-Phallic Injustice-



Oh, fine cigarette --
Fine phallic symbol of enslaved indulgence.
Rest yourself between my fingers
As though they were the thighs
Of a supple and pleasant whore.
Drip your nicotine unto my absorbent skin
As you burn, you self involved masochist.

End but then begin again --
I have a whole box full of the equivalent
Of forbidden breast milk.
Formula was never enough --
We all want the cosmic flow from the breast
Of your own personal patron saint of nurturing.
That store bought shit
Is just like chewing on a cheap pen
When you’re nic-fitting,
Similar to the laugh of a hyena.

The smoke just gypsies carrying out their legacy --
Trying to wish away the moon,
So they could rob the world blind
With the newfound darkness.
Sewing stories into the air,
This is not like the smoke from a chimney --
It’s paying its debts out of sights
Inside your deceived body
That has a locked evidence room
You pass by everyday


Oral fixation?
Oh freud,
You cynic.
Science has no claim on this one --
This is love, baby.
We share this life together,
Cigarette and I.
The monotonous phoenix
Always back to me once again.
It’s been consumed by fire --
New body,
But you still mean the same
As you did before,
Oh cigarette.

No electricity equals no Anastasia Disney movie. This equals sad Rasputin because now he will only exist in the history channel and not our Disney deluded minds. Amish lifestyle equals no microwave for popcorn during Disney Anastasia movie, which means we starve to death like the Russian royal family.

Wait, did they starve?

Shut up, all that matters is that Rasputin had nothing to do with their deaths; unlike what Disney would like you to believe.

Rasputin was a badass and a hero.











Power outages cause much confusion and disarray in my idyllic life.

You come to class wearing all black, every day. Not cheesy hottopic gear, just regular clothes but all black. I saw you wear another color once, but it was gray. You're so intelligent and make such great comments in class, and are so nice to everyone. But you seem so, so sad. I can always tell by your facial expressions when you think no one is looking. You can always tell how people feel deep down by their face when they're deep in thought or not really focusing on something. I feel like if I gave you a compliment, you wouldn't know how to take it. I feel like you need a friend who would understand, who has been there before. I feel like no one has ever really listened to you before. I can tell you want to be my friend by the quick conversations we have, but I don't want to creep you out by how much I feel I know you already.

Can I give you a hug?

-No Need for Coffee-

i'm too energized to go home --
i'll just quickly go to my comrad's and socialize!
socialize socialize socialize!
Blah fucking blah!
i have so much interesting shit to say --
everyone should hear my wisdom!

Gab gab gab!

oh shit!
the time goes by so fast --
there aren't enough hours in the day --
unless i don't sleep --
it's too late to sleep now!
insomnia is so useful!

i never get tired --
Never never!

with insomnia i can do whatever i want!
i want so much.....
insomnia enables me to think all i want!

And god do i need to think.

thinking will change the world!
maybe rome was built in a sleepless night --
so much to get done --
i could actually clean the apartment!
but oh--
i wouldn't do it enough--
or do it well--
but i know what i can do!
i can clean myself until my skin is raw!
at least i can do that successfully--

Clean Clean Clean!

until no one can call me dirty!

but oh shit!
i wiped off my list of things to do on my hand!
writing on paper would be too practical --
i can never keep a thought long enough to organize--

oh shit!
it's time for class!
i'm jittery and shaking and can't stop talking --
they wonder in their pretty heads --
but there's nothing wrong --
it's nothing new to me!

There are many facets of my being.




There's my dykey, lesbatronic side that would love a good muff with every meal.

There's my polyamorous side that wants to kiss everyone at the party and experience what everyone has to say in their most intimate of moments.

There's my young side that says, "You're only twenty; settling down is for those who are balding and achey in their joints."

There's the side that knows that college relationships will most likely fail with the evidence of both of my parents' failed first marriages.

There's the poet in me that wants to waste life away drinking and writing love sick poetry about never finding the one.

There's the side of me that doesn't believe in love; that it's all just a chemical in your brain to be overlooked.

There's the side of me that wants to be on guard and prepared for the worst at all times.









But none of this is as important as keeping you around.

I wonder if I’ll ever stop feeling bad about it
Or if it will just rest inside me forever
Like an immobile doll with no name
Hibernating in my regression.

I wonder if certain things I do
Make you flinch-
Make you itch and rub at your skin.
It would be silly to think so
Since you made it obvious
that you were perfectly fine
not even a week after
I jumped ship
And swam the farthest I could from you
in an ocean of cyanide and isolation.
But even if my actions
Had any effect on you
I would never know it.

It’s hard to tell where your pride stops
And where you begin.
You’re just this puzzle that never ends
And it’s just a picture of you
Happily functioning.

 

After a lover
I wonder how long it will be
until I stop writing the poetry
and stop comparing their unfocused eyes
with the ones I’m looking into now.
The veins resting happily
and pupils consistent with the moon.
When their name will not hold
Every action that went on between us
In a short second.
And when it will no longer be
The fog in my doctor’s spectacles.

 

So here I am-
At your doorstep.
When there are many doorsteps
In this alternate universe of however long ago
We last threw aside every plutonic action
and to be polite was to regret.
And many of these doorsteps
Do not lead to those who have hurt me
and would be more welcoming to a stranger
than you once were to me
at one point.

But here I am-
Since some entity thought it amusing
To place your home so close to mine
Once again.
But even without this ease
I feel I would find myself here-
Fiddling with the happiness in my pocket
Trying to be gentle with the fabric
That he now threads together.
I let him fill the stitches that I ripped you out of
Out of bitterness or maybe something more lucid
I couldn’t stand having those gaps.
And though it was as though I was
Cutting you out of the picture,
I have to remember that you never
Gave me a picture frame.
And that fragment of time that I took up
Is probably somewhere under
Your desk.
And the dust laughs
As they all once laughed
And I become content with
Having felt
In vain
and at my own fault.
For it did not take any promises
from your unrequiting lips
to initiate this
second hand fate.

So, the other day, my alarm clock doesn't go off and I am late to catch the bus to a field trip to the mental hospital. Fuck! Who wants to miss out on a trip to a mental hospital?

Well, I sure didn't. Plus it was an important field trip and I might have been docked credit if I didn't come.

So my saintly, altruistic roommate who thankfully loves cake drove me to Tacoma. We made it to the mental hospital, and asked some people we found walking on the grounds, "Hey, do you know where the class visiting for Evergreen is?"

Blank faces.

They took us to someone else who might know, and when we asked this person:

Blank face.

He then took us to about twenty more people who may have known and:

Blank faces, blank faces, BLANK FUCKING FACES!

This was turning into a nightmare, since I had my pure and good-willed roommate drive me all the way to Meth City and no one in this hospital probably even knew what in the gulliver Evergreen WAS.

"Oh, so you're nursing students?" was asked by several people, sometimes from the same people many times.

(No, for the love of Ganesha, we're fucking psychology students! We study the brain of the insane, not their heartbeat!) "No, sir/ma'am, we're just wholesome psychology students from a a christian, whitebred college in the woods."

So they banished us to the coffee room when they didn't know what else to do with us; we drank coffee that would probably better prepare us to be soothing towards the most psychotic of patients when they went on a mission to do away shaved head, pink hair girl and her partner in terrorizing already unsettled establishments.

I called my mother for the thirty second time that morning, because my momma is dope shit, and wrote a number in my journal. They eventually took us to where my class was and all was right with the world. I saw my professor from a distance after not being able to find my class for about a half an hour and suddenly felt so enamored with him; it was as though we were in a tear-jerker romantic movie where I was an American G.I. and he was my long lost Japanese bride. Everyone is outside smoking cigarettes and I go inside the food area for food-like things.

A man comes to the group of people in my class and announces, "Did anyone lose a notebook that says, 'Confessions of a Madwoman' on the front?"

I had left my journal that said on the front, "Confessions of a Madwoman" behind in a mental institution.

So I got my journal back, and spent part of the day listening to a woman going on about her adventures with Britney Spears. It was a healthy sense of accomplishment in my gut.

Plus, I got to give my roommate a cake that said, "I left my heart in Tacoma". The lady who wrote it in icing gave me a funny look, and I wonder if people don't give each other cakes with funny messages all the time. I know I'm going to do it all the time now, like Oh Em Gee.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - DASH DASH REVOLUTION!



Halloween was emotional, heartfelt and creepy as hell. So everything Halloween promises to be and more. There was a lot of drama, my friend crying the night before and me crying the night of Halloween. I yelled at a friend who didn't deserve it because I was having some kind of psychological complex that made me displace him and make him who I was mad at, and ended up crying my ass off. Very briefly, but still, I was crying voraciously. But then the bus came and I climbed right on and went on with my night. I took it as a big metaphor: you either let your mental deficiencies take over your life and cause you to be restricted, or you can conquer and understand your own fucked up feelings and move on with life. I chose to get on the "moving on with your life" bus because too many times I've metaphorically just gone home when I was upset/ given up on things and missed out on Halloween parties/ missed out on life. I know mental illness can be powerful enough to make it nearly impossible to suck it up in a healthy way, and it has taken me a lot of practice to just be happy when it's the hardest thing to do at the moment. But I'm very proud of myself for having reached a point in my life where just kicking the bucket isn't an option I let myself have anymore.

Being Julia Roberts' mouth was a wonderful success; I like being someone who can just pick random things from her wardrobe and have a suitable Halloween costume. I got to watch K. dance with another man; I would even say "get down" with another man. The night before Halloween gave me wonderful memories of not needing to be drunk to dance the night away; dancing with K. and telling him that it was okay that he couldn't dance. Awkward boyfriends for the win. He's not a party person but he went anyway, he doesn't dance but danced-me-and-kissed-me to the ever ridiculous Marvin Gaye, and let me get away with romantically dancing with my lovely lesbian, B.

He accepts me the way I am, and doesn't ask me to change; and for someone like me, this is hard to find. I hope I get to hang on to this one for a long, long time.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I'm getting "CUNT!" tattooed to my inner lip, as a declaration of me no longer being ashamed of being a woman. I finally decided that I wasn't going to get hormone therapy and become a man last year, and coming to Evergreen has opened up the possibility for me that I don't have to choose if I'm a man or a woman. I've finally become okay with being a woman, and know I don't have to live up to the standards that society has set for me as a woman. This tattoo will be a symbol of my acceptance of my gender, and my realization that I can live out my gender anyway I choose.

- - - - - - - - -


I have also come to the conclusion that I was born a two headed boy. We were seperated at birth and I was given a sex change at eight days old because circumcision wasn't extreme enough for my parents. One day we will meet again on an airplane to Tibet, and we will fall in lust with eachother and run to the bathroom to have sex. Before the mind boggling sex commences though, we notice we have the same scar down our sides and that we are not just horney, travel hungry strangers. And no family reunion could ever be as refreshing as when this moment will happen.





That is all, for now.

Went with some friends for what was only supposed to be a trip to the ever illustrious Corner Store, when we came upon some random dance party in the HCC. It was packed with wee freshman and there was much horrific hip hop/pop Top Twenty crap from five years ago. It wasn't really my gig.

But I dropped what I was doing, stopped being so uptight and stuck up, and danced my ass off anyway.




What is life if you can't find joy in even the less than ideal situations? I think I've got this living life to the fullest thing down pretty well.

-autarchic-

don't get me wrong
i'm pro-choice as hell.
your body is yours
as mine is mine.
i can respect the burning of a painting
that you could never hang
with a steady hand.
but i don't think i could ever
get an abortion.
i think i would always be staring
at the ultrasound that never happened.
the one instance
where you can never forget
the person you never knew.
i don't believe in marriage.
flowers die and so do priests-
and what good would a church do.
one person the rest of your life
seems to be a bit much.
cutting off the rest of the world
seems a bit presumptuous.
marriage seems to be farming
with that one same seed-
but i fall in love so hard
that i think of nothing else.
so despite this staunch feminist
that i perceive myself to be
i'm really inherently
housewife.

My professor has this book of personality tests which he will be subjecting us to throughout the quarter. Last week we took a test called, "Are you afraid of success?" It was true or false, and once we filled it out, my professor called out either true or false, and if we had  answered the  one he called out, we got a point. The more points you got, the more afraid of success you supposedly were.

There were twenty-nine questions. I got twenty-nine points.

I knew I was afraid of success to an extent, which I mostly attribute to being so learning disabled and just giving up on trying in school so I wouldn't feel horrible when I didn't do well. School was always such a struggle, and I unconsciously and consciously decided to be a slacker since I'd rather be that than someone who did a mediocre job even after trying their hardest.

This explains so much.

Why I don't really allow myself to try in school to this day, why I'm uneasy in a healthy relationship, why I'm uncomfortable being happy. I'm afraid to reach my potential because I don't know how to move beyond my past.

I'm moving in the right direction, but there's still some work to be done.

Dear Justin,

The best thing you ever did for me was leave me, and I can never thank you enough for that.

No love; just sincerity,

Your ex-fiancee.

This week I've become a polyamorous lesbian.

Because I'm absolutely petrified of this heterosexual monogamous relationship.

















I. Will. Not. Fuck. This. Up.


I refuse.

-untitled-

tied to the idea of what i am-
what i deserve-
and how things are.
the rope burn is something new
for i have never struggled against these restraints
in such a fashion.
i have not set out to sea
since my ship was placed in a bottle
and set on the shelf of someone
who no longer needs it
for their ego.

i have not carved my heart into something useful
though the wood
so easily crafted by my hands
i just wished that tree
had never been chopped down.

and i will find any excuse
another pair of lips-
unnecessary words-
my malnourished past-
to put anything between us.

because there's nothing superficial
when your presence
intertwines with mine.
and i can feel things being set in stone
and it is as though
what is carved into me
runs deeper than i do.
so feeling you

in every vein

and disregarding the blood that you conquer
is very dangerous for me
you see.

these ropes pull at my limbs
but i am more
than my physical boundaries
and if you begin to own
the parts of me
that can't be held down
by tangible forces
i will not be able to take it lightly.

though i never take anything lightly

and in fear of letting it

sink in

i will follow temptation
and try to get a piece
of everything that isn't you
and continue in my circles
until my footsteps become flat ground.

Ben is such a dick.

Treadmills are so insincere whether they're telling you to "Have a Nice Workout" or to "Fuck Off".

Maybe I just need to be more trusting of the good intent behind the people who program technology to have good intent.

-Pandora-

pandora was a wicked girl

gifted many things
curiousity and a box
she was not to open.

but how are we not to indulge
in the treasures that are bestowed
upon us.

she was weak
as any of us would be
expected to be.
her gifts an unfortunate match
and all of humanity would pay
for these fingerprints she would lay.
she laid her hands upon this box
and felt no inclination to obey
the only order
she had ever known.

and so the treasure was cracked open
light shined in
but what poured out
was more than light could show.

disease that could spread to every limb.
misery that asphyxiated reason.
death of the young.
sorrow of the once hopeful.

darkness learned to fill every crevice.
hope learned to rot.
mankind was handed evil in a lantern
to never mask but carry protected.
the world swallowed the superficial
and let it spread throughout its very system.

it seemed that almost nothing
could escape this curse
that now was reality.

but you.
you somehow slipped through the cracks
when these poisons were served.
you were saved and guarded
untouched by the paint of travesty
your own masterpiece
crafted away from the monstrosities
being thrust upon the victimized earth.

you are the figment of beauty
reserved for the just.
untainted by the dust
of what was becoming.
the morsel of brilliance
that the glimmer of hope
at the bottom of the box
kept for the deserving
and the not quite whole
such as i.

"I've really fallen for you." - K.

It feels good to feel safe to feel what I'm feeling, and to do so unabashedly.


 
Tonight was a night of many confessions, including him confessing that his soundtrack for the night was "I don't want to miss a thing" by Aerosmith. You would find this even more hilarious if you knew what meritorious taste in music he usually has. I said it was okay as long as that didn't become our song.

The night started out with a mega uncouth moment where two men I had slept with and now feel awkward about were in the same room AT THE SAME TIME. I walked into P.'s apartment and there they were; they looked at me and then looked at each other, and must have instantly known. That is, if they haven't had that conversation already.

"Dude, I've totally been there."

"Dude, like me too!"

"Shit, man..."

"Dude, she's like, the slut!"

"No shit, dude!"


Then a panic attack followed that when Kramer showed up an hour late to pick me up before going to get B. from the airport. I felt completely helpless because K.'s cell phone is useless and I called his parent's 37th house (their third house in Summit Lake) and Robert Mapplethorpe (his apartment in rock maple) and didn't get an answer anywhere. When he just didn't show up I felt completely prostrate, and when that happens I panic and freak the fuck out. I can't stand even hearing babies cry in stores or restaurants, because I feel so helpless to help them. This must be triggered by something that happened in my youth but I can't figure out what. He was supposed to show up at 8:30 and then when he wasn't there at 8:45 I went to the store to get some smokes and left a note. When I came back ten minutes later, he still wasn't there, and then I started freaking out that he just wasn't going to come.

"OhmygodthisisabigfuckyoutomeandheranofftoHoquiamandneverwantstoseemeagain!"

I tend to have catastrophic fantasies. It's kind of a problem. I ran over to J.'s to find P. and just found J. and freaked out some in front of him. I was just imagining B. calling me and having to explain that he was stranded at the airport, that K. never showed up. I really can't deal with not knowing what the hell is going on. I started to hyperventilate and walked back to my place and saw that the lights were on, and was going to be so pissed if it was just my temporary roommate. It wasn't her fault that my boyfriend had supposedly flaked out on something important, but I was not thinking rationally at this point. It turns out it was K., who I found washing his hands, which I swear he does more than my OCD friend back in Ohio. He explained to me that he was an hour late to pick someone up from the airport because H. needed a ride to her place and back to H.'s place. The thing about all this is that SHE HAD HER OWN CAR THERE. But asked K. for a ride out there to the middle of nowhere anyway for some godforsaken fucking reason. She took so long at her place that the ride there and back took an hour. K. is such a ridiculously nice guy that he didn't say, "I have to go pick someone up from the airport", he just said, "I'm meeting [the cancer] at eight thirty." So in her head she was probably like, "[The cancer] can wait an hour to fuck her penis creature, sure!" Jesus. And this chick has already annoyed the shit out of me by borrowing money from K. Super nice guy who will do anything for anybody, let's take advantage of him! WOO! So K. let his super nice guy attitude intefere with his life once again this week, along with having let L. into his bed to sleep with him because she had a bad dream. SHE'S SEVENTEEN FUCKING YEARS OLD, FOR FUCK'S SAKE! Get a grip man! So being really high on Vicodin I had a panic attack that took about forty-five minutes to get over. Thank Ganesha that I don't have panic attacks enough to need to be medicated for them. I take enough medication a day, thank you.

So we picked up B. from the airport and went to Denny's. I spent the whole night saying inappropriate things to B. in front of Kramer, which he commented to me about later. I'm so used to my significant others not being honest with me that I'm used to having to squeeze the honesty out of them, but I don't want to fondle K.'s trigger. He's much too sensitive and sweet a boy for that. He told me it kind of bothers him when I talk about my exes, and I told him I only do that to present the image that I've had lovers before him and can have lovers after him; trying to show that I could move on easily. He told me that it bothered him to think that I could move on easily. We confessed to each other that during the time we weren't speaking in the last year and a half, we'd go certain places to try and run into each other by chance. It felt good to know he had been doing it too.

If I wasn't into this mushy gushy crap, I'd be going crazy right now. And he always does this thing where he looks into the room from the door when he's leaving, and it's just little shit like that that lets you know someone really cares.

I'm getting disgusting. Jesus. I hope you all can stand it.
 

 

-Equivocal Mouth-


we were swimming
in the liver killing agent
contained in glassware
and then in our screaming abdomens.
all around us
in fancy dressed bottles
holding every type of ocean
and no ships.

the man growing fire from his head
(i swear, i saw a demon or two
poking around)
and sending his SOS from much too far away
his lies as entertaining as a play
that was much too short.
his acid burned enough to make me look
but was too insincere to scar.

this garden of flame
put his hand on my knee
and i put my tongue in my pocket.
the lad had been attempting
to get in my pants all night
though i think he wanted his mother
more than a quick fuck.


but his sleaze turned out to be
a desperation for balance
he called out to the angel who knew him best
and fell to the ground.

shaking and shivering and losing control of that equivocal mouth

seizure to the beach boys.

the creative genius turns to me
and though not prone
to becoming upset about things
much unlike most creative geniuses
she says
"this makes me really
want to call my brother."

and i then made a plan
to write a letter
to all of my

family and loved ones and anyone who had ever given me a glance

for if they should ever collapse unto a floor
at a social gathering
that they should fall upon clouds
and some poppy
heartwarming tune
should be playing
to make sure they know of
god's sense
of humor.

One of my best friends was offered a few pages in Maxim, my other best friend was in a line up to compete to be Miss Ozzfest; another one was a suicide girl.


I am prone to feeling horrible about myself, and having such a pretty best friend isn't helping.



I was at a party recently and my good looking friend was pointing out her "flaws" and told me she admired me for how much I'm okay with myself. Most of the time I am okay with myself, okay with not meeting some modern ideal of beauty, and saying "fuck you!" to any magazine ad or commercial that makes me feel I should look differently. Most of the time I have a strong girl approach to all of this shit... but then sometimes I remember comments made when I was young about being ugly, and remember ex-boyfriends egging me on to lose weight. Even my own mother encourages me to lose weight, which sort of weakens me because I need her to be the person who says, "You're fine the way you are." She said something once about how when I'm older I can get some sort of treatment on my skin to get rid of the acne scars, and it made me so sad that my own mother would encourage me to change my appearance surgically. She was never as harsh on me about my appearance as some mothers are on their daughters, but she never really encouraged me to be strong and not care about beauty standards. I feel like my mother did mostly everything right with me, (besides never having "the sex talk" but that's another story) but she never really pointed to the models on TV and said, "You never have to be like that. Don't ever let someone else tell you how you should look."

I take a sort of pride in being a bigger woman in a culture that worships thinness; it feels empowering in a way, like I'm my own walking billboard of, "Fuck the beauty standard". Not being beautiful in a typical way has given me a lot more than I think being generically good looking could have ever done... I don't think I would be the person I am today if I looked more like my mother, I don't think I'd be as hungry to get my opinion out in the open and speak my mind. I've had to learn how to get the attention of others in better ways than with say feminine charm, and I credit this to going against the tide of what society wants me to be.

So the conclusion is: the cancer is A-okay with not being six feet tall and one hundred and ten pounds, and is damn proud of it, but still has that five percent of her that is an insecure thirteen year old. But besides that she is sagacious and happy to be who she is.