7 Randoms: Here I Go Again On My Own (with others).

8 03 2013


1. I don’t know what happened to my neighbor, either he died or went to jail, but either way his stuff was thrown all over the yard and just left there. Afterward people scavenged through it taking whatever they wanted and leaving the rest, the junk, the cardboard boxes, the old mattress—all of it is still sitting there. It weirds me out, he is obviously not an accumulation of his stuff, but when the stuff gets thrown out it’s as if that was all he had— he didn’t have anyone close enough to him to do anything with it. It seems disrespectful. Perhaps it was his karma, what do I know about the situation. All I do know is that I’d never want that much stuff nor would I want my stuff scattered all across a city sidewalk.

2. Lately I’ve been on this positivity kick. I like it. It’s growing on me. But what I’m trying to figure out is if there is a good quality level of positivity a person can have and if one can go overboard. Mainly because I’ve met a couple of people who are so chipper and quirky and positive that I think maybe they’re insane, but then I think maybe I’m just not used to being around people with that kind of energy. I don’t want to get fooled into thinking that’s what positive people act like when really that’s what crazy people act like. I suppose there’s nothing too wrong with that kind of nut-job anyway; it’s okay to live on another planet—the planet of positive power–while on earth right?

3. I’ve been reading an egh book on body language. Most of it is obvious, but there are a few things that I’ve never noticed about people before. I’ve been wondering if I change my physical stature, holding myself in more confident positions, if eventually my mental perspective will change with it.

4. There’s a job I really want in Portland. I will get it.

5. I watched a woman driving as if she never saw a bird in the road before. The car behind her was getting pissed because she kept stopping trying not to run over said bird. I have only on rare occasions not seen a bird move out of the way in time.

6. I have one week left selling dildos. In one years time I have managed to accumulate almost 20 of these contraptions. Just yesterday I concluded that the right vibrator can indeed replace a person, but only in regards to powerful orgasms, the rest—connection, intimacy, desire, lust, love, touch, comes from human to human contact, which basically says to me, throw a toy in the game when you play.

7. I had a dream that I was pregnant. I like literally saw and felt my stomach inflating. I suppose that would be nightmarish if I had not remembered that Madonna also had a pregnancy dream and her interpreter told her it did not necessarily mean a child so much as the creation of something new. A baby project in development. *wipes brow* Close one. Excited for this new creation, whatever it may turn out to be.

Krystal. Gets. Positive.

14 02 2012

Positive thinking that is.

This one is for all the people who think I’m a Debby Downer or a Negative Nancy.

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.