my nails are covered in ridges and bumps from a lifetime of chewing. I vowed id stop but now I have a chipped tooth and bumpy nails like the troughs and peaks of the bottom of the ocean floors. there are vertical lines and there are crescent moon shaped divets. some are wavy, some bubble up on the shape of the nail and not a single nail grows to the finger. will my tooth chip further as i continue my finger to mouth ritual. feeding myself the clear keratin and subway dirt. kid digging in the sandbox collecting all of the germs into my mouth. i have created my own braille language on a fingernail for someone to read my nervous demeanor.
buzzcut
thinking about asking to touch it with my hands – rubbing them across like its fresh cut grass.
its the first image that came into my head this morning.
theres a scene in donnie darko where donnie is talking to his therapist about how he likes thinking about fucking alot, he starts reaching his hand towards his crotch under hypnosis and she snaps waking him and i havent touched anyone in seven months so i feel exactly like this.
maybe i can ask if you kept any of your curls. i would not have anything to do with them because it is not my place. but it is my place to imagine the idea of putting them on my alter, wearing them in a locket like a victorian. moving slowly and i want it faster.
i guess you are right. i am intense.
i taste great brand of tomato ketchup on my table at the diner.
i want to print it on a tshirt for myself. offer myself up as good advertising. sell MY BRAND the girl that wants to fuck - weirdos only.
i believe in destiny. i was told so when i missed the bus. opportunity arrised, learned about afghanistan horse games, buzkashi. I said the american dream is dead to my new friend and he showed me the horses on his phone trying to get the dead calf into the circle. i talked about navy graduation. they put the hats on them. in stiff movements -- its an american nerd camp. brother tells me on the sidewalk that its his first time not wearing a hat outside in months. this would be a demerit!
my dad told me to join the military...it would be the greatest thing i ever do and when i said i could get sexually assaulted he said it was better to get a lifetime check and be honorably discharged than to keep living my life as an artist.
i watched him cry today with the same eyes as mine. blue eyes crying the same as mine.
I carved a M into my ankle with ink for the all great M’s of my life.
a final sign off for my autopsy down the line. Mother, Melvin, Madison, my many lover M’s.
I am on a train towards Rhode Island with all great train lovers on their valentines day train.
I am in my own bind. I left my cable release cord in NY so how am I going to fuck myself in front of the large format camera. last ditch effort to make art this winter with my own body since I am the only one interested in exploring this territory
. driving by connecticut, maybe i could move here to finish a masters by the water.
i keep laughing, imagining myself showing up to brothers navy graduation dressed as a sailor.
Bridgeport. they combined two structures and called it a town. the language apparatus of a toddler naming their first dog.
I think I have to wait a few more years before seriously considering becoming a nun. Can you masturbate in the cloisters? it would be a lifestyle that stops costing me money.
hebrew national hot dog on the train like a real american. I used to make my mom cut up hot dogs into bite size pieces or I wouldnt eat them. its not really sexy to eat a hot dog on a train...
cont...
gods greatest writers burn the pen in solitude.
when I have a porch I want one of the lights to flicker.
I want there to be an occassional cat passing through or staying for a while and I want to feel deeply loved rocking back and forth on my rocking chair by someone.
somewhere on the internet they said the lettuce is killing us.
I will never have the new england frail mother build.
three men in navy suits at the irish pub talking about aircrafts.
they are real and i am not.
pretending to watch ice hockey on the television.
bella thinks my time is worth more money so its better to wait to get paid for the right thing so i scroll the browsers for whats next. and some days i get sidewalk opportunity.
when i am outside i want to be inside. when i am inside i want to be outside.
reversing roles.
when i was 10 i was emailing via yahoo, a beggar for love to a child actor.
i chase boys in my yard and out of my yard. sometimes they dig a hole to get on the other side of the fence like my childhood dogs that ate a hole in the laundry room’s drywall to get away from my mothers reign, coming back covered in mud because it was pouring rain
and i buried this same dog in the backyard with goodnight moon and now i wait for the post office to produce their limited edition run of goodnight moon stamps because i need to add them to my collection.
and i am collecting for reasons unknown maybe so i can show and tell the revolving door of potential lovers in my living spaces.
my walls are dark brown because black walls would be unrealistic.
i have bid on three hats on ebay over the past year so when i get asked at a party if i always wear hats i hesitantly say no, that it is just cold outside
but truth is i usually do wear hats and if i take this hat off my hair is all matted up into knots from my scarf and if anyone was to discover id be so embarassed about it! like when i kept dropping my scarf on the sidewalk or how i am always caught digging in my purse unable to find anything sometimes out of need sometimes out of nervousness. i want to feed him violets again from a package lodged at the bottom of my bag. the color lavender and the flavor laundry detergent. i want to wash your and my mouth out with soap. i want to clean the words i salivate to until and unto time never fully promised.
12.31.24
last day of the year.
its like there being three kings in a game of chess.
i heard it in my dream im not sure what its supposed to mean.
two jugs of milk on my right.
one small one large.
im in primary colors, navy tights, red wool skirt, yellow trench.
i tried to stop biting my nails this month for love. 3/10 grown.
30 percent successful.
im working on holidays this year - not a job , a reframing
one year single.
murdered all of my roaches in a few days time. clearing out the bugs.
my train back and forth to brooklyn is above water.
sitting next to milk. fresh milk. january 20th milk. half drank.
off to the art gallery.
12.13.24
another year passes
sunny in manhattan
i use a magic 8 ball website to direct my life because i have no idea what i’m doing.
last night in the dark hours i revisited voicemails that cut a knife into my heart.
i can only process my feelings into soundscapes.
one of those really cold days where decisions are made without much thought
or consequence.
i was on the bed with too much silence. this time i was the one without expectations. lighting candles and talking. too old and too young
sitting across the table with margiela tabis in the rain.
i watched edward scissorhands last night and cooked myself dinner. self-sufficient.
when your fingers are scissors you hurt everything you need to touch softly.
but i dont have scissors for hands.
Salvaging a sidewalk plant. I take it apart separate the soil from the roots
Into jars of water
four cups of coffee.
I walk outside in my pajamas to deliver a chicken tapestry. My neighbors desires for me are blocked by a barking dog in an elevator.
Sundays ritual is a jazz show and I am too prideful to admit that i spent my week thinking about how to get them into my bed.
My fingertip is split open
Im like a plastic mannequin.
I need to be glued back together to stay still again.
11.21.24
I was the only one seated in the exit row. Fully committed, I read the manual fearing I'd touch the exit doors and not know how to operate the slide. Not sure how they allow untrained civilians to do this. Maybe everyone chooses overconfidence; agrees for the extra leg room. Tonight i leave my humble meager pauper life to live someone elses.
I am the cinder girl being introduced by the prince.
10.8. 24
great flooding in my dream.
denial
seligman arizona.
mom thinks they are manipulating the weather
i am watching fox news at the roadkill cafe in their saloon
the subtitles keep sending strange messages
i wouldnt know if shot by the messenger.
i make it to california today
taxidermy staring through me at the roadkill cafe.
this is my fox news.
10.4.23
i left my diary in the pews,
feeling awfully strange, a sinners diary in a chapel overnight.
i have a cape now; i felt the monks might believe i was mocking them so i de-caped when i entered.
religious service at 6am.
alot of driving and conversation.
sunset with shades of green peeking through.
oddly enough intuition led me to the proper spaces i needed to be in, the ones i feared.
5 more days until i reach california.
another night sleeping with the holy bible.
the rabbit is freed from his box
when the magicians tricks dont work anymore
maybe he becomes hare stew
the witches spell undone
goose with a razor sharp jaw.
coffee and pastry diet
aging is dying i’m certain
with all the versions of myself I killed along the way
protection braids in my hair
overcome with a syndrome where I give into the gravitational pull
pointing me to the most powerful in the room - the ones commanding attention
stepping into mine
constantly tricked by loverboys as they eat from my fruit
Fatal…
Brutal…
you would suppose a lady learns
playing chess and always losing is the sweet spot secondary to overconsumption of caffeine
when i start seeing through.
i came home to an empty house tonight.
i had a dream that a rash was covering, spreading
all over my body.
lines of red dots.
eating bagel in chelsea while tourists pose in front of project housing.
its a beautiful day. the weather is perfect even.
7.19.23
I used to send you postcards to your home…then to your mothers. Everywhere id go i would pick up a 4x6 souvenir paper
And write to the address I memorized.
I dont send you postcards anymore. I save them in a box to send to no one. Maybe i never sent them to anyone. You never wrote me back .
I think i wrote the mailbox.
i dont have your address now but i still think about the postcards i’d send you if i did. I hope you loved my california mail because im moving somewhere colder where the sun dont always shine.
I wonder if you feel a difference in the mailbox now that my cards have gone.My postcard box grows as time passes into years since i left that fall.
I save my blank postcards and you keep my sent postcards. I think in this way we are even.
1.17.24
I fear constantly that I am to fall through the floorboards of my apartment. replications of witchery on the television.
old wrinkled hags hunched over a brew, converting the pious monk into a lover.
I was developing ghosts in the bathroom perfectly shrouding a face; hand remaining. life is mere magic. why would it be any different in the case of a wayward film negative.
I had a thought earlier that life was fleeting.
It becomes most fearful when I am wanting.
7.13.24
Sleep paralysis in certains bed. I am in a nightmare located interior of an art gallery.
We cant have sex like normal people. its always four hours long.
Two freaks.
When you die there's nothing. its all darkness. i whisper over her body, eye contact. Brevity.
I left all of my rings on the nightstand and turned the car around for one more glance.
Eyes wide open.
A shared fear.
A girl like me can never have an easy goodbye.
7.30.24
A looming postcard never sent to its destination.
It was arrived in my own mailbox. A sign it shouldn't have been mailed out — surely realized during its second attempt at deliverance. I stole a stamp from the business and lost words on the concrete.
Words i never said or sent
I am Saved by the post office or the sidewalk
Where my shame can be carried away in the wind.
Youve said to me before that i know where to find you.
Only if you want me to.
centipede dreams
we are the insects crawling in my head out of earth
something of a rebirth , again
all of my legs.
nobody puts bunny in the corner
she will dig her way out.
summertime
hesperia
on a roadkill documentary piece
in a cobalt blue suv the color of my terrible storyling of a 19 year old girls relationship _exes crust punk house bedroom walls.
gold in my mouth
dentist for deer teeth, have a couple extra gift them to a friend
breathing dry filter juice
the eve of a tent fual
fried to scrambled cast iron egg
professional sloucher.
6.9.24
Dream of brother. I still hold guilt. I was awoken by the shooing of a bug synthesizing with my dream world. I can't explain things like that.
Big peanut butter raisin mound.
In rural michigan you eat … big eater world. Its been raining. today is nice.
I wore hand warmers in my sock the night before last and either affixed poison ivy to my skin for hours or received a chemical burn- hoping for the latter. Meditative music on the land. I am thinking of the chiropractor.
Today I am adding a leather band to my daily apparel.
Dirty blue flip flops. drinking granola from a dog bowl.
Lucy goose.
6.14.24
My love is in Paris, France and michigan. It is a battered racoon mother and daughter , an overseas phone call, it is digging through rubbish for a washboard to make clean
oh Vinegared soul, I bought a rosary blessed from the vatican.
What I learned on the road.
A modern rendition of gray gardens. Girl and uncle in desert bunker
Inheriting the earth
An art residency of sorts.
Retelling of jane eyre.
5.6.24
I think I drank from the river styx.
Deja vu double vision. The real einstein brothers wheeling through times square. Insane to be on a timeline repeated.
If he buys me roses does he love me? The Ivory roses delicate
A subtle beauty.
How opposing.
Everything he does is striking people cant help to notice. I move quietly secretly - shy girl.
3.19.24
The horses are on holiday this time of year.
Given a rams horn for my travels, put-down animal dried-out red stain. dashboard item. airport fear.
Tomorrow I think I will try the hot dog. Northern lights two nights in a row. I sat over my dinner begging for the SD card to give me back my photo. something higher revoked the exhibitionism in a public bathroom, a capture of weird body.
Best pictures are in my mind. Quite a windy day … nature is shredding off layers of my skin and carving into my face like a canyon. Paranoia has struck in that I feel Im aging.
I used the car as a refrigerator for most of this trip and did not poison myself. I can take the eyes of many horses staring over a sea of sheep gazing. too curious to sit still.
i found a passion sharing thoughts in a guestbook and now my body taking space in the womans changing room. I took an extra shower just to recreate a photo tonight and my conscious is not any cleaner.
3.30.24
Some days i feel im hunting
With a quick pace. for the camera.
Wind blowing holding onto my hat
after a lifetime i know that there is no replica of the first time for worse or for better. Refused dinner so i drank a beer instead. Angel with the racoon tail.
I love bathing culture
i needed only to be naked in front of others so that i could understand my own body. I am usually the only watcher gazer upon my flesh and bones.
Blonde on blonde is what i am debuting when i return, maybe i can learn what it is like to fuck myself.
3.31.24
Thinking of two wonders. Walking up to a fence on the side of the road to pet horses and sitting on hay in a barn listening to 200 sheep eating their night meal. Nature is not about the quiet its about the heard.
Tender the feeling of softness inside - a self definition from my mind
Definition actual
Tender:
1 showing gentleness concern or sympathy
2 easy to cut or chew; not tough
3 sensitive to pain
4 young immature and vulnerable
5 (of a ship) leaning or readily inclined to roll in response to the wind
I dont know that all of these cant apply at some level
I'd like to think i am a ship or a good steak when i am tender
bark at me over dinner
watch me pace my apartment until the paint starts peeling off the walls.
met at a bad time
bed bug warrior and ex boyfriend liver
at odds with my nature
like looking through a mirror of my own mind.
“Do you ever wake up thinking you're in your childhood bed?”
I'm not sure which one I would wake up in. It made me think about when a tree should have killed me in my sleep, falling into the neighbors den instead of my childhood bedroom. You are finding comfort on an air mattress - with towel covers and trashbag pillows , as it lowers into the floor at night. sat so close on the subway bench sat so close on the bus seat. I don't even know how to ride the bus. You walk us to the invisible bus stop and I take us to the catholic apartments, close enough to a shotgun wedding with yourself.
Men are muses in that space between the fine line of
having and heartache.
pickled quail eggs at the gas station put back because i couldnt imagine the taste
rolstons corner , rural georgia
i drove a close strangers volvo to elijay while it spit out black fumes down the parkway
who overfills the oil in their engine anyways and
who doesnt turn their car off when opening the hood of the car
nobody died i guess
boyfriend for a day
i think youre like a great lesbian
skilled with the hands
sucked into a fire
i could be your ny girfriend
but only from afar.
fish after lion gonna get ate.
8.13.23
blown off head deer
body with hole on the highway
led to intimate glimpses of two doe through a fence
grazing the pasture as the sun sets
the nature of a firefly
i shed some skin this summer
its peeling off of me
8.1.23
hawk flew in front of car
deer on the left
no guard rail
freedom in full fruit
attention
the road is quiet, isolate
theres two large lovers dining shirtless on an appalachian porch
two teens in a pick up truck grinding their tires into the road next to a gas station and dollar general.
sourcing my wooden frames and clown company
west vagina, vagina, virginia, marys land
in between shit stops or rest stops
goodwill with a wooden facade
im an ambassador to christ tonight in marlington, virginia
it is so silent except the rumbles coming from ted next door, my brother in christ tonight devout snoring neighbor.
i bet hes talking to god in that room.
the sound of cars driving through the gravel is rainlike.
8 over 8 is one
the birds sing peacefully in the morning
but i am not the birds
i am the manged cat
lying miserly on the sidewalk
and i know how to die.
enemies in our past lives
thats why i was covered in bruises the first night i let you in
–with a fever
ive looked through you for years
i pull back you pull in
some distance for safety
the reversed magnets
both south of somewhere
you told me im witch
but whose cutting cords
my hands are like my mothers.. slender, but i never lost the habit of biting my fingernails. i tried.
i rememeber my old dresser. the collection of water bottles that would pile up around it. i would sniff them to check if they were still okay for drinking. sometimes they would smell really bad and then inside that dresser there was my no-bite nail polish. i would paint my nails with it so that i could ready them up to bite em off
because i learned to like the bitter taste lingering around in my mouth.
maybe husband doesnt walk as good as he used to. the conversations pale from the early days when you had a stroller in the center of lifes path. the word baby aint the same anymore. the WORLD, baby aint the same.
the city people so out of touch.
the wandering wondering husband in his death duo plots for graves together. who begs for it sooner?
my generation replacing a stroller for a leash and a partner for a dog.
a man and a dog arent that unrelated.
some leashes are of the mind.
i listen to piano through the walls with tears streaming down my face
time so still
porridge in the egg bowl
mouth silent tears speaking louder
such a beautiful soundtrack
the cat yowls outside and the one under the bed
semantics of split ends
a break.
simulation showers in a LA studio apartment
no job mental breakdown bathroom
just me and mr.maro
risk it all for the sunshine state
lubricate the pen with your own spit to make the words come out
sometimes i wait by the phone
others by the door.
Soul gravitation.
Giving up the dog for their sake as eternal love.
Needing it more.
Early bird getting the worm, the late one digging it back into the ground.
Its a reflection
Narcissist views herself in the mirror of a nightlight and breaks it on the ground. A soul connection with the wrong timing or an elastic band that has stretched out over time.
by the traintracks thursday
the thirteenth honk for livestock blow your train for the country folk
skeletons on a hill top or skeletons in a closet you close and book that 27hr train ride from
how would you feel as an rv parked under a willow tree
i think of lenny in this land of mice and men , touched my childhood self.
towards salinas ca.
the train operator said dont get off this station unless you want to stay here but i saw a tent and clothesline pitched by the river and it sounds like god compared to my asbestos studio apartment.