splitity lick

gold white brown chestnut blue green orange black red blood rainbow coral grey violet starry milky. wanting so badly to write poems (hola) instead left to write essays on irrationality on nothingness on lossgriefabandonment in childhood on joyce gods little poets. thinking of my sisters and how much love so far away from them both all else disappears and we are a strange trio of stars all lit up and jangled like soul circles snapped together. saw a photo of mum standing with dad and the past closes in like a bouncing tickling tiny glass box like rolling die their faces imprinted on all side like stamps.

margin notes

birds in naked branches like mice slimy squirming in a tangle of hair. by open cupboard door sylvia stands vigilant with a knowledge i cant understand she waits and suddenly after one month rises trimphantly her trophy with blood and snapped neck. she looks for it for days after once we throw it down onto the lawn. i sit with her and we sit and she sits and she waits and I watch and try to learn, she says mum i have to go out on my own and makes her deer leap up and away her head still spun towards me smiling if its possible with her thin lips. when she climbs up on my notes sniffs candlelight and pushes velvet nosebud to my chin i break my heart with thoughts of her as daughter my gray girl. and he my old man sleeps on fevered bodies growing age and i feel strange guilt of not being able to speak to him. how do they move me more than men?

substitution for green notebook

no notebook. these hot outbursts of acid. his incorruptible surface. on they fall. the best place. would be no good to burn he who i love and it makes it impossible. people wont read these meandering words like staring into river without seeing the bottom. can you see it? sandbanks time eternity riverbottoms. like that escher i saw above the torture chamber chair big gold fish plays tricks he hides from most of us. today i wanted to stop and. start. finish where my thoughts began at the first memory. i want to work and tackle this thing that hangs about me like her ghost, which i know is only uninvoked incantations and language left too long to sour. i met with a great mind today and she together with the other and I read and they said to look at the moon and see the bees and see it all transform, but then they said that death is coming and so i turned away and wondered could i change where they are going?

colossus

this voice telling me that in order to go inside i have to go down and I may never comeout alive and the question does suffering lead to art art suffering. is it necessary i will take up my life force its mine i claimed it in my first memory of being alive those impossible images. only dreamed of magic until i met the devil and when that card flipped up i knew he would shock me into myself into those dreams that so long i held in my palm a wish faraway throwaway. if any part of my life has been a test this is it and i have been tested oh oh. this a different kind in which i may lose limbs, but i am growing a collosal fibrous vibrant pulsating pheonix of a heart big enough to keep all i thought id have to let die in order to live. now i can have all i was afraid to clutch.

+ self

im getting rougher with them wonder will this be me when i am mother? the answer comes no. i know that it is no. they are -me and +she. baptised in the contaminated water of feminism and me me me. tired though. i have learned a thing or two... writing glass window separates me from the musty haired do-gooder hippie with the mickey mouse voice doing his part standing in his place on cue perpetually ready for action... it isnt that i belong to ireland more than ireland belonging to me inspires chortles amoung the group while I stare out and see joyce right through his words they label it truth set it aside bury him in the graveyard of their minds and i see the truth in the words and it comforts me to know that i am in communion with true great spirit... plath reminds me that i should work work work though i cant stop reading her. wanting to defend myself to strangers on the bus who see me with these books tell them that i am only trying them all on not looking for a source and i have read so many but they dont care while i do nothing but care.
talking to her today i get so much out what is it about become so practicaly passion tempered by rationalizations though i think mostly honesty.
we never get to our full moon these days but i know its still there, with its white bone hood...

ignore

insence swims around me in candlelit night air after all have gone to bed not all too pleasently i wonder how many nights i can take without sustenence that to me is life is love is what i need to stay positive it alarms me that the blues i used to feel hourly have dissipated and return when i am hungry it frightens me that i have to search my mind sometimes for something to think about i really dont need to say anything at all most of the time blank space with freedom comes i would have to start from scratch it seems panic searching through the blank spaces of my mind wanting to discard more and more and wait there is nothing left. one of those days where things look down not up. i should wait until tomorrow. u2 will lift me back up.

no title

would like to be at the east coast party but im here would only be killing my lungs there so it isnt so bad but here everyone is tired and my faith is shaken in brief scattered moments hard to hold a day together in this way. extensions abound bless my profs. trying not to let anger build its a horrible thing i see so many things gone wrong in the past and we do so well cant let myself slip. roadtrip usa xmas in california back of the blue goddess tipping champer glasses together eating moms butter tarts for comfort if life is changing may as well give it my all. but she... its true im stong something so much i think i may freeze in place with a patient understanding expression on my face. i love. is there nobilty in it? i laugh a lot but i dont smile as much.

dia pia 

mi casa es...

fiesta sangria bottles of wine glunk glunk glu' various potions and liqueurs squirt of lime and guava melon pinapple ker-plunk splash. think i had over twenty three mini martini glasses full. not to mention drinking in afternoon with linds at the old vic fish'n'chips. coincidently running into two friends at our third friend's place of work, five of us coming from separate missions. awkward encounter, blush, drunk, blush, hug, depart. trying to make peace in my mind. The house was lit by candles throughout, white flying curtains, champaine flutes with rice and mi casa never looked so beautiful, so warm. such a different perspective rolling joints at midnight in the hallway on the floor. i gave the yellow chickadee pinata an amazing thwack, hope cory didnt snap that one. yellow dresses, gold masks, masquerede. so natural, so fun, so loving. a cigar in the fog, missing pur precious four seasons, the wimpy mild west we love. fell into bed stoned the sound of strangers playing my newly tuned guitar cat who threw up sleeping on pile of laundry.

fiesta sangria a casa pendergasta 

novenary

today my o.e.d. word of the day gave me this new word:
novenary, n. and a.
A. n. An aggregate or set of nine.
B. adj. Relating to, consisting of, or based on the number nine.

I now want nine of something...

also, i saw this at paboom on saturday. also worth noting: the albino bowler.

bloody yuppies

yuppieland starbuck country. only place in town that stays open later than ten pm and kitty corner to pendergast beach house. fun to watch the starbuck suv shuffle - though im sure one of those bastards hit my cat jolt wired from a double mocha latte. tried to do research for my merican lit paper today ended up organizing, watering, washing, throwing the microwave out the back door to make room for plants and grains. giant jars of red lentils, rice, couscous force people to learn how to use a stove. yankee doodling in my brain. it would sound much better on a real piano and if my earplug weren't jammed under the keys she couldn't resist. i miss my bike. sangria fiesta friday casa pendergasta, can wear my yellow dress and whack candy bellied llamas. too much sangria make girlie go something something. just want to read plath getting obsessed buying a book a day, scouring ebayabe wish i had 50000. thinking of home. putting off calls. distance the cushion.

ps thas ta below buying up smiths on a day with mog

tazemnia

aspew a puff

body classical claw foot tub.
confession facades naked staircase salt brick eyes look at me for the first time mothy clothes buried under mossy hill cover your nakedness the darkest street grab a bus bottle of water a chalice to our thirst.
call from church my god sunday amusement my life blood greenhouse sweating flower tremor must have heard you escaped me i would release all the rest.
push the bowels of memory you exist more than.
child stirred greatness you forever boy wrinkle fade always you softening reaching out child lost your children my eyes blaming wanting your strength cruel denying this girl someday they ask me never forget me rush to buy look for your name.
suffer pyre poetic faith doubt written in history.
lost picture chest poor proud treasures charms lost you like me you after her anger never understood what was in that letter rose drawing.

thick and dark and heavy a deamon

oh boo hicket why wont this damn thing post pocx i hat et our cactus blooms in the kitcehn above the sink. it blooms and it blooms but no on recognizes it like my other would. i read i read and i read spat plath plath and she eludes me continuously lik eevryouthing else, a ghost inhabits me like a spitrit i feel mysel omcing out of the orignially inspires place why wont ou grow up grow grow up grow gorw up you play on all of my fears have TO REMEBER THE ONLY want way to be happy is to DELUDE YOURSLEF> how to live with this?

j.c. mother cracker

picking apart every detail just to know the truth like GOD who wants to be GOD he is the only one who knows what a joke this has all turned out to BE. wht a joke. the last place he would want to live.