vicious with hell to gaze.

iDream

selfie @ crossroads trading co; fitting room. that shirt was a toss up. ended up getting it. got yelled @ by a man on the street "DISCO FEVER"
yeah.

followed by clothes hunting @ the rack and i left empty handed. my hair is different shades in different lighting. chameleon red.

c y k a

wow.uhm.hipster goth or nah

heavy citrus fresh

vanity.xxx

"I am Queen of flies.

Swallow the words that fall from my mouth.

It is not enough for me to be immortal:

I am—and of this I boast—universal.

To begin, I want to impose upon you a desire without end, the sensation of being cut in two, deprived of your truth … like the body and its shadow at sunrise. I will make of you strangers to yourselves, avid for fusion, love and copulation. Let me be stared at, let me be gazed at with the sincere and almost melancholy gravity of deep-seated longing. I am dying. 

Weep, my beloved flies." 

---Anne-Lou Steininger, from La maladie d’être mouche (The Sickness of Being a Fly)

yellow has always been good to me

yes. i went through a moment of stupid face, happy camera moment. i just wanted to show off my shirt to be honest, though i don't think you can really see it. it's yellow. bee yellow. hippie bourgeoisie chic as the tag said.

i don't look so bad when i'm semi happy. and so far this month i have seen some of that. despite the weather being crap, and my friends showing their true colors - i'm more than relaxed. 

i'm gonna take advantage of these days. really squeeze out however much i can from it and try to inspire myself for the future. as i know, unpredictable awaits. wallowing in pity has its place. an inspiring place even. wallowing in cheer might be even better.

amphibian

cat nipped

i think i went a bit too far with the valentine's festivities

I. Me. I.

One day passes, nothing happens. Day two slip while I'm still asleep. Three days come around and i'm finally awakening. Singing. On the fourth day I eat with no remorse. My body is happy, and I am sleeping on a blanket I stole back from 1999. On the fifth day I remember my grandmothers closet. I put on her favorite shirt and I feel her jewels. The marks from my grandfathers 'love' stuck on her chest. That's where I used to lay. I am not full woman yet to carry her crown.

Tea is glossing my mouth. 6 cups of it on the sixth day. Fragrance of mango black keeps me warm. Never enough so I continue to detoxify my body on the seventh. My mother reminds me I am death in human form. What does this mean? It sounds like poetica so I scoff. But on the eighth day I wallow in destruction. Eight years old and she's running through the snow. Something in me is crawling. Ghosts I've welcomed, maybe? Calmness has never been a friend.

9 piercings punch through my skin. Where do these little holes reside? I am a map. My body is mine, my mind is yours to use. On the tenth day the city drenches me. My complexion is dull. I have not seen the sun in eleven days. I read his love letter. I read his print. Study the curve of his L the same way I studied the curve of him on me. Twelve poems to write - I have this marked on my calendar. Twelve. One for each day I shed myself. Thirteen is the worst number. I hope and pray it lands on a Friday. I'm thinking I was really supposed to be in feline form.

Fourteen footsteps to my new life. Fourteen footsteps from the outside. On the fourteenth day I walk, count. And when the key turns someplace will be home. Fifteen days and panic begins. An american with foreign bones? Where am I? Am i still her child? On my sixteenth birthday my father calls. A ghost in my veins, he lives to haunt me every sixteen days. On the seventeenth I tell him to go to hell. Though I think he found it effortlessly years before.

Books are scattered in every corner. My loves and I fly through pages and on the eighteenth day I finally try. I put on my finest cocktail dress and go for a walk. I see a woman and I am sure we will marry. Our shoulders brush. There goes my interest, lost as always. I remember I have to clean on the nineteenth. Met a life that gave my love something to aspire to. He held my hand and I broke his. I throw the remaining bones in the trash. Now the room smells of lilacs.

Twenty days steal my hunger. I am no longer. Who was it that took me from me?...Cut my finger vigorously. Once, not too long ago I used to run from blood. But the pain now sings me songs. Twenty one days and i'm learning to wipe it off. Twenty two passes and I am still alive. Not sure if this is good news, but someone out there must be relieved. Twenty three is loud! And i'm on the floor writing. A little girl cries out for attention. My windows are close to breaking. My childhood is reminding me this is not it.

Twenty four days go by and I fall back in love. They have no names, and I do not know if they exist, but they are everywhere. And they are everyone. I cling to attention that leaves me empty. What else is there? Not one superficial smile can cure me yet. Not one interaction has left its fire. I am trying once again when twenty five comes around.

"But as there is in this world not a single human who can speak my language; or, more simply, not a single human who can speak; or even more simply, not a single human; i must think only of myself, of that force which urges me to express myself." - Invitation To A Bedheading

coke fiend up

so you know sometimes you spend hours with your friend on camera talking about nothing, posing as a porn star you once dreamed of being at the ripe age of 'child' and everything feels good. no holding back, just loose. it's even better when you're filming each other with an incredibly crappy camera and when you try to take screen shots it ends up blurry and grainy and no amount of patience or photo - shop can salvage it. i actually think these look good. disco queen good. 70's polyester good. whatever that means. i just think it's wicked so - share time it is. if only i could look this grainy and blurry in real life.

still trying!

Drugged.

lullabies in my head, never again, i am so gone. lullabies don't take me back, save me. not here yet, i am. sweet seclusion calls, not here yet. i'm not sure what smells right, but not the same. don't let them take me, not, no. i feel it in me, it's pulling its strings. and what are those metal noises conjoining? i almost died. so sweet when they told me. why lullabies. i had them with me. we were fine. i'm going to bed, there's here to find.

In love with chaos - my warrior heart can bruise for eternity.

Lingering on my legs, scolding my thighs -
ash, bone and filth.
Clasp my fingers to fit yours with pressure at the thought of what you cannot have.
Bend ours together and every bone begins to crack.

You can take my physical.

Spread apart my legs, try to unzip me until you realize there is no life from which you can steal.

To allow a human to take from mine -
I will not.

mother nature and I hold hands.

2004. Sometime in the Spring. I was 16, in high school, and completely boiling. 

I remember a specific date. Not the number, but the instance. I was going through a lot of conflicting emotions. Angst, sadness, emptiness. It was a terrible day. Actually, it was a terrible year. I felt inadequate, alone, scared.

Back then I used to walk a lot. No music, just the streets. I would leave the house to clear my head and that was enough to recharge me. I remember this particular day because it was one of the worst, and one of the best.

That day I went down to Lake Washington. I sat down on the steps by the water and tried to clear my head. I thought, okay, I just need a breather. 1 inhale, 2 exhale, 3 repeat. I remember closing my eyes and emptying every thought from my mind, every feeling, every ache from my body. It was more than what I was expecting. I remember hearing the waves, and each time they hit the edge of the steps - it was almost as if it was inside me. Hitting my lungs, but in a blanket sort of way. No suffocation. Does that even make sense? It was a weird moment, a beautiful moment. I don't know why I keep thinking about it. Although, maybe I do

On that day, in that year, in that season, I was still. Pure. As if my soul was lifted from my being. It wasn't just envisioning, I was feeling it happen to my body. Each wave hitting me, the intensity coddling, and freeing. In that moment -  A higher state of consciousness. Meditative perhaps. 

I was water.

Today I went down to the lake and tried to clear my mind, listen to what's around me, become it. 

Never quite got it. 

I don't know if I will ever experience that euphoric state again. 

and when the night gets silent, the little girl comes out to sing.

ahh my grandfather. The rebel, the drunk, the abuser, the prisoner, the poet, long deceased. He died in prison. He urinated on cops. He had mistresses all over town. He had violent outbursts and owned guns he stole from mobsters. He shot a man in the eye. He got stabbed 3 times. He was in gangs. He wrote incredible poetry. He was the life of the party. He was terribly exhausting. Dangerously opinionated. My mother compares me to him. Says I am an outcast of the family.

Just like he was. Who knows: I too might end up in prison with tattoos all over my body and a lonely heart.

I wish I knew more about the man. I wish I knew him when I was little.
I don't know much about my family. Everyone feels like strangers in non fiction books. All I have are names and photographs from the 60's and 70's.

I'm scared of marriage, white picket fences, dogs named Rusty, and joint bank accounts. 

Acid Trips

Come take them with me.