safflower junction

today is not a noodle
today is the opposite of that
everything keeps coming out
of my mouth in bold, momma,
and i just can't help it.
today, i have a linguistics presentation to pounce on.
if it goes well, they'll promote me to language corporal.
i'll have my own squadron.
things are looking up.

new ingeborg song was posted yesterday,
"the disobedient prophet slain by a lion"
# 2 in the prophets series.
it might be even more annoying than "dry bones"
:-)

when i hold you //11.29.1:14pm
--------------------------------------
let me tell you how comforted i am
that my deodorant is called "pacific surge."
it's just so alleviating to feel that
i've got the entire state of california
rushing up to protect my underarms from stench.
and let me tell you,
50 years ago, you'd probably have your head
buried in some zinc oxide rub
smelling of cattle
and smelling of chemicals.
you're quite a lucky woman to live
in such an age.
(i'm sure you'll agree.)

i haven’t left my room for days //11.29.12:46pm
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i can watch you now.
with satellites. d
so you’d better start smiling



anytime minutes// 11.29.8:12pm
----------------------------------
tonight i said to my mother
"that's not a fucking option"
she promptly hung up on me.

what i remember //11.25
--------------------
i am unstoppably still
increasingly christ-like
and endlessly vague.
baby, build me a monument on misinterpretation
lay around awhile
stay for the suntan

i should have stopped with the last one // 11.29.904pm
--------------------------------------
don't tell me what a bedroom is for.
i know what a bedroom is for.
it's for whatever i want it to be for.
don't be such a communist.
how ever will the sweaters be knit
if i do not provide?
i don't tell you what your bedroom is for.
so don't tell me what my bedroom is for.
because it's for whatever i want it to be for.
it's for sweatshops.
it's for sweaters.
i can have sex on the couch if i want.
this is my house.
this is my bedroom.

due to reasons not of mirth //11.29.12:23pm
---------------------------------
each time i come home
after 4 am
my heart, it’s beating so fast.
i get perplexed, i tell you.
i get fucked up.
i get nervous, i get fast.
i look at my bed like it’s
the smelly person on the elevator
like it’s an abortion protester
and i’m knocked up as all get up.
i coax myself into walking over there
lying my lanky body down
and each and every time
i swear
i pull the covers back
just waiting
to feel the venom hit my leg.
to feel the snake bite.
i swear
i know there’s a cobra round here somewhere
and one of these times
he’ll get me.
not last night,
but maybe tonight.
. .

living alone //11.29.12:30pm
-----------------------------
i buy plants to help my breathing
and they keep dying
so i keep smoking
i buy videos to help my dancing
but my feet keep tripping
so i keep drinking.


got a dollar? // 11.29.8:52 pm
--------------------------------------------------------------
how in sam hills am i supposed to concentrate
i'm right out of proteins.
i lost those proteins hours ago
and haven't the resources to replace them
proteins are a much desirable item, these days, i tell you.

for the archivist in all of us //11.29.8:56pm
-------------------------------------------
sometimes things are great when you look back
like you wouldn't, couldn't do them
any differently.
and sometimes
things are just a bit off
a word or two, here or there.
sometimes.
things are just
aammaeeesmamsmamessmammamemssmames
ammesssmameeesammmammamemessm.


stop it // 11.29.8:47pm (edit @ 909pm)
-------------------------
the girls that come
into the library
at the end of the semester
with their fake tans
and dark hairs
they don't know what they're fucking doing.
so i hit on them, before they can ask me for computer help.
i don't know anything about computers.
i was raised in Canada.
do you know where Canada is?
Canada has no electricity.
it's powered only by the friction of air balloons rubbing on glaciers
as they make their final decent.
i hit on them
because what else are they going to do in a library?

warnings and sirens // 11.29.8:42pm
---------------------------------------------
show me hell and i'll walk home, tiger.
show me a handshake that i'll regret
love is a corvette
love is a lamp shade.
love isn't red,
so get out of the boat, captain.
love oozes, yes,
but not like that.
not like your lymph nodes
i wonder if my car was towed.

thursday //11.21
---------------
red wine.
not cigarettes.
if i don’t go to class
i don’t have anything to do today!
my eyebrows are boners
my boners are metropolis
movebot2000. show me your moves.
dancebot2000.show me your hipshine.

computer lab //11.29.2:36pm
----------------------------
these computers are sounding like
older gentlemen.wheezing and coughing
and generally sounding like dignified death.

11/29.7:56pm
---------------
we'll build spaceships, sure.
we'll blast off into anything
without hesitation.
we're through with constructions
we're through with reality
we'll cause spastic revolutions of

oh my. i did it.

some semi- recent poems.
(the butler version)




aim.//11.28.
[17:03] andpulledmyhair: you can kiss me close.
[17:04] andpulledmyhair: want to go on a date sometime?
[17:07] andpulledmyhair: you are like an end-time
[17:07] andpulledmyhair: you make me want to change my relationship status.
[17:11] andpulledmyhair: you're always disappearing
[17:11] andpulledmyhair: like a firefly.
[17:11] andpulledmyhair: in the daytime.


2006, no wind for an anthem // 11.28
------------------------
i am a poor student.
i neglect deadlines.
i write poems on bubble sheets.
if he doesn't take attendance,
and i can get a B,
sounds fine to me
sounds fine to me.

what else to do? //11.28
-----------------------
i am developing a lisp.
how ever will i get elected now?
it's her fault.
past relationships always give you lisps.
you see, there was too much talking.
too much.
i streamlined my speech.
it's compact now.
simply no time for ssssssssssssssss
and tho it had to be thevered.

please try again // 11.18ish?
---------------------------
as instructed, i looked under the cap,
but it read only “sorry! please try again.”
now i know the exclamation point is there for purposes of sincerity,
and i know the cap said please, but
i didn’t really feel i had it in me to ever try again,
for the message was staring at me
in that square font
that can only let you know you’re a real failure.
i know i’ve seen it before
i’m quite sure it’s employed on my bank statement.
on my credit card bills. your handwriting, i swear.
and it will be there,
in all it’s blocky, jagged glory
catching raindrops and scolding them as they
meander down my gravestone.



sanitize this
-----------------------------------
i just sneezed and no one said “bless you”
i always say “bless you” when people sneeze.
every. time.
i’m not sitting here asking for “god bless you”
or gesundheit, just a regular, polite little “bless you” would do.
i’m serious, would that be too hard?
a choo. bless you.
you lazy sons of bitches
sitting here browsing your lame
god damn myspace pages
with awful music
and pictures of yourselves with your boobs hanging everywhere.
you know what?
i hope you all sneeze and each and every one of your hearts STOPS
respectively
i hope your SOULS FLY OUT YOUR NOSES
AND NEVER COME BACK.

the day we lost our limbs
----------------------------------------------------------------
in the storm there was no way for them to catch me
i’d had too much practice.
i pulled the branches as i ran through the dark
and when they snapped, each and every one
caught a vulture in the face.
i don’t really know where they'd come from,
maybe they traveled with the snow itself.
i didn’t really know if vultures traveled with blizzards,
i didn’t know much at all, really.
i’d seen them around the city
perched on street lights
hiding behind corners
but never out here.
these were my trees.
i knew them well.
they kept coming, though.
one after another. droves, i tell you.
and i kept running.
i kept tugging on branches to snap back.
the vultures kept dropping.
this went on for hours, branches began to break.
limbs were shattering, and i found it more difficult to find enough ammo
to ward them off.
the mayor,
in the morning,
he said it was the worst storm he’d ever seen
he made no mention of me.
he saw what was left.
he saw what they’d done.
he wouldn’t let them roll the footage of me.
just of trees.

the right to vote
---------------------------------
in my school’s newspaper
they interviewed people regarding
the recent election.
6 of 6 said they were pleased with the results.
not entirely too surprising.
5 of 6 said they hadn’t voted.
oh god, i know it’s not your fault,
but i blame you anyhow.

incessantly
--------------------------
you have blonde hair
and you obviously don’t know anything about music.
you have blonde hair and thus cannot write.
you have blonde hair and you don’t know what it means to suffer.
not like me.
not like my black rimmed glasses
not like my honda.
not like my imac.
imacs suffer.
not you, blondie.