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[16 Mar 2007|07:14pm] |
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will you still be around when they put me six feet underground, oh will big bad you still be around
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| remember when people used to write in their livejournals? |
[26 Dec 2006|01:55am] |
Christmas this year was very fantastic. I spent time with estranged family members that turned out to be pretty cool dudes. I recieved a multitide of wonderful gifts from multiple persons. My mom and dad drove all the way out here to bring me my purse because I left it at their house when I left this afternoon. Thy also brought me dinner and so I let them drink the rest of my beer. Actually it was Mike's beer but I let them drink it anyway.
merry christmas everybody.
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[17 Nov 2006|05:50am] |
Leon Vargus was 46 when he first saw the dozens of birds in the lobby of the hospice where his mother Leona was. The birds were in a gilt cage filled with tree branches, swings and little whistles that hung from strings of yarn variously placed. Leon approached the cage dragging his feet with a daft expression on his face. As he stared at the tiny animals fluttering about he noticed that one of the brids, a sparrow seemed to have a broken wing. The sparrow sat on the floor of the cage blinking imperceptibly from time to time. Its feathers on the wing were matted and ruffled in spots. The sparrow rubbed its beak up and down through the feathers, tried to hop a bit and invariable gave up and left himself for dead. The lobby was empty except for a nurse at the front desk who was occupied on the telephone telling somebody on the other end "No, Donald. I already told you that it's your turn to call the cleaning supplies company and get this taken care of. Every time they make us a delivery we have an obscene amount of spic n span and not a bottle of ajax in the damn building. Tell them to fix it and that it better not happen again or else we're going to switch and this is the last time I'm going to say it." She put down the phone in the cradle with a slam and began to fix her hair.
Leon scratched his big belly and lingered in front of the cage until it was too much for him. The sparrow chirped. Leon stuck his finger in the cage to pat the little birds head. Promptly, the nurse at the front desk took action upon viewing such a sight. "Sir! Sir, pleeeease! do no touch the birds. Read the sign please!" Leon looked up to see a sign tacked on to the wall above the cage that read "Please keep appendages out of bird cage due to hospice liability. Thank you." Now, she was walking around from behind the desk and squinting her eyes up at Leon as she advanced. "Can I help you find someone sir? A family member of some sort?" Leon stared mournfully at the woman and then back at the cage again. "I think that this bird needs a doctor." He said reverently. "A Doctor!" the nurse gawked. "Sir I don't know if you know this but I have crazy people covering every inch of this hospital and half of them are falling apart at the seams as we speak. I'd be lucky if one night went by where I didn't have to clean up urine or keep someones mother from trying to climb the walls. Now if you please, I can help you on your way or I would appreciate it if you wouldn't antagonize the birds any further." "Well what's going to happen to the sparrow?", he asked. "Damned if I do know, Damned if I don't. Probably call the coroner on his way out and tell him to take this one with him as well." The nurse walked back to her perch at the service desk where she took out a paperback book from a drawer and read quietly there until a bell rang and a man on the other side of a loudspeaker asked if she could assist him in room 3-a with an unruly woman who refuses to take her medicine before bed. The nurse held her head in her hands for a minute or two and then walked down the long hallway behind the desk.
Kneeling down beside the cage now, Leon was careful not to touch anything. He blew a bit of breath gently towards the sparrow on the ground. It squinted a bit and closed its eyes as if sleeping. Leon got up abruptly figuring he should be on his way to see leona before it got too late. When he arrived at her room he pushed the door open just a bit so as not to startle her. Leona was laying in bed with the television tuned to a christmas program on public television. The blinds were open to the courtyard where all the trees were bare leaved and white. Leona Did not stir. Leon got up from his chair, tucked the covers around his mother and kissed her forehead as he was about to go. Startled, Leon stepped back a moment and stood there, eyes on Leona waiting in the silence. In the hallway there was the sound of a nurses heels clicking down the corridor. Leon reached into his pocket and removed the sleeping bird from his coat. He placed the sparrow, still warm, on the his mothers pillow and bid the two farewell.
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[08 Nov 2006|07:35am] |
It;s 2:17 am and I want to make sure the asian girl in the next apartment knows that no, I'm not happy and I'm not sad. I'll let her knock on my door and squint her brown oval eyes into the cracks of the door hollering hoorahs that she has to work early in the morning and can I please turn that shit down? But no, no, I can't do that. The phantom buzzer keeps blasting me upright off the ground from root to stem to tip where i'm laying. I've been reading secret stories of the morticians son under the covers all evening and wondering what he has been up to. His dad the poet said that as long as you have writers block then you know you're still a writer. There's something wrong with the fish in our fishtank because he only swims upside down on his belly now and he struggles constantly stuck in weird vertigo.theres something wrong with the girls in this house because I've taken up donning lace tights and t'shirts to bed and my girl in the next room is sleepwalking through the livingroom more than ever whenever i'm up late watching movies. But at the moment i'm spinng 45's to an obsolete audience and sucking the last sweet drops of teenage nectar from a box of wine. are you still there?
oh
or have youuuu....
moved away?
ohhhh have you moooooved away?
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[06 Nov 2006|04:13am] |
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Every single time I see wanda sykes on television I know why i'm alive. sort of. fucking crazy bitch.
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[21 Oct 2006|04:21am] |
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I can't tell if the fishtank is cracking apart or if poltergeists started using the door knocker. Neither can be very good.
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[16 Oct 2006|03:24am] |
I swear to god, i feel like lately I'm involved in this gigantic cycle of breaking electronis on this level that is just completely unfixable.
DTE still has yet to turn the heat on. Phil apparently didnt pay comcast or some shit so they ripped out the cable switches. Nice. I just paid the cable bill and i'm getting pretty ruthless about hunting people down to make all this bullshit work. give me my money back Phil you fuck! Instead of television I've been watching Rocky and Bullwinkle dvds for like two days and as nice as it is i'm kinda going crazy. Saw Black Dahlia. It was lame. Came home and google searched Sharron Tates dead body.
Read my first piece of "Prose" I guess you could call it to the class and got it ripped apart like I was in 3rd fucking grade. It was awful. fuck you Washtenaw. I really don't feel like writing anymore and midterms are next friday so the chances of me producibng anymore for the class are slim to none. here comes my tude again. I had a slight nervous breakdown about the heat and Mike left me to find outside help. Thus concludes that I really should get to a doctors office to be psychoanalyzed asap because nobody feelsl ike dealing with it anymore but mike and im sure i wear him pretty thin.
I'm so glad stacy is home. I know i've said it before but it's just something I can't explain. She does me good.
I want this month to be over more than anything in the world.
this is what i want for christmas:
a coffee table.
a kitchen table and chairs
that tea cup from macys with the lily pads on it
grocerys
socks
a winter coat
heat in my apartment
a christmas tree
a filing cabinet
a bookcase
Stacy says that as long as I know how to speak English i will be able to teach English in whatever country i decide to move to. I know youre not supposed to think about the future too intensly but really, I just kinda want to get away.
I saw someone getting married at the Michigan Fire House on the corner and it made me want to cry kinda. i'm going to watch the elephant man tonight. I learned a little bit of swedish this week. that phantom buzzer just went off and not im scared shitless. fantastic.
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[07 Oct 2006|02:57pm] |
She is in the next room packing her bags. She is violent, slamming doors and dressers shut and open, tearing through the shelving for our valuables. I am pouring her a gin for breakfast and two for myself. The stove is filling the apartment with gas and we sealed all the windows tight to make us move a little bit faster. And If we decide to stay she set out a baking sheet and a block of rock hard cookie dough to throw in at the last minute so we can maybe just sleep instead...just sleep with a sweeter smell. Her sweat is dripping like awful rain down her spine and I am beginning to chill more knowing that I'm feeling colder than hell. Even with the stove door open pouring warm fumes from its black mouth I can...not...warm. When the ravaging sounds cease she pulls her suitcase out into the living room spilling over with invaluable garbage. A barrage of worthless memorabilia she wanted to fight the last fight for. My bags are filled with love letters from her that she mailed from Paris full of stinking cocteau paintings. Black contour drawings of shirt sleeved men holding whats she said were "the only two thinks you need in life"...A scalpel and a pen. She is sobbing now a bit, her pretty shoulders heaving silently upwards and groundwards. There is no sympathy. This is the purging of the monsters.
The leaves are spilling over the porch. A carpet of things dead and dying that try to overturn our household every time they lay like that. They lay like a taunting. They always lay like that. My peacock is black eyed and sullen, tearing at the science of the mind from the steps of the porch. she is shrouding me in so much filth and simultaneous love that all the wrecking balls in the universe could not create a blast that compares. Look at her and her velvet heart just pacing in front of me. Making the worth of the world miniscule. She wears her ballet shoes around to beat all hope from my heart. The air is escaping us. The apple of my iris is pin pricked and rotten and stuffed full of this horrible wonder. Maybe we can get to the gulf and float like funeral lilies across the earth. She the petty offspring of mermaids and I the used of vampire virus that leaches to her scaled side.
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[18 Sep 2006|02:36pm] |
This is the slowest computer I have ever used. I think these shelves must be holding at least 50 tons of literature right now and the only thing I can think on is that I really feel like I have left the english language behind. These places arent nearly as quiet as they say they are.
i guess I just wanted to say hello
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[22 Aug 2006|11:18pm] |
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Before I start taking lithium...I want everyone to know that I want to get married in the NYC Public library. I want to wear one of those expensive outfits from anthropologie. (dress, tights, boots, the whole deal) I want Stacy to be my only witness. I want to weigh 115 pounds. I would then like to be wisked away to Montreal where I spend the year writing a truly awful and tacky first novel that gets forgoten. Maybe I would like to attend Concordia university for a comparative literature bachelors. Or masters. I want zoe to be there and if she for some reason doesn't make it that far then I would like her stuffed and placed unpon some overstuffed velevt chair in my sitting room where she looks happy and comfortable in her eternal rest. I want to have no more than 3 pairs of pants and at least 2 full closets filled with dresses and shoes of all sorts. I want to read books forever and once in a while I may call someone from the old country to see how things are over there. But I will never leave. No. I would never ever leave.
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[21 Aug 2006|11:17pm] |
small slight update.
the fashion show was fantastic fun.
jacks 2nd birthday and also a very good time. Except for when Gracie got stung by a bee. That made me sad.
Today at work one of the cooks microwaved tin foil. what grown up does that?
Today at work this 108 year old woman asked me if I had a pillow she could sit on.
Then i got stiffed.
Then I came home and listened to she's an Angel by they might be giants because its making me feel good which in turn makes me feel like a huge nerd.
now Im going to internet stalk, read the new national geographic. Throw up ( I had gross grilled cheese for dinner at work).
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[14 Aug 2006|06:30pm] |
so my parents went on a date to fly remote control airplanes at the school parking lot down the street. Then my dad crashed his airplane in a tree and dad left a note on the door that said he crashed his plane in the tree and would like it back.
this is the cutest thing ive ever heard.
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[09 Aug 2006|12:06am] |
I have started to feel a little bit funny ever since the weekend. While we lumbered through those filthy streets, dragging our toes through the gutter water and slipping our limbs through the stinking air I could feel those old wet kisses. cosmic kisses rising from the streets to my neck and ears. That same old feeling of ghosts but without the ghost. Picturing her on the front porch would do me no good. Imagining her spreading her blue and green peacock feather across those wood boards only made it more lonesome. So what could I really do then? But bury my head until it hit the pillow and scream her sweet name. wallow and yell for her. She's so far and she won't ever come home. She's so far and nobody is kind any longer. She's so far and nobody loves a wretch like me. Nobody but her. Eventually I tired myself out. I drempt about Berlin. Rotten and cold. I followed a girl through burning streets and abandoned buildings and walked the neighborhood grounds with her like two kittens watching the handsome dapper young berlineze police boys walking dour with guns in hand.
None the matter. All I meant was that the seas seam to span more space every day. And the days are long, oh, how long they really are.
there are never any pretty words for me anymore. No more incidents like Sebastian Tellier blasting malignantly through the walls while we held our useless hands together and let synthetics push us into the velvets. Any color you wanted. I'd break my back for any stupid description from his mouth or fingers. I'd break my arms for any reason at all. But I can't even find a decent god damn song to slobber phony insight to tonight but god it has just been so long. I haven't said a word in ages. There is this fear looming like a yellow noose above my bedroom door. That my peacock won't migrate home and when she doesn't some new york floozy will steel my baby straight from the sweet place he sleeps like a Lindburg apparition and directly after I will lose my hearing but not before the needle falls out of the cradle that holds it above my favourite record and the christmas presents I bought early will rot in the closet because i would have gone blind from reading bright passages once too many times over and Rocky had come equipped with a gun to shoot off the legs of his rival his rival it seems had broken his dreams by stealing the girl of his fancy her name was magil and she called herself lil but everyone knew her as nancy now she and her man who called himself dan were in the next room at the hoe down Rocky burst in and grinning a grin he said danny boy this is a showdown but daniel was hot - he drew first and shot and rocky collapsed in the corner.
sometimes I feel the saddest stories ever told have already been written.
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[05 Aug 2006|10:11am] |
I've been awake for about an hour and I'm already having a bad fat ugly angry jealous jealous jealous morning.
If only I could take zoe with me everywhere i went i don't think things would ever be that bad.
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[31 Jul 2006|11:54pm] |
Camping was fun. I'm glad i finally met all of the Bondy's...ok...not all....just the ones that matter and the babies. I love those babies so much. I think today my thoughts were consumed mostly by images of Gracie showing me her flip flops and laying on the carpet next to her tea party. And now, each time a fly lands near me I wish Nicholas were there to shoo it or RAAAAAAAAAAR! it away. The best quote from that trip was "we're not waiting in line to take back bottles!...fuck that. That's perposterous!"
People in Canada are really nice and I decided that I am going to get married soon and move there and start my writing career then raise beautiful, respectful and congenial children there.
this is one of those times when I have so much to talk about but the fact that it's 12am and im in my dirty work clothes s till with my hair twisted up in knots and 3 empty raisin containers strewn about makes me...that tells me maybe I should go to bed and save it till tomorrow and maybe put it in letter form to france instead.
My blanket is in my car and my pillow in at mikes. this is awful. I wish I had my pillow.
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[24 Jul 2006|03:07pm] |
I just want everyone to know that malan breton wrote me a message on myspace.
i'm swooning.....that's exactly what I'm doing. He totally has a crush on me.
that and the only thing I ever want to do a3
y+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ (zoe wrote that)
like I was saying....that, and the only thing I want to do anymore when in Ypsilant is eat jimmy johns.
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[22 Jul 2006|03:47pm] |
Well here I sit, 3 days later, my face the size of a fucking basketball. Reading and watching t.v. for enough consecutive hours to make me wish i were dead. I can't smile. Not a single person has called to chat or to come visit me. Although I should have expected that figuring my only real friend is in Paris for the summer. So I stay up all night writing letters to her even though I look far too hideous to go out and find a mailbox the next morning. My painkillers don't work like I would like them to and the thought that the only person I want to see and take care of me is probably going to forget who I am by the end of the night makes me wonder a little why I even decided to get out of my bed today.
fuck this.
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[20 Jul 2006|10:16am] |
I'm starving. I'd like to get these teeth out right this second so that I can either
a. eat something
or
b. fall into a lovely drug enduced sleep.
or a shortly followed by b. whatev. is it time yet?
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[15 Jul 2006|12:04am] |
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I got to work at ten am today. I got home from work at 11pm...The thing is...I took my shoes off in the car on the way home and now, an hour later, I still can't feel the left side of my left foot. This isn't good.I get my teef out Thursday. At first I was excited for intravenous drugs...and now I'm scared out of my mind that they are going to fuck up and turn me into some scalpled weirdy and nobody will love me anymore. I wonder if they will let me keep my vamps. I wonder how gross they will look. I wonder how gross I will look when it's all over? what the fuck is the deal with my mouth anyway?
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[07 Jul 2006|11:43pm] |
At least I can still find comfort in knowing that if the telephone gets picked up from the receiver and some sort of teenage background static departs from its plastic crevices (radio, television, gossip, fucking etc.)then that...that truely means that nobody is dead on their bedroom floor and thus no need to worry so.
The ventilator is spilling out blankets of cold breath across my ankles that started licking its way up my white legs to rest on my knee caps over an hour ago. I have this false sense of hypothermia. This false sense of narcolepsy. This false sense of clean fingernails and sturdy lungs. This false sense of sense. You see it's true that I have given way to these murmurs, palpitations...cholesterols...hypertensions...sorrows and deep sleeps. Every such disease of the heart that bites and reddens the veins and the chains that keep me in pains. My thievery should be punishable by death or torture or maybe a punishment that needs no giving...complete lack of attention. Ignorance is bliss...Ignoring is bliss. My call log ran out of space. His answering machine runs out of tape. It cuts out in the middle of the most important of fucking lines(I shhhhhhhhhh you) and I sit in dim light tonight drinking diet cherry coke in my underwear thinking strictly and mostly limited to schooling myself out of sadness...getting schooled by 3 more inches in height...about 30 pounds of leaden weight...one arm painted brighter colours than my own skin...two thighs bruised easier than even mine...and an overall tragic and fucked the fuck up fucking beautiful god damn lyricist that learns me better than the longest text books in history. I just want you to be my ornament baby. So just answer your telephone because I'm listening to that red house painters song that makes me feel like I;m sitting in that big grey and green sofa in a lightless livingroom of 410 olive street. In the winter when I would think on you without you knowing it each day in a uniform matter at the usual time when everyone was out. There was one awful yellow leaf framed perfectly with falls accurate and precise hand...right in the center of the god damn living room window. Always hanging on. I wanted to rip it off and press it between two records to keep forever so I would never have to see it fall to the ground, or even worse for that matter, miss seeing it fall to the ground. But I didn't rip it down. I let it hang on...It fell and I sat and thought on you like I usually did. But I never ripped it down.
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