THE CAKE IS A LIE

Girls LOVE Sex Too: Seriously completely and utterly disgusted right now,

Wed, 19 Jun 2013 11:57:21 -0400

Girls LOVE Sex Too: Seriously completely and utterly disgusted right now,:

first I get a question about bestiality and if it’s okay, and now because of my response I am getting a ridiculous amount of hate mail because they think that if someone wants to fuck or have oral sex with an animal I shouldn’t put them down.

It’s morally and legally wrong in most states. Stop…

Let’s simplify it: bestiality is morally wrong because the animal can’t give consent. If you have sex with pigs, you are a rapist. You are a pig rapist, arguably, the worst kind of rapist. Especially if you like piglets.

Best Day Ever

Mon, 17 Jun 2013 19:25:00 -0400

didn’t cry at the funeral
didn’t cry when the meteor hit & wiped out my beloved Brontosaurus
didn’t cry when the ash of New York shrouded the half-mast flags
like the bandanas Syrians wrap around their mouths to celebrate
their own blood-spattered independence
didn’t cry when I got my period
when I remembered the first time I kissed a guy
he called me flat chested
told everyone my braces tasted like rotten apples
& I flopped my tongue on his like a slug
the first time he wheezed like asthma
& his skin turned yellow
& we knew it was over
or I remembered Pepper’s death
stiff, black, glaucoma, all out of barks
(I’m all in & right back out again)
didn’t sob when I found out that molestation runs in families
or that cats hate toasters in water
or that I fucking hate jelly but I ordered the special, bit in
& it stained my Keds
or that God hates most women
& so do most men
didn’t cry when I got my first or seventieth rejection letter
didn’t make a sound when I saw the faceless ball of energy float across the kitchen
& try to rip my tongue out when I opened my mouth &
breathed for the first time since August
what a great imagination she has!

I want to rip my hair out
dance on a bed of nails while five thousand demons
shoot acid charged needles into my spinal cord
nail my hands to hot coals
cut off my eyelids
feed me tubs full of sleeping pills
eat spoonfuls of rainbows in front of me
while telling me I’ll never be an astronaut
licking the purple off their fingers to tacitly remark
you’re too scared of heights!

let go & let God they said
but I also heard
God hates vaginas & crybabies & two’s gotta be bad
wound so tightly in a barrel of armor
every time I tremble I retreat to a seventy foot snow castle
with a prince spoon feeding me rainbows
so high in that balcony
light as our plans & lit with vivid conceptions
that I pulled right out of my head
I walked right into the sidewalk
stubbed my toe & balled my stoic little eyeballs out
for five fucking hours
plainly inconsolable
she’s so brilliantly theatrical!

racing the streets with my hand on my chest
the persistent why bleating from my histrionic hissy fit lips
hair disheveled & inexplicably soaked in sweat
dots of black tar covering my freckles
I taste snot & beads of total humiliation
a look on my face like I was responsible
for every starving orphan in Darfur
every crushed mantis
every prehistoric fossil
every fried brain cell in his tossed out head
I had written My Brother is Dead in the back of a notebook
that I never read or glanced at again
I stood tall in the wake
pigeons perched on my biceps
she’s as still as deep waters!

today I was a reckless witch who just flew off the handle
who just stood at the barrier in bloody coral platforms
like an oppositional two year old who can’t find Waldo
in a dress on a street in the spring in a city
in a bruised way that makes me look so much like you
in your swimming trunks when you hit your forehead on the edge of the ladder
& it hit me harder than that slab of concrete
a car backfires in the distance & so does every fucking other thing
that person-hating God winks & it feels like rain on a little fucking parade
so this is the climate of never gonna happen & it seems
(it’s hot & muggy & full of gray)
like I’ve been this way forever

she is having the best day ever!

all things want to float. I followed you home like a baby Russian stray it rained & we met...

Sun, 16 Jun 2013 15:50:00 -0400

all things want to float.

I followed you home like a baby Russian stray
it rained & we met under the awning
awkward apologies & swollen speech
you look like a dead relative
I can’t smell the mold
you smell like baby powder & manufactured lilac spritz
I’m losing it

your scars are from concrete shooting galleries
mine are from dried out nights on a carpet of a place that seems
too brutal to face so I keep waiting
for next Father’s Day
I’d have more but he finally took the whole drawer away
May snow brings June despondency
you’re virile
I’m viperous
let’s put our V’s together & make great peace
great distance from a place
that is white in summer
a farm in Santa Fe
full of feral cats that follow me from place to place
like baby Russian strays
back to your place to watch each other’s tics
& discover how much we know about how to chase
how to pause
how to taste the lingering question in the air
who are you & how did you get here
how to pretend to be asleep
when I should be leaving

tell me about the time
you brought a lover home
& never said a nice thing
I’m digging this
& burying the hatchet in the snow-capped den
that surrounds us like a cage
yield to total elation
& jump on top of me
all dimming things want to grow in the detritus

of someone else’s spring.

Photo

Sat, 15 Jun 2013 09:21:54 -0400

"We wear clothes, and speak, and create civilizations, and believe we are more than wolves. But..."

Fri, 14 Jun 2013 23:07:19 -0400

““We wear clothes, and speak, and create civilizations, and believe we are more than wolves. But inside us there is a word we cannot pronounce and that is who we are.””

- Anthony Marra (via aslovelyasatree)

Enough

Fri, 14 Jun 2013 13:24:00 -0400

when we had the best day ever & did nothing to stop it.

I used to be a vacant room but now I’m full of
suspect
the cloying puffs of air
near my ear saying
come here
anything I ever used in my life with you
I have no right to use now
so you can donate all my cooking pots
& pointy shoes
surfeit with bursting lust
if I was any lighter
you could break me
with my own earplugs
drowning out the sounds that say
(this is my favorite moment)

enough

I smile at strange women with short hair they lack artifice & the caffeine is doing it now one...

Fri, 14 Jun 2013 13:05:00 -0400

I smile at strange women with short hair
they lack artifice & the caffeine is doing it now
one of them leans close & says
I have cancer
I lose the look but hold the door

I call you about the book but you never answer
I’m virescent when it comes to this stuff
a blade of grass between your teeth while you lounge on the lawn
of another peruser’s yard
I’ve seen you answer before
my parents got a new number & I don’t know it anymore
& more than the space between us when we nap
the absent breath on my neck
drying cacti on the windowsill
that are watered more than this
that simple fact just breaks my heart

rapacious planet full of breeding wasps
& sharp inhales
I want to finish on your face
but I’m playing more demure these days
so I let you finish on the sheets
I wish I had more words for” terrorize”
another versifier grunting in the dark
picking at her stitches
& taking guesses at the Rorschach blotch
that spreads across her skirt
quickly like a desert cobra strikes
                                     I started using a tape recorder, the typing
                                                with all the in & out
                                                    like your gruff kiss & eyes that smear
                                                       my attempts at suggestive staring
back in my face
                                                        just excessive & unbearable
                                                         & some part of my body always
                                                          takes it like a torch storming the bastion


my brain is interrupted
I thought Russia was only full of atheists, vodka, & dead economics
but they got bombs & vengeful gods too
I wish I could have seen em
they’ve got pressure cookers & guns
I have leftover pressure cooked soup
& a big whopping hole of a placemat for two
you look voracious & eager & sad about the way I kiss
they’ve got warped ideas of fun & they’ve got a lot of explaining to do
just like you
I’ve got virulence but I prefer to soak in the warm rays by the pond
so I must be the snake
& you must be the
(sun)

bait

now lets burn em to death!
I will burn our story in my eyelids & light little miss cancer’s cigarette with em
her eyes are hazel too
Islam is burning some serious bridges
you are burning women with your genuine disinterest
I am fingering this girl in a bathroom
picturing her lips on your ear saying
wait
you always call me back when I’m busy
lapping up someone else’s unfinished business
you & I are a collapsing splintered overpass
the suspense won’t hold it
the iron is rusty & pokes out like my face from your bushes
we should abandon it like all great ideas gone haywire
grab some dynamite
good god almighty
hijack a bulldozer
let’s (run!) shut this thing down
but I still prefer escape
I like hiding & indecent rhyme
climbing the rope of a long blond buxom princess’ hair
with a natural grimace & time to spare
all the way to the bottom
I prefer to see by torch light & a slow burning ogre
horseback & henchman & a penchant for exaggeration
bridges on fire just don’t cut the sky live miniature devils
look back but don’t stare
grab your fork & storm the castle
color the moat with screaming townspeople
let’s paint the city’s skyline with each other’s last lines

it just seems more classic.

it’s like learning the way someone kisses. my positive valence balances our collective grief...

Fri, 14 Jun 2013 12:40:00 -0400

it’s like learning the way someone kisses.

my positive valence balances our collective grief
what if no one’s the killer & no ones the martyr?
what if we wrapped our heads in grey veils when we shuffled down the aisle?
what if no one’s wrong ?

it’s like a word problem in math.

he’s an egoist with a small penis
& he licked my face sometimes
that’s when I left
I thought about screwing the entire community
to get them all off my back
but the way you touch me
feels like a breathing cell

it’s like a Siamese set of Siamese kittens.

& we used to talk about my feelings a lot
but I could tell it bothered him
when I brought up the fear of pedophilia
but you can’t tell some of them are seventeen
not the way they move when they run

it’s like a sale on day old bread.

he always said interesting
after everything I said
& I was a loony tune caught in the moon
pretending to love his vituperative stature
but really I just thought of those young men
arms wrapped around me like three trillion octopi
foaming at the head

it’s like free Slurpee day in the desert.

& the more I remember
the more the whole thing seemed like a rough draft
a Pahlaniuk with less flaming adjectives
less interesting
too young to be classic
too benign to be Steinbeck
an unreadable script
& I just kept waiting for the twist
the prize behind Door Number Three
that turned out to be a supernatural force that drove me
to madness
a science fiction
but less King, not Bradbury
more contrived
silence is astounding
& I filled it with talking spaces
unfinished business

it’s like this.

It’s becoming more & more relevant as followers growif you don’t have a catchy user...

Thu, 13 Jun 2013 10:13:04 -0400

It’s becoming more & more relevant
as followers grow
if you don’t have a catchy user name

you probably should

hey :)

Thu, 13 Jun 2013 09:42:21 -0400

hello

"Without literature, life is hell."

Thu, 13 Jun 2013 00:41:20 -0400

“Without literature, life is hell.”

- Charles Bukowski (via theselittlewondersstillremain)

wanna iMessage?

Wed, 12 Jun 2013 13:38:33 -0400

High school!

Wed, 12 Jun 2013 13:13:08 -0400

High school!

so I bought this for you this was the most sustainable one according to the internet & the guy...

Wed, 12 Jun 2013 12:57:00 -0400

so I bought this for you
this was the most sustainable one
according to the internet
& the guy helping me
it’s called a Peace Lily
not as dispensable as a tulip
or the offensive rose
that women watch wilt with painted indifference
waiting for a drunk so dotted with colorful language
hot & snorting flagrance like a bull gone rogue
committing suicide in the audience
liquid pride parade
red streaming float of snarling insolence
over there
it seemed like the most appropriate offering I could make
it’s supposed to clear the air
& I’m sorry for everything

you don’t believe in evenhandedness
the world is a pocketknife
we wear around our necks
fruit pickers hanging from barbed wire
& the Eastern Bloc’s progressive resistance
to resilience & progressive recovery
all the justice we should have
thwarted in our own self-preservation
you took a number from immigrants
when I asked if that bumbling misstep was an apology
or if you had just seen something from your peripheral
that looked like a floating tailfeather
when I thought you were studying your omelet
& you had a poignant sparkle in your eye
you tightened your boot straps & turned right back
to something else

I’m the fairest thing that ever happened to you
I turned out to be a rose
not the farmer’s fence
that could choke those words out
a compostable napkin on your lap
catching drool & pockets of prose
just waiting for my own handkerchief
to wipe the corners of my darling mouth
& a pen to write it (snarling) down

I’ll take this now

he never remembers not to bring lilies into the house
that’s the one flower that kills
all the cats
& on top of everything

he took my trash can with him when he left.

"You can’t make homes out of human beings."

Wed, 12 Jun 2013 12:06:29 -0400

“You can’t make homes out of human beings.”

- Warsan Shire (via gypseye)

I just wanted to say That I fell in love with your writing. I am thrilled to read more.

Sat, 08 Jun 2013 00:22:28 -0400

Thank you so much xo

Dark Eyes

Fri, 07 Jun 2013 16:08:19 -0400

I was giving her a shower
I’m there for two hours to help with personal care
after towel drying her before they put on the hemorrhoid cream
I handed her a comb
& began rubbing lotion on her legs
they were as smooth as a child’s
I said you must have taken good care of yourself

I enjoyed rubbing them
I imagined years of tall glasses of water
running through her veins
electrifying her cells
tightening the elastic gaps that so many of us have
crackers with avocado instead of Nutella
early retirement on fluffy pillows
watching the dawn cut the sky
flossing
filing nails
she was just so full of tranquility
days worth spending
assets
responsible parables
a mother who taught her how to bake bread
crack eggs & iron hems
she contemplated & said:

I like your dark eyes.

pacing the harbor with a flask
& a plan to really “do it this time”
a hoard of worker bees
who show me what their insides look like
sleepy evenings that end in the bottom
of everyone
mislaid plays written in spilled fingerpaint
sprinkles of tobacco on the seat
thirsty kidneys
a mother who taught me how to cower
at words
my eyelashes hurt
my legs feel like sequoias

I am just so full of nights.

& I am just full of lost nights.

Fri, 07 Jun 2013 14:13:19 -0400

& I am just full of lost nights.

Inhabitable

Fri, 07 Jun 2013 13:42:00 -0400

it’s like learning the way someone kisses.

my positive valence balances our grief
what if no one’s the killer & no ones the martyr?
what if we wore gray better?
what if no one’s wrong ?

it’s like a word problem in math.

it’s like a Siamese set of Siamese kittens.

& we used to talk about my feelings a lot
but I could tell it bothered him
when I brought up the fear of pedophilia
but you can’t tell some of them are seventeen
not the way they move when they run

it’s like a sale on day old bread.

it’s like free Slurpee day in the desert.

& the more I remember
the more the whole thing seemed like a rough draft
of a Palahniuk novel that would never get him started
had it been the first one
we were inhabitable
an unreadable script
& I just kept waiting for the twist
the prize behind Door Number Three
that turned out to be a supernatural force that drove me
to madness
silence is astounding
& I filled it with unfinished business

it’s like this.

stick my stiletto in your eyeball watch your brains splash on my ornamented ankle the guts &...

Fri, 07 Jun 2013 13:06:00 -0400

stick my stiletto in your eyeball
watch your brains splash on my ornamented ankle
the guts & the glory
beg like you used to own me
& I got away

& this is the story of what happened.

denizen of swamps & lush living necropolises
my spirit animal is a jungle
chimp fights where cannibalism is the equivalent
to the stick up kid’s pointer finger in pocket
a red crab spider at the bottom of a pitcher plant
devouring fly corpses
a lion’s tongue poking through the trees
fungi infiltrating whole colonies of beetles
little mushrooms bursting from their adamantine skin
ants that run you over
& take what they need
bee stings that prick so hard
they kill
wasps at your heels
reminding you flying things have to land
(I’m just having trouble breathing)
crocodile tears that feel like jaws
a stampede of any kind
vengeful elephants getting their swagger
& their ivory
back
palms that cut your calves like the machete in your hand
chopping down blades of grass
to get to it all
orchids disguised as diamonds & gem mines full of dynamite
waiting to eat the canary with a bit of
Kablam!
lurking hyenas in the bush
of a better huntress’ attack
malaria that turns your stomach over on itself
& forces you to shit it back out
the things we can’t name
yellow eyes & a presence that splits
the silver lined night in half
like a coconut on a rock

the rainforest was tranquil
potent but placid
fantastic microcosm
smelled like pollen, mud & welcome habitation
it didn’t shake, it stood tall
luscious, vibrant, moving thing
virescent floors, zaffre skies
dotted with caws & swooping petals
a sudden stillness that sweeps
the spaces unoccupied with noise

man landed on the moon
& he had some ideas
about to how move like a green ghost
through the flowers

you can shake your fist at any seething coast
but her scorn remains unscathed
I am on the edge of the shore
picking at dead logs for termites with the baboons
watching the vultures pick at a beached porpoise
the water is red, saline & silent
the ships form ripples of discord
waves that shouldn’t be there
hermit crabs scatter
the conch shells stand proud as a gate
salt barriers light the way
white foamy flags
the tide is weeping
& the air has a flightless weight to it
we are erect & pulsating
wading to greet with our fingers crossed near our tailbone
that evolution demanded we tuck between our legs
we are smiling without showing any teeth
we are cool & cross & irrelevant
we are waiting
you are visiting with metallic crosses swinging around your throat
as a testament to your reverence
you are waiting to decimate & paint everything grey
apes know how to grin
I’ve got my best shoes on

& we are gonna paint those t’s red.