed walls

I just want to be called out as the greedy whore that I am

summer reading mash up: thoreau cahun cooper cage


What! With all those wonderful beings around you… You’d have had time to think of me! And me so small… it’s a mistake, but do still make it… continue to make this sweet mistake with me.

Would you like to join a society called Capitalists Inc. (Just so no one would think we were Communists.)? Anyone joining automatically becomes president. To join you must show you’ve destroyed at least one hundred records or, in the case of tape, one sound mirror [tape recorder]. To imagine you own any piece of music is to miss the whole point: This is no point or the point is nothing; and even a long-playing record is a thing. A lady from Texas said: I live in Texas. We have no music in Texas. The reason they’ve no music in Texas is because they have recordings. Remove the records from Texas and someone will learn how to sing.

Alone – which you call: being free, you who forge the bars of your own prison.

Here we are now at the beginning of the
third unit of the fourth large part of this talk.
More and more I have the feeling that we are getting
nowhere. Slowly , as the talk goes on
, we are getting nowhere and that is a pleasure
. It is not irritating to be where one is . It is
only irritating to think one would like to be somewhere else.


Here we are now at the beginning of the
ninth unit of the fourth large part of this talk.
More and more I have the feeling that we are getting
nowhere. Slowly , as the talk goes on
, we are getting nowhere and that is a pleaure
. It is not irritating to be where one is . It is
only irritating to think one would like to be somewhere else.

It’s over!!!!! I live on feebly, clinging to words, to fables!!!!!!!! Clinging to the dead!!, to great names!!!, to those disasters in which I claimed to see my vanity!!!, my ruin and my damned remains!!!, justified by the Conqueror’s rage!!! (Among so many confessions, what a ludicrous confession. I’m wrong to emphasise it. It would be best to let it all pass unnoticed.)

However, I feel fucking terrible….. Without doubt: my soul has become ingrown like a nail nobody has bothered to file regularly.

I am here , and there is nothing to say .
If among you are
those who wish to get somewhere , let them leave at
this moment .

Does the world have to be badly made for a being who is odd, but sexually sociable, to be forced to take refuge in crime as if it were a convent, not only to live in but even to create some new values there!

But what kind of crime? …. what does it matter! A dead end..

The confession of my shame:
Will I blame the circumstances, my contemporaries? These aren’t the circumstances of my life, these are its causes that led it astray. I was condemned before I was born. Executed in absentia.

The unnatural ones, the real ones:
No more impossible metaphysics – let them be consigned to the accessory shop: theatrical costumes but their impossible physiques remain with us, alas! – or thank god – the really tragic ones, with no theatrical strings.

My face fucking hurts!

I have nothing to say
and I am saying it and that is
poetry as I need it .

beware of
that which is breathtakingly beautiful, for at any moment
the telephone may ring or the airplane
may come down in a vacant lot . A piece of string
or a sunset , possessing neither ,
each acts and the continuity happens

The death of Narcissus has always seemed totally incomprehensible to me. Only one explanation seems plausible: Narcissus did not love himself. He allowed himself to be deceived by an image. He didnt know how to go beyond appearances. Had he fallen in love with the face of a nymph rather than his own, his mortal impotence would have remained the same. But had he known how to love himself beyond the mirage his would have been a happy fate, the epitome of living paradise, the myth of the privileged man, worthy of envy down the centuries. That beautiful child was able to extract the infinite from his reflections, while we remain vibrations away, always the same, incapable of going any further. Oh Narcisus, you could love yourself in everything…

Eternity without you, without me, we have no need for it. We have this moment which forces itself upon us, out of love for whoever life has thrown at us, we alter ourselves to such an extent that if the ideal one ever came along we’d be incompatible without mercy, which limits us and is incarnate in an omnipotent void this categoric imperative.

“yet it is not our birth day but our death day that really defines who we were”


Apparently Nico knew about the wailing Mermaids of the deep sea long before Animal Planet… were they calling to her the day she fell off her bike and died? I’ve been thinking a lot about death lately… I keep telling myself it’s just cuz I’m trying to come to terms with turning into grains of sand. But I’ve been having this feeling that it’s gonna be a lot more complex than that!!!!!! The other day when I was exfoliating on the bottom of the sea, I was feeling hella connected to the OMNiverse cuz being submerged in water enhances what is always happening because it’s easier to feel “connected” when in water, versus when encapsulated by air. But yeah, my friend was telling me she was thinking about her ancient starfish self and then I was realizing that we’re all just a conglomeration of particles… and as I realized that, I also understood myself (myself being this giant hodgepodge of parts) to have been a part of soooo many OTHER selves… like say I’m 100 billion particles, well, all of those 100 billion little pieces were at some point helping to make 100 billion other sorts of selves… or grains of sand, anyway, like we now know, mermaids are real, they like to wail, and they will probably eat a bitch.

OOOoooooOOooOoh yeah, 9/11 was an inside job and Dan Wallace “mysteriously” died in his sleep @ 23.