Black. Lipstick.

6 02 2012

Give me a topic, a hot topic, not like the store that place is a hot-goth-wanna-be-mess; I used to shop there, it was my favorite so dark so cool I probably spent the most money there than anywhere else in regards to clothes and such when I had disposable moneys though isn’t all money disposable anyway I mean really it’s so obscure a number system that chains us to a system we don’t really enjoy, a date once said to me that money is a tool I think that’s the best way to look at it, maybe not the best way, but it makes it seem less controlling that way. I just cleaned the bathroom it took me like 3 minutes I should probably clean more often–I am not lazy there are just other things more appealing to do   vogue is full of weirdness just layer a bunch of textures together on your body and you’re in it to win it I don’t have weird enough clothes I’ll never be cool but that’s ok I have my dignity not really but that’s ok too I’ll just be or let it be or is it out is be become being leaving like a leaf in a bad season don’t be the reason to flee from treason oooohhhhh ladededadeedeeda not a word but a hum a sad song sung alone in a brightly lit room with echos echoing from room to room with feet going numb from sitting on being sat on being smashed by body mass I need to free write in a new space or find a place that gives me less freedom sometimes it’s too much so there is nothing here at all that’s why I need a topic, not like hot topic but maybe a word or a phrase or an idea that can stir something a little more restrained with like more punctuation and stuff; I like chipped finger nail polished fingers and uncombed hair but I don’t work for vogue so what do I know put sequins and faux fur together and you’re onto something, add some shoulder pads to your elbows and you’re really there– wear a slip with combat boots lace with tree bark limbs sticking out every which way blush made from the left-overs of kate hudsons dinner soup don’t soap it off leave it to be licked off by the dogs of some d-list celebrity on a reality tv show that people will only watch six years later and never ever recognize you the straw that breaks my back is a futon bar up my ass do people still do it up the ass I wonder how often that happens core power to the rescue in the black and white flames of downward leaping cougar side angle split dog don’t spit on my homegirl she got moves you ain’t never seen and will never see cuz she keeps it clean while driving around on electric gasoline that’s one of those cars that go both ways like me but more than both, like all ways because there are always more than two choices, more than two kinds of people, places, things, ideas, and love should be multiplied not divided. But I’d never be a wife of any kind. I wouldn’t even play one in a movie, unless they paid me tons of money. I don’t have any secrets because I am a secret no one sees me even if front of these huge windows. I am not the fairest of them all but I am pretty pale. I’m growing little hairs in places new it’s either a getting older thing or an off-the-hormones thing either way I will not shave. I will be furry hairy old lady with blue eye shadow and a mustache if need be. Juxtaposition. Balance. The combination of that which is considered feminine with that which is considered masculine. I like it. The androgyny. Better than misogyny. Or bigotry. Words that shouldn’t even be written because they lack positivity and that’s what I’m about this year. Ha. Not really. Considering becoming a Satanist but they probably wouldn’t take me because of all the money I at one time gave to hot topic which just sort of mocks them. I need a new topic.

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Free Writing: Surrounded By Horses.

28 01 2012

Yawn the heart shaped box won’t open for Courtney or you or me, super glued like a maxipad to a jr. high locker room high alert like a too short skirt and some very horny dudes who got the blues. Why do they care about women’s underwear? A little skin. Some freckles to bare. Fortunes on the floor. Not believed. Un believed. Unbelievable. Why a cookie would know anything is quite absurd. Wire mouth shut in silent groans of menacing pleasure claws scrape against drywall to protect the back of the nameless gentleman. A scholar in his own right, but never right around me. As in wrong, not off. Though he gets off way more than me. I’m denying myself pleasure because I’m a masochist. I also like power. I need to find my own kink. What gets me off. I should really just go for it, whatever I’m thinking. Why the passivity? I need sex all the time, to ease my mind. Orgasmic minds think alike on beaches of broken dreams pain in power powerful pain ecstasy escaping lounging on a cloud of back-breaking sweaty Mexicans with scars on their abdomens and cigars half smoked laying on truck beds. There isn’t beauty in the break-down but the re-building. The realizations. The consternations. The interweaving fabrics of lies and make-believe. My knuckle with marks from a night of belligerent farts choices are like whispers said in the dark; secrets shared with no one, you’re all alone with your choices. Like Patti Smith’s horses. Wild or tame, either way, you make them every second of the day. And no, there are not erasers. And no, you can’t turn back. And no, you deserve to be alone. Because you don’t even know who you are so why should anybody else? There are never cries for help when the heart shape box comes undone. There are never cries for help when sad songs go unsung. There are never cries for help. There are never cries.





Free. Writing.

20 01 2012

Word balloon carrying a tune that isn’t quite distinguishable to the ears like a dog gone wild in a forest of forgotten dreams like a bad movie come to life with unedited scenes a disappointing fart almost silent not close to deadly unlike breakups and too many bottles of booze mixing the two is a toxic combination a reiteration of self destruction unlike any other people do what’s the matter with you have you no soul no control no ability to make it on your own quit talking to me can’t you see you’re making me bleed internally so not really just dramatically with words which is just as bad if you ask me celebrate time alone close to a stereo and music meant for lonely hearts and anxious over-caffeinated trolls with hair sticking up and out never combed they’re just words you say words with meaning without but my life was like a purse you turned inside out spilling everything all over the ground then throwing the purse away contents in disarray no place to go no one to go to no longer a home and how can it be where your heart is when your heart gets squashed along the way when your heart gets thrown away it’s not just sweat to me but proof that I did something bigger than me that I got out there and ran all over you park ground city life mirror shining bright reflections of room never used utilize tenors and bass and high pitch races of minor distractions and major reactions like a drama turned comedy in the bar of some basement travesty a pigeon on the tip of my tongue undone like a board erased there was a time for fun but no longer sunshine fades and the grass grows dead the milkman never comes the tits are dried up wrinkled drooping bags of old silk freckles tickled to death and everyone laughs like it’s some kind of game like life is just one big comedy but what’s the joke supposed to be I don’t smile at your stupidity particularly if you’re on the same road as me particularly when I see what I see which isn’t very pretty not usually the clock ticks forcefully but I just glare and my head starts to pound at the lack of despair at too much to bear at the shear magnitude of nothing nothing not a thing no is there a leash dragging you around collared neck popped collar charmer not like a rapist more like a scholar no need to read books though you’ve made it this far intelligently designed rhymes that turn in your head like meteors flying at the speed of light however fast that is and there is crying when the light turns red because stopping is sort of like being dead and people can’t handle the cycle because there is pain involved and comfort is a charm we hold tight like cacti to the sun so many people flying away never escaping but smiling all the same