Quixotically Yours,

can we please?

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 23:29:23 GMT

Someday I will stop being ashamed of the fact that I listen to one song by Miley Cyrus, one song by the Spill Canvas, and two songs by Metro Station.

But not today.

How. Embarassing.

Also, this play and this physiology class is driving me insane.

NO MORE TALKING ABOUT DICKS IN ANY FORM.

PLEASE.

I would like a warning label.

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Thu, 20 Aug 2009 22:27:46 GMT

All these posts are downer. Not today.

There's a male model who wants to get with me. As shallow as it seems, things like this kind of make you feel like a baller.

Monsoon for now, dry spell later.

As for this moment? I do not fucking motherfucking care at all.

Heygirlparty!

Two months later

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Sun, 16 Aug 2009 05:40:25 GMT

A different smell. A different house. A different set of habits. A different guilt with a different sparkle.

I am learning about plants.

A case study

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Sat, 18 Jul 2009 07:05:38 GMT

He always smelled very strongly of Dove soap. As if the requisite morning shower hadn't quite held up its end of the bargain and the situation might be a little itchy. I suspect he foamed when it rained. I lent him a shirt when he stayed over and even after several washings it still smelled like ivory bar.

A stray sniff on the bus, in the drugstore, in line at one of those places you stand in line at, and I'm one more time waking up to the raining window, still tired and bright.

Went to a sense memorial this afternoon, though chemically I'm not sure how to pay my respects.

Man, I love overextending metaphors.

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Sun, 29 Mar 2009 06:48:30 GMT

Big stupid distance. Big stupid miles.

That's the way it is.

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 09:54:47 GMT

You said it, good buddy. You sure did.

Song

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 09:43:44 GMT

The weight of the world 
     is love. 
Under the burden 
     of solitude, 
under the burden 
     of dissatisfaction 

     the weight, 
the weight we carry 
     is love. 

Who can deny? 
     In dreams 
it touches 
     the body, 
in thought 
     constructs 
a miracle, 
     in imagination 
anguishes 
     till born 
in human-- 
looks out of the heart 
     burning with purity-- 
for the burden of life 
     is love, 

but we carry the weight 
     wearily, 
and so must rest 
in the arms of love 
     at last, 
must rest in the arms 
     of love. 

No rest 
     without love, 
no sleep 
     without dreams 
of love-- 
     be mad or chill 
obsessed with angels 
     or machines, 
the final wish 
     is love 
--cannot be bitter, 
     cannot deny, 
cannot withhold 
     if denied: 

the weight is too heavy 

     --must give 
for no return 
     as thought 
is given 
     in solitude 
in all the excellence 
     of its excess. 

The warm bodies 
     shine together 
in the darkness, 
     the hand moves 
to the center 
     of the flesh, 
the skin trembles 
     in happiness 
and the soul comes 
     joyful to the eye-- 

yes, yes, 
     that's what 
I wanted, 
     I always wanted, 
I always wanted, 
     to return 
to the body 
     where I was born.

San Jose, 1954

Allen Ginsberg, you sly devil.

I believe

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Wed, 25 Feb 2009 05:17:48 GMT

Sail on, captain. Sail. On.

arrythmia again

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Tue, 24 Feb 2009 03:54:55 GMT

Irregular beatings.

Regular beatniks.

Same old, same old.

But!

I have a new pair of shoes. I think I shall go make them old.

For that moment

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Mon, 23 Feb 2009 17:52:23 GMT

A wanting begins in the half.
And ends in the quarter.
Whodathunk that
the things so necessary
so available
so easy
so surprising
so much
so little
so sharp
so thrilling
so sexy!
so new!

so what.

Seriously.

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Thu, 15 Jan 2009 19:10:46 GMT

Universe. Hello.

DOES CHRISTINE HERDE. LOOK. LIKE. A BITCH?

I didn't fucking think so.

The things a body tells you

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Tue, 02 Dec 2008 09:12:10 GMT

Could the folding stomach be because of hunger?

Could the pine slow step be from too much walking?

And the water. And the salt. And the paper.
What about those?
If bodies move in very small dances,
from cold or fear,
do they still keep time?

The nerves stop short at the fingertips,
the hair stops long at the shoulder.
The fingernails tucked in, sleeping,
The back is ever so small.

Bones do clank
Tendons with the sound of plastic wrap
Blood that shrieks through open-faced tubes, splashing over the sides
a slap- it hits the ground in sheets

the body is crowded.

The water is piss-warm
and I paid too much to stand here in line for 90 minutes
holding a tandem inner tube.

Thing is,

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Sat, 29 Nov 2008 03:44:47 GMT

Whenever I'm feeling down, I can put on old dance movies and get right back up.

Gene Kelly, what would I do without you?

trace.

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 10:00:08 GMT

And if you ever leave before I wake
I will follow you in dreams,
a snake around your feet, your arms, your neck.
Sleeping in your hair by day, chasing all your fears away at night.

Nothing's right and nothing's wrong,
just as long as you will stay.

But if you decide to disappear, disappear without a trace.
Don't save a single kiss of me.
I will search and find a thousand oceans to drown my memories of you.
Swaying hair like seaweed
Dolphins wear you smile.
Fishes' lips as soft as breasts.

Everything weighs least in water, even grief
So if you want to leave me,
leave.
but do it just the way a tear drops into the sea ."

- Peter Verhelst and Ultima Vez -

contact.

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Sat, 08 Nov 2008 10:03:16 GMT

Disappearing is entirely too easy sometimes. Downbeat two three four and I'm gone daddy gone.

I hate claiming the state of confusion. It seems like such a cop out, innocently befuddled and completely without blame.

Remember when?

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Thu, 06 Nov 2008 11:16:20 GMT

all things are inspired tonight.

Am I ready for this?

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Sun, 05 Oct 2008 09:02:10 GMT

No.

puppy.

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Thu, 25 Sep 2008 05:32:48 GMT

why did you go
little fourpaws?
you forgot to shut
your big eyes.

e.e. cummings

arson-ed.

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Tue, 16 Sep 2008 06:39:16 GMT

I was reading LJs from about one year ago.

Man, what a bad idea that ever was.

I used to watch my brother build houses of cards. Card castles, he would call them. They were multi-storied, sprawling things that required about three or four decks and the occasional index card for dramatic effect. Amazing stuff. He would sit there for hours, digging the edges of cards into the carpet, teetering one heavy piece of paper on the edge of another, creating intricate and precarious artworks in hearts and spades.

Naturally, my favorite thing to do was throw things at them. You know: pennies, marbles (for these were the days when one had marbles simply lying about), shoes, stiff gusts of air if I could manage it... I loved knocking that shit down. There was something incredibly satisfying in wrecking hours of work without anything more than what could be lifted with one hand. Sometimes he laughed and lent a hand, sometimes he got very, very upset. I never understood why sometimes he got so mad and other times it was nothing.

And now I know what it feels like when someone chucks a shoe at your house of cards.

Aint funny a'tall.

but this time I really mean it.

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 05:24:28 GMT

Fuck. All.

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 20:12:01 GMT

Supposedly celebrating my last days of you know, whatever, I really gotta wonder where the hell I am.

The problem with our generation is that we're all too focused on ourselves.

...But how does this apply to *me*?

Sweet Jesus

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 01:59:55 GMT

To prevent impending burnout I took the day off.

Still on fire, though. And not in the way that is deserving of high fives.

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Wed, 19 Dec 2007 00:50:24 GMT

Gin and cranberry juice at three in the afternoon.

Aint winter vacation grand?

User discretion is advised.

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Sun, 09 Dec 2007 07:10:41 GMT

I woke up this afternoon with my face in the floor and the taste of feet in my mouth. All ten fingers, all ten toes present though certainly not accounted for.

He says to me, "Maybe by being with you I'll learn to talk more."

I say, "Maybe I'll learn to talk less."

sometimes

bluetiger0586@yahoo.com — Sat, 27 Oct 2007 07:54:47 GMT

i wake up and start seeing before my eyes are open. You know, like when you close your eyes and are still awake but you're aware that your eyes are closed. Sometimes you can see the fine red line where the two lids come together. It's like that.

Do you ever fall asleep in strange places throughout the day? Laying on the couch reading some (surely) well-writ piece of literature i kept drifting in and out of dreams that can only be described as "cracked out," then waking up to pretend like i hadn't been sleeping at all-just in case anybody was looking.

They say this is a sign of depression.

i am not convinced.

After laying awake with my eyes closed for a while, i became so bored with my state of mind and the shapes swimming in it that i went to the bathroom and took a good long look at the bottle of generic aspirin we bought from Wal-Mart to keep our Christmas tree fresh last year. They say you're supposed to put aspirin in Christmas tree water. Don't ask me why. i just do it.

i lined up thirty white dots and thought about Sylvia Plath and Susanna Kaysen, mostly because we keep "Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams" on our toilet tank. i chuckled and scooped them back into the bottle. Silly.

Now, keep in mind, dear reader, that i wasn't actually considering crunching down on this heaping handful of cheap aspirin, but rather going through the motions in an explorative sense. Like kids playing "doctor."

They say this is also a sign of depression.

i am still not convinced.