creepy_choclo

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 22:40:28 GMT

christ i miss taking pictures. everywhere of everything.

Sun, 02 Aug 2009 08:10:23 GMT

there are allies to be found. i hope. and if not, then adopted, and if not, then grown. it is lonely, this self against self at night with indigestion. i take off my glasses to see if sleep is hospitable. in the blur there are lights and the wind moves the curtain, a sad glowing rectangle mouthing whatever words are left of the highway. something is always powered in this city, turned on. a hum that can be explained by ships and the refrigerator. my plants, too, rub their leaves together-- a quiet crowd, a small applause. these moonless, treeless nights are not for me. there is a taste in the air that can only be related in terms of concrete and street cleaners. sodium and magnesium. maybe it takes another pane on the window. a heavier curtain, one that can't talk. i close my eyes to imagine vines overtaking the neighbors, weeds, grass resodding the sidewalks. yes, in here there is sleep, under the laminate. sleep has dirty hands that show me the roots of the house it overturns when i ask. i will sleep here in the earth, with the cats. we'll cut the wires to see the stars. zzz z zzz

Wed, 24 Sep 2008 23:56:21 GMT

Mon, 23 Jun 2008 05:00:28 GMT

Tue, 25 Mar 2008 00:08:11 GMT

Sat, 19 Jan 2008 01:50:50 GMT

found in flight,

tonight we go, as you say, to a degree. and why not? without the width and scope and charms which work details. i hope there's something light and colorful to eat, something airy to breathe and bells will rock the walls. around the top of your ear, i'll tell you, and close enough the words stick in humidity, i think my perfect scenario is not one that i'll walk into but one that i'll hear. --disappointing, but who knows. maybe i should take on the responsibility myself.

for fear in awls,

__

Tue, 03 Apr 2007 17:59:09 GMT

Sun, 08 Oct 2006 05:47:03 GMT

Wed, 22 Mar 2006 06:01:35 GMT

Thu, 01 Sep 2005 18:14:27 GMT

Fri, 10 Jun 2005 02:47:57 GMT

Sun, 03 Oct 2004 03:02:42 GMT

dear half-man,

you twitch in sleep. this i keep in tuck.

Sat, 11 Sep 2004 04:12:58 GMT

Wed, 23 Jun 2004 04:39:12 GMT

stark point,

im not sure but if i could make the building so that we couldnt get inside i think there'd be some progress.

frankly,

tiolda mcsliddy

Tue, 24 Feb 2004 02:50:59 GMT

my first memories as a 4 year old involved a towering garden. walking barefoot on warm churned up soil plucking cherry tomatoes off the vines. There were also prickly stems of zucchini, short green mystery shoots, the solidity of sunflowers (a face of teeth), a thick jungle at my height. There were no little siblings yet, only an older brother who never fought with me, all our toys still unisex, non figural, wooden for construct or delicate and made for flight. my mouth usually full of tomato seeds, particles of dirt, leaves broken off with my indiscriminate fingers. in the sun a collie from nextdoor was the only danger, a few seconds of collar noise and then a blurry mass bounding toward me, which i guess means there was no fence or leash. her name was pepper. i dont remember that house, or my bedroom, or all the time i must have spent in my mother's care. maybe the cherry tomato was the fruit of knowledge. i remember drawing pictures for a woman at a short brown table in some new jersey day care service. her blousse and hair were concentric. i had yet to read, i had yet to feel shame or embarassments, or trouble, my first lies, death, birth, school, music (save for the monks), other races, or bicycles. but flooding-- i knew flooding. our basement would flood and it was a big deal to wear our boots, wading over to the clothes hanging above the washing machine.

Tue, 02 Dec 2003 06:15:25 GMT

of occurs,

tonight we visit the stack-farm. our cow is down to inches high & we must fetch a new one.
i'll bring the hay. you bring the nonny-nonny.

barn smell,
yours