betting on the muse: 2009

satan gave me a taco- by beck

Satan gave me a taco and it made me really sick
The chicken was all raw and the grease was mighty thick
The rice was all rancid and the beans were so hard
I was gettin' kinda dizzy eatin' all the lard
There was aphids on the lettuce an' I ate every one
An' after I was done the salsa melted off my tongue
Pieces of tortilla got stuck in my throat
An' the stains on my clothes burned a hole through my coat
My stomach was a-tremblin' and I broke out in a rash
I was so dry and thirsty and I didn't have no cash
So I went and found a hose, tore off all my clothes
Turned on the water and it shot right up my nose
Some old lady came along and she thought I was a freak
So she beat me with a handbag till I could hardly speak
I was lying there naked, my body badly bruised
In a pool of my own blood, unconscious and confused
Well, the cops came and got me and threw me in their van
And I woke up on the ceiling and I couldn't find my hand
They took me to the judge, his eyes a-glowin' red
The courtroom was filled with witches and the dead
Well, the sheriff was a hellhound with fangs and claws
The prisoners were tied up and chained to the walls
The air was gettin' thick; the smoke was gettin' thicker
The judge read the verdict: said, "Cut off his head!"
Well, they placed me on the altar, and they raised up the axe
My head was about to explode when I noticed the Marshall stacks
I noticed all the smoke machines, cameras and the lights
Some guy with a microphone, runnin' around dancin' in tights
And I noticed the crew and the band playin' down below
And I realized I was in a rock video

So I went and joined the band and I went out on tour
And I smoked a lot of heroin and I passed out in manure
I made out with the groupies, started fires backstage
I made a lot of money and I gave it all away
Well, the band got killed, so I started a solo career
And I won all the awards and I drank all the beer
I opened up a taco stand just to smell the smell
cookin' with the devil; frying down in hell

part 1 of 1

2:06 am is always a

poignant way

to start

a poem

maybe i mention

how i was scared

shitless in a well lit

restroom

maybe i mention

how i was dozing

off,

as i wrote,

addressing my audience

next to my bed

i wish i could lock

the door

locking things makes

me feel

better.

leonard cohen

you won't make me jealous if I hear that they sweetened your night:
we weren't lovers like that and besides it would still be all right

number time's the charm

i always knew
somehow, i could hear the whisper

he will break your heart

i could waste time asking why and
searching for a pulse
i could waste time asking you why
and digging up threads and seams
that just
end

maybe, even better,
i can make my body swell
with love and grief
and try to forget you and all the others
happened

it's a kind of dreaded cycle
i'm still on rinse and repeat

easy on the eyes

i need a storage bin for my wiped out soul

my dirty, spinning mind has tumbled out of control

i've been waiting for it to hit me:

i want this. i want to be better.

but the ball swings toward my face

and then quickly

drops away

you were the flash of sun, burning hot

gristle

strong arms, weak in the knees

now i'm left alone

and i want it to hit me

who the fuck am i?

i thought i knew

but i realized somehow that i defined myself with you

lay me down & don't give in

you whispered, cat

we would lay there with a blanket

and nothing else mattered

it's all dust

silt on life's gleaming dashboard

you thought yourself out

with tumbling words

shitfaced excuses

all week,

i thought about

you

made me feel beautiful

now i am ugly and alone

maybe you think you can find

another me

another girl who will stroke

your smooth chest,

and make you smile when you couldn't

dream of it

meet another girl who sends you love poems,

who writes notes to you,

another girl who loves you

so unconditionally

who wants to make you happy

make things work.

maybe you're right,

but i've never met a girl like that

except one

i don't know who i can talk to now

7:o4 am

what a shit time to be awake

my eyes are puffy

cramping up

shaking hands

don't want to eat

tears filling my eyes

i can't get anything out of this yet

"the coming of christ" or "american idol is on"

i am inside the lone

moment

of silence

nonchalant noise from other hotel rooms

dim lights, stripped bare

here on the edge of my seat

i am finally alone

american idle

family leans in to

watch

believe

as blood pumps through my veins,

the world is slowly turning

more than anything in the world

thursday

seems like a leap year day that never comes

here we are,

and i'm telling you, i haven't felt like this

for two years

i haven't felt like this,

maybe,

ever in my life

to be honest, with you

we wasted

this world

like cigarette

smoke wasted

smooth

family

pearls

and this living room with a tv set

is full of wasted potential

and eventual regret

your bedroom lamp is out

the light is gone

but it really never shined that bright to begin with,

to be honest

we will think about the days gone by,

where the sun never went down

don't know why

and the moon set the standard for the shining stars

but we forgot our own standards

where are we now?

limbo

i guess we can't wait

no point in hesitation

well behaved actions aren't actions at all

and you rarely hear people

who got nothin to say

this is what a feminist looks like

she's haunted
haunted by the girl she wishes she could be
you might know her
she's as alive as a barbie
her cold bony skeleton envies skinny men, skinny women
trapped inside her body like it's a guantanamo prison
watching blank thin faces, washing tears from her cheek
knowing no one will listen if she bothers to speak
she likes to think that feminism is coming back
and winding pro-choice women's prophecies into pop culture
digital crap
she likes to think that one day
she won't be a symbol for sex
and that men and women themselves
will realize she's complex

PASSIONATE!!!

after one of our rough nights,

i lay awake and think how much happier we would be

if we'd cuddled and watched a movie

i wouldn't trade any of it, that used plastic

that you rolled on to keep me safe

second to turning my head

in those moments

and looking into your

sleepy

eyes

i don't want to get hurt

i'm delirious

i can't tell where i'll be in a year,

and i'm scared

tell me

you'll always be there for me

that is bleak

monday morning

gray

silence

whispers in your

ear

feel it down your

back

prickling skin

dry tongue

only the poets

prod the day with the whites

of their eyes

(unstained, cherry red)

the rest mutter

faithlessly

and settle back into the gloom

tender in its place

i'm gonna lay it out for you

i'll push the corners neatly into place as i explain

how i tear myself apart

so scared to say i need you

when tears keep sliding down,

down the corners of my eyes

i washed my hair for you

wore lace thongs

sprayed perfume on the nape of my neck,

tenderly spread strawberry chapstick over my lips,

curled the blonde lashes that hold tears like a ladder,

like i'm waxing poetic

and then, it all seems to go to shit

i realize that none of that matters when

i don't matter

no scintillating, orderly routine can make me

good enough

no powder

no rose sparkles spread on my cheeks

there are a million ways to comfort yourself

but they only last until you say,

what do you want from me?

and i can't supply an answer

except to say,

love. replacement.

it's just so

"i don't wonder why i love you i don't have to know.
it's just so.
i adore you from your head down to your baby toe.
it's just so.
sometimes i get scared and hesitate because it seems strange to be so intimate.
it makes me uncomfortable but i'll get used to it.
i don't want to hide it now i need to let it show.
it's just so.
when you hold me close i feel a warm and happy glow.
it's just so.
somtimes i'm unsure if you're the one or my best friend who i'm clinging to.
my feelings change so quickly so i'll trust you to lead me."

the teeth behind kisses

"i'm practicing my plane crash face in a first class lav
coughing up my words like a sullen kitten

i'm rolling my cuts in the dirt to keep them from showing

guess who's coming to dinner?
(that's what the ghost of someone's dad might say)

if you've got plastic tits, grills,
or some kinda bling, i don't know you.
if you wear first hand clothes and get your hair cut by somebody you don't know,
i'm below you."

placing bets, pt. 2

how can i even begin to explain what you do to me. should i describe where i am and what i look like? i'm sitting barefoot in the closet with the lights off, typing thoughts with cold fingers and feeling breathlessly alone. my shoulders are hunched, my thin ribs and crooked spine promenade themselves across my back like my skeleton wants to break free. I have called the ones i love most, the ones i care about the most, and i'm not sure what part of me is grateful, but that part of me is very, very grateful.

You may not understand that i am trapped in a thin cage,

that as i describe where i am and how i look, the tempo of my shaking body increases ever so slightly,

you may not understand that

but i never thought you would

and i'm glad you don't

part of me is glad you don't

just come and take me away. i've decided what i want. some people might be hurt, and i might feel the scratches of karma on my soul, but i have done what i needed to do. i have rolled my dice into a dark corner

and i have no choice, i must go pick them up

you used to be forbidden fruit

when the desperate sunken breaths
begin to quell
and the
clenching freedom
is gone
i search my chest
cavity, for your exact definition

naive obsession
you are the apple
outside the garden

where do i lay my head in sadness
when i only have the warm crutch
the space between your shoulder blades
and the nape of your neck

i am defining love
tonight
holding you close

how do i scribble at small punctures
when i've only ever known a black hole

placing bets, pt. 1

"I walk alone, but I feel ya there,
smiling upon me, I wonder
what you have drawn on your hands today,
runes to show you remember."

I walk alone, but I feel ya inching your way

along,

inching your way

you lightly caressing the bruises of

every pain i've ever felt

cup your hands around my soft

chin,

sometimes i worry about the

mess

i put you in

the curve above my jeans,

gentle belly with hip bones

(expletive)

cup your hands around my soft

skin,

lover,

lover

you are the muse

just some lyrics

"Was I in your dreams, I'd like to know.
Did I touch your hand and did it feel like snow?
Try to understand while I've got you on the phone.
Did I hurt you like I know I can?
Tell me why you'd ever wanna leave your lovin' man.
Try to understand, please try to understand.
Was I in your dreams, was I in your dreams?
This dreamer died when his dreamed died too.
But I don't really mind if I dream about you..
I can't say what any of that means.
Oh, was I in your dreams, late last night.
Did you hold your pillow, did you squeeze me tight?
I just wanna make everything all right.
Was I in your dreams, was I in your dreams, was I?"

soft little tears

there is a tear
from so much use
i still see the rip,
raw
white and naked it
lays there
buried with a sea of
warm blue all around
i still see the rip,
exposing the edges of my
panties...
beautiful
imperfection
the latest fashions have
been ripped
for
us
it must be excellent
to have not
"imperfections"
but perfect,
inumerable little flaws
because that's what
they want
to
see

sigh

i can forgive so easily

but it's much harder to forget

because it makes talking about the future

a little more scary

which direction you headed?

don't fucking read this

this is a waste of time

BUT YOU STILL LOOKED AT IT

let's lock our parents out for good

and do our goddamn jobs

let's lock everyone the fuck out

and do our goddamn jobs

let's be honest with ourselves

and do our goddamn jobs

let's write about sex we never have

let's curse and complain while we change the things that stay the same

let's throw in our love like it's fucking dirty laundry

let's clean this up

let's make this fucking work

let's do our goddamn jobs

and not waste a fucking moment worrying about whether or not we care

THIS IS MY JOB

staring ahead

with paper

in my veins

i slowly drink

each word

you say

like a

terrible

medicine

is this

supposed to

make me

better?

maybe

this is the

best thing

that ever

happened

because of this poem

maybe i won't cry about this

because of

this poem

in the back of my throat, there lies...

it's hard to explain

why

i need this

but

i need this

when every little thing

seems impossible, improbable,

i find myself here

wishing i wasn't

here

knowing

this is where i belong, near a

blank lined page,

with nothing but my kneecaps

to support me

nothing to hold the paper,

i shiver here in the dark hole

i am not a child

but i still want you to hold me like the day i was born

bones of our fathers

bones are bones my friend
and you won't find flags
in a million years
in the fossil record

act 2, scene 3

"Shirtless, sheetless and sleepless
on the edge
of your queen-sized bed, Last night
I didn't wanna move you,
You said I'd be the one you remember as self-obsessed

every fucking word that I tell you is self-addressed

Sure you saw me naked but I never took my make-up off,
You don't need me, And plus my eyeballs occupy the sockets like a half-dead doll,
So maybe you could kill me off in one of your songs?

Cause I'm not thrilled about anything, anything at all..."

resist

resist?

you want me to stop this

madness, wipe out these

bold eccentrics i

cherish?

not knowing whether to cross the line

i straddle it

to put a bit of

character in it

suck it up?

you want me to suck this up

as if it were a bowl of yesterday's soup

well i'll tell you what

i can't help but feel

i can't help but try and stay numb

so don't tell me i can't touch that

or that i can't hold onto this

because i'll prove you wrong as long as the veins flow through my

wrist

resist?

you wish

the damn cookie crumbles

i am completely useless right now. i am basically a worthless piece of shit, except even a piece of shit serves some purpose. what am i doing right now? i'm not doing my homework, because i can't. i just fucking can't. every time i try my head explodes and i'm pretty sure all my happy cells are slowly dying off as i sit here in the school library, the last place i want to be.

get me the hell out of here.

get me the HELL out of here.

I NEED to get out of here.

if i don't leave, something else will. some part of me will.

can you make me quiver?

maybe they'll leave you alone

teenagers scare the shit outta me, cause every day i see a new one crawl down the ladder and into some deep- but surely profound- darkness.

their hands don't shake from sympathy, they don't even smirk in apathy it's a pale unhappy scent, like a prostitute who reads Nietzche but can't understand.

yeah that's the kind of scalding breath of ecstasy i watch for, a crumpled body reading about why everything is equal to nothing, living dead by my front door,

washed out faces, dirty places, no one needs anything from you anymore.

PSEO start of an essay

Sitting down and asking, "Who do I want to be?" had usually never been a very difficult question. Of course, I wanted to be a lawyer. Both my parents were lawyers. It makes sense that I should be one too, I'm surely gifted in that respect. Then, throughout a process in which I needed several years to grasp the concept, I realized that the transcendentalist within me was crying out at the notion of law school wiping out my creative writing talents and forcing me into 9-5 slavery. The first step in asking myself what I really needed to become was counting the times in your life when I felt truly self-worthy. Perhaps for you it was when you recieved a foster child's photo and realized that your help was making that person stronger. Or maybe it was when, after months of practice, your fifth grade teacher congratulated you on your exemplary multiplication skills. Yes, both of these have happened to me, but the final question, and answer, is what do I want to be? A writer.

It feels kind of self-deprecating to write about why I want to be a writer, because I'm trying to explain what I think I do best with the thing I believe I do best. Frankly, that leaves a lot of room for pompousity to set in if I allowed it to. But I'm not going to say I'm the greatest poet since Charles Bukowski, because that leaves me in a horrible position to have to live up to that, and deal with the fact that I propounded myself as greater than I really am. Being humble is no virtue in my eyes- to some degree it's even more ostentatious than the alternative. I can recall plenty of times where people would have you think they were selfless and caring, only to reveal later on that they only acted this way because they wanted the sweet reputation of being this way so they might lord it over you, feeling superior. Anyways, although I can say I'm a better writer than your average American angst ridden teenager, that's not much of an accomplishment to throw in peoples' faces.

dammit

sometimes i mix up my words.

and then i feel like a failure.

and then i want to punch someone in the ovaries. then i would succeed in life.

moby dicks

books
surrounded by books
and here are the pounding heartbeats
of students marching
away
they melt off the windshield like
frozen snow, they
curse, they complain,
but they all just... go...

in the end, i wait
wait for my escape

crushed by the bulging masses

hey charlie...

the cool cliche

let's elope to san tropez
and be the lonely cool cliche
we'll dance on sheets and wooden floor
we have this music, nothing more

your smile lights up my blushing face
i'd rather not be anyplace
but here
where you're near...
your hands are warm
my toes are cold

baby we'll be a little stereotype
and i'll stroke your hair
and you'll hold me tight,
and you'll say my name
so soft and smooth....
and i will write songs
about you...

beautiful yet brief moments

and i'm alone

somewhere, there are clenched fists that shine pale in the moonlight

somewhere, there are the warm sighs of lovers

and i am alone

"Bluish" ~Animal Collective

When you claw me like a cat, I'm beaming
I like the way you squeeze my hand
Pulling me into another dream,
A lucid dream.

I'm getting lost in your curls
I'm getting crushed out on the things
that only I should see
not for boys, they're just for me
Hurry to talk, from far away

Put on the dress that I like
It makes me so crazy, though I can't say why
Keep on your stockings for a while
Some kind of magic in the way you're lying there

life is priceless, talk is cheap

I really don't feel poetic tonight, but I definitely feel like I have something to say...

Tonight was amazing... and not amazing in a completely good way, just amazing because I realized things about myself I never even thought of before... The thing is, what if you had a refuge from that one thing about yourself you absolutely hated? The one thing that tears you up inside. If you could forget, I'm positive you would jump at the chance. And I'm not sure who you are, reader, but if you're anything like me, you would become obsessed with this because you feel like it frees you...

Well... the thing that frees me is knowing someone cares about me. And actually, no, not in a completely cliche way... I actually like knowing that someone who I think is beautiful thinks I'm just as beautiful too. And that gives me an opportunity to share some of my favorite lyrics:

"I want to write something beautiful,

Something so beautiful that I just can't sing it

Cause its the only thing I have, it's the only thing that makes my life worthwhile.

So I was watching your eyes, in case they just might say something...

I want to think someone's beautiful,

That they're so beautiful it's a thrill to be near them,

fill my stomach with butterflies, have me floating on air,

Bring something out of me I didn't even know was there

But it's such a torturous thing, that I am not excited by anyone."

That's exactly how I feel in so many ways.... there have been so many times where I've talked to someone I thought was beautiful- perhaps on the inside, perhaps on the outside- and then I have realized that this person did not shake my heart. They didn't fill me with that passion- maybe even because of a few things they said.

But... I want to share some things with you reader... right now I'm with this guy... and I'm almost too excited. I'm so afraid sometimes that I'm going to completely destruct this, even though this guy is the only boyfriend who has made me feel less broken in a long, long time. I don't know him perfectly, I guess... but that's one of the things that makes me so excited. I want put your troubles in a little pile, and sort them out for you. I want to make you feel real. All the time, even when you might not be thinking about me, guy. And... I will adjust to all these things we talk about, because I care about you. And I think I love you. Scoffing? I hope not... but if you are, here's a Chuck Klosterman quote I think about a lot:

"We all have to potential to fall in love a thousand times in our lifetime. It's easy.... THere are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you'll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. There is always one person you love who becomes that definition, even if some of these loveable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. They are not inherently different from anyone else, and they're often just the person you meet when you really, really, want to love someone. But that person still wins. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone else."

~Chuck Klosterman

Klosterman always makes me wonder if I really love the people I love, or if I just love them because they're there. Some of these people are not "inherently different". But... this guy is different. It's not hard to explain why... it's not because of his sweetness, or sense of humor, or really any of those things. It's because my heart is shaken when I read those poems he writes... my heart is completely shaken. And I just want to talk and find out everything about him because of it. I just want to know that he's ok, even if he's angry at me, or doesn't want to talk to me at the moment. That's why I think I love you. And this is going to define how I feel about everyone else, because I don't know if I can be right with someone who I can't talk to about this... I feel too alone.

And now I have to end this. Because it's long, and because I'm tired. My friend is over at my house, and I just had a talk with the guy. By the way, guy, if you read this, I want you to know that I will listen to everything you say, even if I don't agree and even if it hurts me, and I will make it something good. Goodnight, ladies and gentlemen.

age quod agis

owned by this, consumed by this

soft swelling beneath my
eyelids
my head says
you need to go
back
but your pot laced
face,
crackling hair lain against
my shoulder
a warm reminder in
the dead of winter,
a cold sip of water
a hot innuendo
my reminder that
i am
part
of reality
you make me
real
but then, a faint trace of
my enigmatic
nightmare
my hand-sewn, bitter dreams
comes rushing back to
fill the spaces with
dripping tears
and i curl away
and
i fade
for the
last
time

not a color yet, not a home anymore

you are branches of a better tree,
a road beyond recognition that i
search for meaning
search for pieces to the endless puzzle
i struggle to find
my own
soul
the curvature in this pavement
suggests
i may rest, i may try to start again
but i will never reach the end
because this beauty is only
sweet
when you're young
when you don't have to pretend
i might have grown past
that stage
with wilting flowers in
aging hair

i am a little girl
but i still want you to hold me
in your arms

rat

Read this, you said:

I never thought I'd die alone
Days when I still felt alive
We couldn't wait to get outside
The world was wide, too late to try
The tour was over we'd survived
I couldn't wait till I got home
To pass the time in my room alone

but..

You won't die alone,

not as long as I'm here to cry when you cry

and hold you

things

might just be

ok.

beer pong

and maybe the world is supposed to keep turning
but i don't know what to say
or if i should stay here with you

i don't know exactly what i should do, but
i'll probably be back to do it again
sometime next week

maybe it's too early for this. but fuck it, i feel it so here it is.

maybe i'm acting this way

cause i don't wanna lose you, maybe

cause i can't get enough of you

maybe i already feel like this is my world

and i'm paranoid

scared that i'm not the right girl

i want to show my shadow and

we can hide in the dark

move out to the ocean and live in a van

under the stars

all i know now is that you

make me real

you make me feel your words on the page

and that's exactly what i wished for

and when we're in your car

drivin straight to nowhere

my lonely hand touches your palm

and i'm reading scripture

and i'm saved

i'm out of patience for this

shit around me, this pointless

absence of muse, these

outskirts of misery

we feel each others bones

like they were were meant to collide

inside,

beneath a blanket

i give you the best poems i've ever read-

the very thing i identified

first and said

THIS is living

breathing

SAVIOR WRITING

it makes me feel

and now i met someone

who makes me feel without my pen

to the page

snotty comment

if this is a test, then i'm failing- the curve is against me,
with cold mangled hands i grasp to make ends meet,
beneath my feet, pavement and the words,
words i hope you heard.

i'm pounding the keyboard for the wrong reasons tonight
would it kill you to kill me, cuz that'd be alright
every day is a fight, struggle, burned into my past
and i just don't know how much longer through this pain i can last

would it kill you to kill me?
otherwise i might have to take my foot outta my mouth
hah- see? that's the way it has to be

i might be over-thinking it, when the both of us are online
and i see your adorable picture, wishing you were mine

bunch of cats on my heart just squeezin their claws
kneading with their hangnails,
chalkboard screech across
if this is what i get, then i gotta get more
the way i feel can he healed when you walk in the door

charlie olson in cat form :)

Indecision at high speeds can be fatal- lyrics

The city people move to the suburbs
And the suburbs spill into the country
But a lotta kids these days deny their birth-right
White kids, ashamed of their parents trunk,
Attempt to abandon their moneyed-ways
They move to the ghettos and the communes
Searching for the guiltlessness of poverty
They wanna sit on the stoop when the night is hot
And not be stuck inside by the AC
They wanna treat their house like a fish tank
They wanna share water with the neighbors when the night is hot
But the struggle that pulls doors off their hinges in a good way
Also leaves a slow murder in the air

All your life you've been waiting for someone to hold you like the day you were born. To look into those eyes and know that we are all the same. And you're so beautiful in every way. I'll be okay...

lyrics by cloud cult & why?

the view, taking in you

I.
this breath is like a fucked up puzzle
with pieces spread
mangled and
torn
on a rusted lawn table, the thick
film of
dying white paint
clutching at
stiff shards
o! you are broken
this twisting
escape going in
every direction, with
movement as if it could
see
as if it could
move
move me to throw away
everything i
don't want, but keep in
compounded piles
like dirt beneath fingernails
like this rust on living tables
if there were one sweet
release-
then let me find it
let me find it in
you

II.
ha, you wondered where
the time went
well i'll tell you it
didn't sift
through piles of
sweet revenge
the learned population's
smothering
weak beat,
work bent
smiles
that unfed
core that
rots so clearly
before us
that twinges so nearly relaying that
message:
you are unborn
and as parents we shove you back
to the womb
to cradle your
eyes, from everything we
once
were
becoming lost in
thought is nearly the only
escape
from the twelve-step program you
foster to
kill us before we could
have the chance
to
live.

your silent voice

i read your poem
the one you put in my pocket
and i'm being honest when
i say
i can't tell you
what i thought

i read your poem
with my lazy, sleepy eyes
you told me exactly
how things were
and i felt
nothing

i'm looking for
the poet
whose inner voice catches my heart
by the sleeve, and
pulls me under its
warm coat, on a cold night
i've never had those
sweet moments with you
we can't talk about everything
that ever crossed our minds

i touched your jacket and
brushed your hair from your face,
but i still felt lonely when
you were there

so i sent you a reply,
on a poem i otherwise would have kept
sacred.

I used to listen to it all the time..

I AM

take me to your leader

way back when