FUCK WHAT YOU HEARD, THE FIELDHOUSE IS ON FIRE

September 14 2008.

M insisting, “I’m a poet, I’m a poet and I’m a fucking liar, you could drug test me right now.”
L, “Wait, you would fail.”
And M, “Therein lies the rub.”

First things first:

Much of this blog is fiction. There! I've said it.

I miss Morgan and Liz and I toting liter bottles of Cola. Even, I miss the awful flannel days, when we were all crying and lying on the ground with Pringles crushed into the rug underfoot, and when I carried entire boxes of tissues everywhere and had Cat Powers in my headphones. I miss us all wrong.

Ce beau les gens qui dorment…

At a lunch a few weeks ago, that seasonal hippie told that story: she went wild boar hunting while stoned. Everyone was in full hunting gear, tripping and laughing- and they skinned the whole thing once they caught it, and they sat on the beach still giggling, and cooked great hunks of meat over a fire they’d made from driftwood and soft seaweed. I heard about some gutterpunks too, I thought, How I Wish I could live peacefully with those crazies, (they must see life so differently!) those runaways with self-given tattoos on their necks and the soft parts under their arms and knees, those crude finger gangsigns, that broken bottle with the broken chokehold their clever fingers carefully embrace. These people use church words as curses (Tabernacle!).

This weekend, I put more purple in my hair with my fingers and I got my ear pierced two times again and the cartilage crunched under the gun, and Ben clutched at air with fists, even though he was the one who had insisted on watching. He asked if we were the ones who told him about the time machines (we weren’t) and wore an old man’s sweater people pointed out in a coffee shop and liked.
“Everyone,” he said, “has everyone else’s umbrella. The world is CHAOS.” Also, he said, “You guys lead a ridiculous lifestyle. It’s like you’re seizing everything by the throat- but then squeezing it and trying to kill it. And you’re really excited about it!” But, excuse me, while I kisssssssss the sky.

Kevin and I decided to create a Good Gay Club, where we would have posters and exclusivity and exquisite queers and nobody who’s only ever kissed one person before allowed. Likewise, Liza kisses boys who might not be what they think they are.

The cars have been speeding and full of unfortunate people drinking unfortunate things. Megan says, woah, she says, “I am a pedestrian, I have no metal parts.”


These Things Also:

Kevin called us cocktail witches. We were all falling down in short dresses.

Different stories of which parties where, gathering where you’ve swallowed up all the glitter and have diamonds embedded in the bumps under skin of your spine, we can’t remember what happened and what didn’t. Dancesafe. What are bones? Those in my hands shake and Anna and I are mountains. Kevin says, “I drew a picture of Liza. She is sitting on the bed and she is becoming birds.” Someone else says, that building is on watch. Someone else says, the last party I was at was dancing, and security was coming! Some random kid, yelling with his arms up, “We Can Take Em!!!” But was wrestled down to the ground as we all ran away.

At some point, you were a fountain of purple and stars, Kevin thought your neck was a bottle, you said, Oh! I’m so sorry; we said no no no, this is you we are spectacular together. Some time later, Kevvy ripped my dress off and I don’t remember why or what or how. those smog kids with those white balloons, so many! They were rolling hard with the visuals of glory. Ell said, “Oh! The love drug!” She said, “The hug drug, we should be in a band! We are chemical cousins!”

Your skin makes me cry. I am interested in copious amounts of everything. In E, where does the S go? I can’t know because I haven’t been there, done that. Can I say this out loud? I am responsible, I am touching things and things are being touched; there is a softness in your eyes, they are only here to be a lesser version of the hardness in my eyes. I like when they keep saying, “Come” and “Tell me what you need.” All the moves she made were so deliberate.

Stop stop stop I’m trying to kiss my best friend. I would just like to say, as I’ve said before, that I cannot wait until I can grow up and get into the real world, just so I can name a boat after you. It will sail in the wind so those sails billow. Speaking of sails, we walked to visit the village and those boys who live there, and Kevin was eaten by a large blue fish sitting on the floor. It moved like a whale when he was moving inside it. It billowed, he billowed.

Speaking of chocolate, Kevin said he believes in the appeal of intergenerational cannibalism- he carries his grandfather in a saltshaker. Anna was a blur last night, she jumped up and she fell down, we all fell down from heights. Before you got on the bus to ford the river Styx, you said it is nice here, but a scary, scary void. You said, you and Liza, you are the lost souls, I escape.


And this:

She knew what she was doing, so most of us were wrong about her. Especially as she and that other dyke checked you out strolling by her cigarettes.

They played Hustler last night, I couldn’t believe it. And that girl I want so bad grinding up on someone else, and I wasn’t in the right state of mind anyway, and I thought…fuck. And that’s it.

It sounds like Keen is flooding. For dinner tonight, I had three glasses of juice. This pleases me. They were tall glasses and the juice glowed red like jewels.

We have been defeated by the weekend. I have fallen back in love with words, this is why I made this thing. It is completely irrelevant whether or not it is read, I do not want to lose this lines.

What? I am a poet, THIS IS ALL LIES.