dear dear dears,

i will not be writing here no mo.'

however, i want to avoid complete deletion as it clearly states in my info: this isnt a journal, this is where i keep things that i dont want to lose. so upon discovery of a tidy niche inside microsoft word to keep my ramblings, i will scram completely. farewell comrades!

they are so plastique

i am so tired of their honesty, your
big pink heart in their sand dollar hands

it just bloodies me
is there a reason for this
i have wondered

of you
grittily, tepidly soaking
the scars on your stomach
a warm bath, the sponge-tip of your
laughter, oh i have thought

of you covering your mouth
opening & closing the sky

i imagine you at seven
blowing spit bubbles.
as i tap my fingers to your heart beats.

i have been determined, deterred
reconciled diminished
defiled, objective subjective
covered in disbelief, i have
searched and searched your marrow

sucked and swished it
against my teeth, gargled it
touched it to my uvula
doused it in flame, scorched it, saved the ash
and never scattered it,
scrunched it like an accordion
into my pockets

walked the wobbly edges of Capri
coddled distance
holding its hand in mine

i have sung to you in closets: i have been
a nightingale, maybe all along

flicking against steel strings, tightening
and loosening my body
to accommodate you

i have told you stories
& stayed silent for the war of it,
tugged the sleeves of your silo
stubbed my toes on memories
of you.

hung myself from the gallows
of June, found you in languages i never
knew existed

and needed you, abruptly harshly
and truly

loved you undaunted
in full circles
walked around myself
over and over the lines
while you stood in the center
and held out your arms

i divided and multiplied you
in one movement brushed you to the side
and pulled you to me: i have
feigned magnetic, held you
in the flesh, then in dreams
like iron
in a pool under my tongue
tasted and smelled you for days

scraped the tears from your face like
clay from a sculpture, with love.
forever building.

walked into your valleys and never
walked out

oh how you shifted
from one thought to the other
told me of your father's diagrams
the buildings in which you photographed

ivory and covered in sleep the ways
you have hurdled
counted sheep and waited
for the rain, taken me
to the front of myself, learned me
without question
traced the axis's of my body

climbing my barricades and i
in the dark
clumsily navigating
your map


i have been devoured and devious
i have been past the core

i have been the only one left
i have been the only one
i have lived with you, lost my footing
and loved with you

found and kept and shouldered
you like a tangent,
gone quietly

and unquietly
into Autumn
with you

i have been discovered wandering
the avenues west of center
younger than i've ever been i have
added you to my body
added you to paper,
remembered you
in songs & letters
even though you slept
next to me

i have
been both first and last
like bookends i have kept you
on the shelf, raided you and braided you
like hair i have found you silver
cut down to the skin

scrupulously untied you
strung you around my neck derailed
you i have learned

now: i love
without rest
without shade like new
i love! equally and unequally
down so many paths
to the same place

i have simply come
naked as night, to tell you the story:
you may already know it
but i keep writing it

like there is nothing else in the world to write.


Milan Kundrea will tell you all in an ever so delicate poetic fashion that trying to define one's self is futile. Outsiders define us, and our idea about our definition is ultimately tainted by that very thing: a rippling reflection of ourselves in a pool of water of which we choose the most outer abstracted rings of images to be the truest reflection of ourselves. This false imago is a watered down ontology that is no more to the human spirit than tax forms and sitcoms. Ive given up on defining myself, or maybe I just sold myself a long time ago to the subcultures rehashed by Urban Outfitters and Target. All I am is a drab section of the bibliography of the biographies written about someone else's life that will inspire a teenager with an overbite in Maine and a man in China looking at a water bug he's caught in a jar from the water drenched rice fields of his village. This is my abstraction, my excuse for apathy. I try to rationalize it like Elridge Cleaver tried to rationalize raping White Women to justify his "black rage" in Soul On Ice. It's just difficult for me to rest my head with age, weeding through bad memories to find the solace of blue book bed time stories, chalk, and merry go rounds: pure, too simple to need definition.

dear dear dear dear

dear _______,

i am in your room while you work, not tempted to go through your things, though i wonder if you are worrying about that.  i am in your room alone for hours eating your captain crunch "all berries" and i dont really mind the awkwardness, at the end of the day, you are here and so am i.  how could you ever doubt that i love you?  i am eating the captain crunch you had bought one day after hearing it was my favorite.  how could i ever doubt that you love me?  

so, folks dont think much of me. BUT do they know i can sing the canadian national anthem? do they know i can make 10 minute rice in 7 minutes? do they know i can name all 22 administrative division regions of france? do they know i know the answer to why a raven is like a writing desk? do they know a fish hook went through my ear at age 7 as it was hanging from a tree and i lived to tell about it? and, do they know i love the goddamn hell out of you?

love -
  • Current Music
    iron and wine


there's no sense in feeling heartbroken. but i left my sense in the airport vending machine last thursday. needing change needing so much change.


Okay, so here is your tentative list for a mixtape from yours truly. NOW YOU GIVE ME ONE. if you want to.


ps - some titles may be off, as i am unreliable.

jefferson starship - we built this city
freur - doot doot
the cure - six different ways
rolling stones - she smiles sweetly
chris isaak - baby did a bad thing
belle and sebastian - if youre feeling sinister
coco rosie - by your side
butterfly boucher - another white dash
mirah - dancing in the dark (cover)
kinnie starr - alright
bright eyes - bowl of oranges
talking heads - water flowing under (?)
matt pond pa - measure 3
mirah - cold cold water
mineral - unfinished
damien rice - cannonball
spirituality - ladies and gentleman, we are floating in space
joseph arthur - in the sun


late afternoon breeds paper napkin ideologies penciled out in cafe's. not the fashionable cafe's, soggy french toast cafes, where the edges of your plate smell like the waitress's last cigarette break. my order is less complicated than usual because ive been reduced by the setting, i want to call myself patty. patty blue elastic sweatpants. patty mcdonalds happy meal watches. patty back window stuffed animal decorations. patty beige bathtub. patty would know odd facts about an nfl sports team and she would sink her sundays deep beneath the patched couch cushions of the lazy boy. her furniture obviously would not match and she would never feel uneasy about that. i wrote a letter to the CIA, it took me 5 napkins, but i figured it would save them time if they ever were to start a file on me. i hear the CIA is very busy.

Dear CIA,

My plans are to move to Greece and rally attentions to the ideas of self management of Andre Gorz and the progressive left ideology of Nicos Poulantzas along with implementing a base to call for farmers reforms as Boze did in France.

I don't care to spend any energy or time to rally for change within the US. Anyone can see that the structure of the working class has been so fragmented that the striking or stoppage of work in one plant can simply be rerouted to another. It's also very clear that invention of micro management over the last 10 years has given the false impression to white collar class of this country that they are in fact in charge of their work environment. The actuality of the situation is that U.S. capitalism has created with intent, a working class -- both blue collar and white collar, which cannot control the means of production. Now these observations aren't to hint at any pessimism about not being able to re energize the conscience of the working class -- no it simply alludes to the best path needed to accomplish the overthrowing of the American Bourgeois and it's symbiotic Government. A route which the US Government knows all too well exists as we have seen in the actions of the CIA involvement in Guatemala during Allen Dulles years of the
CIA director -- or in the United States and Britain's involvement in the Greek Military Junta.

I hope this has been of some service to you.


i laughed so hard at my napkins when i was finished that i started to choke. there i was, a laughing choking spectacle in the middle of thee diner, a fish flapping around on an old boat, as if my life had turned into some sort of involuntary refuge. like a wounded stinking fish oozing against your children's tiny bare feet, i realized the setting hadnt reduced me, i had reduced the setting.


in august
the sun dress
of his
and clings
to her
the sun
in the
of the

next august
next august
d est r o y



sun dresses

to hide
from September

buried in
in an attic.


just this year.


My friend's away message, I really dont understand it much, but god did it ever make me choke on my low cal beer:

"IM SCARED OF PIG/RABBIT!!! my sister got it, i dunno what it called so mom put it on my boob and i was SCREAMMMMM cuz i scared of that animal. then that animal was crawl under my hair and i keep screammm then mom said shhh!!! that baby so i said so!?! GET IT OUT OF MY ROOM!!! then mom said "calm down" and she keep watching me hold that one and i keep scared and screammmmmmmm then mom took it and said that animals wont bite me but i said yes would! mom rolling eyes and laughing then leave. ahhh "

(he is a gay, gay man)

The usual player hating.

Allow me to be immature for a moment and give a much delayed assessment of the Reagan hoopla:

Ronald Reagan is dead, I know dis. However, just because someone dies does not mean you make them out to be something they never were. All I saw for a week were television shows praising his presidency and all of the wonderful things he did for this country.

Ten unbiased reasons why I cannot praise Reagan simply because he died:

1. He lived a long full live that some of the victims of his homophobia and bigotry never got the benefits of doing. You know the whole ignore AIDS thing that happened back in 80's, because it's just a "gay disease." Yep, never affects straight people at all. Nope. Nothing to see here, move along.

2. Ketchup as a vegetable. Do I even have to go into this people? The man was senile in office.

3. The image of the "Welfare Queen." You know those chicks who live in the ghetto who just happen to be black who have tons of children for bigger checks and drive cadillacs. Nevermind that during this time and Reagan's time the majority of women on welfare are white. The white southern woman in fact. Think about it! And, I'm not going to demonize people on welfare because I believe that there are people who need welfare. I hate him just as much as I hate Bush who is going to cut funding for section 8 housing. Which means where do poor people go? Where do they turn the mentally ill? To the fucking streets. Food stamp reductions and all this shit. Well people who whine about your taxes being taken to take care of poor people. Here's a little information for you, the percentage of your check that goes to help "people sucking up you taxes" is likely to be no more than 3 dollars. In fact you're looking at a range of about 10 cents to 3 dollars. Woohoo, what were you going to do with that? By yourself a shiny new pack of baseball cards to put in the spokes of your SUV? If you think welfare is so awesome, you try living on 140 bucks per month with a kid.

4. Tax credits for segregated schools. I understand Reagan it's hard to believe that people should want to be together and "kick it" as the kids are saying or that they would want to "cold chill like a villain" with each other. Plus who needs to get rid of racism when we can just feed into it until there's an all out race-war and machetes are handed out like vaccinations. I mean why would people want to learn at the same rate as everyone else? Or even be treated equally? I think it's pretty obvious that the civil rights movement was just about people pretending to want to be equal. Yeah, now that's the ticket.

5. All those tax cuts for the rich in an attempt to make a "Trickle Down" economy. You know what I think really trickled down? The working class hating Reagan. Yeah cause see first you start at the top and then you give all the rich people tax cuts which will stimulate the economy. Sound familiar? Right we're going through that right now. The only problem with that is that at some point there is no trickle down. It never gets to 1) The working class and 2) the poor. They get to work harder without reaping the benefits of a "good economy."

6. $640 Pentagon toilet seats Because those trifling S.O.B's just couldn't sit their flabby asses on regular toilet seats. I'm pretty sure there was a home depot in the area that could have saved them oh, I don't know 600 dollars. In fact how many toilet seats are there in the pentagon? During the 80s $640 was hard to come by even as a wage, you know with minimum wage still being somewhere like 3 to 4 dollars. But then again it was the welfare queens that were milking the system.

7. Massacres in El Salvador.

8. Killing in Lebanon which left over 80 civilians dead. CIA sponsored car-bombing in Lebanon. Because? Why?

9. Education cuts. But what do we need to know book learnin' fer?

10. Telling people that the Russians were going to get us if we didn't act first and we needed nuclear production or else. It sounds sort of similar to another "Saddam is getting ready and could be ready within a few years to launch another terrorist attack against Americans" eh? I guess history does repeat itself.

I'll throw in a bonus people...

11. Remember, it's the trees that cause pollution.

So to all of those people out there saying, "But this is someone's father and grandfather." If he was my grandfather I'd probably be the last to find out about him because, you know, I generally don't hang around people that decide to have millions of "brown skinned" people massacred and let "queer" people die. I cut them out. I'd have been the "estranged" granddaughter. And my grandfather would have never been so cruel because he was not a bitter old man, who sought to impose his Christianity and self righteousness on the world. And neither was he a spendthrift. (and, yes I'm aware that sentences aren't supposed to start with and, but I can do that because I'm the colonel).

P fucking S. I know this rant is late, but I am a busy girl. And, its better late than never.

PPS. I am not heartless. I hate him just as much dead as I hated him alive. Its like praising mother fucking Trent McRacist when he died.

PPPS. Do you guys like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain?

PPPPS. Generally you're only supposed to have one ps and a pps is acceptable but these other ps's are just rubbish. I should be flogged.