sunday, june 11
he won't ride in
and his hair
and circles
and he's a queer
says he's a man
he won't ride
home is a rage
home is where
i only love pieces
i can't grasp,
i've been here another
You may be dreaming
a kitchen is a place
cars any more
it reminds him
of blow jobs ..
that he's a queer
stuck to the roof,
over the wheel
like a pigeon
on a tyre goes
around
over circles
and his hair
on the roof
like a pigeon
goes around
and his eyes
and his hair
and his eyes
say he's a man
any more
feels like a cage
home is what you read
how you breathe
home is how you live
i feel boxed in
i feel boxed in
i feel boxed in
think I'll be all right
the heart lies
The heart lies
the hard lies
welcome home
of things that I hate
like this box,
this piece of room
can't see true
a piece of past
days like today
like a decade alone
painful to remember
like today
year, another day
oh so waving flags
and jazz--
Girl you complain
to kiss the rotten
broken knee
You may be bleeding
You may be in this box
where you prepare
and clean up
--throwing muses
"vicky's box"
i'm not sure what i expected to feel today. overall, it's been a ride alright, with more ups and downs (mostly downs, for various reasons..) than i would ever have thought possible for a simple roommate situation.
the intense fright of being completely on my own is having a fistfight with the delirius joy of having the apartment to myself and i'm not sure which side is winning.
it's just me now, scrambling about. there's an echo in aziza's now empty room.
(fyi: the room has a creepy alien baby outlined in the closet door. no, i'm not kidding, it's like when people see jesus in a bowl of baked beans. at night, the light seeping in from the window makes it glow from the wood finish. that's why i swopped rooms with aziza a few months into living there. heh.)
i haven't slept in my own bed in about 2 months now because with the whole place to my disposal, it makes as much sense to just do everything in the livingroom. (okay, so i get spooked alone in my room and like to be near the front door so i can monitor everything. whatever.)
i've also discovered that having the place all to myself isn't half as fun without gene there to fill up the silence with. (stupid-ass - why'd you have to go graduate and move back to new jersey for??)
blah.
although i have to admitt, blasting music helps tremendously, as does random walks that lead to bumping into people i know. and phonecalls with angela. and roasting potato slices (i'm addicted - help. i've gone through a 5 lb. bag in a week.) frequently. and books. and the phone actually works to contact such far away places as new jersey and sweden. amazing, that.
oh fuck it. i feel better now. hehe.
---
happy birthday to my wonderful grandmother vera. i miss you.
---
i watched bill maher's standup hbo thing last night, and he touched on a pet peeve of mine. can people PLEASE stop naming sean fucking connery as sexiest man alive???
i KNOW he was james fucking bond, but he's 70 damn years old! just because he hasn't aged as badly as rutger hauer and jurgen prochnow does NOT make him "sexiest man alive" - the thought of all these chicks claiming they really lust after sean connery's brillo chest and saggy old balls: what's WRONG WITH YOU??!?!?!? juST STOP IT!! NOW!!!
okay, just really had to get that out there.
--
i go phone. bye. yes, i know the sidebar is much longer than this entry and that will disturb your sense of reality as we know it but you'll just have to deal. breathe. breathe. good going.
image © jennie alibasic