because no one put money on will.

meow!


internet.

<3

this is what i've got to offer, straight from the horse's mouth -- that would be mine -- though my lips aren't so big and soft, and heidi doesn't want to make a pillow from my nose, and i wouldnt' blink a big sad eye at a carrot.

this is really all it comes down to -- is that once you, the hand behind the juicy fruit, are in my sight, my gaze will be constant and quiet and adoring even after you walk away from the fence and back to the farmhouse. i want to be the fieldmouse to your little barn owl babies, because their beaks are grinning and their eyes are brimming with the fucking cuteness of it all, and you know all about it. you know all about all the love for all the hungry hatchlings in the world, and i think our love is a piece of that, or it could be.

oh, and i've tried all that "i'm not in love" bullshit, dealt with all the bluffing and the puffing up and pushing it away, but i don't have it in me-- the waiting, i mean. every time i hunker down for a long night alone, a little bug of hope crawls into my pillowcase and whispers in my ear all the night long. he's telling me my future and i'm mistaking it for dreams come morning.

all along i've just been this nice girl going along doing nice things and having a nice go at this nice old life with my nicest friends and their nicest laughs, but somewhere along the line all of these mean boys got invited and made everyone stupid for varying hiccups in time. so unsuspecting. and we spent all our time recovering sanity so before we could learn our damn lesson there's another mean boy knocking at the side door at four a.m.
my point is, during all of this i've just been waiting for my nice boy, or "man" if he'd prefer -- i don't think he'd care, because he's nice. waiting for someone who sees things in a light of kindness, too.. who thinks life is just as nice (or maybe more!) than i do. & i might say biting, catty, terribly witty things to him in fun & flirt, but it's only to keep all this kindness from exploding out my nose in sparkly pink geysers.
yeah, that's my love honey! so beautiful, i try to dim its bright lights & dress it in snot, but it can't be touched.

honestly, i'm not about to break any hearts. i'm in this til the end. i'm also not about to hold anyone down in a place they don't want to be. that said, if you'll let me, i'd really like to try -- we'll be so high you won't even know it's happening.

i don't love just anyone-- many, but not anyone. and i guess it's evolving, like it's sprouted legs and feelers and autumn plumage and the feathers are all just laid out in the open and hogging all the sun.
& i've got so much to give. i just want to give it all to one person, like a bottomless fruit basket (and it's mostly peaches).

all this rambling is really just demonstrative of the fact that i need someone to talk to, face to face, candidly. it's been a long time. where have you been?
where have i been?

Teary-eyed phone call ends in me promising to drink some tea and take a bath.

I didn't quite follow through, just took a thirty minute shower instead.

He's just going to have to accept that.

But first.

I have some other things to say (to myself, here). About what exactly? About how much of myself I am now that I was or was not... say, three years ago. I was 16 going on 17 if we're doing this time warp (again) to the season, week, day, whatever. Hip-deep in the social scene-- I mean, almost as much as I ever was, and foreseeably, more tan I ever will be; BOMBING around the High and North lands and ends in any number of Volvos and taking hiatus en masse from a school I'd just decided I was going to trot through as quickly and quietly (uncaring, with stealth) as possible. This was also my toe's first dip into Flying Pie-- something I'll cherish for the rest of my life, the thing to hold at arm's length, with love, like a snot-faced little brother or sister, but something that stakes claim as profoundly influencing my life, and the snotty sibling's life. This was my real social scene, I'd soon find out. These were the people I'd have dreams about, not the pukes in my statistics class. Somehow the majority of my classmates don't have the privilege of being equated to living, breathing humans in my memories. But the ones who do, well, they do it well and I probably said "I'll miss that so much in three years" and I do, but.

But. I'm folding in on myself, a tree crossing and tying all her limbs in knots (twobytwoby4) or simply dropping them on the hill. I feel like parts, branches, clusters of my character are stuck in time and in order to get them back I've got to aknowledge and then accept some things, faults, mistakes, traps, lies, crying games and callouses for what they really wore.
For what they really were.

And my intuition needs a proper pat on the back through trusty demonstration, but I don't trust myself, my judgement, enough to tell when my heart actually has some shit to say. So as you can see, dear reader, this is going to take some time, some delving, so that I can say to me, her: "look, you've improved, and you were never one to lay down, and you never will."

one man gathers what another man spews, to be continued.

"...The Plans have taken over. So much for romance, kid Kerouac" it reads, in submission, and that just sucks.

then he goes on to say "Fuck that guy anyway," like that compensates for something, makes it all better. "He was a drunken homophobic speedfreak who started humping established 'poets' when it seemed the hip and artistic thing to do."

yeah, i'll damn his "middle-class sensibilities" too. and i miss him, quite a lot.

found his shirt this morning.
i'm kind of a mess.

and by me, i mean this place.


i wish i could have thrown a wine bottle at the bank building too. it's good you love Dollar Mtn, 'cause this whole situation is a question of hope & helpless.

so.. i done it.

 

 

she's very sweet.

OMG!! Theresa's going to kill Allister!?!

you should really check out my "Home Alone" face.

ooohh, and you don't want to miss the neat little kids that are on Oprah today. &shoot me.

these big, fat mockingbirds have taken a liking to my balcony.


they pivot their big, fat heads on their big, fat bodies and take big, fat hops around the little edge.



... ohhh.

they kind of scare me.

they're probably only looking for the big, fat slug though.


hah! that's why they come out at night! sorry, but i can't curb my enthusiasm about this mama nature soap opera because i've always thought those slugs were so cute!! and wondered why they only came out at night (because any night, there's a given 3-5 baby slugs hanging around, and every now and then the granddaddy of them all) and these mockingbirds scare the shit out me, really, and just showed up a couple days ago.


yeah.
that's right.

it's been a while since i've been pointless, you know. ha HA HA.


someone please rescue me.

Hi Jaime!

How are things? Barrett has a girlfriend so he has the cell phone ALL the time so I decided to just email you. He is getting his license today so needless to say he's excited. I already have him lined out to pick Anna up from school next week since Dad will be hunting and Grandma will be in Reno. That novelty will wear off soon so I'm taking advantage of his driving enthusiasm while I can. I can't remember if I told you we put Molly down. She was having such a hard time. Anna wants to tie some dog treats to some helium balloons and send them to her in heaven. Sweet.
Grandma gave us her Acura...she seems convinced we can't manage without a third car with Barrett driving. I accused her of not wanting to chauffeur him to the SUB all the time. Anyway, I'm driving it and I really, really like it. How's the Tercel holding up?
Well I'm off to class and the store to get the rest of the hunting groceries. Have you met any people to hang out with yet?
Write soon
Miss you!
Love Mom

***

uhm, go ahead and BREAK MY HEART, OKAY.

tell me my brother has a girlfriend, is driving the celica, and my dog is dead.



i think there's a lump in my throat.
yes.. there certainly is.

netflix is a beautiful thing.


i hold in my teeth "The Graduate" AND "Half Baked".



yesss.

its all too easy to forget how much i love janis joplin.



i could sing with her all day in this apartment.

i wish i was her. maybe then i could love you til the day i die.

ever have those days where you just don't look like yourself??

it's almost like i've had a face lift.

today. i look like amelie. and this is just after rolling out of bed, pulling my hair back, and putting on a red sweater. my eyebrows have done something strange today, and my bangs look shorter. and my eyes are different.

& it bugs the fuck out of me.




question 2: would you go to alaska for a few days in November for free (specifically, completely paid for by an ex-boy or girlfriend), even though it's going to be cold as a son of a bitch? are the northern lights worth the frostbite?

life is pretty.
good.
to me. fill your cup?up.up.
and i'll forever
be.
good.
to you. i don't care what you say, where this stops & whose words i've got to ingest. millions to swallow.s bathing in the shallows see them?

come on up.up.up.

welcome to cable tee.vee. & internet, jaime. finally. finally i have friends, "backstabbin' broads" on Jerry Springer (even though that's just Fox.)

 

i miss things. people mostly. but things too. now i've got this big fat apartment and no one to talk to but myself. sometimes i'll pretend that jackie's here. i've said it before, and i'll say it again.

and again.

and again.

i miss my fucking cats.

& my Taylor Bell, too.

& my pants. lost in the oblivion of the postal service, i guess. they were SO good to my ass.

 

phukett, thailand.  

http://www.myspace.com/yohonor


do it.

here's to ghost towns, & moving to new ones.

last day in the city of trees & parking garages & night lights..

i'm.

so.

tired of this.

shitfuck. ass. whore. fuck. fuck. and i've been meaning to write such nice things in here all week.



should i feel guilty about not saying good-bye to anyone? can you hear me, love?

 

My brother, for the record, had a distracting habit, most of his adult life, of investigating loaded ashtrays with his index finger, clearing all the cigarette ends to the sides-- smiling from ear to ear as he did it-- as if he expected to see Christ himself curled up cherubically in the middle, and he never looked disappointed.

&&

The eyes, certainly... Isn't it clear? Don't those cries come straight from the eyes? However contradictory the coroner's report-- whether he pronounces Consumption or Loneliness or Suicide to be the cause of death-- isn't it plain how the true artist-seer actually dies? I say that the true artist-seer and heavenly fool who can and does produce beauty, is mainly dazzled to death by his own scruples, the blinding shapes and colors of his own sacred human conscience.

My credo is stated. I sit back. I sigh-- happily, I'm afraid. I light a Murad, and go on, I hope to God, to other things.

&&

J.D. Salinger

blinds to bound the bed to the ground. take it all down.

my love is.
a screen door.
banging
in the wind.

repeat.


you shoulda been there.