The Insulted Muffin

   There was a slight twitch in her eye as she started to fumble with my outer apparel, the piece that held me together and kept me safe. She didn’t understand how delicate this tiny piece of fabric was, and how could she? The twitch was making me nervous as I saw it the second time...I had never seen an eye twitch like that in all my life, I tell you. Funny because I had seen lots of looks in lots of people’s eyes...mostly when they stare at me with salivating desire, that tender guilt that is innocent enough to give in to without there being too much fuss about it. Today, I was said guilt.

  The man came over and sat down next to the girl. She was still peeling away slowly, as if she wanted to bide more time with me. I didn’t really care either way, I had accepted my fate and sat rather still awaiting my demise. What was that racket? That damned Van Morrison in the background, this was going to be my last few moments on earth, a song about some god-forsaken moon dance? Well, so be it. Dear God, have mercy on my soul, and please let there be some dignified music in heaven, perhaps some Bach or Ravel...anything that has some intellect and class. Wait, was the girl crying? 

  Why did she put my down? 

  

  What’s all this yelling about? 

  Is he going to hit her? No, surely not. Oh, there there, it’s ok, he’s probably a jerk anyway. Just go back what you were doing and forget he ever existed. Take your beautiful hands and keep peeling away at me in that soft, intricate way. Give me the lofty title of CRUMBS! PLEASE! Oh no where is he going? Where is SHE going? She can’t possibly think she can keep him from leaving. Why doesn’t she come back...

  So I waited.

  About an hour or so went by and still no sign of either one of them. They deserted me. They forgot about me. They weren’t coming back to claim me. I was forgotten. I was outraged. I was abandoned. 

  A store clerk came by and threw me in the trash. 

  As I sat there seething from underneath the endless rubbish that compiled on top of me, I heard ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ through the loudspeaker. 

Into it

sad lovers and giants- your skin and mine

Miss Hemingway

...it will change and you will be different...

Laughter is an instant vacation. -milton berle

dream awake

sleepy sun- white dove

slowdive- when the sun hits

our moon

  I remembered his face the second time I saw him and was surprised at the butterflies I had... 

  We stood there together and I waited for him to ask me while being prepared for what he was going to ask me

  We became friends for awhile but I knew he loved me when I looked into his eyes

  He would call me and inquire of music when other boys only texted and inquired of nothing in particular

  We would walk together in the night along cafe-lined streets and I would ask him what in the world I ever did before him...still not being sure of my feelings but knowing he divinely altered my perspective of the male species

  He would look at me longingly while I played him my favorite songs and pretend not to notice

  He was there to take me to the places I dreamed of when no one else would partake in those desires

  He was there when I asked him to go away and continued to divulge in conversations about the moon

  Oh, how we adored the moon together!
  Like its purpose was to galvanize two tangled lovers

  Like it only belonged to us, like we owned the sky

  Then one foggy evening the gods cast a spell on me and I knew I was meant to be his

  A scintillating scent drifted into my bedroom and all I could think about was my hands in his hair and his lips on mine

  Not long after love occurred, but not a simple love, that deep love that one only finds once in a lifetime.

  We couldn’t get enough of each other yet waited to consummate our oneness

  Then in a cabin in the woods we gave ourselves to one another fully, delicately, perfectly

  We showed our truest selves in the quiet of the cold

  A brilliant fire

  A tuned guitar

  This was all we needed

  Our world was nothing but mad love and music, and it was forever in that moment

  He would throw pizzas into the air and I would imagine our children

  With his almond eyes and my wide smile

  Our simple imperfections blending to make a lively little soul

  He would make me coffee in the morning and I would kiss his face over and over until not an inch was spared

  We would make egg sandwiches while the sun went down to start our magical nights

  He would hold his hand to my heart until I thought I might die of happiness

  Then I was called to venture to faraway lands

  And you conquered everything you ever wanted in our city 

  And when I came back into your arms everything was the same...

  Until it wasn’t 

  Until the darkness swooped in like a veil against our transparent sky

  The music dulled and I couldn’t hear you anymore

  You woke angry and I ignored phone calls

  We ended things and you went away

  I sent you memories and you never wanted to see them

 You reached out to the me that wasn’t there anymore

 Who were we now without each other?

  This I wonder still, lying awake nights, when I forget for a moment that your arms are not around me 

 And in this moment everything is quiet

 And calm

Grimes- Skin

The Void

 I am immersed in ink. Thick, bordering tar-like ink that seeps into every crevice of my body. The man standing in front of me laughs, and I hate him for laughing, because can’t he see that amidst my continued struggle to get clean I have fallen further and further into the forgotten abyss? That the language I used to speak doesn’t translate in this realm and, if I were to ask for help with a physical gesture, that I would only get a wide-eyed stare from the creatures who lack any amount of sympathy? I see them come awake at night, rising high above me, their skin rotten and covered in growing parasites. They look at each other with solid white eyes, enormous eyes that flicker and that seem to serve no other purpose but to highlight their gripping madness and empty souls. The recurring sound of screams, the depiction of agony that kept me awake in my stillness were the catalyst to my eventual paralyzation. The creatures needed me to feed on, I knew that, and accepted my demise like a lamb who had been captured by a lion and, after all of the torture of being ripped apart while just-enough alive, finally found comfort in the mastication- found peace for a glimmer of a moment before the lion sank his teeth into its neck to end the little lamb’s suffering. 

  

  I gaze at the man in front of me, helpless, anticipating the evil his hands will do before he vanishes me from this world forever. 

  

  The lion is always a he, you know. 

Nicely done ladies ***WARPAINT***

I'm high on the real thing...and I know precisely where I am...

I don't mind talking to myself...

go easy on me...it's my first time...2014

Follow what inspires you

Peru

Is reality more of what is in books or of what makes up life? Is it literature that gives us the feeling of nostalgia more than actual events that happen to us? 

  I imagine this next chapter will bring nothing for us
 And you'll search for me in all that foliage you thought you dug up years ago
 The rain pours harder now
 You'll continue searching for me there in the garden
 The garden I always wanted
 But never knew I could have
 Your callings go unnoticed 
 For I found myself already in the trees 
 In the lake
 And over the moon 

It's time now

Neediness

    I could hear him breathing as I lay there clutching my soft brown teddy. I had a choice; I could forego my neediness and let my beloved teddy fall to the floor in efforts to proclaim independence: I am not the twenty six year old who needs a stuffed animal to sleep with, I am quite well on my own, thank you very much: or I could cradle my desire to be held while sleeping and simply let teddy fulfill that for me. Because the sleeping man next to me couldn’t do this...it wasn’t in his nature to cuddle, even after lovemaking. My friends said he had Mommy issues. I blamed his ex. 

  In the mornings he would wake and jump out of bed immediately. It startled me every time, I never understood his urgency to flee from our sleeping sanctuary so quickly—like his whole body was on fire and the hardwood floor was a soothing pool of water to dive into. I longed for him to kiss my neck just once before he raced for the door. If he did give me a peck, it was my cheek and it was only a signal of his departure; a polite gesture to excuse his abruptness. He never had time for coffee or tea or pillow talk. He had things to do and soon enough he would become so busy that he would forget about me entirely. I projected this fear onto him. I think that’s why he kept his distance. He knew I wanted far more than he was willing to give. 

  So as I lay there listening to him breathe I had a choice. I could cuddle up to him for a few moments before he would stir and roll away from me...but it would be a few cherished moments that would help me sleep better...or I could seep my face into my darling teddy, let go of my insecurities and confidently hold his little fluffy head and pretend that I had someone real who loved me. I would wish for this while lying there, so close to someone who possessed only lukewarm feelings for me. I would wish for kisses and cuddles and dream of a life where someone wanted to hold me close to them always.

small black- sophie

forever meant nothing when we had nothing...

Royksopp- something in my heart

Ben Whishaw

"Loneliness is the human condition. Cultivate it. The way it tunnels into you allows your soul room to grow. Never expect to outgrow loneliness." -White Oleander

the bookie joint

  Eric stumbles over a pile of books as he makes his way to the back to do a restock. Shit. His shift is just beginning and he’s already dreading the massive amounts of  reading material that will be brought in to sell, usually by seniors cleaning out their basements and libraries. He picks up a box on the floor and and starts arranging them by category. Science Fiction. Biography. New Age. Poetry. He’s been working at the Bookie Joint for seven years now. He was planning on quitting after he finished his masters, but the owner promoted him to manager and his schedule is easy enough. As he cleans off the dust on the ancient  pieces of random literature, merely books that would inevitably sit on the shelves for years while hipsters would browse through the philosophy section trying to look cool, he thinks of Angie. She never picked up anything to try to look cool. She picked it up because she was doing research for her life. 

  He wonders what could have happened between them if he had only thanked her for the cd. They could even be married by now, maybe with a kid. He pictures her delicate frame pregnant, the two of them reading together in bed, cuddling in the morning and thinking to himself this is love. He would bury his face in her silky chestnut hair and it would smell like a lavender field he used to pass on the way to his aunt’s house in Delaware. They would talk about how lucky they were, how they could have missed each other but no, she came into that bookstore and he professed his adoration and now look at how happy they were. IF. 

  That day she came in Eric was a mess. His landlord had decided to skyrocket his rent that month, so he was pouring over Craigslist ads for another studio in his area, for about the same price he had been paying for the past five years- to no avail. He barely looked up from his laptop when she walked through the door. He heard her clear her throat. “Do you have any Ginsberg?” He looked up at her, the platinum blonde hair, eyes like a sparking ocean. Her voice was raspy, sexy, confident. He took her to the back and they searched for good ol’ Ginsberg, the way people should search for scintillating literature: together. They talked for hours that day, about music, philosophies, life, family. Before she left she told him she would make him a mix cd and bring it by. And she did, a week later, after he had gotten the news of impregnating a girl on a one-night stand. How could he reach out to her now? His life was ruined. 

  So here he is, almost three years later, with a two year old and a wife he never wanted to have. Sure, Lucy’s a good mother. She cooks on occasion and sometimes they have sex. But he feels divorce is looming on the horizon. They got married for the kid, for Adam. Eric continues to sift through the pile of books in front of him. And even now, whenever he comes across anything written by Allen Ginsberg, he sets it aside for Angie. She could stop by one day, one grey afternoon, and they could run away together and be like those lucky people. Maybe one day...

If writing isn't clear, it's nothing

Air Time

Can I live inside the piano 
and the trees and the clouds?
run in slow motion towards
your idea of love?
a sweet release
a chance to be believed...

could I sing your song with you?
only healing like a fool
live amongst the living ones 
lay down for mercy doves
begin at the idyllic time
be sure what's in it 
is mine?

a cumbersome way about you
could mean what's right to me
a little lie you whisper
would be the truth to set me free

throw me up like one of your whims
frankly I don't give a damn
there's a certainty inside of me
like running through that silky breeze
that ocean keeps on risin'
and fallin'
with me

oh love
can't you see the curtain's closed?
can't you tell the faded winter
has melted every thought of snow?
a price to pay
every thorn and needle turned
every little ounce of heartache
surely spoke of what it's worth...

a cumbersome way about you
could mean what's right to me
a little lie you whisper
will be the truth to set me free 

He looked at her, and she looked at him, and they both knew without having to say anything at all...

my brightest diamond

teen daze- garden 1

gem club- first weeks

the ruby suns- closet astrologer