dreamland july 2008

get on the bus its only 50 cents but I let her keep the change --- change your clothes and your mind --- your mind about how you feel --— can I write anything different please — and I must continue moving forward 

lets delve into dream land, land land land land everything is land language land ghost land grassland — last night I had a dream about lipids and love - lost friends and toasters- lonely highways and northern valley - lets reflect - sammy weiss its SAMMYFEST your birthday like a national holiday here is your party lets have the campfriends over - spaghetti dave stars in my dreams lately, why I don't even enjoy your wavelength all too much you're a sweetheart somewhere - so ive known you for seven years but you don't seem familiar we shared memories and I forgot them all - and so we talk like strangers and I need to escape the uncomfortable situation just because I smell baked goods and I make my way into the party room it’s GUND but it’s not GUND you know how that works in dreamland and there are talbes of pastries and I choose wisely placing pasteles en mi plato and my mothers eyes are watching - I don't neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed to eat this I don't neeeeeeeeeeed to touch that - you don't neeeeeeeeed to tell me but I secretly want you to because its what im thinking inside ---so I stuff a cream puff between my teeth and swallow it with pride YEAH I KNOW THAT'S IN MY THIGH but that's where it belongs for now — so I return with a platter of calories just to piss myself off and then I hear a voice in my head telling me ROMANCE IS THE ANSWER there ARE people who make you feel beautiful all the time and theyre the ones you want to marry? No, not marry, just BE around a little more than usual, to connect like legos snap snap ahh its creation, love ladders and sex towers and colorful columns of relationships- no I don't want a realationship that is what I tell myself constantly frolicking in a field of signles THAT'S MY CHOICE will I ever get married? I cant decide what to eat for breakfast I cant decide which notebook to write in first I cant decide black or brown I cant decide to make my bed or close my closet firrsttt but I CAN decide I want my choices- I am selfish, so selfish to share myself with everyone — how am I being selfish? I wont let you have all of me because I want to know him, him, her, and them NOT JUST YOU and not because you are you but because I AM ME— so those people exist and I think I found one here—I could be lying to myself but even so what does it matter? Julia said its WHAT I HAVE TO OFFER ANYONE and what I have to offer is my honesty my feelings a little part of my heart that I can afford to give away? Can I a f f o r d it is the question we don't think we can get what we cant afford, but I believe i will heal scabbing over and scarring still there as a reminder that I shared myself with you and you took it truly—so I want to connect with someone and dreamland is where its at — here I am with this boy,  nooo not with him,   I get a textual message that says it all — rikki you always go out of your  way to find the bad boys the ones who don't treat you right the ones who don't listen hard enough or dig deep enough or touch tenderly enough or talk softly enough or say what they really mean and you think theyre from Vermont or short hills or NEW YORK CITY but really I am here from Memphis Tennessee you've never even said those two words together but we should be—so I tell him to come- with a toaster- and this time he does- this time he shows up with what I ask and with what I didn't expect- an open heart and a still warm toaster and together we run in the rain and wash the burnt bread particles out of the crevasses and we press into each other locking eyes so close that our eyelashes slip into each other in the way bristles interlay filling the gaps that are meant for others, and our eyes open WIDE and our hearts open WIDE and our legs open WIDE and we are one single body with two separate heart beats that mirror each other in a melody that screams CONNECTION, it sounds like love, it feels like love, can this be love? If not, what is? and if so how can I make it last as long as forever? and then I remember the memories- the memories make me save myself- I can close my eyes and feel the press as our hip bones attract like the middle magnets in our bodies- our lips just barely touch and we give each other breath—out of me into you, out of you into me- one single being two separate minds one single moment two separate memories- it feels like honesty…

ripplefruit

calendar mornings

grapefruits waft into the bedroom

fresh scents and a clean pair of Hanes

no filters to strain sand castles

they just build themselves

the perfect dampness 

sturdy enough for lovers legs

to layover, loosely entangled in a labryinthe of extremities 

toss toss - then

a wave of panic returns to sender

point a finger at finding fault.

sandy bed sheets, salt water tears ripple down

tight cheeks, kissed by tight lipped goodbyes

so long, long legged boyfriends and bare feet-

it all ends when the beach freezes over and the castles fall.

(...

i am (cant stop) writing

a story (never ending) 

in this (unopened) moleskin journal

it's called (untitled) 

it's called something i haven't shared with myself yet

and when it comes out (on bluray and DVD)

, i mean is published

no name is going on the cover

but this one (mine)

pen name. pseudonym. something along the lines of

(read in between the lines and)

pressing matter in between the pages of print

i author

a novel

the author

no matter,

i sign every copy with (myself)

clicky pens from the doctors office

stolen, innocently, from front desk cups

(because those write the smoothest)

by me.

doggy eared, musty pages.

she doesn't like library books

because

too many other people have touched them before

and

she doesn't know for sure where they have been.

that mystery is my favorite part

i wonder who had you on october 12th

and renewed you continuously through december?

who doggy eared your page 23

and underlined the words "infinite" and "unforeseen"?

whose hazelnut decaffeinated coffee stained your rippled cover

where did you rest the longest, ignored, untouched, isolated

who cared for you the most, attentive, touching, turning, listening

what hungry puppy sank his teeth into your binding

-food for thought

what woman grasped you tightly on a moving train

-novel nourishment

what man tossed you into a bursting briefcase 

-professional prose

what child turned you, curiously examining

the pages, the letters, the words, the smells

the musty, doggy eared pages of shared language.

she doesn't like library books because     ?     she cant read.

oh d2 travel games

compact mirrors

and travel tic-tac-toe

in a small drawstring bag.

when i saw you, your neck bare 

between where your hairline ends and your shirt collar begins

i just wanted to trace x's and o's on your smooth skin

no etching, no printing.

just tracing, lightly -

we are playing an innocent game of deception

it is compact tic-tac-toe on the flesh of you

and a travel mirror for the flesh of me to see

when i worry about the flaws that they don't notice

unaware that they are the imperfections you adore.

obey him as you would me

it is always 

'wunderful' 

to get results.

fated coincidences are not really coincidences at all

they are just a combination of 

perfect timing & blessings in disguise

sometimes preventing accidents waiting to happen

or mistakes about to be made

or regrets ready to be regretted

thank god for small favors

popular quote of the moment:

"everything happens for a reason"

but to say

what is is what should be, and what should be will be

is a tad more playful,

a smidgeon more controversial, 

a bit more convoluted,

but thank you for making this choice clear as tomorrow's fresh winter morn.

bibliotologyeca

too easy to feel out of control

with this overabundance of 

the potential

to control - -

let human beings be teased with

the ability to make choices

but tempted by the mistake to make 

the wrong choices.

to obsess over what is out of our hands

is one thing

but

to obsess over our hands, our noses, our hair, our bodies

is another - single scar to bear for eternity 

unless 

we choose

to control or

we choose

to ignore  or

we choose

to be content, find pacification, feign confidence

to eventually feel fine, forgive fate and free ourselves, uncontrollably. 

skitherapy

nothing cures an ailment

like lands of winters wonders

just two hours to freedom of frost, flakes

frosted flakes, the sugary exception

or perhaps just

isolation in ice-olation

snowcapped sorrows

don't hurt so hard because the cold

numbs

the outer so the inner can 

heal the heart

and burn away the bruises to build

a better you.

success 2013!!!!!11111

superficial intelligence

facebook status education

social simulation

redefinition of 

success.

rejection is what?

error and opportunity

there is no error in opportunity

thank you,

university of pennsylvania

eat my shit when i'm famous.

for josh

matter

she says and/or he says, i think, you think, is defined 

as:

a particular kind of substance

something that occupies space

things put down in words

thing sent by mail

something of consequence

significance, importance

difficulty, trouble

ground, reason or cause

philosophy

is it a matter of life and death?

as a matter of fact,

does it really matter

what's the matter?

well, for that matter,

no matter what,

you matter.

'you are hard on your shoes'

hands

handwriting

handprints

foot

footsteps

footprints

can she

can i

can he

leave a trail of tears

can we

make a mark

that

lasts for

years&years&years

then

when 

the sky clears and the stars step on the earth and

soles of their shoes mark the souls of our moods

it's astrology, yes, but watch!

as they make what we make in -

printmaking    &    photography.

delete

i'm prepared to feel

one of two:

settled

vs.

hopeful

there are other 

battles

sleep vs. snooze

sweat vs. study

so,

i say ski or stay this saturday

for friday's news is not nearly

as important

as i am.

leather wedges

parallel structure
just feels good.
deja vu & dreams
slip into a slip
a freudian slip
freeze dance!
and then heavy thick blankets
whomp.

tenth at the ham

click in 

tune out

ride up

ski down

first run of the season

trails behind the last of last

and the snow sounds the same

its a sound that soothes - swish - 

i smile behind my coat collar

clench my poles and fly

wind in my hair, breeze in my face

skis under

clouds over

soaring through the empty space in between.

birthday

i like

parties

presents

people

pancakes

pot

pictures

paint

plaid

patterns

picnics

parades

pudding

plastic cups

plastic spoons

plastic utensils in general

pepper spray

pinatas

penguins

puff pastries

puff, the word

pink poodles

poodle skirts

pretzels

preppy grandmas 

poop, by lily, in front of the -

prada store on miracle mile

pimples on pretty people

poles... ski poles

precious metals

precious cargo

precious, the word

piddle

paddle

playgrounds!

play dates

pressure points

prisms

pillows and

puddles.

but not necessarily in that order.

Act X Scene Y

what would happen though

if we didn't act

what would i do? you do?

ok

we 

would 

walk around ridiculous, speak ridiculous, and live ridiculous

and it would feel

free

would it?

would it feel free?

or would it feel like we were acting

free?

no

no

because i have felt it before

and so have you

it's really free

honest

for a second.

the next you're like

OH I'M FREE

so then 

we think we are free

and then we lose

freedom

from thinking a word that defines us

yes

that's why it cant last longer than realizing it.

julia rikki

dear j, it's love.

i also realize that so much is happening all over the world while i am opening the fridge

and that's the reason why it hurts the most

and i just want to walk out the door

but i don't have anywhere to go

and although i like to think that i don't need a destination, i'm just used to believing i do-

i don't want to live here anymore

i am better than here

and so are you.

synotyms

there is a dictionary of words 

that can only refer to

almost anything.

(n.) blorn

I found a blorn in the back of your closet.

(v.) to quazzle

He quazzled whenever he had nothing else to do.

(adj.) juffled

She looked juffled almost all the time.

(adv.) tawkly

When silence plagued the party room, the tawkly, juffled boy screamed something fierce.

be the way it should

do i feel the same as i did before?

one birthday card away from old

and my ages are my siblings -

eleven took seven by the hand and through the halls,

downtown in the rain sun & snow

while seventeen couldn't even recognize fifteen

i never even answered "i'm fifteen." what an under-said, 

under-felt -

under the shadow of sixteen- age...

to put my years in a room with four walls

and stare objectively at who i was, because

i knew her when she was young, younger, youngest

and can i look at old photographs and believe that was me?

i was she

cards, candles and cakes ago 

cant let go.

hero zero hello zorro

i once

took out a piece of a bubble

without the rest of it popping

does that make me miraculous?

or

if i told you i could speak without words

or without a mouth even--

i just stare verbs and blink nouns and squint adjectives

would that make me super?

like

i could heal you

take your pain through my ears

attentive antibiotic that is to listen

could that make me holy?

but

when i float 

like a drive with the windows cracked 

no concern for where or when

just now

that makes me infinite?

but don't be a hero.

NO, porf. PORF. thanks.

oh no.

it's a self-destructive sabotage of the infinite 

feigned feelings and so

hungry to be starving that

it kills to be brimming

with too much nonsense and

you don't make sense

because yer not being honest

red handed

18 year old anxiety 

get the fuck out of my dreams

pigs.

noups soups and troupes

heartburn 

at

sixteen!

let's live lightly and love deeply

but not too deeply... just enough to fool and fuck

and still be friends - - 

they burped after sharing soup

then talked over ice chips

and complained about chest pains

and heart pains

and window panes

that weren't properly placed in order to allow natural light to pass through the common room

because

false florescent doesn't bring out the hope in his eyes

or the truth in her smile

or anything real for that matter

it just triggers

heartburn.

bubbles in the leather

he used a cheese cloth

to

s p r e a d 

ink

and

s p e a k 

words

in art FoRm.

i used a pocket knife

to

s l i c e 

cheese

and 

s p r e a d 

it

in food ART.

not to eat

because cheese cloths and pocket knifes

are

for

sissies.

nmuaw

you know you need a muse

when

the fall foliage begins to brown and resemble

used bathroom paper towels, 

crumbled and tossed in the general direction of the garbage can

and

wilting flowers surround the mailbox with the faulty door

that wont shut... it

just falls lamely open for imminent decisions that hold too much weight

or

cold rain makes vomiting seem desirable or a cigarette too tempting

like

walking barefoot on lukewarm asphalt, cold extremities, warm heart?

what is this temperature clash, this bodily rejection

this

feels like limbo for lunatics

i'm 

just

waiting for winter.

please snow.

to soon

i was right!

life is a whole bunch of falling

but 

5 minutes of fame

5 minutes to fuck

5 minutes to feel

5 minutes til friday

5 minutes to fix everything that went wrong 5 minutes ago.

it takes time to think

about 

things that 

make us 

happy.

but not even 5 minutes to realize

we feel 

like

shit.

pain, yo

i just fucking realized

how bad it hurts to be honest

like accidentally scraping off a scab

that you've been trying so hard not to let fall off

and then

instead of revealing a light pink healing patch of skin

it starts to bleeeed all over again.

reopened wounds hurt more than opening them for the first time.

also,

truth hurts when you wait 

a 

long

ass

time

before being honest.

so here it is

bare and beautiful

this died in me

a very

long

time ago.

sorry i didn't tell you sooner.

flatulence in bed

thumb tack the size of a dime still sticks to my wall

a bright blue blob

and every time i look at it i think of scraping it off

but not long enough to actually do it--

i'm sure i could find some poems in this room

on that bookshelf in between gossip girl and of mice and men

or on that nightstand near the tissue box and behind the snow globe...

i can find a line on that shelf next to the picture frame

that holds old friends hostage-

suspended in a moment of false friendship-

but was it false then?

i found a verb under my blue carpet

and a noun stuffed into my old pink pumas in the closet

and an adjective drowning in my sock drawer

but the pronoun stuck to the tack on the wall

oh, i guess that's why i never scraped it off.

"you're in it right now"

what is it about being in it

that makes us want to be-

in it?

being in it is a feeling

not a status

it is a frame of mind

not an experience

it can be a desire, a necessity, a goal

but it is fleeting, evanescent, temporary

and nothing equals the satisfaction of knowing it is possible

to return.

the stars say yes

you are not currently following anyone

so set out to say something

and actually say it out loud

after thinking it

and feel it twice, before and after

and free yourself.

it's all about finding your people

chunky cable-knit sweaters are scary

big, fat stitches of restrictive fabric

weighing on you like last nights lo mein

sleep it off,

wake up in a thin striped cotton tee

with moth holes at the collar and frayed sleeves, 

seams broken, but doesn't seem broken.

comfort over fashion

but fashionably comfortable

'look at her, isn't she adorable'

finally able to adore herself

a split second

with her people

and then it's gone.

together

fall to the ground

leaves and people

rustling in the grass on crisp colorful pillows

pumpkins heavy sitting on cornfields and scarecrows

straw, hay, chapped lips and static

pie crust, the steam from hot apple sider

thawing the ends of noses

eyes tear, blink 

but don't cry

because tomorrow the first snowflake falls

and fall falls to the ground 

with flakes and frost

a new feeling.

resonate in rivers

use things

use people

as distractions

use places

as escapes

from anything we don't feel like feeling like doing

do not use the verb do

do not use the noun things

specificity connects person to person

let's see if this is understandable 

song sings through wires into ear

that says

i change today

just from sounds that resonate

pen to the thin lines

spew life

scribble love

say anything

remember me?

videos capture a life lived

and playing ended lives

should spark-

it's weird.

strange and peculiar is also curious

when just taking what you remember

and what you see

and how you feel

merging into an eclectic combination of

see?

make a magnetic memo somewhere like montana

the magnetic memo

on the refrigerator

reads smooth as glass

it says

control is a feeling that is part of a mood

and when feelings change as moods do, control is compromised

what happens when you

relinquish control and close your eyes?

write without lines on the paper

dance without expectations for grace

walk without shoes on your feet

and love without the fear of losing self.

these were magnetic memos on the fridge at the kelly writers house

mine:

where secret was brilliant 

like a winter cup of coffee & talk   slowed

theirs:

were thine raw like a question

inspire is road

frantic spark after his naked cry

open season

they forget morning aches pounding

pull the live stream chanting 

perfume moon water 

the recall ache

they say it all the time, you know

it's time to start doing things for yourself

self, self, selfish,

be selfish.

i need to be more selfish.

self, self, selfless,

be selfless.

i need to be more selfless.

dear self,

did it rain? 

love, self.

love self.

love yourself.

it's all you really have

to yourself.

uno.

there is still just one

follower

one moon

a single second of heat

the moment it changes

that happens just once

i still have one

feeling 

one intimation

a single doubt of consequence

the moment with tomorrow

that will happen just once

and still just one

day

one time

a single space of happening

the moment that moves

only once.

high fructose corn syrup

sugar stars

and a dark chocolate sky

with a coconut moon

oh what a sweet night

cigarettes and chocolate milk

caramel and cobblestone

strawberry fields

syrup in the streets

lying in glazed grass

eyes glazed over

staring into madness.

play in a box on the ground

to have no fear of

walking barefoot on asphalt 

heels in hand

bag over shoulder

shades over bright eyes that

glisten with the water at the edge of the pier

stepping on small stones

remembering milestones 

recall collecting round stones 

to fill dress pockets with to weigh down my side of the see-saw

at Tallman park

those swings seemed smaller then

when

i was smaller, too.

i still have small feet

big dreams

bright eyes

and the swings still carry me into the air 

just as high as before but this time i understand why it feels so right

to fly

because we do it all the time.

i think this conversation would be appropriate

' she ain't no fuckin' e.e. cummings. '

' oh? '

' no. '

' oh. '

' yeah. '

we have become accountable at our assigned positions

you want to know why

winter is so damn magical

well

think of

the smell of  c  r  i  s  p

brisk cold air through nostrils

s  e  e    your breath in clouds in front of your nose

so cold you cant feel the tips of your toes

taste the smell of     swissmiss     hot chocolate powder 

and 

really look at a snowflake on your sleeve

i promise you

it looks perfect

because there is no other one quite like it.

it is you

oh, it is you.

just making sure.

words slip off the back of a farm truck like loose strands of hay 

sss through the stack, little rocks make the ride rickety 

but they hold on

and loose strands of hair slip down into her face

and he reaches out with one hand to brush, his fingers like bristles,

the strands out of her eyes when graze eyelashes to hand

butterfly broke the silence

flutter so loud, eyes flutter so loud, hearts flutter so loud

and leaves fall softly to the ground.

i have a follower

i have a follower

her name is cherub

or maybe it was turnip

i cant remember.

she walked in my shadows

and lurked in my dreams

but never creeped me out.

until one day i saw her

pocketing my pencils

packing up my pens

and stealing all my paper.

that's when i realized

oh shit, she can really have it all

because she has time

this doesn't take time

we no longer have time

half the time we're wasting time

and half the time we're spending time

never saving time.

tap tap tap, no time to waste,

turnip or cherub, you can lead now.

look what i found

sometimes you have really inappropriate thoughts about pickles

no, not inappropriate... peculiar

peculiar cucumber

cheese and triscuits

mozzarella string cheese

fasten your seatbelt 

i'm about to dream a car crash

blink twice and then keep talking to make sure you're still alive

no matter what you do

do not

let

anything

touch your heart.

the best in the world

sometimes it doesn't feel like family

it's an old sticker book

they've been stuck for so long that they will not come off the waxy paper

just keep looking at the fuzzy ones, the smushy ones, the plain ones, 

the traded ones.

but they're not going anywhere

well, neither is family -

choose A or B

true or false

once you scrape that sticker off it'll no longer have adhesive

reattachment is not an option.

see suns

its a heat that hangs idly

and moments when hearts beat hotly

time slows in the summer

trees stop holding hands with crisp leaves

after foliage arts the highways

colors and apples drop from skies and the air is fresh in fall

cotton balls blanket the streets

and fluffed white pillows and silk sheets

the earth sleeps under winter

birds sing sounds of morning

the first warm day holds the heart in its hands

and flowers peek toward the peak of spring

is there still life in still-life?

she bent her knees and leaned forward, 

scrutinizing his waistline like a seamstress to the fabric on a mannequin.

she clenched his hips in her hands and jerked his waist, 

abruptly, an inch or so to the left and stopped. 

his arms limply followed, first extending out like an opened umbrella,

his torso the handle, 

arms twisting right, then left, while falling closed in one swift motion at his sides.

she nestled her head under his chin

and pressed her cheek into his chest

and crossed his arms over her back

where his hands landed loosely on her hips, graspless.

she waited, standing still, still felt nothing

nothing but an imminent heart beat and before body heat

so she let him let go 

ambi-dex-trous

[-teacher teaches-, student learns]

[student teaches, -teacher learns-]

anyone can do it, right?

-anyone can do it right.

and anyone can do it: write?

-yes, anyone can do it: write.

but only i can write with left, right?

-no.

well only i can write with right and left, right?

-no.

so then i left.

thanks to the trail markers

i can see where i am headed

and it looks like promise, but not like the promise land

and it looks real, but not like the real world

but it feels grand, maybe like the grand canyon, 

or playing grand theft auto, 

or a grand piano - - -

and i want to hike hills and press buttons and stroke keys

to let everyone know that i knew where i was going and i went there,

and look, isn't it grand, isn't it real, isn't it promising? 

look at all the people who followed.

i saw it all on the see saw

i wonder if it would work

if i sat on one side

and you sat on the other,

and although our bodies wouldn't balance right

i am almost sure that

what i harbor in my head

those mistakes, memories, thoughts and things

would compensate for the ample 

physical existence you have over me--

regret is heavy on the conscience,

lost love is heavy on the heart,

and presence weighs more than pounds.

in fact

i believe

i would be the paradox

little girl,

big boy,

and you are the one in the air while i am rightly grounded.

the number game

is it getting better?

because i get about 50 on the highway

and every night you sleep

but aspirations never sleep.

so drive, get back in the global game

it's incredible in and of itself

even if it certainly doesn't feel that way.

to take numbers

t0 s4y th1ng5 1n w0rd5 th4t c0u1d n0rm411y b3 3xpr3553d

take the multiplicative inverse of now

square it, get it out from under the radical

and be, be radical. see it from a different angle.

it's all an algebraic/geometric/personal proof

that doesn't need to be proven

to anyone

but

you.