Oct 8, 2009

playing. atomic/blondie


no helmet sensation today
only a neon smell

Nina gets out the old keyboard
unnecessary but her fingers want
the comfort of the plastic keys

he had cushioned her & traumatized her hips
had insisted that transition was still possible

outside, a large tracker unit rolls by
its blinking lights turning the raindrops
pinkish-white
silent deaths
his lips

she felt cold, & almost wished she was huddled in a cafe full of people warm with drink



~~~


Over our life - then shalt thou, smiling, touch the keys, And draw me softly with thee into Paradise. --- ee cummings


~~~

whatcha doin?

watching 'Willard' on the idiot box

claustrophobic fur smothering victorian fear

LoNeLiNeSs

write something

crumbling

prism of rain *** whisperling,

stop. the world is hateful and you know it. i am sick of it.

no you aren't. remember that time we ended up in the other space because the TR malfunctioned. how we sat on the naked beach watching the strange bird like creatures swoop down into that odd shivery silver water to catch whatever it is they were eating. how we laughed at the odd jubilant trilling sounds they made while flying back up into the sky. how you sat perfectly still as my mouth found your neck.. the cave we slept in.. the things we wrote on the walls..

~~~









Oct 7, 2009

~~~

subtle as a log.

Nina reads the words on the screen. Uh huh, you should definitely stick to what you know. No doubt about that, Mr. Writer. King of the Samples.
She smiles.
It is dark outside but is it night?

_all circuits_ are busy now_ [error 815-71]


she felt like sliding across the carpet and touching the screen just to hear those little statical crackles. but she didn't have carpet.

she resumes reading.. yadayada..

'that unfortunately mistake smugness
for being refined and mistake lack of sympathy for clear
sightedness.'


oooo.. now, that is creamy.

wall sprites move quietly near the walls, and wait.

Nina wakes up from one of the best dreams she has ever had. The entire theme was of dinning room tables. She couldn't decide between the oval shaped blond wood that looked like old school desks of different heights pushed together or the round, dark cherry wood with all the tiny, secret drawers. Both easily seated 12. &

for the cat named, Big Bridge:

who takes me there, hands me a glass of mead?
a lock opens, dragged out organism,
red grass burnt feet. all is that didn't
to be of some old neither, was moved to Am
in My.

Top: where he's @ and what his stillness means:

beep beep .. across the screen:
slow down you are going a little crazy there and forgetting your own rule, barbarous..

'The Beautiful Lady is cardboard, the sky--where the happy lovers fly away--is tissue paper. Liquid flows from the wound of the poor abandoned lover, and the "mystics" who jabber their "theories" in chorus remain open-mouthed, become quite flat and disappear, while the author, pestered from right and left, doesn't know what to dream up to explain to the audience what has just happened.'
http://www.sovlit.com/bios/blok.html

i thought the topic was drowning?

i am struggling between fantasy & the basic,
between breaths, of nerves.


my stomach is a lost exit, how about some spaghetti and texas toast?

i realize that what i write is for the most part inaccessible and interesting to maybe one reader at the most.

highlighting:

tears, & voids.

Oct 6, 2009

३० minutes

-30 minutes later-

he punches in the password, pushes the heavy door open. the apartment is dark except for the aquarium.

is that you?

it be me

what did you forget?

nothing. i picked you up some half & half and a pack of smokes

lights?

yup

he opens the fridge and puts the half & half in the top shelf of the door. walks into the bedroom and hits the soft-light switch. he is surprised to see a bottle of club soda on her nightstand and surprised to see that there is no sheet on the mattress. she is laying on her side, her back to him, her hair in spools held together by tiny, colorful puzzle-piece clips.

Nina..

if you are going to speak to me, sit down.

the hand in the voice pushes him down.

Nina..

what?

do you need quarters for laundry?

no. the sheet came off and i was too lazy to put it back on

oh.

the little black clock on the nightstand ticks like a bomb.

mind if i hang out for awhile.. i could sketch you in that pose

what would you call it...?

~~~

Nina closes her eyes
she is drowning between the lines
sunlight, hitting water like blood
paraphrased by slush, bits of scale
circulating thru patches of coral
sinking deeper, the water a throat
of eyelashes, of ink, torn flesh
moonbitter scars that pop and bulge
the taste of soundlessness
worlds under worlds touching
pieces of heaven dotted
with sky, soft as toes in the sand

Sep 26, 2009

......

Nina regrets not letting him wear her pants to work but she was still mad about him beating off on her ass and his drunk friend banging on her door at 2 in the morning.
let him in, he probably has cigs
and do i want him putting another hole in the wall with his head. . no thanks.
yeah, you're right, it would have turned into a nightmare

& there ya go. in the next dream they are all together in an apartment filled with too many rooms, pets and chaos. no yard, no flowers, but a 'work-out' room. ugh.

oh well. 7:30 a.m. and she is alone with the rest of the chardonn aaaaaaaaay, brandy and a couple of cigs. she opens the magic window:

salty - shit - one call for submissions

ag - oooooooo... star linguini .. affectionate eyeshadowing

myspace - i am going to collect a reward (my secret)

blogger - htc stopped by and left a dose of 'hello, how are ya, my friend'.

...

Nina gets out a can of jellied cranberry sauce .. she is going to feast on the other white meat, tonite.

Aug 20, 2009

KJU

I'll paint you a black painting, very red
rough boy, innards sounding like doorbells buried by lifts for little. A dark surface, ants in locks.
Taste the snowy fabric of your fifth glass.

Well....?

Tastes like rotten wood and loneliness. Fly Air India if you ever leave the states. The drinks are free.

Nina's phone is busy, symbols forgiving the light, beehive drone & detached ring tones.

I like the little bead of sweat sliding out from underneath that collar. Is it a dog collar?

Nina squints. Her eyes are silver. The pupils, dark buckets. Sort of scary.

Street thorax.

Huh?

Get any interesting messages?

Nah. Just the regular short curves. The usual spy ware infections.

I love watching the clouds slide off the pewter sky. ..


Emmm. Ever try that white Merlot?

Bet it tastes like white Zinfandel.

Yup.

*

The black beaded tattoo on her right wrist glitters, as the dome around the cabin, softly closes.

OK with you if we watch Pink - Don't leave Me?

Sure.


~*~

Jul 27, 2009

..

Nina holds his elastic flowing
for one more second
then lets it go.

she passes over the pencil pressed trenches
and scans the thought cards in the mirror,

presses the heart button with love
& feels all the channels.


She Smokes Another Cig To Stay Awake


lost finger, touch mine harder
i like your gliding gun
your dissolved press of my wrists
the ripples in your eyes so ... so.. big
your paper thighs in/on all that immobile lace..



ah girl.. come sit on my face! love the intoxication roll but hate that hair.

were my eyes not
in a bird with vacui stare.
.. u left cheese on the counter
plus. . u nothin' but a bichejos
bichejob and u never help me out. and your last piece was a cut-up.

.


listen to me.. above the lips above the scar & the light halo...

Liebestraum no.3 ...


no image.




*



blue ink day. close the book, squash the bug. Nina looks into the toothpaste splattered mirror. the skin:
becoming more and more discolored, blotched, broken. capillaries blooming. 
the day had started with another unexplainable nose bleed. she was tainted by an ugly virus. and it was growing stronger. just seeing made her tired. she wanted to go back to sleep, even if the sleep turned into another storm. she saw herself walking towards him, the ground rising, the sky gold-lit, her skirt, wildly pink.  something she would never wear. there was always a house, rooms filled with disorder. mostly she craved the sense of smell but there was no button for that. a hurricane blowing in and out, minutes of nothing where she could rest. another hour another sleep. this time she can see pictures inside of him, membranes of elongated, orange flowers curling in a serenade of love, a woolly texture. a dixie cup --- its small star design glowing neon, the points pogo-ing up and down, up and down. thick and thin lines circling the rim. a card covered in tiny, pulsating starfish. then again, a nothingness. the annoying sound of the phone ringing brings Nina back. she gets off of the cloud bed and walks to the picture window, puts her finger on his name. no mail.