Sunday, February 28, 2010

Dream Journal 13

i was with Ryan walking around a hotel and a little kid came up to us and asked us if we wanted to see magic trick. we said sure and the kid told ryan to take the gum he was chewing and split it into three parts and put it into this bowl he was holding that had three separate segments in it. ryan did this and then the kid told him to hold up his middle three fingers and point them up in the sky, and when ryan looked back down his gum was in one piece again. we said it was a good magic trick and then ryan started to tell the kid how magic wasn't real and that was just an illusion or trick and it started to make the kid cry.

so we left in a hurry and went to the bathroom where i took a piss. the toilet was a huge room that sloped down to a drain in the middle and you just pissed into this empty room, and there was a mirror across from me and when i looked at it i looked like my dad. i was too tall for the mirror so i couldnt see my face, so i bent my knees to see it and then i was back to looking like myself again. i realized i was pissing all over my hands but i didn't really care.

then i was in a car with two women who i don't remember. i was crossdressing in a small black dress and high heels. we were walking around the outside of a giant mall at night and i kept asking if my bus station was in there but the women i was with were too drunk to answer me so i just followed them around.
i hope you will know this soon
that when he jerks off in your bed
after you've tried giving him head
he won't be thinking of you
no he won't be thinking of you
he won't be thinking of you
la la la la la la
and when i've gone soft in the shower
with my stomach skin glowing red
and the water pounding on my praying pregnant head
i will be thinking of you (la la la la la)
yeah i'll be thinking of you (la la la la la)
i will be thinking of you!
la la la la la la

you are the songs that i listen to (you're kevin's lyrics or yoni's q)
you're the pages i get lost into (you're lady ashley through and through)
you're the road and the highway home (and little snow blown haunting ghosts)
you're the stillness in my room (my blackened shadowed hollow womb)
la la la la la la
la la la la la la

Thursday, February 25, 2010

i want slender shoulders pressed
and little rippling back muscles under pale skin
a graceful bow running smooth to hips
and parted lips
and slowly parted thighs so so so..
fevered frenzied searching finding fingertips tensed
gripping grabbing choking out the feeling
chests pulsing rising falling falling falling
turning toppling twisting moaning MOANING
breathing heavy breathing heavy heavy breathing
breathing beating heating leading on
to saline slippery skin with sinking teeth into
swelling sin and suckle harshly hardly break the skin
of straining necks moistened splattered by dripping sweat
running sliding off tender nubile flesh
with each concession with each little press
growing gaining losing consciousness and aching sense
pounding loudening meaningful motions find us
coming to a rest
i was going to write about how perverse it is
to have all your sexuality channeled
through a cell phone in 140 character limits
and to have something so foreign
play host to what you find most intimate
to things you should out loud when you're alone
or on pen to paper
or from mouth to mouth
not with dull fingers
not with calloused tips
but with a dexterous tongue
catching and rebounding off hard white teeth
that grip and pull of fleshy lips

i was going to write about how my language has been strangled
beaten back down into brief little thoughts
afraid to venture outside of a sensible sentence
and how envious i am of megan
her words spilling out and bursting seams
flowing over edges with abandon
they are wild wild sentences
they are stallions on open plains
it would be wrong to capture them
to break and tame them

i was going to write about how surreal it feels
to know that they will read this

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

you're high and texting me now
words pulled taught over limited characters
straining to say what we want
words pulsing
how sexually intense we can get
the things we do to each other at times when no one's looking
but you're mapping out your love letters now
research and structure
research and structure
and i am masturbating with no climax now
first hard then soft
first hard then soft
someone told me a dream about an elevator
is me trying to escape from you
that you are the towering buildings
all hard edges and glass
that you are the looming skyscraper
tearing a seam in a bruised orange and black sky
and i am inside of you
and i'm lost
and i am inside of you
and i'm lost
tracing my steps up through back staircases
and long darkened halls
my fingers reach out dumbly to get a baring on your walls
where is your exit?
where is my exit?
why does your soft steel bend and restrain me?
why do you bind my soft wrists down to your walls?
and when you fall asleep when i say that i love you
i realize i'm drying cement after all

Monday, February 22, 2010

Dream Journal 12

i don't remember most of my dream but what i do recall is this:

galileo is in a room sitting before an organ made completely of glass and crystals and it is connected to a telescope. right before he begins to play he says something really grand and epic which i forget now, but it had something to do with while he plays music the gods below and above weep or something. so he starts to play this really abrasive haunting music that powers the telescope so that he can see every distant planet

then it was this really great montage of the planets in our solar system spinning to this incredible music and as the music picked up and got more intense the planets began spinning faster and faster until it all sort of just ended in noise

there was also a part of my dream about bathrooms and showers, but that's all i remember.

Friday, February 12, 2010

lost outside your window
a milky film is resting over everything tonight
the fog lays low and swallows distant trees
and the dripping moon light
all the streetlights are washed out
their colors flooding the air
orange blends with a purple sky
the air looked so bruised
when you spark the lighter
and i catch my face in the mirror
snap back to you
thick glass is all our lips touch now
all our tongues secretly touch
we get lost in avey and noah
i don't know any of the words but you do now
you never used to buy albums
but at least you don't carry cigarettes with you anymore
and your face is freckling
i wonder what bruises your jeans are hiding
your body is everything unreal to me
religious symbols and holy holy artifacts
a dripping painting of a mother
another spark and i'm back
we're at your place
and i'm heading home again

Thursday, February 11, 2010

what are you?
what do you want from me
or what do i want from you?
will you haunt me like these street spirits
these little snow ghosts
that weave between my tires
do you inspire me?
i wish i could get into your skin
sleep soft in your grey womb
buses and snowstorms swell in utero
but i still pull right and watch you dip
under a horizon
you don't mar the sky
but you don't decimate me either
you are not the sublime monument of mount ranier
a whispering stranger behind the fog
but now rock is replaced by gloss
rock is replaced by gloss
rock is replaced by gloss
is this what you're telling me

Friday, February 5, 2010

it feels so selfish to cry
a slight swerve into the side of the road
iced and solid
so strong packed down hard into the ground
my chest heaves into the wheel
all i can see is the fleshy white
of your breasts
and imagine soft nipples in my mouth
it feels so selfish to get hard
pulling quietly to the side of the road
short breaths
short breaths
the car is cold and
i am hanging in the air in front of me
clinging to the windshield
left blinker clicking in the silence
pulling back onto the road
it feels so selfish to be writing this down

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

im not ready to write anything
until i cry
im not ready to write anything
until i cry
im not ready to write anything
until i cry
im not ready to write anything
until i cry
because until then i am a fucking fake
who has never felt anything deeply enough
and i have never experienced anything
and i shouldnt keep lying in everything i write
its more self deception than charlatanism
i feel minneapolis watch me
when i pull off the highway onto your street
my honda civic idling in front of your apartment
fingers idling with a box of condoms
i try to hold my breath between the car
and the front door
i guess i am ashamed of my breath
a weird premonition
something about it shouts sex and death
its so unreal to joke about suicide with you
why are you still here
and am i in your latest creation
what makes an artist
can i bite on your lip rings
when did we start watching this
what are we drinking
do you like to be here with me?
hard orange lights push in through windows
slipping between tiny cracks in the blinds
penetrating deep into our privacy
what do you taste like
how do you make it through a day
will you ever let me...
can i bite on your lip rings
let me stay in your bed
i can feel minneapolis gazing down at me
a snowstorms clouds hanging low
add a depth to the city that makes everything
frighteningly real
its really weird to see you do whatever it is you think you do
you take photographs of yourself and edit them in ways that
highlight really weird truths. like what you hear in pop songs
and you are really attractive in all these incredibly superficial ways
so every guy you know just lusts after you in awful ugly ways
but i think you are honestly trying to bring some sort of enlightenment
to your life and to the lives around you
but it wont ever quite work out that way because you are far too tan
and your tits are too big and your eyes are too big
and no one will really be able to look at your art
maybe you don't want that though and you just want their eyes on you
but its very depressing all the same
and sometimes im thankful to be ugly
because maybe i can be an artist