I'm

get your saddle
don't bother putting on your boots
go as you are

chopping off her hair

clothes bespeak the person

exchanging slippers for walking boots,
chose a pair rough

"I mustn't polish my boots any more."

she was growing less distant
through her skill at disassembling
she was growing in grace

she made no reference to the last evening

the topics they had broached
not to be touched upon again

I carry you around

These sights disturbed him deeply
the animals coughing and
sneezing


imagine
a nuclear war. A layer of sweat
inside his plastic head bubble,
he could
hear them, shrieking and calling distantly beyond
claustrophobia or panic

fitting each syringe with a needle
to be filled with drugs


"You are going to euthanize,
don't get attached"
They were going to die
anyway

They have to go


every last one

blackout poem

she was asleep before
he ordered champagne
little girl,
"It's a long life . . . there
will be lots of champagne another time . . ."


In some ways, the prospect excited him,
In truth, it was difficult to imagine.

Oh man. I'm never gonna be the same, am I? I might be worried.

...whoops.

Every once in awhile, I bump into someone or remember something that grows a wild hair in my ass and makes me do something.

I just had a conversation with an old classmate that more or less convinced me to go teach English in Korea in September.

Let's see where this hole goes!

Beans of Solitude

Ever since I got my space back, I've been... oh, how do I say it? Reveling. Being amazed by my surroundings and my Self and how far I've come. The thing I didn't have before--the feeling that people lose after being comfortable for so long--was the certainty that I was still myself under all that mess I'd made. It's probably what kept me there for so long, standing on some precipice, staring longingly into the unknown I've loved for centuries. You know, some bullshit like that.

I wasn't sure she still existed. I thought maybe I'd killed her--rolled over her in my sleep, or something equally unceremonious. And the me that I once respected, the girl who could survive this sort of trauma, was gone for good. And whatever was left, well she'd never survive.

There was a brief moment, of course, where I fell apart. I lost it. I fell into an abysmal mania and wondered whether or not I'd done the right thing. I imagined this cliff I'd been coming to for a while now, and I'd jumped over a gap to another ledge, equally unstable. I was afraid and in a dark place. The cool thing about my tendencies though, something that others have mistaken for insincerity in the past, is that I tend to go through dark periods really fucking fast. I put my head down, close my eyes, and run like hell to the other side.

The second I hit the bottom and started running with my head down, though, was the second I knew I was still alive. Of course it hurts, just as bad as everyone else does. It wasn't fun. But to know that the me I know so well was still there, and ready to power me through anything, was enough to believe I can deal with whatever is heading my way.

Regardless of what ledge I landed on, or if I even landed anywhere, the jump was correct. That's an absolute. I can't look back.

And, as a separate thought pertaining to the same thing: I read this again and realize it sounds very self-centered. It is, in a sense, but that's avoiding an entire other side to this.

I believe in certain souls helping others along and certain intervals in time--when something is supposed to happen, or needs to happen--and I owe them all everything in this situation. A great friend of mine told me in December of last year to jump in a car with him, because I "needed to be reminded that I could." He told me that I originally put those seeds in him, years ago, and that he was returning the favor. I went ahead and jumped in the car, regardless of impending rent that I didn't have. He started it.

My neighbor popped her head in my door once in March to say hello, and said "Aw, it looks so cozy in here. Our places are so cozy. They make it hard to leave, or grow." Then she left.

A friend came into town a few weeks ago. He started a fire that burned most of the things that needed to burn.

I didn't get here alone. Though I'd like to think so sometimes, I've never gotten anywhere alone. There's a lot more to be said about that, but I'll stop. Some quarks and strings and geists do not like to be discovered, or talked about. In a sense, they're the elves that clean house while we sleep, that your mother always wished she had.

Little bursts of energy, pushing people ever so slightly to say and do things to encourage others. Instead of quarks or strings or geists, they should be called beans. That's my big idea.

I love when I consciously try to spend extended periods of time without the internet. All that mentality does is make it off-limits, which in turn, makes it all the more alluring. I love you, internet. I can't go more than a day or two without needing to google something.

Permaculture for Renters (.com) is something I've been wondering about for a while now. Found it tonight, about 6-7 hours after I decided I would take an internet break for a few days. Whatever, Christie. You can't do it. Not when it's right here!

Talked to a friend of mine at work tonight about that sort of lifestyle--the "I don't need your bill, Entergy" lifestyle--and his grandfather, a spunky old man who goes by the name Wild Bill, does exactly that. He has a blacksmith shop somewhere in North Louisiana and just kind of lives off his land and makes knives and guns. I googled Wild Bill Caldwell tonight also. I want to learn all that shit. I probably never will, but you know. I waited on Wild Bill once, and that's probably the closest I'll ever come to learning how to make weapons.

I'm cutting this one short for frozen yogurt. That's something the internet can't give me.