what's your problem.

so, then, did you know about how the bikers (cyklers, you no?) pull their bloods out and put them back into the same body, increasing oxygen n read blood cells in their veins? i mean, really. that is true. what if i was feeling low (okay, i am feeling suchaway now, and maybe it's obvious that that is why i'm humoring myself with these absurd and inspiring thoughts) and could just stick the estrogen from my body back into my body, and feel it coarsing in, whoah, like a new million bucks. okay, this sweltering room is trapping my atoms. the fresh air is too hot, and what else is there for me?

humor me for a few hours. watch: i'll sleep, exhausted, and wake up like it never happened.

parch, ly dejected

trying to get some air, i encountered a spider, fat one, wrapping a fat red beetle in its webbing. i watched, knowing where my nightmare might come from. so why, now, does the other fat black one find its way to me, twice, like imma givim somthing he needs. cant suck my blood, hopes, cannhe?

things used to really seem so poetical, at times, when i had a more predictable schedule of mania. now, i praddel out somethings or anothers, keepinem to myslef, mostly, and m wandering where my inspiration's gone.

still earli

if you don't use, what?, you lose it. i often count things on my fingers, or alternately brag that i could, if i wanted to. so this week, what did i count? past youphemisms, still in the system, but that's not a very nice thing to say. i remember each and every thing about you, you, yous, i don't know if that sounds weird, but i do, and i quoted you, too.

you drove through fog, counted evaluations of a life time, wondered about last partings, morbidly. you watched as the suncame up, no, though, that was the lights at the car dealership, and the next town's too. foggy enough and not knowing which direction the sun came from when it did, imagined closing your eyes for a second and seeing what would happen. too sleepy to remember, knowing you crashed into the own bed, waking next to two kittens, after sleeping through the hissing fight, lovingly they wagged their tails. that was me, though, doing that, and where were you, sleepy?

the rest of the day, or two: bathing away two days of sleepy naps, one or two at a time, sunny sweat with a violet, while she looks around for, who? it's quiet, now, in my head.

loving to love yous

i know how to write two love letters in under five minutes. the words all mixed around, missing letters in the sweetest places.

when i beg for advice, idon't usually ask the questions, but if i did, i have a few, such as, do i sound SOooo depressed, could i appear five months pregnant to an unsuspecting stranger, don't you know it's this time of year, and it's happening to each of us? weather, maybe why, but it's sunny, crickets, foursquare dogwalks watermelon times now, in the prime, ants in a heyday bcause we're so sweet. sweet, sweetest sweetness, wasted on all of us, but if we commiserate, oh, let's, it seems so sweaty, bugbitten and tragic.

eventually, you had faith, i would come right out with this melodrama. tell me, the humblest in its midst, yours:

i just won't stop, this

a day has been productive. or, what is the word? get this: the wrong words stick on your tongue when you get em out of your mouth, and you might likely just use them again next time. i find such scientific research discouraging (oh, really, did it just take me a second to think up that word?) while i nearly constantly can't think of the right ones. this makes sense, really, but i can't explain how just now.

more to the point: my twenty-fifth year has me always noticing tiny signs of my constantly shifting selfimage. like today, i thought i looked a little prettier when i was holding a pretty baby. that's a joke. didn't i look good with that one on my hip, though? okay, really now. i just can't get serious.

w.ut was that?

many times, before i blog, i feel caffeine jitters and hence feel creative as well. more mellow this afternoon, i'm feeling slightly still hungry, sleeeeepy, and cool. ed down. hmm, what have i done? singulary experiences, i will attempt to romanticize here:

like this one, last night, screaming, maybe or maybe not. did i? with tears, and that anger feeling that i tell myself is okay until it might just start feeling good. that would not be healthy. just be angry at the anger, sad at the sadness, happy at the happy.ness. did you catch that other blog? i deleted it, and quick. last night, again, i found a deserted baby in a deserted car. carried her up a few flights of stairs and when i let her out of my sight for two seconds, some one placed her in the sink; she was happy there, splashing and clean.

for a week i had nearly constant notable experiences. like what? lying on a beach, sandy legs, fresh water, maybe, smelling a little like a turtle habitat. did i care? did anyone? who am i to complain about spending hours getting freckles, swallowing a few tsps of water while trying to impress somebody with my handstand?

i get so bored, sometimes. now.

it always does this

i like how this kitten makes a pillow out of whatever's around, even if it's only vaguely horizontal. i loved, in the shade this morning and just out of the cool sun, watching a baby's smooth, fat legs wade through the grass. whispering goodbye to all the passing cars.

i've got baby-sized hickeys on the freckled-most part of my arm, and the woken kit licks my leg clean of blondness. you know what else? the shimmery screen gives me chills in embarrassment, and some things that fall so cute feel too great. a little kitty, squeaking every time she jumps, looking at a bicycle in amazement like she might could figure out the machine.

last night i was bored in all except a tiny part of my brain by the way that alcohol slurred somebody's words around in the wrong order, and i laughed at the wrong parts of secretly funny stories. and, whoah, each best part of the night was that same face in my face, novel again and again.