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September 24th, 2005
July 6th, 2005
09:17 pm
through filtered lamplight
languid angles of skin glow
and sputter white-hot
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June 18th, 2005
08:23 pm - dear elektra
sometimes I feel as if I should
feel more than this:
vague compulsions of the heart that
drive us to seek out what we lack
in ourselves, mirrored in the
deficiencies of those we are drawn to -
strange curiosity I can see
reflected back in your eyes,
so like mine
your piano hands, your bottom lip
that swells in that same crazy curve
I have traced with my own tongue
and the sudden black moods that
drive us to hide from what surrounds us:
you are so familiar, and yet
you are such a stranger to me.
why should it be such a contradiction?
is this why I disconnect?
I am afraid, perhaps, because you
have never been able to find what you
are looking for, and so why should I?
the strength I have always
put on draws all the wrong halves
that never fit properly, no matter
how much I would like them to, and
perhaps I am young, perhaps I am
jumping the gun, but sometimes these
sudden images pop up:
I will be forty and I will be
driving a bus, the drone of
"step behind the yellow line" the
only interaction with the world around me
and I will truly be your daughter
and yet,
and yet, you can choose your family
and I am young
and I have to believe that I am
not you after all, I have to believe
for both our sakes
that I am not your daughter anymore.
but this is not news:
after all, it was seventeen years ago
when we split for good,
and yet only three since we burned
our last bridges.
then why do I still think of you?
I don't want to think of you. I don't
want to be lonely
and yet I want to pull you out of
whatever you've fallen into, no matter
if it drags me down as well.
I keep looking for you
in everyone I meet, and I find myself
wanting to fall in love;
narcissism, in one part,
isn't there another complex
they call it? I don't know what to
say anymore, I don't know what I can
do to get out of this rut, but I know
what hangs in the balance,
and I suppose it's not just for me,
but for us both.
I wonder what we could have been,
if we had been given another chance?
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April 16th, 2005
11:19 pm
Integrating with ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) robi0688. Time thing, you see.</span>
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March 17th, 2005
March 11th, 2005
March 2nd, 2005
09:52 pm
For the history/politic buffs around:
Which period of history had the greatest influence on our modern society, the Renaissance or the Enlightenment?
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09:35 pm
busy with school. hate social class with a passion; any teacher who manages to turn me off history is accomplished, indeed.
hmmm. life manages to be utterly exhausting, and yet so uneventful at the same time. in one week, i will be seventeen. time flies when you're busy as fuck.
ba da ba, on the bright side, poetry anthologies are worth nearly fifty percent of our english 11 mark. bless moesher.
-
the first time you left, i had felt trapped in my
own skin for the first time, nearly climbing the
walls for a way out of the rubble you left behind
then, suddenly, a sort of euphoric peace settled,
and i could breathe again, enough to see past
the initial months, when i had relied on you
for years, i finally learned to stand alone.
i realize now, that there is no such thing as
last chances, no such thing as the weaker
half, that we must make our own way and
never mind those who have paved it for us
that’s what lets me sleep at night, that’s what
stopped the shaking, the night sweats, the
restless nausea in the pit of my stomach
tomorrow, or the next day, or the next,
i could be gone. i could be anywhere.
so just wait. if there’s one thing i’ve
learned from you, it’s how to stand alone
Current Music: jim yoshii pile-up
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February 14th, 2005
07:41 pm
yeah, it's an overcommercialised bastardisation of honest sentiments: but then again, there's the candy.
you dressed up like bacchus, i was pan, and we danced in the falling snow; i played the reed-flute with my textbook, you fed me grapes with your lips and your fingers and kissed away the last of the coffee. you picked a branch off a nearby tree and tucked it behind my ear - somehow it smelled sweeter than any rose could dream of.
it's times like these i think i could love you, if only i tried a little harder.
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February 6th, 2005
12:35 am
dance until the world forgets your face and repaint yourself in a cloud of stars
--
she says this is a bad idea, that i'm fucking up the best friendship left within a three-hour radius, that we'll all get hurt in the end. but i've never made any promises, he knows exactly what we are and what the boundaries are - if we've been one thing, it's honest. and goddamnit, it's nice to be adored for once.
--
and yet there's no fireworks, no sparks, not even a smidgen of static electricity. we're a fucking molecular compound, no protons to be seen. i want my explosives back, my tnt and matches, the long, slow burn of a lighter. i want black ribbons and masks and sultry sneers and sarcasm i can rub against until my skin scratches raw; half wit and half intimidation and all promise.
--
but oh, gods, his fingers. those calluses on my shoulders, across my collarbone, i can almost pretend.
--
i can feel the heat of our crash and burn already, but the winters are already so cold that i can't help drawing near
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January 29th, 2005
05:29 am
there’s an ache building pressure
in the empty spaces behind my heart
flooding my lungs
with that once-again familiar ache
i want to bite your throat, rip the
vocal chords out with my teeth
i want to be the hangover curling
the roots of your perfect hair
and you have set my nerves to
thrumming like a high-voltage wire,
burning bring on the wrong side
of my skin
i want to blow smoke into your
mouth, steal words from your tongue
i want to be the bullet between your
eyes, the blood in your arteries
and i want you to know:
even though it seems you’ve won
don’t you know all these scars
are despite you?
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January 19th, 2005
08:30 am
why can't i be one of those brittle tortured souls that whittle away to fragile beauty whenever they are at a low ebb in life? instead, my nose and eyes turn red and the skin hangs off my bones in retaliation of too many long evenings at the piano and too many of Schubert's arias. i find my vision is going somewhat spotty and migranes are becoming a default way of living: sleep, he says, but he doesn't understand.
or, perhaps he does. last night we drove to the overlook and watched the streetlights flicker to life, one by one across the entire town. and when he put his hands over mine, gently - always gently, i had thought myself all cried out. it seems i was wrong.
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January 8th, 2005
10:34 pm
The first time I saw you, it was through a haze of smoke and vodka and tacky pink neon lights. You slid onto a chair and into the conversation with a sort of familiar ease, all laughter and warm, easy smiles. My own, hid behind a cigarette, felt crooked and awkward in comparison, my laughter too loud and too uncouth. I wanted to blow smoke into your mouth, steal the words from your tongue. I wanted to bite your throat, rip the vocal chords right out with my teeth. I was torn between wanting to become you, your shining eyes and perfect hair, and wanting to fuck you until you forgot everything but my name, filthy and unbidden on your perfectly painted lips. You must have caught the hunger in my eyes or the guilt on my face for suddenly, inexplicably, you faltered and flushed. I excused myself before I did something we might both regret and retreated to run my face under a tap of cold water, hoping to wash you down the drain with the rest of the liquor.
The second time I saw you was a month later, perched on a friend's dryer, a door the only escape between the party and our silence. You smelled of Downy and fresh flannel: this time there was no awkwarness, no need for words. You smiled, sunny and bright, I felt my lips following into that same, crazy curve of their own accord. I had the sudden urge to press myself against you, hold onto your hips and grind my fingers in until they left bruises. Your face turned wicked, head dipping forward, hair brushing over your breasts, just daring -- the countdown began, someone burst in to drag us both out. Dibs you for midnight he says, smiling against the curve of my ear. You disappeared into the crowd, I clung to his hand and willed myself not to scream.
The third time I saw you was under the harsh lights of a seven-eleven, your hair bleached, your pants too tight. You smirked and held out a cigarette, an unfamiliar, cold glitter tainting your eyes. I declined; you crushed the last of your own under a spiked heel and stalked off, blowing smoke through your teeth.
The fourth time I saw you was too recent to see objectively: you were sprawled out on the pavement, limbs at haphazard angles, surrounded by medics trying to revive your aching heart. I took one look and walked away.
No one understood why the tears couldn't stop coming.
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/classic/sad.gif) exhausted
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January 5th, 2005
01:22 am
... And now I know how Alice felt
when she stepped through the looking glass
He paces, nails bitten to the quick, hopped up
on adrenaline and the workings of his mind
while she sits, staring at the kitchen table
as if it holds the secrets to the universe.
Or, if that seems a little ambitious, maybe an
idea of what we’re all doing here. Every
once in a while she croaks out a laugh.
I pour fresh coffee into the mug I’m holding.
For lack of anything else to do, I add milk
between sips until it is pale and past lukewarm.
When that excuse runs out, I add sugar
instead, cling to it like I can suck the nonexistent
warmth into my chilled bones. The night is
cold, but the stale kitchen air is even colder.
No one moves to turn up the thermostat.
Even though I’ve rendered it undrinkable
by the sheer amount of shit mixmangled in
I take a sip
and wait for this uneasy truce to finally break.
This is so far from what I expected.
This isn’t fireworks, and fireworks are so us.
I spent the hours previous to this moment
talking myself out and talking myself back in
I planned gestures and entire conversations.
I marked alibis and exits, but it all went
to hell the second they walked in the room.
This could last minutes, quarters, halves,
hours – and it very nearly does
Silence, usually so foreign to us, settles like
an uncomfortable and overheated blanket.
So I dump my coffee sink in the sink, pour a new cup,
and I wait for us all to unhinge.
After all, everyone loves a trainwreck
and whose is better to watch than your own?
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January 2nd, 2005
09:49 pm
still recovering from new years + the impromptu mosh pits in queenie's kitchen, not to mention nearly freezing my ass off because some fuckers don't know how to install insulation in their garages. however, i did see brett for the first time in nearly a year, which was, well. brett is always brett and brett will always be brett, no matter what. oh, but he does kiss a boy pretty.
now, if the russians could play with some class and the refs could remove their heads from their urethras, life could have the possibility of being... nice.
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December 22nd, 2004
01:18 pm
dear mother of god, why do i want to write a phantom novel?
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/classic/shock.gif) distressed
Current Music: friday i'm in love
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December 17th, 2004
09:12 pm - point of no return
marco
i think i would like to see you
the way no one else has seen you
i think i would like to be the one
to see past your smoke and mirrors
and layer upon layer of deflections:
even you’re not quite sure of
what is metal and what is skin
i would like to peel you open
like a tangerine, piece by piece
until there’s nothing left to hide
and coax you out into the night:
make your skies crash down
and your moon spin retrograde
and your assumptions fall like stars
yes i would like to watch you finally
unfurl in all your splendour,
shedding the facades and the
empty masquerades, the trappings
and fear of everyday lives.
i think i would like for us to
ultimately, simply, exist
leaving ourselves to nothing but
cells and interwoven muscle memory
yes, i would like to find you there
( polo )
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December 11th, 2004
12:56 pm
`riffs wrapping around one's spinal chord
`soft scratches of imperfect, callused fingers
`slow dancing in gravel pits as the drums race behind and around us
`midnight toasts
`hope
!bang
!bang
!bang
!bang
!bang
!bang
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December 9th, 2004
02:48 pm
May he be the Cowboy from Hell that brings down the house in that big rock stadium in the sky.
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December 7th, 2004
03:16 pm
i have felt strangely on-edge and out of sorts for the entire day, sparks under my fingernails and an itch in my fists that begs to be pounded out. between the show and the reports and the portfolio deadlines, my mind has not had a moment to itself for oh, weeks. and sleep? sleep is for fucking pussies. yeah, that's right, you heard me.
i have been looking for excuses all day, every little comment guilded with a razor's edge, teeth at the quick, yeah i fucking dare you. come on. let's go. come on.
is this your lucky day?
Current Music: morissey - striptease with a difference
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