this is a sestina. it is untitled as of now. if you don't know what a sestina is, go do your research.
i escape into the darkness of a matinee
accompanied by my lord legless
as i clutch my gift, a daisy,
colored the same golden hue as the tribal tattoo
he inked on his skin the dawn of our marriage
in honor of our suicidal raven.
my ears are invaded by the harsh notes of the raven
wielding me breathless with his impromptu matinee,
blinding me to my misfortune's marriage.
its mate is as much heartless as legless,
displaying as much affection as my nonexistent tattoo.
"he loves you not" reiterates the daisy.
i savagely rip the petals from the daisy,
my crime witnessed only by the intrusive raven
who pecks at my skin, leaving a gruesome tattoo.
"a slaying is not proper for your puppet show matinee."
my shame renders me legless,
the same sensation first tasted on the verge of my marriage.
i too often confuse this mirage with marriage,
but i avoid the light for fear i will wither like a daisy,
lose my stem, and become legless-
unable to flee from the wrath of the raven
who takes my life as seriously as a midnight matinee,
ensuring my dismay remains as permanent as a tattoo.
i reveal my scars with as much esteem as i would a tattoo.
my mascara tears run like ink at the thought of marriage
for i fear the quick demise of our love story matinee.
i ponder our future in my naive manner, plucking a daisy,
and tossing it into the air to be caught by the raven.
immersed in bliss, i float along, purely legless.
i awake from my daydream, anything but legless,
your image imprinted into my mind like a tattoo,
but yet again i am interrupted by that damned raven
who craves attention as much as i crave a marriage
as idyllic and impeccable as your precious daisy
i so lovingly received in the waning moments of the matinee.
dismiss the melancholy raven, he knows not of our happy marriage.
my dear prince, let us remain as legless as your portrait tattoo,
as delicate as the daisy the moment you proposed in the dark matinee.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
daydream...i dream of you amid the flowers for a couple of hours...
so i took a nap today and had a very odd dream. i seriously don't even know, but it was so wack. maybe it is a subconscious desire... anyway so i'll refer to the guy as W for weird. this was weird. so.... me and W weren't in a relationship or anything i don't think-but there was something there-so maybe we were...anyway i don't remember the beginning of the dream but eventually me and W are at this little bed thing-nothing bad happened don't worry. i end up changing into this blue silk dress and somehow he ends up in boxers and we just cuddle under a blanket and its the sweetest feeling ever. and mr thompson shows up and is just looking at us. lol but anyway when i woke up i started thinking about it and honestly if i could have that feeling with anyone right now it would be him. i think i would have liked him at one point or maybe even now if i thought i could stop being a bitch in relationships. but mostly i can't like him because we're so different and i think if i could ever get him to like me that way he wouldnt do anything about it because we ummm don't match. sometimes i think he could, but what do i know? im not going to say anymore because then you might figure out who it is. i doubt you will but whatever. lol i wish i could feel that way with someone...especially him..but oh well.
Friday, April 18, 2008
feel the dead weight of a shadow approach...
she was the oriental china
that told of ancestors past,
strong as the wind
against her delicate lace hat, dainty,
desiring to create more
than cubicle papers that get crammed away
and forgotten in file cabinets
she was the inspiration
that provides a continuous push
as vital as the heart
who continually pushes my blood
she is days long forgotten,
yet instilled in my cranium
like the first step,
the first smile,
the first word uttered from lips, delicate,
like the porcelain china
with roses the color of her lips
which whispered the only words
that seem to matter,
like the porcelain china
as white as a picket fence,
as fragile as death,
as life, she was.
i do believe i have acquired some ainsley burrows inspiration...
that told of ancestors past,
strong as the wind
against her delicate lace hat, dainty,
desiring to create more
than cubicle papers that get crammed away
and forgotten in file cabinets
she was the inspiration
that provides a continuous push
as vital as the heart
who continually pushes my blood
she is days long forgotten,
yet instilled in my cranium
like the first step,
the first smile,
the first word uttered from lips, delicate,
like the porcelain china
with roses the color of her lips
which whispered the only words
that seem to matter,
like the porcelain china
as white as a picket fence,
as fragile as death,
as life, she was.
i do believe i have acquired some ainsley burrows inspiration...
Thursday, April 17, 2008
all the lights go green. for my lord legless and me, the sacred rose queen...
last night was too fantastic to put into words. we ended up getting second row. the crowd was horrid. the matches did a stellar set. played old school-chain me free. and songs off of decomposer also. no accoustic set afterwards. i did meet jon, matt whalen, and shawn. no justin. but shawn harris. where do i begin...shawn was wearing a bob dylan shirt. ironic because i had been singing blowin in the wind on the ride down. and his shoes were very much like my own. when he was signing chrissy's shirt he looked at me like expecting me to come for a picture or autograph. and i was like you have to take a pic with my bff before i can bestow my love upon you. i was like where is this language coming from? shawn harris must have that effect on me. he looked at my shirt and said he loved it. and gave the thumbs up. i was more than happy. i told him i loved his shirt. and commented on his shoes. he asked where i got mine and i told him they were old school-used to be my moms. i told him how much i loved his music and to keep making it because we can't live without it. then we asked if justin would be coming out and he said no he was working on an art project. i told shawn to be sure to send him our warm regards and tell him how amazing he is. shawn was like okay. i say that to him everyday anyway.
this whole time it was odd. there was a connection that hadn't been there before. i felt less like a fan and more like a friend. it is hard to describe but i felt like he was looking at me as a real person and not just a fan. but i didn't say anything because i thought perhaps i was over analyzing.
today chrissy said something to me about how shawn was looking at me like he was checking me out or soemthing. she was like maybe he recognized you from before. and then was like seriosuly he looked at everyone else like they were crazy and maybe he felt like you and him connected. and then mom said something along the same lines and was like perhaps he knew you two were kindred spirits.
so it wasn't just me that noticed. i've never been so excited after meeting shawn harris. i'm not goin to tell anyone else because they will think im psycho, but it happened. i will spend my entire life trying to figure out what exactly that vibe was last night. i shall cherish it for it was one of those experiences that won't allow itself to be forgotten.
sweating in the dark we feed on the forms in the light; on the floor we're the flood...
my recent shawn harris encounter inspired me to dig up this vignette written last year. it is still one of my favorite pieces. amusez-vous bien...
mr. shawn harris
shawn harris is the guy with eyes like drugs and lips the color of bubble gum. the girls at his concerts think he's handsome because his face is chiseled strong like that of a flawless statue and when he sings, he flashes his gleaming teeth like a beacon drawing the audience towards him and sings.
parents say to be this captivating is dangerous. they don't want their precious kiddies to die their hair black. they don't want their children jamming on instruments in the garage. they read the newspaper articles that warn how dangerous this new generation has proven themselves to be and are worried. that's why they don't like these young musician role models. shawn harris i mean.
mr. harris, who taught you to play your guitar like slash? and if i position the guitar's strap over my shoulder and grab the neck with my left hand and hold my pick just right, will you teach me?
i like your violet coat and those shoes you wear, where did you get them? my parents say idolizing someone so is unhealthy, but i want to make shoes just liek yours, like your white ones with the rhinestones, just like those. and one day, when i'm at a concert, maybe this summer, i'm going to ask you where to buy a violet coat like the one you have.
the record companies, who wouldn't sign your band to their labels, back before when your band was called the locals, back before when you were a teenager just following a dream and trying to make it in this crazy world and all those people were waiting for you to give up and you didn't, you didn't, mr. harris, and since then, your band changed their name to the matches and signed to epitaph records and has put out three albums and headlined tours. those big name record company executives spend sleepless nights knowing they lost out on something extraordinary.
the rumors that are spread to the naive older generations, they're not true. you sing every song as if it was your last, as if no one would have the pleasure of hearing the sweet notes again, mr. harris. what do you think of when you perform like that? and why do you seem to encompass the talent of connection better than any other performer? after the show, when you make your way off of the stage and into the crowd, you still draw an audience. you thank your fans; you are a gracious host. you don't become conceited, mr. harris. you smile at your admirers as you take pictures and sign autographs, enveloping yourself farther into a crowd that loses itself in your every word.
mr. harris, do you sometimes wish you could disappear? do you wish your tour van would drive into the middle of nowhere far away from all the stages, far away and maybe your tour van would stop in front of a cottage, a samll one with a king size bed and a full sized refrigerator and a staircase that would lead to a room meant just for you. and if you opened a little window latch and gave it a nudge, the window would flap open, all the endless sky would fill the room. there'd be no set list instructing you on what to play each night, no house lights and microphones, no fans and autographs and photos. only space and more space and plenty of clean clothes. and you could relax, mr. harris. you could go to sleep and wake up and never have to think who likes and doesn't liek your music. you could sing your lungs out and you wouldn't have to worry about what people said because you never cared anyway and nobody could make you worry and nobody would think you're crazy because you like to laugh and laugh. and no one could criticize you if they heard you at the crack of dawn belting notes, belting notes along with the crows without someone judging you, without somebody saying you aren't good enough, without the whole industry waiting for you to fail when all you want, all you want, mr. harris, is to achieve and to achieve and to achieve and to achieve, and no one can call that wrong.
mr. shawn harris
shawn harris is the guy with eyes like drugs and lips the color of bubble gum. the girls at his concerts think he's handsome because his face is chiseled strong like that of a flawless statue and when he sings, he flashes his gleaming teeth like a beacon drawing the audience towards him and sings.
parents say to be this captivating is dangerous. they don't want their precious kiddies to die their hair black. they don't want their children jamming on instruments in the garage. they read the newspaper articles that warn how dangerous this new generation has proven themselves to be and are worried. that's why they don't like these young musician role models. shawn harris i mean.
mr. harris, who taught you to play your guitar like slash? and if i position the guitar's strap over my shoulder and grab the neck with my left hand and hold my pick just right, will you teach me?
i like your violet coat and those shoes you wear, where did you get them? my parents say idolizing someone so is unhealthy, but i want to make shoes just liek yours, like your white ones with the rhinestones, just like those. and one day, when i'm at a concert, maybe this summer, i'm going to ask you where to buy a violet coat like the one you have.
the record companies, who wouldn't sign your band to their labels, back before when your band was called the locals, back before when you were a teenager just following a dream and trying to make it in this crazy world and all those people were waiting for you to give up and you didn't, you didn't, mr. harris, and since then, your band changed their name to the matches and signed to epitaph records and has put out three albums and headlined tours. those big name record company executives spend sleepless nights knowing they lost out on something extraordinary.
the rumors that are spread to the naive older generations, they're not true. you sing every song as if it was your last, as if no one would have the pleasure of hearing the sweet notes again, mr. harris. what do you think of when you perform like that? and why do you seem to encompass the talent of connection better than any other performer? after the show, when you make your way off of the stage and into the crowd, you still draw an audience. you thank your fans; you are a gracious host. you don't become conceited, mr. harris. you smile at your admirers as you take pictures and sign autographs, enveloping yourself farther into a crowd that loses itself in your every word.
mr. harris, do you sometimes wish you could disappear? do you wish your tour van would drive into the middle of nowhere far away from all the stages, far away and maybe your tour van would stop in front of a cottage, a samll one with a king size bed and a full sized refrigerator and a staircase that would lead to a room meant just for you. and if you opened a little window latch and gave it a nudge, the window would flap open, all the endless sky would fill the room. there'd be no set list instructing you on what to play each night, no house lights and microphones, no fans and autographs and photos. only space and more space and plenty of clean clothes. and you could relax, mr. harris. you could go to sleep and wake up and never have to think who likes and doesn't liek your music. you could sing your lungs out and you wouldn't have to worry about what people said because you never cared anyway and nobody could make you worry and nobody would think you're crazy because you like to laugh and laugh. and no one could criticize you if they heard you at the crack of dawn belting notes, belting notes along with the crows without someone judging you, without somebody saying you aren't good enough, without the whole industry waiting for you to fail when all you want, all you want, mr. harris, is to achieve and to achieve and to achieve and to achieve, and no one can call that wrong.
i'll fall asleep before i fall in love...
i may have discovered my favorite modern poet. his name is ainsley burrows. i bought his book entitled "black angels with sky blue feathers" last weekend and have read it a good twenty times since. i find his work more than fascinating and it was hard to choose one piece to put here to show to the world. i decided on one that was a bit risque. i hope you will enjoy it.
cataclysm
(the thought at the point of penetration)
you make me see cataclysms
and surrealism with my eyes closed tight
witness armageddon the fires of hell
and ten thousand heavens last night
i was dazed and half crazed
in this place where
sweet nectars drip
honey streams flow
and chocolate fingers slip
in and out of the mouth
of natures forbidden south
my flesh your nails tore
and i swore
i saw you levitate
your orifice and opiate
that make me want to overstate
how my mentals elevated
ny soul was consecrated
and ascended to a place
where few get to taste
the fumes of faith
watch silver suns set
and sip the effervesce
of a black bird's nest
men have found heaven
in between those hips
those full juicy lips
that make moons eclipse
in threes like ellipse
vice lose their grips
angels be pouting
mortal men shouting
christ walked on water
but i swam in your fountain
climbed your holy mountain
and if i come too soon
it's because i'm consumed
in the fruit of my doom
that which will bring me death
the thing i can forget
that make me question things be
is this a fix?
does god exist?
is he man or just a myth?
or is he really a she
who is really you?
cause girl that stew
will send a man to bellvue
you give me mind sicknesses
i need nine witnesses
to all types of mental spasms
if you were a computer chip
i'd be a cybergasm
if you were a beam of light
i i'd spread you like a prism
if you were a sound wave
my decibels would ride your rhythm
i would give 23 of my chromosomes
to be home alone with even your clone
your groove is like static
electromagnetic propulation
travels at the speed of light
and gives me regal convultions
and sensations
there has to be an explanation
and if so i want to know
are you an angel or a ufo
because you've got that
out of this world loving
that has this brotha bugging
i want to be the dough
that swells inside your oven
your glue is like a spell
cast from a witches coven
and that thick black sap
that's trapped beneath your skirt
oh how much is it worth
because it is the cure for cnacer
oh it is the answer
to all of my woes
i would forgive all my foes
and walk without clothes
simply to sniff it with my nose
you make me see
circular squares
and five sided triangles
statues that walk
and star shaped rectangles
birds that bark
and trees that float
strips of dna
and even japanese popes
i've even seen a mummy
in a bee colonly
searching for your loving
and he told me it was honey
and as strange as it may sound
the brother was on the money
brilliance...don't you agree? "i want to be the dough that swells inside your oven" who else could pull that off? kudos to ainsley burrows. go check this cat's work out.
cataclysm
(the thought at the point of penetration)
you make me see cataclysms
and surrealism with my eyes closed tight
witness armageddon the fires of hell
and ten thousand heavens last night
i was dazed and half crazed
in this place where
sweet nectars drip
honey streams flow
and chocolate fingers slip
in and out of the mouth
of natures forbidden south
my flesh your nails tore
and i swore
i saw you levitate
your orifice and opiate
that make me want to overstate
how my mentals elevated
ny soul was consecrated
and ascended to a place
where few get to taste
the fumes of faith
watch silver suns set
and sip the effervesce
of a black bird's nest
men have found heaven
in between those hips
those full juicy lips
that make moons eclipse
in threes like ellipse
vice lose their grips
angels be pouting
mortal men shouting
christ walked on water
but i swam in your fountain
climbed your holy mountain
and if i come too soon
it's because i'm consumed
in the fruit of my doom
that which will bring me death
the thing i can forget
that make me question things be
is this a fix?
does god exist?
is he man or just a myth?
or is he really a she
who is really you?
cause girl that stew
will send a man to bellvue
you give me mind sicknesses
i need nine witnesses
to all types of mental spasms
if you were a computer chip
i'd be a cybergasm
if you were a beam of light
i i'd spread you like a prism
if you were a sound wave
my decibels would ride your rhythm
i would give 23 of my chromosomes
to be home alone with even your clone
your groove is like static
electromagnetic propulation
travels at the speed of light
and gives me regal convultions
and sensations
there has to be an explanation
and if so i want to know
are you an angel or a ufo
because you've got that
out of this world loving
that has this brotha bugging
i want to be the dough
that swells inside your oven
your glue is like a spell
cast from a witches coven
and that thick black sap
that's trapped beneath your skirt
oh how much is it worth
because it is the cure for cnacer
oh it is the answer
to all of my woes
i would forgive all my foes
and walk without clothes
simply to sniff it with my nose
you make me see
circular squares
and five sided triangles
statues that walk
and star shaped rectangles
birds that bark
and trees that float
strips of dna
and even japanese popes
i've even seen a mummy
in a bee colonly
searching for your loving
and he told me it was honey
and as strange as it may sound
the brother was on the money
brilliance...don't you agree? "i want to be the dough that swells inside your oven" who else could pull that off? kudos to ainsley burrows. go check this cat's work out.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
sweet jesus...i swear that i love you....
grotesque drag queen/elderly smoker for life. i wave my white flag of defeat as you invade my vocal chords. perhaps i shall rest my head tonight and wake in the a.m. to find you gone. perhaps not. either way tomorrow is friday. four more days until i see my beloved boys of the matches. rambo o thinks it has been far to long since kissy chrissy has accompanied her on a magical escapade. restlessness runs through my veins. and call my psychic but i do believe i see an ihop in our future.
dance costumes came into being last night. purple flowing number for modern. blue, alice in wonderland-esque skirt number for ballet. so far i am very pleasantly surprised. of course anything was better than last year though. tomorrow i shall get my jasmine/genie costume for acrobatics. i think it will be my favorite. stunning. next tuesday i should get my tap and jazz costume. a flapper style polka doted number. too bad i'll be with my boys... some things are of more importance to me i suppose.
collage was to be complete today. i stayed over to help. don't know how much help a elderly smoker can be... i'm very excited about it. collage. not being an elderly smoker.
trying to make my way out of my self induced high school catastrophe. on a good note my bff andy is back. bye bye hoe. hello bro. (i'm the bro in this scenario) i love that kid. i might be too comfortable with him... doesn't make sense. but it does to me. hell, maybe if you know us it does make sense. who am i to say?
by the way i hate being sick. i'm too delicate. fragile. all those words. or something. i had the worse fever i've had since i can remember a few days ago. i was burning up and having chills at the same time. irony was running ramped throughout my breathing corpse. i felt like singing fever. it could have been my theme song.
i suppose i should hit the hay. on account of my being illin and all... sometimes i just need to ramble. babble.
"my lip gloss is poppin. my lip gloss is cool. all the boys keep jockin. and chase me after school.....what you know 'bout me? what you, what you know 'bout me? what you know 'bout me? what you, what you know?"
dance costumes came into being last night. purple flowing number for modern. blue, alice in wonderland-esque skirt number for ballet. so far i am very pleasantly surprised. of course anything was better than last year though. tomorrow i shall get my jasmine/genie costume for acrobatics. i think it will be my favorite. stunning. next tuesday i should get my tap and jazz costume. a flapper style polka doted number. too bad i'll be with my boys... some things are of more importance to me i suppose.
collage was to be complete today. i stayed over to help. don't know how much help a elderly smoker can be... i'm very excited about it. collage. not being an elderly smoker.
trying to make my way out of my self induced high school catastrophe. on a good note my bff andy is back. bye bye hoe. hello bro. (i'm the bro in this scenario) i love that kid. i might be too comfortable with him... doesn't make sense. but it does to me. hell, maybe if you know us it does make sense. who am i to say?
by the way i hate being sick. i'm too delicate. fragile. all those words. or something. i had the worse fever i've had since i can remember a few days ago. i was burning up and having chills at the same time. irony was running ramped throughout my breathing corpse. i felt like singing fever. it could have been my theme song.
i suppose i should hit the hay. on account of my being illin and all... sometimes i just need to ramble. babble.
"my lip gloss is poppin. my lip gloss is cool. all the boys keep jockin. and chase me after school.....what you know 'bout me? what you, what you know 'bout me? what you know 'bout me? what you, what you know?"
Friday, April 4, 2008
i can't explain the way i feel...and all i know tonight is that it's real
the say anything concert...i ended up taking my cuz with me. we got there about three hours before the doors opened and there were only three people in front of us in line waiting. we passed the time by giving names to all the people getting off of the tour buses. the guy i coined as my bff ended up being chris freeman from the band manchester orchestra. he is amazing. he brings sexy back to piano playing(and of course i love players of my instrument of choice.) me and my cuz went to the army surplus store down the street to look around...and guess who ends up coming in...chris. i got to get my pic with him after the show and tell him he was my new hero. i'm serious. i love that kid. manchester orchestra was great. we got front row of course. and max bemis and alex kent were so close. i made eye conatct with both. i was like speechless. they did an awesome set. ending with admit it! hell yes. i don't know what more to say. they are amazing live- if i ever get a chance to see them again i will go in a heartbeat.
another amazing thing- i discovered a band called weatherbox. great music and energy. all the guys sing and it's just like awe inspiring. i met them afterwards- all but the drummer who looks like a blonde bert mccracken. i got pics(there on my cuz's camera and i haven't seen them yet. i want them bad.) and struck up a convo. some of the sweetest guys i could have ever wished to meet. it is love. no other way to put it. i told them they were going to have to make it big one day. and the bassist(complete hottie) said people don't care and he screamed at these three guys going out the door"we're weatherbox" and they didn't pay attention and he was like see? and i was like they have no taste in music. people like that don't count. and i was talking to the main singer cause he was all like yeah it's never going to happen. i was like you're opening for say anything and you're amazing. i was serious about everything i said for the record. i said it was love. seriously as soon as the music started i was like this band-they are something for sure. much love to weatherbox. go check them out.
one quick side note: i learned my lesson. i saw all the members of say anything and the other bands. yes including max bemis before the show and i didn't go up and ask for a picture or anything because i didn't want to be a pain. needless to say i only got to meet one of the members of say anything after the show. boo hoo. i guess there is always next time...and i learned. so there.
another amazing thing- i discovered a band called weatherbox. great music and energy. all the guys sing and it's just like awe inspiring. i met them afterwards- all but the drummer who looks like a blonde bert mccracken. i got pics(there on my cuz's camera and i haven't seen them yet. i want them bad.) and struck up a convo. some of the sweetest guys i could have ever wished to meet. it is love. no other way to put it. i told them they were going to have to make it big one day. and the bassist(complete hottie) said people don't care and he screamed at these three guys going out the door"we're weatherbox" and they didn't pay attention and he was like see? and i was like they have no taste in music. people like that don't count. and i was talking to the main singer cause he was all like yeah it's never going to happen. i was like you're opening for say anything and you're amazing. i was serious about everything i said for the record. i said it was love. seriously as soon as the music started i was like this band-they are something for sure. much love to weatherbox. go check them out.
one quick side note: i learned my lesson. i saw all the members of say anything and the other bands. yes including max bemis before the show and i didn't go up and ask for a picture or anything because i didn't want to be a pain. needless to say i only got to meet one of the members of say anything after the show. boo hoo. i guess there is always next time...and i learned. so there.
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