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| (she)painted the ocean
the ocean:
sucks on sandy shores; with big mouth full of salt; swallows castles and respective dynasties of kings
and the peasants and all the jesters-- foams black and crisp like coke in a glass,
pushes away you and i, smiles vaguely with an expression like a moon and a million stars as we peer down from the safety of the dock
("i'll jump if you come with me; i'll drown if you teach me how, love").
hush-hushes our footsteps and washes away our voices
curls around our ankles like a cat-- pulling, pulling
perhaps
our world, our cities, our stars and moon
are only a reflection--
++i think it's funny how i sometimes write about things that i've only ever seen three times in my entire life. i think it's funny how my life is so incredibly, incredibly absurd that i just laugh to keep going. two weeks ago my car had no gas. this week, i have no future. next week, what will i lose?
i have tucked who i am deep, deep down in myself.
when it's a little warmer, when it's a little brighter out, i'll crawl out.
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| i guess ... i guess among other things what i felt first and foremost was fear.
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| "dexy"
i fucked you once and you took me to
jupiter.
i fucked you again and you got deep in my veins,
lect me on pluto
(the drink is teasing you, the smoke is stroking your cheek,)
in the evening before the sun could turn away
and afterward
we pulled warm darkness up over our heads
and we laid like twin souls sharing
a bed-womb
in a bedroom
(the bar is a womb and you're reborn every day at
3 a.m.) -- my laugh is molasses sticking to my ribs
and dripping from the walls
and we are two naked children with clothes strewn about
like so many candy wrappers
and i feel sick from too many sweets
we fucked like a porno
once in the tender cast of morning golden, rosy foreplay sunday drive all over my body and car crash kisses
sprawled--
breathless--
satin asphalt
and all i can think
your eyelids are the clouds
and behind those are blue skeyes
and i really do wish you'd open
your eyes.
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| i once had a friend who told me a funny anecdote and it went like this:
once her mother asked her what she wanted to grow up to be, and she simply said:
"mama, i want to grow up to be a triangle."
and that's it.
downstairs, my brother is destroying "wake me up before you go-go" by wham. i can smell cajun food cooking. i'm not hungry. my bowels are actually pretty twisted up right now. my feelings are pretty twisted up right now.
i have a funny anecdote with dark, meaningful undertones and it goes like this:
on my sixth birthday at my private school my teacher gave me a balloon. i don't even remember what color it was now that fourteen years have passed. in my mind it's a faded sepia. perhaps it was red. the balloon stayed with me all day for my special day and reminded everyone it was my birthday. i would imagine that people would perk up and say, "why, happy birthday rachael!" and that made me feel special. i was the quiet kid that got teased a lot and retaliated with tears. i'm sure no one even noticed me until this, let's just say red, balloon was tied around my wrist for the day.
when i got home, i kept the balloon tied around my wrist. and i remember at one point deciding to go over to my friend kelly's house to show it off (balloons are big business when you're six years old). somehow, the string untied itself as i was crossing a patch of dirt, and the balloon started to drift away. i scrambled after it, succeeding in falling in the dirt, scraping up my knees and hands pretty bad on sharp rocks. i kept running after it and jumping until i helplessly stood there and watched it become a tiny, red dot in the giant blue sky. i cried the same way women cry after a bad breakup. i think the only way to describe what came out of my mouth that afternoon would be to say it sounded like abortions, dying cats, racism, hellhounds copulating, car accidents, and perhaps how the country feels towards george bush all combined into one noise tearing from a six-year-old's throat. i know i never ended up going over to kelly's house. i don't remember what i did; it's only safe to assume i limped back inside.
i vaguely remember trying to comfort myself by thinking that maybe some poor kid in china might happen upon a bright, red balloon stuck in a tree on his birthday and rescue it. one can only hope.
i tell you this because sometimes there are certain parts of my life that play over and over in my head, and this is one of them. i can't shake that sadness that i felt, still reverberating after fourteen years of secretly despising balloons, especially the ones filled with helium. if my life was a book, this would be the first chapter. it would be alluded to metaphorically all throughout my biography until its significance was unmistakable. i as a person lose balloons a lot, and I chase them until i fall and i can only helplessly watch them blow away. that one singular event that happened to me so long ago somehow became the theme for the rest of my life.
(and if that's not enough, after all this time i still feel pangs of sadness whenever i see that one lone balloon drifting off into space. i would much sooner pop a balloon than let it go. at least then i'm in control.)
i'm not sure what i'm talking about anymore. i'm still waiting for scientists to come up with a drug that chemically gives you a lobotomy.
either that, or i'll just settle for turning 21 next year.
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| ++ when it rains, it pours.
i hate dreary days. they always bring out the worst in everything and everyone.
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