Tiny Red Hands

2010-11-30T13:04:00.000-08:00

2010-05-13T18:04:00.000-07:00

2010-05-11T16:06:00.000-07:00

2010-05-08T14:43:00.001-07:00

"If the moon smiled, she would resemble you.
You leave the same impression
Of something beautiful, but annihilating."

Sylvia Plath

may your children turn their faces from you.

2010-05-07T01:17:00.000-07:00

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2010-05-01T16:36:00.001-07:00

2010-05-01T16:35:00.001-07:00

2010-04-26T21:18:00.001-07:00

you can’t go back to sleep
that year it was like everyone i knew fell out of a tree, hurt
themselves recklessly for show, a display of wringing limbs, self-conscious origami of appendages that seemed suddenly new and necessary, as if we’d just received these parts, just learned that there were unknown things they might do, other possible uses suddenly possible plausible, and i follow you on your bike through the path you choose--twisting dirt alleys and ditch bridges, i sensed the weight of them then--arms and legs held together by the stringy heat of sinews and muscle, straining, straining to hold a course to follow you to the field behind the baseball diamond, the heat there a vacuum and let you insist that this was actually my idea, the way we hide our bikes in a shallow gully, sneaking through trash and weeds, taller, more sure than us, until we come to a spot where the grass is pushed flat by other bodies, other kids come to smoke pot and drink stolen beers we are alone here, and you might motion then that we lay down, maybe me on top of you, our faces not touching, not kissing, not looking at each other, slipping hands underneath clothes, into them placing our mouths on places other than mouths, our movements a mimic of something we can only guess at, until after several minutes, slick, uneasy, you say stop ok, you say, ok. there is a wave passing over us, a wind of smothering, a thick breeze, we dress and shake this off, don’t speak, move back to our bicycles, our action figures, our endless streets, sidewalks driveways, and vague ideas--the heats and stirrings, the hint of what we want and wonder if everywhere in that warmth everyone else is waking fumbling in bedrooms and bathtubs, at sleepovers and in tents, backyards, and under blankets, fingers moving moving and moving while the streets spread out, heat hazy and limitless, bodies become slowly aware of themselves, uncalibrated instruments, the wheezes and honks they produce, the uncontrolled bellows, the cacophony a not so secret language--the clamor of singing parts-- of hips, hands and curious palms, shoulders, thighs and suddenly upturned flesh, a chorus of hungry noises that will soon resemble a tune, a summer song we will eventually recognize as our own

-T. Cole Rachel

2010-04-26T21:04:00.000-07:00

She makes my head dumb and my heart melt. She's dreamy and quite possibly too good for me.

2010-04-24T15:52:00.000-07:00

2010-04-22T20:03:00.000-07:00

2010-04-22T19:45:00.000-07:00

2010-04-22T19:38:00.000-07:00

2010-04-22T19:36:00.000-07:00

I Was Trying to Describe You to Someone
by Richard Brautigan

I was trying to describe you to someone a few days ago. You don’t look like any girl I’ve ever seen before.

I couldn’t say “Well she looks just like Jane Fonda, except that she’s got red hair, and her mouth is different and of course, she’s not a movie star…”

I couldn’t say that because you don’t look like Jane Fonda at all.

I finally ended up describing you as a movie I saw when I was a child in Tacoma Washington. I guess I saw it in 1941 or 42, somewhere in there. I think I was seven, or eight, or six.

It was a movie about rural electrification, a perfect 1930’s New Deal morality kind of movie to show kids. The movie was about farmers living in the country without electricity. They had to use lanterns to see by at night, for sewing and reading, and they didn’t have any appliances like toasters or washing machines, and they couldn’t listen to the radio. They built a dam with big electric generators and they put poles across the countryside and strung wire over fields and pastures.

There was an incredible heroic dimension that came from the simple putting up of poles for the wires to travel along. They looked ancient and modern at the same time.

Then the movie showed electricity like a young Greek god, coming to the farmer to take away forever the dark ways of his life. Suddenly, religiously, with the throwing of a switch, the farmer had electric lights to see by when he milked his cows in the early black winter mornings. The farmer’s family got to listen to the radio and have a toaster and lots of bright lights to sew dresses and read the newspaper by.

It was really a fantastic movie and excited me like listening to the Star Spangled Banner, or seeing photographs of President Roosevelt, or hearing him on the radio “… the President of the United States… ”

I wanted electricity to go everywhere in the world. I wanted all the farmers in the world to be able to listen to President Roosevelt on the radio….

And that’s how you look to me.

the vibration of us

2010-04-17T09:23:00.000-07:00

2010-04-05T18:21:00.001-07:00

I know about you...

2010-03-28T14:23:00.000-07:00

Even though we never speak I still think about her. I think about the way she made me believe I was good enough. I never thought I was capable of loving someone quite like that. That kind of love makes you do insane things, makes you burn bridges. When I think about the bad stuff it still hurts to this day and I don't know if that will ever go away. My love for her is so tangled up in hate and resentment that I don't know if we could ever be friends. Even when I try to make it good again it's still there, deep down. I just wanted someone to see me. I think that she did. I think she saw right past my bullshit. I come off like I'm such a bad ass. I have a gentle heart, that has a very special place for her in it. I hope she knows that.

2010-03-25T11:36:00.001-07:00

Fifteen Ways to Stay Alive
by DAPHNE GOTTLIEB

1. Offer the wolves your arm only from the elbow down. Leave tourniquet space. Do not offer them your calves. Do not offer them your side. Do not let them near your femoral artery, your jugular. Give them only your arm.

2. Wear chapstick when kissing the bomb.

3. Pretend you don’t know English.

4. Pretend you never met her.

5. Offer the bomb to the wolves. Offer the wolves to the zombies.

6. Only insert a clean knife into your chest. Rusty ones will cause tetanus. Or infection.

7. Don’t inhale.

8. Realize that this love was not your trainwreck, was not the truck that flattened you, was not your Waterloo, did not cause massive hemorrhaging from a rusty knife. That love is still to come.

9. Use a rusty knife to cut through most of the noose in a strategic place so that it breaks when your weight is on it.

10. Practice desperate pleas for attention, louder calls for help. Learn them in English, French, Spanish: May Day, Aidez-Moi, Ayúdeme.

11. Don’t kiss trainwrecks. Don’t kiss knives. Don’t kiss.

12. Pretend you made up the zombies, and only superheroes exist.

13. Pretend there is no kryptonite.

14. Pretend there was no love so sweet that you would have died for it, pretend that it does not belong to someone else now, pretend like your heart depends on it because it does. Pretend there is no wreck -- you watched the train go by and felt the air brush your face and that was it. Another train passing. You do not need trains. You can fly. You are a superhero. And there is no kryptonite.

15. Forget her name.

I'm gonna rape you.

2010-03-24T03:11:00.001-07:00

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2010-03-21T01:29:00.000-07:00

2010-03-20T15:48:00.000-07:00

She is a crusher of hearts.

2010-03-20T04:16:00.001-07:00

"It's okay to not be okay"

2010-03-14T13:11:00.000-07:00

siouxsie

2010-03-13T22:16:00.000-08:00

I'm mostly posting this for Rebecca.

2010-03-13T21:04:00.000-08:00

2010-03-13T21:03:00.000-08:00

But I Was Different

2010-03-06T13:57:00.001-08:00

2010-03-03T14:38:00.000-08:00

2010-02-26T13:22:00.000-08:00

2010-02-23T15:35:00.001-08:00

2010-02-23T15:34:00.000-08:00

2010-02-18T21:02:00.000-08:00

"By now I’m beginning to understand what I’m up against. It’s an obscure, incomprehensible attraction that never lets up; a kind of game, too, with the capacity to make me happy or sad."

Am I evil?

2010-02-16T15:10:00.000-08:00

Pant pants pants pants pants pants pants

2010-02-15T20:07:00.000-08:00

2010-02-13T16:10:00.001-08:00

2010-02-12T01:45:00.000-08:00

2010-02-11T16:48:00.000-08:00

someday u will ache like i ache <3

2010-02-11T16:47:00.002-08:00

2010-02-11T16:47:00.001-08:00

2010-02-10T03:41:00.000-08:00

I'm also self-hypnotizing myself in bed.

2010-02-09T15:31:00.000-08:00

2010-02-08T01:16:00.000-08:00

2010-02-07T17:43:00.002-08:00

2010-02-07T17:43:00.001-08:00

2010-02-04T17:07:00.000-08:00

I want to be here.

2010-02-04T10:02:00.000-08:00

Just realized I am dressed exactly like Madonna in this video.

2010-01-31T11:31:00.001-08:00

2010-01-31T11:16:00.000-08:00

2010-01-27T03:11:00.000-08:00

Swoon

2010-01-20T14:12:00.000-08:00

2010-01-20T13:14:00.000-08:00

2010-01-20T13:04:00.001-08:00

2010-01-18T15:58:00.000-08:00

2010-01-17T16:39:00.000-08:00

2010-01-17T16:30:00.001-08:00

Oh hey guys

2010-01-16T06:15:00.001-08:00

2010-01-16T05:50:00.000-08:00

I'm perfect.

2010-01-14T12:04:00.000-08:00

But nobody in this shithole gets me because I don't put out.

2010-01-11T13:13:00.000-08:00

2010-01-11T04:38:00.000-08:00

"Got a light? No bud light!" = Kevin's lame joke <3

2010-01-10T13:09:00.000-08:00

2010-01-05T15:56:00.000-08:00

2010-01-04T16:27:00.000-08:00

2009-12-26T00:29:00.000-08:00

2009-12-23T16:10:00.000-08:00

2009-12-23T14:26:00.001-08:00

Just marry me already

2009-12-15T13:17:00.001-08:00

2009-12-15T01:58:00.000-08:00

"I bet yr a regular little hooker"

2009-12-14T01:52:00.000-08:00

2009-12-10T13:34:00.000-08:00

I only get sleepless nights...

2009-12-07T23:11:00.001-08:00

pilot light

2009-12-05T02:32:00.000-08:00

I’ve been wrecked by Amelia Earhart. When she’s not around, I nuzzle the fuzz on the inside of her leather cap’s ear flaps, finger the soft folds of her tan aviator’s jacket. When she nonchalantly breezes through the room, slings her jacket over her shoulder, matador-like, I thrill to the fact that my fingerprints, the tiniest morsels of my skin, travel with her.

She always knows exactly where she is. I only know by my proximity to her. To Amelia’s left. To her right. 5,000 miles away. Beyond my grasp. Right now, she’s doing something with a map and a compass at the table, sipping her coffee. Now she’s calculating something on its edge. Now she’s talking out loud, and I pretend that she’s talking to me when she mutters, but I know her sweet nothings are just for the sky, something big, something beautiful, something that makes her free and brave and strong. Something that makes her fly. I’m nothing she even sees, with skin barely the color of sand, eyes the color of dirt in the rain. I’m hardly even here.

When I dab plane fuel behind my ears, she sighs the sweetest sound, a dove’s coo, breeze through spring branches on a warm night. She swoons slightly, she stirs, she looks up at me. And she grabs her cap and jacket. The air is calling her. That’s what she wants. That’s where she’s going. I know how it feels to want like that, to be pulled, torn apart, incapable of doing anything but that thing that is calling to you. It’s how I feel about her.

It’s why I’ve painted myself the idyllic blue of the clearest sky, bought clothes that are the shiniest silver of the fanciest planes, dyed my hair the serene dark of midnight skies. And I’m still not close enough to what she wants. I’m still not good enough for her. I’m only good when I’m near her. She’s the only thing that makes me feel good.

When her I hear propeller stutter overhead, I run outside to watch her soar, feel the sudden cold of her plane’s shadow pass over and through me. When I reach my fist up to the sky, stretch my fingers up, it’s like I can almost touch her, even when my hand is empty. From that high up, I can almost believe she’s smiling down, waving, seeing me see her, loving the reflection, seeing herself soaring over me. She’s never more beautiful than when she’s completely gone.

2009-12-05T02:03:00.001-08:00

2009-12-04T11:22:00.000-08:00

2009-12-04T10:38:00.000-08:00

2009-12-04T10:35:00.000-08:00

yesssss

2009-12-03T13:35:00.000-08:00

2009-12-03T10:58:00.000-08:00

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2009-11-30T23:45:00.001-08:00

2009-11-30T23:14:00.001-08:00

"What is terrible is not death but the lives people live or don’t live up until their death. They don’t honor their own lives, they piss on their lives. They shit them away. Dumb fuckers. They concentrate too much on fucking, movies, money, family, fucking. Their minds are full of cotton. They swallow God without thinking, they swallow country without thinking. Soon they forget how to think, they let others think for them. Their brains are stuffed with cotton. They look ugly, they talk ugly, they walk ugly. Play them the great music of the centuries and they can’t hear it. Most people’s deaths are a sham. There’s nothing left to die."

-Charles Bukowski

2009-11-30T23:07:00.001-08:00

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