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Friday, January 23rd, 2009
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12:15 am
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I broke my bangles under a boy from jaipur who gave me a chocolate bar and bruises, a ring i think i've just lost and his bracelet with the western symbol for peace on it. what does it mean? he asked. peace i said, and explained the political ramifications of the vietnam war, unsolicited and not understood.
oh.
the space between us on this roof overlooking Kathmandu, where even in the most posh neighborhood we see a man with eight goats on his wrists and laundry brushing the tops of chickens heads as they wander from yard to yard
k watching documentary on squid. lest i ever think.
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(comment on this)
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| Thursday, January 22nd, 2009
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2:58 pm
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I think maybe people that burn books for religious or political reasons are confused about what makes a book dangerous.
Do not open this book because you will read it instead of your homework.
Avoid this book because you will sneak it into wedding receptions and read it on your lap under the tablecloth.
This book will make you ache in ways youre not sure you could explain but it has something to do with your grandparents or forgotten friends.
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(comment on this)
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| Wednesday, November 5th, 2008
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12:50 am
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Hey Barack,
thanks man. bro. broham. Hey, faggots
I'm sorry, I'm really really sorry.
I am so sorry.
I want to hold your hands and cry into our fists and pray that if I walk down that aisle towards someone that looks like me it will be valid in the eyes of my state and hospital personell. I must admit that when I heard that news and after I wept I volunteered my extra hours towards a food co-op and a womans shelter. Lets do this thing.
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Monday, November 3rd, 2008
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5:11 am
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Imagine if a wealthy wealthy man took out all the advertising space in America for his messages. Messages of what? Happiness health wisdom? Political dogma? A bearded old man with a pony tail smiling contentedly people become addicted to his wisdom, pursue his ads into movie theaters and bus stops.
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(comment on this)
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| Friday, October 31st, 2008
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4:46 pm
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four score and two weeks ago we were sitting on the curb of that busy street that was pocked with puddles even during a drought
we were basking in the sun and showering in the splash of semis and fixed gears
whistling through the holes in our hands at the girls across the way hey don't look at us that way our misogyny is only ironic.
our fathers imprisoned for impersonating false dietys wondered why we never visited as we sat and smoked menthols, discussed authors we'd never read
waiting
we swore silently winked at passerbys wandered to the overpass and dropped exhaled breath from the ledge
we sat on roofs with legs knocking on duplex windows smoking winking smiling like contented sharks, slept upright and speaking.
we made love without moving we tore our pants hopping fences we could have walked around
i whistled your name into the wind but never hold you
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(comment on this)
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| Tuesday, October 28th, 2008
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10:40 pm
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I kissed you with mittens on in a suburban tank gaurding against the sleet. I ducked out and felt like I was sliding into winter, onto the bus, why am I always the crazy girl with a bus transfer in her teeth and tears on her cheeks looking for something that isn't expired or foriegn.
I rolled home and wondered how much we need to know about the sins of our fathers, if the notches on the secret posts of his marriage bed should inform my decision to forgive.
He picked me up in his warm car with it's seat heaters and stick shift and didn't ask if I'd been crying. Our bond has become the convenience of his guilt and my muddied attempts to shift through what is true or maybe what is not. He left me at the dinkytown McDonalds and I tried not to leave without saying goodbye again. We sat for a few minutes and listened to a documentary on his past which he is forgetting in lieu of remembering and having to pick me up in the rain, donate to oxfam.
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Thursday, October 23rd, 2008
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8:58 pm
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i'm going to start liverjournal.com. today my liver was working exceptionally hard because i was the obligatory slutty bridesmaid at a wedding last weekend! today my liver resembles pate because I ate three orders of picnic fries from the weinery! yesterday my liver and I were diagnosed with inoperable cancer.
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(comment on this)
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| Wednesday, September 24th, 2008
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7:08 pm
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1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Don't dig for your favorite book, the cool book, or the intellectual one: pick the CLOSEST.
3. Open the book to page 56.
4. Find the fifth sentence.
5. Post the text of the next seven sentences in your journal along with these instructions.
6. Name the book and author
And I wondered if Billy gave much thought, in those late night hours rolling up the miles on Interstate 80, to how he got to this point, and about who he was really working for. The bank? John Deere? monsanto? Pioneer? Cargill? Two hundred and twenty bushels of corn is an astounding accomplishment, yet it didn't do Billy nearly as much good as it did those companies.
Omnivores Dilemma - Michael Pollan
My favorite book.
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Tuesday, September 9th, 2008
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11:49 am
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| Saturday, February 23rd, 2008
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12:55 pm
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Hawaii I have taken years of nutrition from your shores Hawaii will you be swallowed up by my consumer habits the cars I drive Hawaii you and Alaska drifting towards each other, the upper 2 together forever late comers to this star spangled party Both threatened by melting glaciers Hawaii I’m sorry I miss you Hawaii the way you smell, Hawaii I will always be a haole and for this I am sorry, repugnant, repentant Hawai’i I changed the way you spelled my name
thus concludes the nonsense round up. poetry class, why are you so absurd. poetry class when did i stop going.
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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12:51 pm
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Ethan, Israel Eitan, yisrael, Star of david pressed in your palms Western wall dividing your mind Eitan, the shema on your lips The Palestinians weighing lightly on your conscious, on CNN, in the dorm you share instead of the barracks, Eitan, ethan, You are not as confused enough on your stance Ethan your compassion does not extend to all banks Ethan, Israel, as you sing Hatikva I wonder where the hope is.
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12:46 pm
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Damp soil and broken earth, Standing in the blank space between protestant and catholic Dark clothes and hair brushed in vain, Caught in the wind that’s always blowing on North Dakota plains, Ten years old and contemplating the cinematic elements of sadness.
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(comment on this)
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12:39 pm
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You have been compared to a mistress, a child, heroin, six months sobriety, a chicken an egg, Poetry, why do we ask so much of you? I’m sorry.
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Monday, December 10th, 2007
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11:30 pm - perhaps i've abandoned ship
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I found some welches fruit snacks tucked in my sweater opened and warmed by my abdominals perhaps contrary to what one would think snacks with real juice become less squishy when body temperature
european says americans are emotional corpses, never yelling never screaming always reclining into therapy or silent treatments, perhaps as a result of all the yelling or maybe all the silence. portugal asks where has all the passion gone i sing dracula compositions and feel something my thigh when you bump my foot, if I yelled and asked, would you think I'm crazy? if i baked goods with sherry in hand or started blowing my nose more or ate my weight in feelings all the passion would be in my personal narrative and burnt fingers, our emotional rollercoasters and tipsy aunts pumped with formaldehyde but insisting on some life. tact or the mast hitting you in the head rendering you unconcious will i ever be forgiven, i was just trying to make a point. where has all the passion gone. there is too much doublethink to consider and feelings to gently massage, but that's okay, i tell the EU, please do not worry about us, take advantage of our weakened dollar the shopping is great and the shopgirls are pleasant!
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(comment on this)
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| Thursday, December 6th, 2007
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8:23 am
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To catch a bus before dawn is like riding into the day
In this caravan of pepsi trucks and number 4s, milk crates
How strange the begrudging camaraderie of people in a moving strip of light through dark streets stop selected though only god and the bus driver know where we are
we’re going south of the business district, to elementary schools and the service industry,
American gypsies on metro transit, music tucked in ears under hats and beneath bejeweled hoods
Pogroms of eviction notices and social services taking in the slack and your health insurance-
Off the bus with a thank you and a smooth exit , tripping over snow banks and blinking rapidly to remove the sleep and sleet from my eyes I decide these pretentions may be my fate, mustering up the security code from my notion addled brain, I snuggle into bed and a state only a few degrees away from riding the bus before dawn, windows dark to ads not illuminated and the relieved fumblings of just catching it.
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Wednesday, May 16th, 2007
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1:25 pm - Things to Consider. Legal pad easily lost.
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Pre-screening. Should pick up some more credit. Length of employment.
apartment, duplex, house
location of said a, d, h. Midtown, franklin and lyndale, seward. powderhorn?
Aesthetics - hardwood, ceilings, natural light. Capacity for cosmetic changes? Paint, etc.
Initial down. utilities, security desposit, etc.
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(comment on this)
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| Wednesday, May 2nd, 2007
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9:33 pm
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One of my breasts is bigger than the other that is a relative term.
I tried to rhyme in meter and verse but I couldn't so then I tried soft ryhme but even when the syllables are soft like 30 second stick of butter I can't confine. Fuck.
One of my feet is much bigger than the other
come to think they're both on the left. my finger nails are cleaner too. my life line is longer, pigtail thicker but
my part is not centered.
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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| Tuesday, May 1st, 2007
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11:33 am
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| Sunday, April 29th, 2007
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11:51 pm
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Televangelists denying the covenant to all monotheism not waiting for a messiah in one form or another. I had a ridiculous evening I need to think through and about. In order to be able to come back later and write about it...
the shelf life of international law
palestinian identity- pathos, tribalism. persecution instilling identity?
the partition's rejection?
citing bible verses like topic sentences- out of context, both in terms of the message on a whole and politicaly. anarchonism.
maybe I should be a journalist. wait, objectivism.
anyway, talk to me.
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Thursday, April 26th, 2007
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11:55 pm
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I don't have any flowery imagery but I do sit next to a lot of drunk people on public transport and they have a lot of poetry for romantics, volume vodka and cough syrup.
I'm just going to write until I'm a naturalized citizen of the writing community again.
Ooops, I gave up for a second. Recapitulating my experience over the last four years in this five minute microcosm? Yeah.
fuck
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ragdollkitty's journal