Let's paint a mural! It's 1992!
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North Water
pedal petal peddle
sing a song from your
ex-boyfriend's band
pedal to the prairie
sing the velvet underground
and nico
pet a pet a pet
till tangerine
gumball fish jump
be sure to do this very early
fore the yuppies take their
atkins runs
Woke up at 4am feeling like a blob. Rode my bike for a couple of hours to this prairie-type area with all sorts of flowers and birds. Will ride more often so I'm strong enough to make it all the way to school by the time my 30-day CTA pass runs out.
People still read my stuff at darkpoetry.com. Weird..
I think my writing has improved since then. I found this poem from when I first started at Columbia. It's kind of cute how innocent I sounded.
Art school boys
like to kiss in the rain
he writes you a poem
'cuz he feels your pain
he likes it in costume
he likes it in chains
he takes your naked picture
turns it in and gets an A
Art school boys
set the mood just right
he sings to you
while adjusting the lights
the camera can't see you
if it's too bright
but you didn't know it-
the lens out of sight
Art school boys
ask to paint your breasts
you feel like a model
beautiful and blessed
he says that you're a natural
he says that you're the best
but when he reaches for you
you know he's like the rest
ha ha
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An "experimental" zine rejected my poems because they were written in all phonetics.
Go paint your toenails black and then photograph them. haha!
Still no job.
What shit!!
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I am 20 and lonely and live by the beach. I go there almost every day, watch the gay men in speedos photograph their boyfriends splashing in the waves.
I'd make a great gay man. I might be too flamboyant to find love as a straight girl. Straight guys tend to like boring girls, it seems.
Yeah, I said the L word. You got a problem with that?
Still haven't found a job, either.
But I'm volunteering to answer a crisis line. And I'm writing so my existance isn't totally pointless.
I spend too much time alone. I am starting to get turned on by the mirror.
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Nothing makes me crankier than waking the morning following a really great night.
It was not what I used to consider a great night..
There was no sex and only a minimum of liquor ingested.
But there was a group of excellent, talented people sharing their work, then a long, happy beach walk.
Which is what I consider a great night, now.
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Since I'm so cool and have sooo many friends (heh) I spent this Saturday night hanging clothes and shelving books, finally unpacking the boxes of crap in the bedroom.
It scuttled out from one of them. Wood-colored, 15 inches long, flapping it's wings and twitching its million legs! AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! ROACH!!!!! IHHHHHHHHH!!!!! Not the smokable kind. The yucky huge uninvited insect kind! (Which gave me the heebie-jeebie-creepy-crawlies so bad, I could really go for one of the smokable kind!)
I smashed it. And felt sort of guilty afterward, of course. But it was just so GROSS! It's like I'm genetically programmed to panic when I see one of those.
Me..the girl who keeps scorpions as pets.
In other news, I wrote a play and a half. I will share them with the playwriters group tomorrow. I can't tell if the plays suck or not, yet. I'd never written one, before.
Also, I wrote some song lyrics and a poem, this morning.
Very productive.
I freed myself of a certain destructive friendship. You'll be relieved when you hear who I've severed ties with. At last.
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GRRRRRRRRRRRRRWAKEJNF
43918ITGDLFKVLKSFMVDL!!!!
RAAARRR!
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Yesterday-
*funeral
*political debate with my dead grandpa's living twin brother
*delusion I was pregnant
*no appetite
Today-
*math class
*realizing once again I'm a writer and not a violinist
*insulting
*apologizing
*not pregnant
Tomorrow-
*writing
*dishes
*lake
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I saw them digging a hole at Rosehill.
He would have prefered that to a nursing home.
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Advice Columnenum
Dear Allison,
My life is boring. All I do is go to work and hang out with my boyfriend. I wish my life was exciting like yours and I could live in the city and do all the exciting artistic stuff you do. What's your secret?
-Bored in Suburbia
Dear Bored,
Your life is pretty much perfect. You have love and comfort. What else is there? The only reason I'm so wrapped up in my writing, music, jestering, etc.. is because I'm completely incompetent at every other aspect of life. So go spend some cash. Go fuck your boyfriend. Have fun!
-Al
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CENSORED
(again)
(things are bad)
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Is this story start corny?
The River got too dirty. The City fired him.
Really, The River didn’t have many skills. Well, other than running and sliding and rippling, lapping at scummy sludge edges of pier and reeking of oil and eating garbage. He was good at those things. The City’s highest paid worker, in fact. He caught all the cash that was dropped. The dollar that flew from your fingers while digging your pockets for bus fare, that last windy Tuesday? There is The River’s pay. That, and the spare change that rains from the cracks in pedestrian bridges. The River was stingy, still. He stole food. If it dropped. Like a purposely clumsy waiter.
The River would gobble dead bodies of mob hits and suicides. Used shriveled condoms, junk needles and Starbuck’s Cups. Some nights, on calm nights he’d flow still and glass over. Reflecting The Moon in pine hues and glow golds. That is when The River remembers. Congestion of human filth didn’t clog him always. Once there dwelt live creatures inside him. Soft, stringy algaes and slick fish splash spawning. Sea clams, or something.
The River tugged for his flow. His original flow. Into her. Big wet lady. La Luna.
Mein schones loch. She will distill my every impurity. Stir within her back to life renewed. I empty my liquid rush in your belly. Lost and smothered in seafoam, I’m splashing your shores. I am smoothing your sands. Damp curves of coast I crash- clunk!
A piss stream plunked into The River. A drunk and rich dinner cruise yuppie unloaded his gluttonous toxins. The River still sizzles in sting with each poison. The man on the dinner yacht left his suit pants undone.
The River gagged and slurped on the salts. It was not pure animal urine. He never could digest the synthetic shit. The alcohols, plastics and pills. Pesticides...
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CENSORED
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I didn't die. I just had to light a match.
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I'm a little terrified, right now. I might die. And I'm not sure why I don't not care. An easy death. Isn't this what I've always been taunting?
The pilot light on my stove went out. The apartment is reeking of natural gas. I woke up sick from the smell. Is it true that if I lit a match, right now the whole place would catch fire?
I figure if I don't sleep, I can't die. I'll be able to leave this place before I can suffocate. So I'll stay awake for another few hours until I can call someone and ask what to do. Who do I call?
If you don't hear from me in a week or so..I'm not just being my vanishing, distant self. I'm dead. Send a hearse.
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Nest
Nest in my filth
Weave a nest in my dirty clothes
Eat the ants in my nest
Nest those Russian dolls in the cabinet
There is a bird on my head
Nest of lice
Nestled goop in threadbare bra
Nesting nice
Nest an outdoor pigeon in bricks
Nest-essity
This nest is messy
Nest after me
Messed
There’s a bird on my head
Mir ist kalt
I should take out the garbage bag
I should burrow the season
Should decomposing reek
Shhh-hood
Neighbor hood
Hood pierced with a pearl
You should you know
There is a bird on my head
Summary: nest nest in my filth there is a bird on my head nest of lice nest-essity there is a bird on my head mir ist kalt shhh-hood there’s a bird on my head
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I finally peeked at my grades..straight A's again.
I can get straight A's in the midst of wandering homelessness, but I can't find a fucking summer job.
I'm useless!
I'm gonna go write a story.
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randomchainokeys: help me im taking an iq test.
So.
Hi.
It's 3:43am.
COLD LO-MEIN~~**~*~~*~~~***~*~
What I've learned today:
-Perhaps the world's problems won't be remedied with horror films. But I'd love to be talked into believing so.
-I still can't sleep in this damn apartment.
-What if the river got fired?
-Graphing quadratic equations.
-I'm dizzy I should go to sleep.
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Did you know that this blog will appear on search engine searches? I thought it could only be viewed by those I sent the link to. I had my phone number and location on here, in addition to gushing mounds of personal information, arranging me easily stalkable. The common sense fairy doesn't leave much under my pillow.
But how unsettling....that anybody could stumble upon this..the cops, my family, that guy who was barfing under my window, last night. Ex-boyfriends, kids from school. Hell, even John McNally could see this. Imagine the horrors!
Went to the poetry reading at the Heartland, tonight. Why why WHY???? did I go to the poetry reading at the Heartland, tonight? I know better! It's the Harshland, the Hardland, a scorning, bored and beer-drinking north side crowd.
I got exorsized the night before. Not like treadmills, but "demon, come out of her." Ask me to tell you of Timothy, prophet of Jesus some time.
It's late and I have math tomorrow.
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In other news, I got hit by a stick. An automatic stick.
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Around her I feel inadequate. Bible camp suicidal.
I won't say any more..I know she doesn't intend it..
It's just a difference of priorities. That's what I tell myself as I smoke and eat candy bars on the way home, each Wednesday.
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I actually have a phone number! And I'm actually going to pay the bills, this time.
So call me and bother me. We'll get drunk and fuck on the beach or something.
There has to be someone who'll do that with me! Come on, I swear, the shells are not that sharp!
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Heat makes me stupid. It took me 2 hours and 5 dollars to get my ass to Union Station, this morning, though it should have only taken me 1 hour and $1.75. I just kept missing my stop or getting off in the wrong place or walking the wrong way at the right place. And I've been there hundreds of times.
When I got to Wheeling, I realized I was wearing uncomfortable shoes. They had brass heels. Weighed 50 pounds each. I took them off and walked barefoot on hot asphalt home from the train. This creep in dark shades in a white Mercedes started chatting me up at a stop light, offered to drive me home. I declined. I try not to do anything that sounds like the plot of a violent porn.
Lets see..what has happened since last I posted..
Book Expo..yeah..working the autographing tables..yeah..I was screamed at a lot..
I was R.L. Stine's ticket girl. People asked if I was picked for the job on purpose, since I look so creepy. Heh..
I also met Dr. Ruth. She is old and cute, but exhausted and coughing loudly. We had our pictures taken with her.
What else..oh yeah, I got screamed at a lot..but I said that already..
I hate Jamie Lee Curtis' fans..they were psycho. Climbing over the curtains to get to her.
um..blabla..free books..
I'm stuck out here until we move my stuff. I'm typing obscene things to people on AIM. I'm tired.
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How to Dodge Debt the Sneaky White Trash Way
If they can't find you, they can't make you pay. It is very convenient that you will be in Seattle.
Close any bank accounts you have and use envelopes from now on. Or get someone to open you a secret account with "education fund" in its title. My dead mom's friends did that for me. It's great. People get confused and donate to it, sometimes.
Don't let the banks or credit card companies know where you work. They will garnish your wages.
Don't answer the phone when they call you. If they don't have proof you are at your address, they can't bang on your door late at night.
And remember that money is only good until the oil runs out.
Sure, these techniques will ruin your credit, but unless you're striving to drive a fancy car or get a cell phone (which you already have) or another credit card (which you shouldn't have), credit doesn't really mean shit. The credit they check when you try to get an apartment is housing credit. Really, the only bill you ever need to pay is rent. And phone and internet, if those things are important to you.
It is merely a question of who needs the money more..
Good luck.
-A
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Okay, cancel those last 3 posts.
Except for the quitting ho-ing part. I have big reasons to now. My sex life is pretty much over. And to ensure it is, I have quit the pill.
Kill me please.
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Wednesday night:
Lechery on Edgewater beach!
Bring toxic liquid refreshments if you are old enough to procure such things.
Leave a comment or e-mail or call if you want to come
or just show up around 10 or so and ring bell 202 if you know where I live..
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