There Are Some Things I Will Never Be

Like afraid of commitment or a brain surgeon or something else equally important or a bulimic gymnast or black. But maybe someday, if I work real hard, I'll be a non-smoker and a mother of some with a great (but not perfect and still crooked) smile. And while I wouldn't -codone it, I have to admit, it helps for corporeal pain, too. I wish I could keep you just as safe as you are in my heart.

Violently Fucking Volcanic

"Everything is a test," he says. "Does it have to be," I asks. "I am twenty-six," I says. "You are a hustler. I can tell," he says. Maybe, when I have to be, to survive. Which is only: every moment, waking or otherwise, otherwise you et leftovers, or not at all. Don't get me wrong: I don't have a cause, except my own. Now burn, Baby, burn into my brain: you, shilouetted by the umbrella with a smoky halo and a wide smile. Commodify!

It Didn't Look Like Love To Me.

There are some things I will never understand: the concept of the distant princess, carnal weaponry, shock and awe. Aww, is the wittle baby cwying herself back to sweep? Ahh, feels better to, than to not to. I raise my wand on the homonyms and bow on the prepositions and muddle in the middle. Encore? En garde. Daddy, I need some 'caine, the nova kind, because I don't know which is worse: an abscess or the perception of a lover's rejection. No expression. No exception. Here's some questions that I want nay! demand be answered:

What fucking word or phrase must I dig up that will convince you that I need held bad right this very moment?

How long will it take you to learn how to operate that fucking faucet?

Is it bad to take codeine from a stranger?

Can a person ever be worthy of another's love?

I Hope You All Enjoy Your Fine Products.

Oh, MW, I've never seen you lookin' so ... apt. There are three categorizations of spat up blood (hemoptysis, in some circles): trivial, minor and massive. Maybe its just me, but I always thought there was a pretty big semantical gap between minor and massive. I mean, to me, losing, say, a pet, would be massive, but to some people, it is trivial. Whatever it costs, I can't afford it, so will you marry me? So I can make informed healthcare choices on your behalf? Am I hard to shop for? Maybe, I don't know. When I was a little girl, about seven or eight, we had this creative writing assignment: make a list of all of the things you want for Christmas, and even then I couldn't do it; and I was a lot more creative then and a better writer, too. Now I'm aging and pneumatic (and neologic, looks like) and all I want for Christmas is on-demand anal, a Mexican maid, universal healthcare, and anything you write for me or make for me. If I died in a fiery car wreck, would you erect a cross on the side of the road with my nickname on it? And plant 3200 rose bushes around? And would you have a memorial service there on the anniversary of my death and say, "That was one fine gal who valued herself only as independently as she thought and as ethically as she acted and she was easy to please, too." Because that is exactly what I would not have wanted.

Soft Integrity

Yes, that's right, way more than once and in so many ways. Would you, Daddy? Get 'hold of that Yankee for me? Because I need my honor, or at least my accent, defended sometimes by someone other than myself because that gets so very old, you know? Always having to do it yourself? Nth Symphony plays on the all-in-one and what wouldn't I learn to impress you, seduce you and keep you close? But I think what I love most about it is the concentration it requires and how you can lose the sense and scent of yourself for an hour or three and just take a fucking holiday from real. I think we were watching something around four or five this morning having to do with the Cartesian soul and I forget what it was about and the point I was gonna try to chisel. Am I going to stay up all night? Well, are you? Do me a favor: before you come fuck me awake, listen to number 1 on the untitled playlist 10. And as for the script and what's on the menu? Try number 3 on the same.

Way More Than Once (Work Is For Chumps and Suckers)

Self-satisfaction you can taste over the phone and patronage dripping from my mouth with every yessir, nosir, rightawaysir. Sorry for the trouble, Sir. Won't happen again, Sir. Just glad to be here, Sir. And you just be glad you are not my client to fuck over, because were it that you were, I would, and I'd never look back, because I know I give good turn-around and you know what you are paying for it and we both know what you really mean when you say that you can tell by my voice where I'm from. I know, I know, its your job to be a dick and you're so very fucking good at it and I can tell by your voice that you didn't need me to point that out to you. Your job is trivial, your attempt at asserting your intellectual superiority was ineffectual, and I'm pretty sure you're a lousy lay. Even with all of that against you, I still say you should go fuck yourself.

Forty Five Remedies (Death In A Cadence)

Hello, one. Two here, with a handwritten note for your eyes only:

Pledge to me to forever be my il distratto; scordatura.

Figure it out, my little dissonant Gondolier.

Yours Always,

the Queen of the Adriatic

Allow me to roll your dice for a moment, Sir, and can I have this danse macabre? There is a certain tragedy in knowing too much about a thing; the mystery will always make a thing beautiful. But if you want to know a secret (we all do) I will tell you one: there will always be magic in this place and it breathes in the infinitesimal space between skin touching skin; where the shadow persists and where the inaudible bays. That is my religion. And you, Criminal? You are my fallible god; my immortal beloved.

You're Not A Teenager, So Don't Act Like One.

So delicious its rimotherfuckingdiculous and yes, darling, I'm talking about what's all over my face. Cheap cheese pizza, don't be gross. Be rude, but don't be mean. Be kind, but don't be nice, and just crush on me when my face is full of pitifulness; you can honor my linguistic agility on my epitaph. My old grandpappy used to say, "C's Get Degrees" so lets say I have a doctor's of philosophy in the vaunted field of Tautology and maybe then I can get a great and good job doing something terrible and horrible that I despise and hate but I'm sure it will pay real good and also be lucrative. You act like JP Morgan offered me the moon but, Criminal, can't you see there is no green that could draw me away from your warm? I have an over-developed sense of responsibility and it is entirely within the realm of possibility that I need to learn to not be's so cracker all the time, but what do you want, perfection? Next blog, plz, k thx.

Carlos and Candies

I mean, "Carols and Candles" -- yeah, I am too sick to be drinking, driving, and estimating value. I'm about forty percent sure I'm going to die and I don't mean in the pseudo-profound each-hour-wounds way, I mean in the wtf mate way, speaking of which, who ever thought it was a good idea to -- nevermind, just figured it out. But thanks for the complex, you're a pal. Apples and oranges are different but they are both fruit and go rotten; spoil, in some circles. Speaking of which, I knew her name by the vanity plate on her Range and naturally, I was expecting a trophy of a wife, but she was pretty average and no prettier than. What is it, then, that makes her man spoil her, the house, the life, the personalized Range, the doting doting doting, not that I'm envious, just curious, well, maybe a little envious, but I wouldn't trade, so what makes a man -- nevermind, just figured it out. Besides, I would, and I offer you my most resolute assurances that I am not being histrionic, kill any husband of mine that said, "She has too much time on her hands," when he is referring to my projects. You can have your Range.

Feeding The Hand That Bites You

Oh, the tired things exhausted people say like, "take me home" and "are you going to ask me that every night for the rest of our lives?" Here's the short answers: you already are and if you're lucky. Tell me, can your conscience even be bought at all? People say the worst with the straightest and I have to wonder how much theirs cost because forty thousand years of borrowed time is two ticks and one tock compared how forever feels when you go on and ruin everything with 54.5 +/- of your actuarial years left to blow; not that I would know, I'm just guessing and some people come cheap; I mean, a friend of a friend told me so. She is crazy and I am neurotic and I'm giving myself a hair-splitting headache trying to figure out what makes me worth the effort and what made her not and your nearby brother's blushing bride said it was the "golden pussy" but I'd like to think that I think, I think. All it takes is a gentle breeze to expose my abandonment complex and not more than one or two shots before my inferiority complex is on display and yeah, I agree, I might oughta get that thing looked before it grows real big and scars me all up because the pressure is dropping 'round these atmospherics and I think I smell tequila.

You wanna know something real fucked up? Yeah, me either.

In The Springtime, You're Gonna Wish That We Were Friends

I'm just a by-stander with firsthand foreknowledge of what really happens when the train jumps the tracks and the coquette flies the coop so believe me when I say that when you say that you absolutely cannot give anymore, you have to be sure that you will never be so sure again because between the disingenuous and the reckless lies the regret and you can multiply it by no-number-big-enough for each baby whose home you will be wrecking and, Honey, it ain't the peaches and cream you think it will be and I only had the one baby and she was very, very good and he? He was very, very bad. That being said, happiness came to me more quickly than I ever imagined it would be because I had settled in for a long winter's nap of crying lonely tears into a shot glass perfectly synchronized with the last bittersweet notes of some violin solo in the soundtrack of my life when I, quite by accident, found everything I ever needed. Happiness is not a myth and it can be had even by average girls like you and me. And, Princess, you are average.

That's what I wished I would have said but I just said the bit about not being able to cry after awhile and not even really being that sad but being filled with terrible dread and guilt and other things that were lost on my captive audience because TO scored again and so real quick I composed this little letter in my head, instead:

I DO NOT THINK YOU FULLY APPRECIATE THE GRAVITY OF WHAT YOU ARE SUGGESTING NOR DO I THINK YOU HAVE A REALISTIC NOTION OF THE CONSEQUENCES OF YOUR ACTIONS. YOU ARE AN ADULT AND YOU HAVE MADE ADULT DECISIONS AND ADULTS HAVE TO LIVE WITH THE FALLOUT OF THE PROMISES THEY MAKE, EXPRESSED OR IMPLIED, AND DO NOT GIVE ME THAT SHIT ABOUT IT BEING AGAINST YOUR RELIGION BECAUSE IF I EVER HEARD AN ARGUMENT FOR OR AGAINST STAYING IN A MARRIAGE, THAT WOULD BE ONE OF THE WEAKEST.

The simple truth is that you do not know yourself well enough to know exactly what it is that you need because the things you are telling me that are important to you are vague, contradictory and objectively petty, and it is alarmingly clear to me how little thought you have put into trying to understand yourself. How can you say that you love someone with "all your heart" and that they are your "soul mate" but that you absolutely much scratch that seven year itch? Quit trying to look to me as a role model because I live my life for the benefit of no man or woman, just my girl and my boy, and I reached for the scissors only when the last grains of my sanity and hope were falling through my fingers. Granted, I wouldn't recommend that particular flavor of devotion for the faint of heart, but if you really want to discover your personal limits and learn what it is that you need to live a life that is gratifying to you, well, it is a good way to find out.

Signed,

Living Fast, Dying Young and Baptized By Fire

But I tore it up before I ever committed it to paper.

If You Consider The Face A Lap.

Sometimes we needs prodded, like the cattle, and sometimes we need stabled, like the horses, but we always need understanding and forgiveness and strangely, its easier done than said. There must be some way to make a promise that you will keep, some words that mean something, but I get lost in the abstraction and blanched in the whitewash and all I really want is to not get so goddamned distracted with the fear of living in a false-bottomed box when I am lying in the bed of ecstacy of you lying in the bed next to me.

We Don't Fucking Return Shit.

What most successfully attenuates your non-existent soul and what hours aren't odd for getting real shitty and dialing up exes that you wish weren't? O, Canada! just try to remember all the things you hated about me (chiefly, everything) and make a list of all of the concessions you had to make to love me (namely, everything). And if sympathy doesn't work for you, maybe the truth will: you served your purpose for me and now you have none, so forget my face, name, and telephone number. Crazy scary how surgical a bitch can become.

Print And (Re)Cursive.

Oh, yeah, I was going to write this:

Alpha Mechanical, Beta Alliance; cooking crack on a kitchen appliance.

Just a sweet little rhyme to brighten your day.

I've had a lovely time in this red-shift life but sometimes I want to be just like that full-time rockstar/part-time deconstructionist who didn't speak for an entire year. But I still gotta dance for dollars and you might think that doesn't involve talking but you'd be wrong. Sometimes, the ability to remove your eyes feels like a luxury. I need a bath and some sleep and what is it, exactly, that you need?

Believe Dat(a)

Long Hair Don't Care. And its not that I'm not talking too quickly, its that you're listening too slowly: I am growing tired of stubbing my toe on the bar of expectations I have of you. Your daughter deserves more, you fucking fraud. And you owe me (yes, me) something in the neighborhood of oh, I don't know, everything you have today? But how about you just act 1% less like a lousy father and we'll call it even.

Its true, I am good at everything, except laundry, deep throating, and fighting back, but I'm just not real sure I'll ever feel real sure of myself. Oh, Criminal, you're my drink-making superhero, saving the day and my faith in love, and when you tell me to come back home, you'll only have to tell me twice. I'm just easy like that, but not like that, except in the most exclusive ways for that self-same singular resident of Intimacy Island and if being an old married couple means that I get so fucking turned on that its like I can't even see out of my eyes, well, then I'm pleased as punch to be such. Time to make a tape.

I never knew an empty wrapping paper tube could be used like that.

I'd Dodge A Bullet For You

Its getting draft-y in here.

You, clearly, have been getting too much head. But I would swallow the whole Atlantic Ocean to get to always be the girl who gives you a hundred and twenty seconds of anything. There's a pun in there somewhere and it is only alluded to and I do not think it is a coincidence that "love" rhymes with "tragic house fire" and I never cared much for punctuation or articulation. But doesn't it make you feel good to know that you are truly loved?

Nothing I'm writing is good.

Scoop Me Up

Subliminsidiousness; work it(it) out(in), less insidious and more salacious any day (everyday). Enough of that because this is the most (pause) gimmicky time (pause) of the year. Not very wordy? Well, I'm pretty shy because of this real bad accident I had when I was a kid with a terrapin trigger: I pulled it in a shaky hands shake down sitchy but everything seemed to move too slow and now I speak with an accidental drawl and I love how you wear yours and did I ever tell you how fuckin' cute you are when you're sedated? And how can you safely say that you are not enough when you feel my body all a' tremor under yours? A love of such deafening weight dangling from such a shilly-shally chandelier. But if you want to stay up all night, well, I can relate to that, because I am only working towards my death, too. Sure glad you love crazy.

Tongued-Tied

No extra d's in that title, but don't believe everything that you re-re-read; not stuttering. You mapped me correctly but you took a wrong turn at Pine Street; should've left, right? Too blank to fuck; surprise me, and the when the blood is dry, come and lay with me. Aww, too morbid or too naughty for your tastes? Too bad. Hey, Sweetheart, how far is too far? Because I've gone and got my big head stuck in the balustrade of your heart and I'm overlooking infinity and, Boy, I barely know you, but would you marry me? Now steal those words from my mouth, clutch my shoulders, spur my ear, and tell me exactly what I want to hear.

Write back and place it between the bed and the springs.

The Plot Is Slow; Take A Nap

What's the worst thing you could do? Tell me that you will forget my face, you swear. Now say it like a prayer. Tell me that you are only here so that you are not alone. Just do something. Do something to really make me hate you and your name; improvise. Because I feel you wriggling into my skin and very soon we will be bound by the marrow and I will only be sorry if my life turns out to be a big fucking joke. But, this could be a good time. You come here to me and we'll collect the brief and false advertisements on which we used to rely, like my old kind of truth and your old kind of high, and we'll find a very convenient raft and send them on a very convenient current.

Catch and kill the renegade logic
Be a slave to all the details
Commandeer the night
Monopolize the story
Sixteen hours of sex
Find the keepsakes
Bargain for trouble
I had my doubts
Get it straight
Cap the lines
But I can
read

Soft Body Dynamics

Sometimes the littlest step is the greatest divide; the transparent, transient, transiliency - get pushed if you have to. Speaka the engrish? I'm a good girl and I speak only when spoken of; in code to the Criminal and in soft coos to a feverish child. He said, "Waiting is for the birds." Inside, I said, "This is the last time I will love." This ain't no intervention and it isn't a conquest and science will not save us from the nervous tic of our humanities from which we try so viciously to separate ourselves. And I think you are right if you think we are already standing down, so pour one out to our dead grandparents. I mean, eventually, there is nothing left to do but sleep with eyes water-tight to the persuasive sun. Dance, dance, revolution.

Un Coup de Foudre

Oh, and it was! from the missive to the kiss to the midnight fellatio followed by ... followed by: bye bye. "Will I ever see him again?" was framed as "You have plans for ... tonight?" But I should've known that peas will pod because we were both in love with dying and the romance of regret.

Housefly Meet Sledgehammer

These feelings won't go away. And for just this little while, I want to pretend like nothing will ever change. There is no escape hatch in this submarine so make a list of everything beautiful that you see on the ride down because I expect we will pass this way only once. Sometimes, when I am carrying my child on my hip, I become keenly aware of her small hand on my breast, passively hanging on, and I am glad for every night I rocked her to sleep and I feel compelled to tell her how my life would be meaningless without her. And sometimes, when my man lays his head in my lap, I become keenly aware of the striations in his deltoids, passively hanging on, and I am glad for every morning I wake up in bed with him and I feel compelled to tell him how he transformed my life from simply surviving to actually living. But, in both circumstances, I get bottle-necked and my mouth opens but no words come out and my eyes fill up with tears but they don't fall. These feelings won't go away.