thoughtful. reminescent. lyrics wind me up. and poetry cuts me down. i am in the middle.

he would be there, every second, every time i called teary eyed in the bathtub slinking through bubbles and salt, and he'd listen, just listen and tell me what i was worth, pick up the pain i felt, and blow it back to reveal myself, he knew myself.

midnight runs to his apartment. scramble into his arms. escape what reality there existed. breathe the breath that was meant for me, and share the lost of his music with me, chords played to the tune of who i was.

the first man that ever loved me.

now gone. now gone.

i miss him. wish i could talk to him and i'm sure i could. just so difficult at these ages of our lives. path turned differently. paths turned all around.

doula training is over. now i embark on the live births. to witness and not experience causes me some chaos inside, but i'm moving in a direction of growth. i am insecure, but i am always so insecure. i'll just do it because i love it. i love women and i love making sure they get what they need.

saw grammoosh and that went sad. every time we end its like we're both dying. we can barely end our meetings cause of fears that it wont be fine . . . next time, in between. she might disappear as did teddy or grandfather . . . or elliot or or or

not very excited about school in mornin, but it's life. must finish up this paper full of words, and get myself on to bed. sleep.

took only 2 drinks to get my mind on the page of gov't mule
my brown dress sailing about my legs, like wooden chimes, all around the trunk ~
tingle, mingle, single? plead some fifth disease, dont want no causes of interaction, interaction gets me no slack from the harpies.
ate fajitas, or as mr. pearce says, fah jih tas, mr. texas at his best . . . back seat of fast cars, cell phones before i knew what cell phones were, and all the consistancies of running away from home. far off lands of escape and tape it all down on a camcorder the size of a shrunken flordia. . . . barrelled on tiny pale shoulders, exposed wanting to tempt, and eager to flaunt
oh the youth. i was. i is.
i miss my jack. one day i'll run into him again. he'll be fine, and i'll be fine, but we'd be finer if we knew one another now - coping mechanisms. always in tact.
or trying to be.

25 pages of research and i'm not a good one for it. pass it on to someone with the energy and the passion.

night blogger. may you move in some other summer with some other queen.

coffee. discussion.
driving heads through walls.
comparisons
birth and death
him and them
talk talk talk
rant run rant, run, rant
we live and then we dont
and all we can do is wish we would have said something more
or said something less
loved for words
not for self
my body good enough to touch
my mind good enough to respect
my heart just hidden from

jack, my kerouac,
jean, my ti jean
wrap that lucid tongue up round my whim
lets us be music together.

watched documentary tonight on him. it was made in the 80s - my god, seeing him read and talk makes me crumble, makes me want to rid myself of these strings that attach me to things i dont need, and that only bring back memory and let go . . . fall into some state of stupor and find that delicious juxta-position of hallucination and reality- write on effect, no longer cause . . .

want to run over the peace keepers, and burn down the houses of the war mongers, want to scream obsenities and romances from the passenger side window going 90 miles an hour on some dusty highway where the leaves reflect on the windshield . . . all illusion and in love

ben harper soothes a mood i didnt even know i had. i wish my plants didnt look dead. what am i doing wrong? i am breathing to lightly for them to survive? should i talk their petals off? hmm, that would defeat some purpose i'm sure of it.
oh well, they'll either do or dont


my fingers are yellow colored. the heat hasn't been turned on in a few days. i am frozen to awkward colors.

~jacqueline

got my laptop
yeehaw
now i watch my hitchcock fix of north by northwest
really like it so far.
setting up poor little . . . his identidy i wont give thornhill, kaplan, etc
i have a volvo now, and i dig that - listening to music on the way to work or school puts me in such a great mood.
eating dinner out was nice. however, tonight i started crying .. .. i'm too tender in memory for my grandpa . . . seeing an elderly man cross the street and then wander through tough punk crowds . . . his arms were shaking, he was on the way home from the store, alone, rainy night, i just thought of my own grandfather, and the loss of youth and pride at that point - and i started crying. alone on that stupid street, in my heeled boots, and leather bag that i got for a gift, and i was so ridiculous. I wanted to apologize to the world for being so stupid. I had to walk to the car. Sit there a minute, reflect, and relax. . . still felt bad.

discussing hardcore reasoning of recognizing traits in folks
it's life and all we live

honey goodness tea. love it up.

talked to gramma today, uncle earl and aunt ann died ~ within a day of each other. they said Uncle Earl died of a heart break . . .i can't stand that sad. Wished i didnt have to deal with it . . . glad my grandpa doesn't - i hate death at some points. i'm so familiar with it but it's still so hard to taste . . i just wish those i loved would stay awhile. not leave me in my growing

i could go on all night.

can't get into writing my Flannery O'Connor paper so i focus on the guitar next to me, all dusty and tired, not ready yet to corrupt my aching left hand . . . all the lights in the house are on - as though i can afford it - as though the electric company wont really come and clip me off the grid.

a man, torn and tepid found me today - he gathered the last of his tender and realized my need for a coffee - offered it as though it were the holy sacrament and i consumed it - caffeine the blood of this deed . . . he laughed that i wasn't wearing shoes, liked the way my tattoos peered out of every step - the skirt hanging around my legs swinging about - "how many do you have if you dont mind?" - i told him. he was blown away and i could almost see the imagination of him devouring the skin not revealed by clothes - he liked the way i pronunced the word today and he hesitated to leave, promised he'd only shop at that store, and left telling me his name, asking mine . . . . "jack, lynn." he pronounced, and it was destructive enough for me to laugh - flattered, this tragic sweetheart that i'd never melt into - i corrected him, and he drew it in and tried again, and it was close enough so i gave it to him for the sunday that it was.

walked home from the bus. rain down on me. and it did. one cold october drop at a time and i missed everywhere else i've ever been - the damp soundtracking my solitude - my disappoint with my surroundings and wanting to escape . . .
this attachment is nothing more then responsibility and why'd i bring myself that ?

my first big doctor visit for this diseased ovary comes next monday. i am so tired of spreading my legs to cold steel . . . .

got a car. a volvo blue burst of metallic sunshine - yeehaw - can finally take the laundry without climbing that mountain past the capital -
wanting to smell my clothes clean.

gram's sick. a cold but enough to worry me.

homework and contemplating silence of the lambs. the word play, the symbolism in tattoo and animal - the senses exagerated, the lecters minotauring my brain - i stay employed.

tired, and running on a barrel of iced tea - wondering when the next time this motivation will happen -

there are words, keys, i still can't pound out.

writing a letter to you

boundaries
come falling
apart and come
twining up

i haven't seen you close up in so long
i wonder if that scratch i left across your back
is now a scar
that someone else suffers

this apathy you have given me
has carried me a thousand feet
to nothingness
where i stark stand still
interuppting the chaos
to show off my bejeweled throat

i never burnt books
however, chaucer
has been on the top of my list
re(a)d blood of page
all those typed pages
curling and ashing
goodbye middle age

hello twenty fuck century
all these babies so hopeful
as they hop skip jump into my eye
little catastrophes waiting to happen
explosions up in arms
around downtown
and midtown
and shit, this town, is useless

you were never as sticky
as you were
down south
smelling of sea salt
and insecurities
overwhelming yourself
confidence bursting rifled soul

i felt silent
sleeping on the edge of your blanket
all these new sensations
our own

midnight hollows
bodies in wool
curling up into the other
bite the base of the bungalow
as not to wake the earth

in sudan i met a man
running from the law
or the law was running from him
and he cried in front of me
as though he knew me
and i drowned in him that day
and became him
wept for all of africa
universal

cold fingers
spontaneous
out out out
where ever ya are
get ut
an let me type you
wipe you
fight you
my mind is a morning glory

am i happy where i'm sleeping
does he keep me safe and warm
does he tell me when i'm sorry
does he tell me when i'm wrong

will you watch me for hours

were we perfect when started?

all my life, it's a shame
all my love, it's just a dream

~ all these unecessary ranticles i participate in. the worried infection in my brain. ticking incoherently, creeping in my skin - like bubbles of tattooed itchy blister
when will say it's all worth it?

am i happy where i'm sleeping
does he keep me safe and warm
does he tell me when i'm sorry
does he tell me when i'm wrong

will you watch me for hours

were we perfect when started?

all my life, it's a shame
all my love, it's just a dream

~ all these unecessary ranticles i participate in. the worried infection in my brain. ticking incoherently, creeping in my skin - like bubbles of tattooed itchy blister
when will say it's all worth it?