cool yeah great excellent
i hate being home, i hate being put under pressure to perform emotionally, i don't really like anybody
so yeah cool wow wonderful, let's all get mad at me for not doing what i am told!! and let's really make her super nervous all of the time that she is doing the wrong thing and then demand that she do something very difficult that she has never wanted to do in the first place, and then get mad when she inevitably fucks it up, word that is just so super excellent and wonderful, thanks everybody for being so good to me, really, how would i ever get on in the world if anybody trusted me or said, it's ok

yesterday, this girl i knew in high school said to me, "oh, so you're just concerned with getting your MRS now" because i confessed that i'm gonna wait to go to grad school

I kind of feel like I want to get rid of all my posts & start over
It's my birthday again & somehow that word implies getting to start over fresh and clean and new, but it doesn't and maybe that's why it's so disappointing every year
& the not getting what you want
& nobody picks up the phone because they don't have time to take you out & don't want to say it in person
So I'm going to write more, and be better, and look up.

i forgot about how you sucked at my skin on the train tracks and said, i can't do this, i have to leave

it just turned sunday and you're lying in bed while they all drive elsewhere, home or places you don't want to be but would if you were braver, or bigger, or more. instead you're wishing your bed weren't so fucking big, or empty, or fuck it, both, because it's been awhile and you just want another pair of arms to augment your own. but the room smells funny, or maybe its just you, drenched in soap you never quite washed off, because it didn't matter and despite the pulled pork brought to you by housemates you were lonely. lonely enough to feel it here, in your bed, in the aching hand that wont quite do its duty underneath the bed clothes (the porn is stale and empty under backlight on your hard drive, too much so). so you lie listless and think of him, who you left and who left you, a thousand times in a row you left each other mostly on strange notes, but whose children you can already see running with their cousins under big sky, and it makes you sick but you can't stop seeing the family you'll become because you're lying alone under a comforter you father bought you and
god damn

Cascading hot against the soft edge of her, honey on the stove and cherry blossoms seen from the other side of the world through telescopic lenses these were his hands. Thick and slow and convalecent almost juice fought from the core of some loose fruit the parts of their bodies that are usually reserved for either quiet moments with oneself or for the menial tasks of living, tying shoelaces and unfolding the paper packages that breakfast cereal normally arrives. Cutting hunks of melon on the kitchen counter and dialing your mother's phone number, these digits are evolved for these purposes but in this instance they have become appendages specifically for the divining of where exactly the flesh becomes concavity and where it protrudes in the correct fashion thus that it fits into the corner of a palm and there becomes warm and flushed beneath the breath of lifelines.

So she found out about it while taking him in, and she arched her back and put her hand to the wall for support. She wanted more of their bellies touching, she wanted to understand the fact of his face and the worry there, a crease stuck firm into his brow bone when he shut his eyes tight and let sound escape. She wanted always bedding beneath her knees, and she exhaled sharp nearly falling back and shuddering, didn't know before that this was it, had never been so sure as just this moment.

what  i was trying to tell you was that the other night
these kids here, they were talking about something
and they were talking about determinism
and this one kid he was sure of free will and i said
really?
and he got all mad but i knew the truth even though i didn't want to

20090813 HAIKU FOR SIR THOMAS MOORE

when i cut off your
head i will cauterize the
wound to keep it clean

thnx, hpn.

by the way, fuck you american apparel, nothing you make ever looks good on my huge tits

I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, I'LL WRITE TO YOU IN FRENCH IF I HAVE TO

hello, 2010. want a cracker?

20071130
We are on the train.
I am.
They are.
Currently, you are on the train. Later you may not be on the train anymore but will go one, if not this one, soon. And then you will be on the train again.
There are people on the train. I don't know them, but one day I could meet them again. And ask: are you the one from the train? And be told: yes. Or else they will not remember me, or I will not remember them. We may not remember each other at all. We will talk and talk and talk and talk but maybe the subject of trains will never come up, because why would it? And then we may never know that at one time our trajectories did cross at a singular point - a train ride- at some time in the past. We will know each other but never know that once we were on the train together- we rode a train together! That was the start! Some people will never ride trains together. Some people will never ride a train with you, or with me. We are already a step ahead! We have already made it possible for ourselves to connect because we chose to get on the train and thus we chose to be near each other. And if we meet again, do not think that it has nothing to do with this train ride, because each subsequent meeting of our bodies in space depends on, owes itself to, making the choice to place ourselves on this vessel and be carried over tracks to our destination. We chose this. You chose it. So why are you just sitting there? Why are we doing nothing about this chance we've been given? Reach out and take it,
it's yours

did you ride the metro north on 30 november, 2007? if so, this post is about you. also it's good because it's metaphorical and deep.

assorted confections
of which i am proud
& which mean things to people
& which may one day convince you that i know how to do it, this stringing of words.

• But I want you so desperately to A) read it and B) read it slow and careful. Can you do this for me you constant eye and ear?

• Acceptable epithets.

• Lightning & luminescence; listen to your heartbeat juxtaposed against the rain on the roof, waiting for corrugated kisses & new shoes.

• I know the time you spend. I spend it, too.

• I had a dream about you. You were drawing on my words, I was writing on your face.

• At first, he did, because of the quenching and because of the ignition. These were his shining moments, if he had any.

20071104 Be passionate. Be full & bursting. Rip yourself limb from limb and then in a frenzy pull yourself back together only to repeat. Spill yourself. This is your chance to deconstruct. Burn & burn & never stop sparking up into the sky, scalded and singed. Raise yourself to him & tell him to go fuck himself. Burn down buildings & kill by the thousands. Be passionate.