| (no subject) |
[Tuesday September 23rd 2008|02:32 pm] |
the good news is that i moved several large boxes of paper backs, from the days when i was a more literary individual. the bad news is that i have probably five large boxes of hardcovers, and reference books still to be moved. i've been putting this off for years now. four years? five? the time has come to move my entire library or sell it. my parents are talking about throwing them away. and since selling my books is not really an option, i just have to buck up and move them all. jesus christ.
i also moved:
bread machine
juice extractor
five thousand pound cast iron smoker
paleolithic era food processor also weighing about five thousand pounds
roasting pans, roasting sheets
toaster oven
clay baker
electric slicer and cutter
i am really worried about getting everything out of here in time! there is still so much shit. it is like an infinite of shit.
i guess i'll just fill up the car and make another trip en route to this study group. and they are going to hate me, because i smell god-awful. |
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| (no subject) |
[Monday September 22nd 2008|03:46 pm] |
for my birthday this year, i wanted it to be low key and relaxed. i spent most of the weekend dining out with relatives. on friday we went to india. naan and red wine was passed around the table. bambi and i settled on a dish of paluck paneer. eric had vindaloo with lamb. his mother and granmother, a kabob dish. on saturday night eric and i went out for sushi accompanied by one potent scorpion bowl. yesterday i visited my mother, rode the bike around with eric, and later went out with friends to a bar. i took a few pictures with my new camera.
i suppose last night might have been the highlight of the weekend. shots of milagro, lemon and salt. a handful of neighborhood people were there. i monopolized the digital juke box. here is my playlist from last night. it is quite good, i have to say, considering the amount of milagro and beer i had drunk by that point. i'm astonished actually that i remembered all the songs. it just occured to me i never played 'baby please don't go' by van morrison. that's pretty much my all time favorite jukebox request. otherwise, flawless jukeboxage.
eric baked me the most delicious chocolate cake from scratch. it's super homey looking, which i love. and bought me an amazing new digital camera. and my mother gave me secret money (evil stepfather). i took some of it for sweater shopping to a thrift store. |
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| (no subject) |
[Monday September 22nd 2008|09:51 am] |
on park ave.
you can pick your friend. you can pick your nose. but you can't pick your friends nose. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sunday September 21st 2008|04:51 pm] |
i am officially twenty-six today.
and i am armed with a new camera to document my mundane existence, and transform it into one extraordinary lie. |
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| (no subject) |
[Wednesday September 17th 2008|06:32 am] |
yesterday, two men pulled into the gas station, swearing at eachother so loudly i could hear them from the bank on the next plaza. cussing and everything because one must have cut the other off.
i wasn't scared for them, just irritated to see that children don't necessarily mature: they just age, become adults, drive fast cars, and learn to sometimes mask their juvenile selfishness. so freudian.
the full moon is inducing chaos and confusion all around me. the old mentally-imbalanced bank teller decided to accost me (in a nonviolent, obsessive way). had it not been so over-the-top and absurd i would have been uncomfortable but i actually couldn't help but blurt out laughing. which in hindsight bothers me, because i'm sure he thought i was flirting with him. the other tellers who had no customers, actually stopped what they were doing to listen to the spectacle.
oh, i can't wait to move to bristol so i can avoid that branch of my bank altogether. there is always something with that guy. |
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| (no subject) |
[Tuesday September 16th 2008|12:01 pm] |
initially i woke up, didn't run, and felt like a failure for it. but to compensate i am on my abstemious weekday diet of fruit smoothies in the morning, homemade carrot and apple juice midmorning, and then something normal for lunch (salads, usually) and dinner (a portion of chicken or fish split with eric, a ton of vegetables). today for lunch i'm shallow-frying tofu in garlic oil and spices, and i'm making brown rice and stir fried vegetables. i don't have dinner planned as of yet. but i will probably be making split pea soup.
yesterday i felt fat and catastrophic. being premenstrual was making me feel somewhat psychopathic. laugh, but i'm absolutely positive that full moons exacerbate things anyway; so i was particularly self-loathing and despairing. of course, today, everything seems normal, possible, and wonderful. the garbage men even took our trash for the first time in five weeks for some fucked up reason. sometimes i think that's all anyone needs is a brand new day.
( carrying on ) |
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| (no subject) |
[Sunday September 14th 2008|09:06 am] |
A.
i keep drawing the hearse card in position four, which means "you will escape danger." it's freaking me out! i did a counter-reading on my rider-waite and in the space for warnings, i drew the death card. so i know there is something going on and it's not just serendipity.
the first time i drew the hearse card, i called my mechanic and asked him to make sure my car was suitable for commuting, and apparently it is fine. i have no idea what else i could possibly do to be sensible except to not go running outside at night or early in the morning. i've started wearing my seatbelt, which i never do. anyway i suppose we will see. laugh at me if you must, i don't mind! i can be quite foolish.
B.
on a less ominous note, we are scavenging some great finds from the spare room in the house we're leaving. i have found a lovely painted tin tray, a cake stand (which i need, since i never took mine with me). i also found this carved wooden thing that is shaped like a seedpod of some sort. very 1970s. it reminds me of a warped mancala board. it has six irregularly carved little "pods" that you can put crackers and olives and potato chips in or whathaveyou. i think i may use it for paper clips, rubber bands, staples, &etc.
plenty of old lamps. two gorgeous hardwood desks and carved chairs. one of them has cabinets that when opened, have very detailed surprise subcompartments. there is a lot of great old furniture back there. some retro bedroom set: yellow and in a faux-asian style, which i adore. plenty of kitchen things. candlestick holders, which are essential, as our new landlady told us we are not allowed to burn candles. in the car eric and i agreed, that while we'd previously never even owned any candles, we are setting straight out to buy some as we were so offended at being told how to live. as though were were twelve-year-olds.
the best finds though are two very large standing book shelves. both come up to a little below my neck and are almost as wide. we really need them because both of us have a veritable library of books between us, and a ton of knick-knacks. we are so used to this huge shelf in the apartment now, which is built into the wall:
so these shelves are almost a life saver. i had no idea what i was going to do once i factored all my books into the equation. they are not here, but at my parents houses. i have so many.. the idea of moving them all is a pretty insane idea.
C.
here is my favorite idea. we want to take the small midcentury style upright piano from the upstairs apartment. but, we want to paint it a very shiny electric blue. well that is the plan. we may not actually be able to move it. or decide that we don't want to lug it around with us for the rest of our life as renters. we usually hatch these grandiose plans that eventually fall by the wayside. like my refigerator-bookshelf idea.. there is an old, old refrigerator in that spare room. they are so tiny. but i wanted to take the door off of it, paint the frigde some poppy primary color and use it as a bookshelf. well, i think it's a great idea... but the idea of moving it.. |
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| (no subject) |
[Friday September 12th 2008|09:26 pm] |
my mother used to sing this song: "fatty fatty two by four, can't fit through the cellar door."
i have no idea who the rhyme was meant for. none of us were overweight.
she used to sing another one: "nobody loves me. nobody cares about me." i wish you could hear how it goes. of course i still remember it. sometimes it gets stuck in my head. she called milk "mookink." she called teeth "tootiepegs." carolyn was "linsky."
she would feed me spaghettios in the kitchen, with the dirty wooden floor and the dirty windows, while wheel of fortune was on the television. i think it was even a black and white television with a dial. she was so tangibly unhappy. i was three. |
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| (no subject) |
[Friday September 12th 2008|08:49 pm] |
from five in the morning till three, my day is a blur of dilaudid injections, an elderly woman screaming in pain (i have a needle in one arm, the phlebotomist, a needle in her other), another older woman dry-heaving with no prescription for an antiemetic, hanging IVs, DCing foleys, and running around answering endless call bells though out the ward. after i leave the floor, i suffer through the longest and most excruciating post-conference. all sandwiched between an hour-long commute each way.
after my perilous yawn-plagued eye-watering drive home, i pull into the driveway and there is an envelope taped to the door, with a letter saying they are turning off our water on the 17th. thank you, slum lord! or slum lady, if you prefer.
at this point it is four o'clock and i haven't eaten since my salad at eleven thirty. i convince eric to go out to dinner with me where i displace my stress with an equal volume of IPA and pulled pork nachos. upon returning to the slum, i heave my drunken overstuffed body into bed and promptly fall asleep.
i think i am now promptly going back to sleep.
i hope everyone has an amazing weekend! goodluck to anyone with 22-year-old paramours, and to anyone meeting long lost lovers. but i hope everyone has interesting tales to regale me with when they come back! i am doing cardiology all weekend long, heaven help me. and praying to the utilites gods that eric will resolve this issue and that we will have water for the rest of the month. |
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| (no subject) |
[Wednesday September 10th 2008|06:16 pm] |
so i was a loser today again and instead of studying like i should have been eric and i started packing all of our aggregated crap into boxes. the idea of moving, exams, and a random vacation to florida to visit brett all in the same week is making me slightly insane.
then i decided to organize my car, which actually was full of everything i had in my last car. so i threw the afghans over the seats and glued some.. thing... to the ceiling. there is a lot of fringe everywhere. fringe hanging from this thing on my ceiling. fringe from the afghans. the dash is covered in camo. i tore up some camo jacket that was in the upstairs apartment. my dash now has really large buttoned pockets for... pens? i don't know. whatever. the two mugs from my old dash and the obligatory "receptionist" plaque all glued on. to up the ridiculousness i glued an incense burner to the back of the mirror. see what i did there? i can fold down the visor, flip the mirror up, and burn incense in my car. okay i probably won't ever do that. but there is a container of incense sticks glued to my center console somewhere. anyway my car looks so utterly retarded now and i love it. eric did some tinkering and fixed the interior so now i have a functioning clock again, and ceiling lamps, and the tape player. i am so good to commute. and just in time for clinicals which are tomorrow at kent hospital. sad face, i hate commuting. so much.
anyway i really need to review arterial blood gas values, and all that so i can hang IVs and not kill anybody.
*update. lit incense. my car smells awesome! added finishing touches. so juiced.
**update.
i seriously need this so i can string christmas lights in my car.
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| (no subject) |
[Wednesday September 10th 2008|05:42 am] |
i'm sure most of you remember me from when i was studying music and music education. there was much prattling on about tone vectors and post modern opera and cluster chords and harmonic notation. that was such a long time ago.. since then i've been taking nothing but sciences: chem, a&p, micro, etc.. and pseudosciences, such as psychology, which i am far less fond of. so i do consider myself a science geek, who becomes visibly excited at the mere mention of valency, pulmonary mechanics, bile sequestrents, haemodynamics..
and that is why i am so enamored with the science tattoo emporium(which i'm sure you have all actually heard of; i just happened upon it this morning). some of them are less great than others of course.. there are a few too many molecular structure tattoos, double helices, random mathematical formulae. but a lot of amazing ones.. these are some of my favorites.
( a few more )
i've never really been sold on the idea of tattoos...trendifying something of permanence is nearly always a distaster.. and always results in datedness. but i really like the idea of some of these. i kind of want one! |
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| (no subject) |
[Tuesday September 9th 2008|05:14 pm] |
well, we came clean about the cat. kind of. we told the landlady that she was declawed. which she is not.
but we are thinking of getting the cat these funky things:
which are adorable and would look as though batsu went and got herself a mani/pedi. apparently, they are so comfortable that cats forget there are little rubber adhesives on their claws. |
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| best apartment ever! |
[Tuesday September 9th 2008|05:46 am] |
we are signing a lease for an apartment in bristol, which coudln't be any more perfect. it is right on hope street! i am so excited!
it is larger and more stylish than our apartment now, and is the same price per month but does not include heat or electric. there are four large rooms, connecting hallways, a really large kitchen with tons of cabinets and cupboards and a double sink, and a full bath with a tub that i can soak in when i would like to do that sort of thing! it is clean and bright and old-fashioned. and has a working fireplace!
there are one of those rooms that jut off the side of the house, the kind you see in older houses that served as extra coldstorage in the winter. because the sideroom is so well lit, i aim to put some card tables and shelves in there and grow kitchen herbs. there is a washer and drier in the cellar, and a clothes line that goes right to my second floor window! and a pear tree outside that is dripping with bosch pears right now and little flower and herb gardens in the yard.
bristol is great too because i wouldn't be the only one riding around a bicycle. in portsmouth, you feel so ostracized. but bristol has that bike path too. and my bike is way too amazing to not ride around every now and then. i mean, it has front and rear baskets, a headlight, sideview mirror, and a cup holder (which is really just an empty tin of chickpeas ziptied to the metal basket, but still).
the totally obsessive/compulsive older landlady lives on the first floor. she is so nice! if only she weren't so particular. we have a "tub cleaning" agreement that specifies i am not to use ajax or any abrasives. and ajax is my favorite thing in the whole world. because for .88 cents, its totally alkalyne properties will denature the shit out of any bacterial proteins it comes in contact with, and make whatever you are cleaning like neon white in about a minute. it is by far a superior and necessary component of housework. is that weird? i love ajax. we are not allowed to burn candles (not happening). or put nails, or thumbtacks in the walls which is also is not happening. the ajax i can deal with but really..
and the lease says no pets, so batsu is getting smuggled in there like anne frank into a secret annex. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sunday September 7th 2008|10:20 am] |
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is anybody else really nervous about the film version of 'choke?' |
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| the curse of 133 viking drive |
[Sunday September 7th 2008|08:45 am] |
our shitty backyard is ravaged from the nineoclock storm: an umbrella halfout of a picnic table, the way seltzer likes to push the straw out from a waterglass; plastic bottles, faded tincan wrappers. it is like it rained trash last night. it looks like a tiverton junkyard. this apartment's a dud. a let-down all summer long. i guess i can't wait to move.
*
i went outside to watch the after-sunset. only the sky makes the transition of washedout blue into muted yellow subtle and seamless like illustration.
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| (no subject) |
[Sunday September 7th 2008|08:24 am] |
alicia comes over, with her two chihuahua puppies, who adeptly terrorize my cat, run sideways, and intermittently crash like narcoleptics. all said, they are adorable. i don't know that we talk so much as i babble on with chemically-induced speed, better summarized here:
"i remember saying things, but i have no idea what was said. it was generally a friendly conversation."
we tend to fixate on the inevitability of foreclosure and eviction in the near future; on ways to make it profitable/advantageous for eric and i. such as withholding rent, the prospect of which makes eric uncomfortable. i am sure after this month we will be moving, as if i somehow have the time do to this, and vacation for a weekend, and keep up with the material i'm supposed to be reading. (all of this could be the reason i woke up yesterday morning with a pimple so insidious, and so painful, that i was convinced for the better part of the day that i had run into something, and hit the bridge of my nose.)
after eric comes home i begin making a veritable scrapple of a meal, which is standard protocol when you are poor as dirt: choose the inexpensive ingredients that absolutely must be used before they pass, and somehow make a meal out of them. the first thing i must use is a sixteen ounce bag of northern beans (which was exposed to water and in danger of spoiling). after a rough chop of mire poix and green peppers, i add a can of beer, homemade broth, canned crushed tomatoes, prosciutto scraps, sweet italian sausage, herbs, spices, and the beans. for hilarity, i make matzo balls. because i think the idea of portuguese-jewish fusion is good for a laugh. |
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| (no subject) |
[Saturday September 6th 2008|06:56 pm] |
i think there should be some sort of journal apoptosis: i hate to think of all the space the dead journals are wasting in infinite. you know?
*
i am actually a little excited about this hurricane we're getting. |
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| (no subject) |
[Saturday September 6th 2008|06:35 pm] |
i would say the cream filling of hangovers, is the compensatory attempts i make to erase the evidence of blackedout earlymorning nightmares. with a splitting headache i brew a pot, shake out some vitamins, drink water; do the washing up, and folding laundry. transforming the charade of normalcy into a reality. it is the homeostasis of my life.
*
i'm trying to renew a commitment to this journal. i spend between six and eight hours everyday, at the least, sitting indoors with a tableful of textbooks and an accumulation of dirty coffee mugs. this is sort of my escape exit. who is still here out of my old friends? i think i will be in touch with you all much more these days. messages are my only contact to the world outside so i'm hoping to send and receive some. i would be looking forward to them like christmas presents. |
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| (no subject) |
[Saturday September 6th 2008|06:30 pm] |
this is old.
hey i miss you. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sunday December 9th 2007|07:09 pm] |
surf board and wake board, both o'neal
snow boards, burton mostly
long board
pair of skis
tiki god figurine
figurine of mexican taking a siesta
home brewing supplies
oversized wooden spoon and fork, the kind grandparents hang on their walls
shot glasses, all from alaska
accoustic guitar and electric bass guitar
fung shui plant arrangement
schwinn vintage bicycle built for two!
my bicycle, vintage raleigh
seven foot standing tiki shelf
crates of LPs
collection of tap pulls
collection of beer caps, lables, bottles
vintage reproduction record player (with tape deck, cd player, AM/FM)
large light-up molson ice sign
natural ice dry erase board
miller light pub mirrors
collection of promotional pint, beer, and rocks glasses
antique morris chair, possibly my favorite item
glass-top coffee table
vaguely japanese sake service and mismatching japanese dishware
vaguely chinese tea pot
twelve-cup electric percolator
ostrich egg
wooden floorlamp/table from nineteen fifties
framed sheet of acid
three-cup capacity mock martini glass
sets of pepsi and coca-cola glasses
odd coffee mugs
reggae wall tapestries, and other hippie decor
air pump rifle
remote control car to shoot at with air pump rifle
oh-so-typical books: paliniuk, kerouac, bell, teachings of don juan, acid dreams, zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance, the teachings of the buddha, tao te ching, etc.
three cases of nitrous catridges
about ten steak knives, two forks, and three spoons
stainless steal chopsticks
pottery projects circa highschool
typewriter in travel case
many boxes of low quality teas
large free form wooden bowl
string of tiki lights |
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| 11.23.07 |
[Saturday November 24th 2007|01:19 pm] |
now the flat is almost empty.
we moved dan into newport on a brightcold saturday; dobber is going to room with a woman he sleeps with, in exchange for comfort-lies and makebelieve and toward the end, gnashing of teeth and crying and heartcurses. but he will be rooming for free. so for a little while, it is just eric and myself, living in the half-furnished tenement.
we walk through the rooms, late at night, sorting things. this for the trash. this for the new flat. i remember all of the places we made love here. closets, the shower, the kitchen window when it was so late that the streets were deserted and the neighbors' windows were all little black squares. when he parted my legs and pushed my dress up slightly and we kissed eachother deeply.
in the morning i gather up my things: a mortar and pestle, a pressure cooker, a two-quart mason jar. |
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| (no subject) |
[Monday November 19th 2007|09:15 pm] |
11.19.07
isolating the unknown, still, in lab.
so many tests, inoculating, fuzzy mute-coloured cultivations, the faint stench of bacterial fermentation, or oxidation, or other reactions. nutrient broth, chunky coägulated litmus milks, nitrate staining mr-vp, gelatin slants to observe motility or lack thereof, the confusing mêlée of agars: sheep's blood, skim milk, tryptic soy, simmons citrate; endless gram stains, and acid fast stains; all racked together in a plastic blue crate; my initials smeared on in grease pencil.
i sincerely miss physiology.
and perhaps anatomy, where we were skinning strayed cats preserved in formaldehyde. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sunday November 18th 2007|07:36 pm] |
on friday night friends come calling. there are three couples, and my gay friend: and things feel so wholesome; so traditional. all of us scattered around the sparse living room, in its cold air, and too-bright light. all of us talking and so comfortable.
saturday night finds james, eric and i in eric's bedroom, quietly. i am reading a book on satanic ritual abuse, the boys are discussing business. sometimes we stop what we are doing, because bethany telephones or pages james intermittently, to yell, or cry softly into the mouth piece. sometimes i read them passages from the book: the ones that make me gasp or wince. both nights are lost to vodka, gin, and cocaine.
we drop off bethany's car, and the three of us go to a pub for last call. eric orders three pints and we drink. things are flat. around us, people in winter coats, scarves, knit hats, are dancing while four boys on a stage play music like a magic spell. the lights are purple, and pink, and gold. and the three of us are like stones, silent and cool, in a warm mosaic sea of beer-drunk laughing. the lights come on and we drive home, making fog patches on carwindows with our sighs. later eric blows a line and says
we're not doing this for a while.
james agrees. i say nothing. my eyes might speak so i shut them. i do my last line. i worry.
on sunday morning we rise past noon. the air is cold and full of sun. we are listening to scarlatti on our way to tea: eric still in his slippers. we split a pot of english breakfast and order two blueberry scones with sweet clotted cream and homemade strawberry jam and a plate of finger sandwiches. the room is huge and brick with chipping white paint and factory airducts crossing the ceiling, thirty feet above.
he says he'd like to pretend that we are married.
i'd like to pretend we are married. but instead i laugh.
i am a coward. |
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| (no subject) |
[Tuesday November 13th 2007|05:02 pm] |
the heart never quite feels as if it is a part of me. but more like something conceived within me, by the semen of men, the source of so much sadness. it feels like that:
separate, alien, implanted. today it kicks inside my chest. today it aches, aches, aches and i know that it is a girl. i feel no love for it, my heart. this thing,
that swells and shrivels: how i wish to miscarriage. to bleed it out with my unborn children. to know some peace. |
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| thoughts, this afternoon |
[Tuesday November 13th 2007|01:04 pm] |
1. i love you violently, in my soul. and it renders me paralyzed in that context: the context of you.
2. if my being were represented by planetary motion, than i am disaligned. and i am full of the feeling of disharmony.
3. peoples wandered from from the tribe to the metropolis, from intuition to analysis. they have named the thing that should not have been named; they have labled it; projected upon it their definitions. love is simple, honest. a worn, clean apron.
it should only be felt. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sunday November 11th 2007|07:30 pm] |
11.09.07
my medical records are facsimiled to the clinique. i drive with little purpose or feeling from eric's apartment in warren. everything around me is wrapped in grey flannel, like any afternoon in november.
at the clinique i have a run in with my sister. i recognize the thin preädolescent mother who rang up my purchase at the costume shop on halloween. there is a public awareness video playing, from the eighties, about aids. actors of various ethnicity play stereotypes. they speak in dialect, simply, about sexually transmitted diseases, latex condoms. ancient rap music renders it even less relevant. an infant in the wait room shrieks once.
my sister and i talk, wait, laugh inappropriately. a beautifully austere woman calls my turn and i leave my seat. her hair is like dark coffee, pulled back. she leads me to her office with clipboard, stethoscope, clean white coat. her office is the muted green of tinned sweet peas. i feel transported. her desk is very george nakashima in style. on it, a bottle of iso-propel, swabs, disposable pens, pamphlets.
i fill out paperwork. she enquires as to my answer: zero to fourteen alcoholic beverages per day. otherwise, we speak little. i ask orthotricyclin questions and others. she pushes a little pink package into my hand. it reminds me of when i collected cards at the comic book store. inside is a sheet of pills, like an Advent calendar: a pill for each day of the month.
i leave with my sister for a bracing coffee and a muffin on a lovely, steely afternoon. |
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| (no subject) |
[Saturday November 10th 2007|08:18 pm] |
11.09.07
the first thing i do is lift the steel pot and fill it with cold water. i pour fine salt so that it fills the palm of my hand and i sprinkle it in a circle around the water. while i wait for the water to boil, black nightwindows become fogged with steam.
eric sets the kitchen table with four places. we fetch the computer chair, milk crates, and lawn chair from other areas of the apartment and set them around the table. adam arrives with the bottle of pinot grigio.
we all sit down to eat and drink. there is salad of mesclun greens, baby spinach, mandarin orange, slivered almonds, sunflower seeds and a lemon vinaigrette. there are sea scallops wrapped in bacon. there is fettuccine in a sort of carbonara-alfredo concoction with plum tomatoes, peas, and sea scallops. the vinaigrette is poured from a cleaned empty tin of green beans, and owing to a shortage of salad plates a large clean ashtray is heaped with greens. we drink wine from half-filled pint glasses, smallish rocks glasses, plastic cups. none of this matters. we are alive. we are all laughing. |
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| (no subject) |
[Friday November 9th 2007|08:49 pm] |
11.10.09
it is saturday night and we are in his room. he sits at the computer. i am laying on his bed reading dining with sherlock holmes: a baker street cookbook. we are waiting for james. i am writing down recipes. we wait, sleepily.
he walks into the room. he sniffs quickly. he is always sniffing. we all sit up and walk into the living room. james rolls up a twenty and does a line off a hundred note. i ask eric if he would eat eel pie, if i made it. he tells me
if the eel is fresh
and i say: the bait shop. eric laughs. they have live eels, i explain and sip on dark rum and cola.
we've had several rounds. i'm on the chapter about 'the sideboard.' i'd like a brace of capon, or pheasant, or woodcock or grouse. and something a little choice in white wines. i am sitting on a cold wooden floor littered with crumbs and dirt, reading off of a glass coffee-table, stained and smeared. there is a bare bulb, bright as daylight. james and i are doing lines. eric has a drug test on monday. i realize i wish i had my two other britannic cookbooks so that i could cross reference recipes for bubble and squeak, and for kedgeree.
the three of us are comfortable. the thermostat is set to off, but there is the warmth we give off. like little furnaces, we are.
early in the morning james leaves. i take some trazodome to sleep. we sleep like siamese twins. |
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| (no subject) |
[Thursday November 8th 2007|09:03 pm] |
11.12.07
eric and i sleep until twelve. i sit up and put my bare feet on the cold floor and put on my crochet stockings, blue cordoroy skirt with scottish terrier print, ecru t-strap mary janes, and ecru cardigan.
i wash and cut the potatoes and add them to a roasting pan with butter, somebody's steak seasoning, garlic salt. then i put the roasting pan across two burners, and preheat the oven for biscuits. eric goes out for coffee. he comes back, cold and fresh as winter air. dan is in the living room watching the game, hung over and drinking pilsner lagers. eric and i join him, plates heaped with scrambled eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, biscuits, and apples cooked in milk, cinnamon and sugar. he asks us if we did some blow last night. we lie.
i finish my breakfast except for some of the potatoes. eric clears. i hear him at the kitchen sink, scrubbing the pans and the dishes. i read the words in the tin drum, not retaining any meaning, as i look down periodically at the traffic of the intersection at our apartment. |
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| (no subject) |
[Wednesday October 24th 2007|09:01 pm] |
sometimes
the way it feels like there is water running from a faucet
cold water running from a small pewter spiget
sometimes the way it feels like wind that
whistles over an empty glass bottle
the plastic phone with the rubber number buttons
a pink ear pressed against it and
no words
no words
a blue glow
from a computer screen
and empty letters spelled out in strings
empty sentences in disconnection.
sometimes a stab of tears that won't come
sometimes lips brush along the plastic receiver, slow, like skin
sometimes nothing |
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| (no subject) |
[Monday September 17th 2007|12:03 pm] |
super suicide society of the summer session.
september first is my personal new year's day. microbiology lectures aren't nearly as interesting as in physiology (yet). the yard sales have been just fantastic.
the bike path in bristol is romantic, except when the man at the lemonade stand steals eric's wallet. my mom broke a beautiful tray i had bought her, that had an art deco pattern of chinese umbrellas on it.
things are chaning. slow. |
|
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| could i write a piece about you now that you've made it? |
[Tuesday February 13th 2007|09:39 pm] |
i. speed math,molecular biology,and pinot grigio.
ii. i wake up on my twin mattress,in a swath of missmatched sheets,and dim light from the horizon;thingrey like cigarettesmoke.in my smallish room,with two raindirtied windows,a persistent draft.cold curls in.the trees outside wear gauzedressings.
3: hooded,gloved,layered in cotton:black holes and other essays on tape.firelunged,sweat in my ears,eyes,hair.on my neck,stomach,spine.winter kisssucks my mouth.s smokebreath into the clearcold.my heart.that muscle.too tough for eating.
weekday mornings. |
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| (no subject) |
[Thursday October 5th 2006|10:10 am] |
|
that year, babies were born kicking their feet to this song, and humming the words in their cradles. under the fertile crescent moon, there was a howl from the church of piss and vinegar. the girls all came inside, already knowing the dance to this old time relijun. smelling of hot blood and saffron, they pulled snakes from their hair and beat their breasts with goat-meat. they taught the boys how to move, there was shouting everywhere and gnashing of teeth. |
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| (no subject) |
[Monday October 2nd 2006|05:42 pm] |
in a Ziploc freezer bag was a handwritten letter some admirer left to me.on the envelope was my description,embarassingly romanticized.i found it on a whitestone bench where i read frequently,weighed down by a muddied rock.it read as such:
'wow!that was what i thought when i saw you today.'etc.
included was a ballpoint pen,w/ which i replied:
'wow!that was what i thought when i found a random Ziploc bag w/ a letter addressed to me.'
today,the bikeshop called 3 months late to see if i wanted a major overhaul on my 3speed.i told them yes.later i bought a vintage westernflyer 3speed from Vec,a bearded man in white painters clothes.i gave him $50,crumbled in my fist,swung my left leg over +rode it back to the coffee shop where we met.i called the bikeshop to tell them 'shit happens'.worded such.
Kendra never stopped by for lunch.
that,s okay.i ordered a sandwich. |
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| (no subject) |
[Thursday September 28th 2006|11:34 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | fursaxa, lepidoptera | ] |
i don,t have you for lunch.
make cards,tapes,send letters.
i don,t telephone.i don,t drop by.
+that,all that,is what i don,t fill myself w/.
it is me,my tiredness.my misery.
(i/i don,t/don,t do/do enough/anything) x (for anyone).
could i call someone?
could i make somone a sandwich?+soup?sometime? |
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| (no subject) |
[Tuesday September 26th 2006|02:12 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | feathers, espers, castanets | ] |
i.
anafter-noon brightlike newcopper
memories Ongreywaves sunflashLike.
of my young mother,father.me,my
littleSister
on a deck
w/ bowls of Spaghetti,Shirley Temples,plate of steamers.
so we went to the chippedpaint benchseats
airreeking of the BoatYard.
picked clamshells f/m the bowl,oneatatime
peeledoff the grimycoating, firstswirling in hotwater
+dipping in butter.
ii.
rains in Sept.ropes of,at night.dimlylit backrooms w/ candles +Carol King.
amongst good Co.:
drinking of/in Newport
feasting on its fare.
1. mussels in beer broth:chorico,peppers,onions.
2. calamari w/ wasabi-aioli.
3. aluminum cans of Narragansett
iii. hello,Tues.!looking like my Grampa's jigsawpuzzles
like a BobRosslandscape,orNormanRockwell
hello,Tues.,like a haiku. |
|
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| (no subject) |
[Saturday September 16th 2006|06:14 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | my morning jacket, run thru. out hud, this bum,s paid | ] |
a.
this horoscope forecasts something of an Apocalypse for me.
Eclipses. the Tower. the End of the Beginning. the Beginning of the End.
b.
Mon. +Tues. free from work.
Sun. night w/ Kristin.
anyone interested in accompanying +bearing witness to the spectacle i will doubtless make of myself is cordially invited.
répondez s'il vous plaît
(741,7866)
c.
presently:
salad (sans spinach)
red wine
Harry Potter book iii
ears gulping Music w/ Great Thirst
knitting rainbow scarf
d.
i,m turned Grey from you soulless types.
i think i,m in league w/ you.
it makes me just as Heartless, Inhuman. |
|
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| (no subject) |
[Wednesday September 6th 2006|12:29 am] |
my earseyesheartmindhands:burn on a greasy wick of nothing;run on shit +garbage.(7)seven black unconscious hrs. of
the sound of
breathing in,out.
+then,like a wrinkled wombspat infantthing:
AM headachingsludgethoughts
washedout greybledblacks reeking of
what isweat out
like:fever sweatsout
sickness.reeking
like minersblind in caves |
|
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| letters again,+for it i am grateful |
[Friday September 1st 2006|10:44 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | send oriels hypo! | ] |
i:
"quilting" together paper from guestchecks,spiraltorn threeXfive in. memorandom sheets,complimentary hotellogo notepads:scotchtaped and roughedged.ordering typewriterribbon,painting nine-and-one-half by twelve-and-one-half manilla envelopes.
ii:
fashioning no. ten envolopes from the newspaper,coloring them in the manner of the seventies;coloring them oranges,browns,greys.reds,blacks(in the manner of the seventies)with pencils;brushstroke-painting;contourdrawing in sharpie. |
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| (no subject) |
[Tuesday August 29th 2006|08:24 pm] |
i.
overcoming workplaceanxiety.finefinefinefinefinally.
ii.
stopped drinking coffee.
for OVER one(1) week.just to see that i could.actually.
+i did.+it was pointless
torture.so
coffee +myself ARE again +are not AREN,T.
iii.
a. is away
a. is away until wednesday.
+i was thinking about
how i never ever think about calling anybody!
how i never ever think about my (old)friends?
+why?when did it..?
did my/is it..?
because what,s in my head always
getsinthewayof "having a time!".
or is it like
what isn,t in my head?
(myforehead feelslikea
WW
AA
LLL
LLL)
+is this too personal for you?
i mean because i do it for me really.
don,t pay it any mind! |
|
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| (no subject) |
[Saturday August 19th 2006|09:39 pm] |
pne pf these days when i have lpts pf mpney
i just want tp ask a dpctpr
why it is
i get sp sick sp pften sp quickly
thrpatfeelslikeit,s
pssified.
you know pssified.
this feverfeelslike
i was never rid pf July. |
|
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| (no subject) |
[Friday August 18th 2006|10:42 pm] |
i wonder a lot lately
if i should bother with the lot of them.
i prefer water to blood.
blood has a stench afterall, +not a sweet one.
afterall, water one washes one,s hands with.
afterall blood is mostly water anyway. |
|
|
| ,nother (hunnerd-doller) day |
[Sunday August 13th 2006|04:51 pm] |
[landlord,s pockets are full
for now
+i,ve bought new
blackblack clothes, black shoes,
the reMainder of Aug., the $$ goes
toward tuition
(this is bad isn,t it?) for school
(still) can,t quite get accustomed to almost feeling..
comfortable. (still) can,t reLax.
i feel no security +it,s eroding me]
the truth may be, that
things very well may be
good? they aren,t bad +i can,t admit it.
it,s my crutch, w/out which i,d haven,t the excuse to be what i am.
which (very well) may be that i,m quite a Miserable Wretch.
may be
5:39pm
anyway:i am almost inspired again.but the Fear sits on my chest like the Hag in the Night.
Fear has it,s bonehand/phalanges throttling my soulthing like an infantthroat.
i,d turn it,s pigsticker back in it,s gut(less) if i/but i/when... |
|
|
| grandsire |
[Saturday August 12th 2006|11:44 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | neil young heart of gold | ] |
i listen for the hours:
8,noon,6,+9
rung in bells
at St. Joseph,s Catholic Rectory
two streets across.
in May Jun. +Aug.
so like a So. American mission
+in winter (Oct., esp.)
like being in Glastonbury
like
Elsewhere.elsewhere.
2. K speaks about growing up in the Azores, speaks of travel, of her grandmother, lisbon. that life. i eat at it quick/delicate: a sunriseyardbird,suck the fingertips clean. +i remember Viv Madrid.
finally:
i,d love to take some pictures(ifbutwhen) |
|
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| this wool carpet itches itches.. |
[Friday August 11th 2006|06:40 pm] |
august:
it took me a few months.
i,ve finally got my shit together.
hrs + $$ = i.made/did.it
bounc'd from restau to restau: wasn,t satisfied [waitressing] here nor there. managing=a nightmare if financially rewarding. we,re doing well at Yesterday's:
lunches bring in $sixty to a $hundred. dinners, one-fifty or two hundred and up. steady hours, six days a week.
work place anxiety is intense, depending, varying. today i was slightly less terrified talking to peers.
this summer i,ve read far too many King novels. Christine (godawful), Misery (not bad), Wastelands (can't go wrong with Dark Towers). 6 6 6 was Scholastic Book Club level reading; predictably dull. Kendra,s donation: AHWOSG (d. eggars.)
1. exterior decorating completed! christmas tree lights, candles on every fence post.
3. other projects on hiatus.
I FEEL... BETTER! |
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the_brown_bunny's journal
