you realize i have abandonment issues...

dear blog,

i really dont think that canker-sores and community-meetings are really any sort of excuse.

have my musing pushed you off the deepend?
have i gone too far in my cornycheesymanner?!

oh dearest blog
i feel lonesome

it seems to me that 'relationships' are a funny funny thing-
this trek to love someone and be with someone and all the funny illogical arrangements that must be made for this.
these 'agreements' in terms of time and space and places and attention to be paid-
these weird exchanges of feelings that seem to be working towards some place or some thing i dont know of

i guess my notions of love are child-like
i guess i just think it should be about adventures and kisses and rolling in grass
and no labels or locations or times in spaces and words,
just feelings of happy and playful
just sunshine and glee and content

So here I am
the sun is coming in
and I'm listening to trains and birds and Him sleeping

I'm watching the morning time make crystallycolory shapes on the ceiling
and contemplating the fact that apparently I am stranded in this town

I watch Him sleeping and curl myself in a ball in layers of blankets
I wonder then if I know what I want
if I know even a little bit like at all

my favorite levi jacket

I was sitting on a newspaper Box ("the stranger") outside the Greyhound station, watching a wedding set-up in the park. Swinging cowboy boots/humming/waiting waiting to be whisked away.

A woman with cigarettes and years in her voice was talking to the pigeons, then she started talking to me, she told me I had the same red hair as her son, its called titian T-I-T-I-A-N after a renaissance painter who painted all his women with gorgeous red-orange hair or something like that. Her name is Ruth. She has three children shes a scientologist she had natural childbirths and thinks their important she coached someone through their problem with premature ejaculation, it all started when he was born and his mother took the drugs and the nurses kept saying Hes Coming Too Early Hes Coming Too Early.

She talked about moving to Olympia just today with her oldest son age 45. They come from Texas. Shes got a drawl and I saw her get off the Aberdeen bus. I start to realize that she seems very familiar. Eventually I remember this titian T-I-T-I-A-N story is one Ive heard before. I met her on a bus once like two years ago. She doesn't remember. She tells me shes working on a yacht at Percival landing and also being a nanny for two lovely children near The Community College. Someones picking her up right now. I watch her things while she uses the payphone. She tells me theyll be their any second, she cant wait to meet the children and the boat.

Another man inside, hes heading to Louisiana some way somehow. Ruth is telling him about her life story and I think its different than before when she told me. They go to the park to watch the wedding. I hope she didn't miss her ride.

#

I love the way the bathroom lights at Union Station make your lips purple and your teeth yellow,
and you could look at yourself looking like a monster all day.

I like the big mahogony bench seats,
and the big marble walls and ceilings,
and how much time and decor went into a space only meant for lulls.

Poem For Dada Day At The Place April 1, 1958

by Jack Spicer

I

The bartender

Has eyes the color of ripe apricots

Easy to please as a cash register he

Enjoys art and good jokes.

Squish

Goes the painting

Squirt

Goes the poem

He

We

Laugh.

II

It is not easy to remember that other people died

besides Dylan Thomas and Charlie Parker

Died looking for beauty in the world of the

bartender

This person, that person, this person, that person

died looking for beauty

Even the bartender died

III

Dante blew his nose

And his nose came off in his hand

Rimbaud broke his throat

Trying to cough

Dada is not funny

It is a serious assault

On art

Because art

Can be enjoyed by the bartender.

IV

The bartender is not the United States

Or the intellectual

Or the bartender

He is every bastard that does not cry

When he reads this poem.

Back in Oly, Gettin' Scully.

So, It was a rather brief escapade but I feel thoroughly refreshed and ready to do it again. I am glad that I came back because I got up early and did some homework that really needed to be addressed, I have been terrible with that this Quarter. The train ride back here last-night was full of Gin and Tonics and laughing at this 12 year olde whining at his father figure a crossed the aisle from us. Today I got coffee at the Daily Grind, 99 cents, What! Cheapest in Town! I am all over the best deals in town. It's the only way to breath. Am'Lee and I are working on a play 'bout our Uncle SKULLY and have started a school that needs developing. Still on the way: Crew Patches. Anyone want to go to the print studio soon?!?!?!?! 

Big Big Gray Day

Sitting in a weird timeless coffee warehouse in Eugene and everything is new and industrial. Lastnight Am'Lee and I stayed in a big big house called the Lorax. it was a manshion and 31 people lived in it and it was an old castle and we slept in the attic and it was full of cold and rats and dust and drums and bottles and stary sky. The moon was to big lastnight and we sat behind a college sign and we drank 2-11 and yelled at college boys walking by who were all tied together, I ran up to them and demanded to know where the beer was at and they said it was a college thing so I went back and hid behind the sig. It was a hard place to pee because bend on my knees and not stand up otherwise the police would've seen. After that we caught a train and here in south oregon we are waiting for a car to take us to Oakland. Things on the inside of my body are hungover and I didn't hardly have no booze lastnight. Must have been that burger basket that Am'Lee and I ate in Salem. It was a T.V. show there, and it was one that I never wanna watch again. The road dogs roll on.

love and anxiety-zing.

Last Night, I slept in a childsized bed in a childsized room, after a night of drinking hottoddys and homemade pho, i was feeling deliriously happy and i think i was tapping into that erotic thing that Audre Lorde is always talking about. in my dreaming i was back in shoreview at my childhood home only it was made much sleeker and with more hardwood and white walls, there was a tiny patch of organic vegetable garden in place of my mom's wild prairie grasses and spindly flowers, and some kind of sustainable playground swingset. i walked in the backdoor and everything was different, there was a small playroom where a little boy was sitting at a table drawing something i couldn't see and he saw me and screamed for whomever his mother was. I wondered in my dream why he was so scared of me and i caught a reflection of myself in the oval mirror on the white wall and i realized i was some kind of a man, with a dirty face and beard and baggy overalls, maybe thirty two. i decided that yes, i would be pretty scary for this kid to see in his clean and tidy drawing room so i ran up the stairs and out the front door and i could hear his mom chasing me and yelling get out of here you pervert. I felt bad but I knew in my dream I had done nothing wrong. later in this same dream i was still a man and i was in a fancy hotel and jenny jenkins was my sister, we were dressed up for some formality and there were girls dancing in thick red velvet dresses. I think this is strange because when i woke up i knew i could go back into that dream and control myself as this new manly person, I guess they call that lucid dreaming. the buzzing of my phone on the ground in the childsized room finally forced me out of bed and i went to the bakery in a fog and ate a bagel and tried to do the crossword but i hardly use that kind of brain functioning so crosswords mostly just puzzle me into irritation. I look forward to sleeping tonight.

the one in which i try to figure out what to do with my life and walking to pay my rent just throws me all off kilter

The thing about Olympia is, sometimes Im just overwhelmed by how much I love it. The industrial pockets by the port and the Farmers Market even when it isnt open- all the sleepy coffee meetings through big glass windows walked by mid-morning-the antique stores and certain big intersections I love where the Dash drives through-
and the little punk children, the overgrown greener townsfolk, the old ladies with hemp hats and the teenagers that are Alternative,
the places where people actually live
and chainsmokers at cafe vita
and pizza and loud hipster music and burritos
shame-walks pointed downtown, and stomping around in boots and dance parties and wine in the streets at night-
and the memories
of k108 & k107
& dudezone & champshack
& kennys house and the rex and wherever ended up in between-
and springs and summers and falls and walking down the westside hill

if i really do leave
i really will miss it

untitled (hanging around)

iI made a big pot of my big famous get better soon stew with food bank vegetables, the potatoes have flaked away to tiny ballnubs and the zucchini that looked like little fingers from a sealed plastic bag tastes like rubber and the garlic i found I'm pretty sure it's gone brown. but I'm listening to the best cd i've heard in a while and her name is jana hunter and she sounds like this stew is tasting better, good even.

i don't feel safe when i'm feeling down
but i'm not afraid of hanging around

i read my scoot description today and Harold who had a baby when he was twelve said when i had finished, "I'd like to meet this Scoot."

I just walked by a computing classroom watching a PowerPoint with the title "Toni Braxton's Situation"

I think I saw Logan in there

Rolland in the breeze.

Tabbing away life through tunes and diet sodas. Thinking about the food consumption of a run-way model and chemicals. Back to making lots of art and eating lentils. Had a killergood band practice, the new project is taking off! We should schedule a show for the near future in the Dug-Out part of Megoooooo's home! I am getting nervously excited for thursday! (meg are you really gonna come along? that would make everything so much better). Anyone interested in making some crew propaganda (zines, signs, protest chants, banners, patches, & stickers)? We should channel our worries and late mornings and wasted nights into something that makes us happy longer our then hangovers do. Drinking too much is out for me, but that doesn't mean I won't still street shot-gun. I wanna do more things in different orders, not the same thing always and forever. because it is sometimes boring.     

monday morning complaint

Last night I stayed up late watching Undercover Brother on the big screen in my living room; this has proven to be a mistake. Because I was so tired from the getnosleepdancetoohard weekend we shared, I woke up late and now am two hours late for the funky work job. Also there was a scene in Undercover Brother where the two women (one black, one white, both sexualized) are fighting each other and begin to rip off each other's clothes and then they somehow get into the shower where they start dancing or something and it slows down and the men stop fighting and sit on a couch and eat chips and watch them. I got up and left, but then i went and sat back down and finished Undercover Brother. What a stupid waste of my life.

Sick: of women always playing the role of the bitch or the whore, whether it's a payed hollywood gig or not. Of wasting away creative time and space and sleeping in. Of winter blues and drinking the weekends to nothing. Of hindsight and nostalgia and old friends that never change(d).

now I have to rush to downtown and work for all day, I have to get to the post office and make them fix stuff for me, read a book and write a paper, stop gentrification and eat a healthy meal. don't ever watch Undercover Brother. i'm back in a funk.