This is a Title

Liberated a pair of bad ass cowboy boots.
Wearing them for breakfast.
Feeling tall even when I sit.
and ne
...goddamn I am high.

I was shown the real slums of the internet. 4chan /b/ is [fill in your choice of adjective]. O. Dear. God.

I love it when all the Halloween stuff is on sale. I have added a glow-in-the-dark dangling skeletons strand to my balcony. Boo. No, that's ghosts. *crack* yes, that's much more skeleton.
I want to be in costume again. Being someone else. We act like we don't want it but there are those times. And you know those times.

My car won't start. The Republican man just towed it away. I don't think he liked my stickers. My ride is sort of an eye-catcher I guess. It's a silver '94 station wagon with over 15 bumper stickers (ex: "It seems our technology has surpassed our humanity", "the Pinstripes", "Legalize Freedom", "Habitat for Humanity Foundation", and of course "Peace"). 
My tape deck is bitchin' with an R.E.M. cassette.
I named her "Clarissa".
(I so enjoy pop culture references)

Running out of cigs.
Out of food.
Without vehicle.
Insufficient funds.
Monday.
Lame.

Excerpts From the Notebook

Something to Forget About
It had no fear
It's red, knit hat kept the chills away but the little white capsules barely took the edge off.  Funny how it was on the edge of that ravine when it spoke, "What makes man alright?"
Questions that could be misunderstood, mis-construed, and misinterpreted always twinkle delight in that wise mass.
The edge went farther away with each tread exact.
"Man is alright when he plays."


Beau Tie
Out about stout behaviors     so obtuse
we found inside those gaps only our tongues could touch.
Then we swapped spit, dreams of nomadic adventures with tree houses, horses of every color, alternate realities... We let our existence comingle a bit- a vibration pulsating another, an unchoreographed dance we don't know what to name.
You once saw her dance. 
What was she then? "Bohemian Beauty" could be so obscure so we go with "How much did she do?".  But all is well when out pupils catch that exact and very brief glimpse, time of complete and utter lack of disturbance. Where that silly love drug makes eyelashes curl and fingers tickle. We stop asking about the circumstances in that moment of blissful Be.
She always said you could be a captain without a ship. You always said she'd be first mate.


Got High and Found You Again
That night went on but we didn't have to speak about it. We saw it in double vision- ours combined and shared. Your heart ran faster than mine but I remember making it even faster. Our red eyed mirror, our sheepish grins, our frailty.
We didn't need to pass notes. We check 'yes' or 'no' in our cognitive section and send it via hand held holding. The heads that piece together. Fragments of our lost human emotions pieced together only for the breaking, wandering soul-like creatures to finally catch that glance. That glance where you both know your soul's kin is close and reaching for the bright gaps in the fragments.
We did not speak of what we'd be when we "grew up". We grew into each other instead. And we found our muse.

Call Cannot Connect

Perhaps I'm misunderstood
because I don't explain myself.

I want it out of me.
Put it on paper?
Get a reaction of some kind?
Talking doesn't always do the trick
and some are hard of hearing

I've been told I talk at too rapid of a pace,
  and my stream of conscience doesn't flow
Told I'm not an outcast, but "unique"
Told I'm not deviant, but "opinionated"

Limitations and expectations stretch
the nodes and nodules squeeze

An odd fondness for humans, I have
We have to give a damn
  or we have to make it known that we don't give a damn
   which is really just giving a damn
     about not giving a damn

I've been told I think too much

Speaking in quips
making metaphors for life and time
 I come off as being a bit stuck in my own reality

Criticize Me in My Trip

i have not been fascinated
       <like this>
In such awhile
Thoughts a flutter
 Images: distracting
    the ones I never paid for
    Or paid much attention to
The key that makes the door more than    
    A wall
A story more as
    A synopsis
Language more than
    Meer communication
Is this what I find so fascinating?
   A whirling, vibrating fan
   An ashtray full of our last night’s adventure
   Sleeping cats, yawning cats
   Dirty clothes strewn about
i know this place is lived in
Comforts  e x t e n d s my stay
progress
movement
Home

From a Civilian

I can't move on until I know where to go.
I am not in school.    
     okay.
I have no occupation.
     really?
I have no motivation.
     hmmm.
I don't know what to do.
     well...
I feel so young and naive.
I Am so young and naive.
     yeah...

Everyone asks me, "So, what do you do?"
Do?
I sit on my couch watching documentaries and taking notes. I smoke cigarettes and fidget with scraps of paper. I think too much, think about thinking too much, and think about how to not think so much. And I'd like to stay that way if possible.
So what do I say?
"Same old. You know, living life."  but of course that doesn't leave the person satisfied. They want the alma mater, job title, and letters at the end of a name.
Here's the things though-
Deep down I don't know if I care to be successful. I'm content with glue on my hands.

Why isn't that enough?

When I was little I wanted to grow up and be a mermaid. What does that tell you?

I Could:
Go back to school for Mental Health Technology
Become a journalist covering film and text
Travel/ Run away
Sit on my couch some more
Be a test study lab rat
Start a cult
Get a job in a vintage boutique
Sell drugs
Mermaid?

Some Bull Shit

I'd write an entry of sensicalness but I'm lacking that at the moment.
Let the tangled words drip.
So go, Saga
Feeling the Blitzkreig bop in Cincinnati?

You're towering over my head

Mom got me a beautiful bracelet in celebration of my sobriety.
I may be sober, but I still have my vices.
I cut Thursday. 3 days ago that is. It's not bad. superficial bull shit that doesn't quite match the rest.
WHY DO I DO THIS? There's shame, embarrassment, secrecy, danger.  But there's also comfort, familiarity, release, relief, something tangible to watch heal.  If this blog had my name on it... But it doesn't, that's not the point.
I've been self injuring literally over half my life. It's so built in at this point.  So many have given up on me. Sometimes I give up. I KNOW HOW IT IS JUVENILE! I know how it feels good for a few minutes then worse for quite some time. I am not an idiot (even if my actions are idiotic). I know exactly what I'm doing to my body. It makes no logical sense. Nor do I.
Fuck. That. Shit.

When the hell will I "grow up"? Will I actually get any taller?

ghost candles are watching me
the fake tree fell down but I don't want to get off the couch
I've melted
need another toke
need more diet coke
need a body I like to live in

Watching fucked up shit on tv always makes me feel better about myself. I know, so human, right? Don't act like it doesn't do the same to you. Yes, yes, I have the empathy. But I'm merely flesh with gray matter behind my eyes.

I slept 14 hours today
still in stolen hospital pants and a gray shirt
there are flies in my apartment from leaving the pizza boxes out
I wish my cat didn't shit so I wouldn't have to deal with it
are you following?

My medication is all off.  I thought I could be at peace without all the little pills surging chemicals through my brain. But, no, then the voices comes back. The ones few know of. The sleeping takes over and I can hear air going in and out of every pore. I shake and shake. Yelping.
One pill, Two pill, Red pill, Blue pill...

It got dark so fast.
Or something.

Prop 19

Proposition 19 in California did not pass.
I recommend all stoners and their associates to pass out voter reminder flyers during all of election week. And voting polls should have snacks (mine had cinnamon rolls, seriously.)

Stoned Dribble

Watching "Doctor Who"
Need a time/space travel booth NOW. Ebay?
Where I'd go:
      Cardiff 1941
      Dublin 1930s
      Stonehenge being built
      Mayan Temple in it's functioning day
      The Bodhi tree at the time of enlightenment.
      And so, so many etc.s I don't have room for.

Voting today in Ohio... tense streets.
Where are the young people?  FIND YOUR VOICE!

And how is marijuana still illegal? Seriously. FOLLOW PROP 19!


You see
I am ease
A f l o w   I
don't quite
  follow       the leader.
Chords hold me
                 The favorites that burn
cremated ash tray
ID please.
    "Not Otherwise Specified"
I once wrote a poem.
I once wrote a poem and shared it.
I once wrote a poem and shared it and lit it on fire.
    And now you stuffed up your nose with that creative juice.


10 Candles lit.
Where are you, you anonymous soul friends?
Stumble stumble stumble

I know there's a little Buddha in you and I just want to find it. But I was always told to stay where you are and wait to be found.  But am I in Wonderland still? Because I thought I left when I came down. So where are you?

Soon.
Soon I'll stop being vague. I'll tell a story. I'll tell a story of my own shame. Let it go. Share it. Maybe relate to another human for a minute. Wouldn't that be nice for us all?

6 Months Sober

      I did it. 6 months sober (as in I only smoke weed since it's a miraculous piece of nature that does wonders for me and should be medicinal in ALL states- that's a whole other entry.) But yes, I still miss alcohol. I miss all of it. The speed binges, rolling night after night. But mostly the alcohol. That total obliteration. Escape. Escape. Escape.  
      My drinking problem began at such a young age. It was so normal to have a glass of wine at dinner when I was 13. But then I'd steal a bottle afterwards which I guess is not quite as normal. But in these 10 years so much has happened. I've literally blacked out most of the worst but I still have the snapshots. Those glimpses of recollection that leave you shaking.     Waking up in a strangers house after the bar one night with all my clothes ripped off and memory flashes of a man on top of me. Stealing from stores, loved ones, strangers. Anything to keep it going. Grandma still hides her purse when I come over. Yes, my own Grandma. And all that falling down stairs, spraining an ankle, spraining lumbar, bruises that turn black with my B12 deficiency, the ODs, the self injury that only spun farther and farther out of control as I drank, hospital visit after hospital visit, actually living in the hospital for awhile, getting in fights, driving (sorry), etc. 
      The humiliation still haunts me. People tell me stories about myself that I can't recall at all because I was too fucking drunk. I only have a few friends now. Realized everyone else was a drinking buddy. So much for that. But the friends I have stuck through it. I was told there was something inside me worth waiting for. Always thought it was sappy bull shit but now I'm thinking I might be an ok person. Maybe even "cool" or whatever positive word you want to use. I'll go with "spunky and whimsical". Eh? Yeah, I like that.

So yeah, Day at a time and whatnot.