One Night Only

Tonight I am isolating myself from the world.
I will gather my poems together to create
a portfolio for Mark Neely's poetry class.
It will also contain simultaneously-at-once-and-together
at least half of the poems that will be included
in 'birdhouse', my first chapbook that will
hopefully exist in January. And I hope that
it exists so hard and so fast, and that it doesn't
become an old idea in my brain and move to
the nursery home brain-stem area, where
old ideas go to become nothing but themselves
falling short of everything they have ever done.

Self-Portrait at 20

I made them right and just; though free to fall
And choices made are choices to be kept
Though guilt and shame (or wine) were to follow,
I did not tremble; neither laughed or wept.
When out one day I glanced a broken mirror
My own eyes split up among the pieces,
I thought that it was only seven years;
A risk to take to see my many faces.
And one was sad and another, solemn
the rest were scattered, shattered between;
The reflections took hold; somewhere along
I stretched myself white, too thin to be seen

And in the time it took to notice this,
a choice, a moment, went; one that I missed

rap lyrics, riggity-rap music, funky shit

I am forcing myself to be in my room alone because I sort of hate it. Only in the mornings do I appreciate any kind of solitude. Once I introduce people into my daily diet my raging metabolism enthusiasm for intrapersonal interaction doesn't cease until I sleep.

* * * * * * * * * *

Okay I lost interest in this for a while but I think it's coming back.
* * * * * * *

My past is tied around my waist and my legs never seem to get any stronger.

My car is out of power steering fluid (I think). My forearms are stronger.

My friends are all where they should be. I miss everyone at once but only when they aren't around. I miss my family only when I am with them. There are in-betweens, maybe one or two. Or none.

P.J Harvey is singing to me and that makes me feel less lonely. It's like a woman is asking me to save her from a very far distance. When a male vocalist plays, I think it's me talking to myself. Both of these things lead me to think I'm fucked up but I think I can play it off as being 'eccentric'

What do you think?

Coatlicue

The swollen globe that was her belly
peeked through a skirt of snakes.
Her children rushed to stop their
Brother from breaking the womb of their
Creator. The jealous dagger they
held to silence their mother would
be used on them, burning through
their stone skin with the vengeful flame of
a brother’s birthright. The last
sisters' head was flung into a sky
draped with weeping clouds. When
he saw himself reflected in the colorless
orb that now swung low over the oceans,
he threw his fiery glare at the Earth,
rendering the ground sterile and lifeless.

Today is a special day

Really, it is.

Today is the first day that I haven't smoked marijuana in over ninety days. This is not a big deal to anyone but me, it seems. 

I wasn't sure if marijuana was the kind of drug that can be abused, but it can be. Thankfully, the only major thing it affected was my active listening skills. If it seemed like I was strung-out, it's because I was. 

Pun time: The smoke has cleared.

I also read a book today for the first time in over ninety days. This worried me more than the pot. 

The book was called "August: Osage County". It was a family-study play. Very good. Unique, but not outlandish. B+

Being back home has slowed life down. It's a good time to take a sober moment of reflection.

It's also Thanksgiving. That means something to many Americans and many turkeys.

This was the first Thanksgiving that I can remember where we did not prepare our own food and sit down in one of our houses. We ate at a restaurant. It was too loud. As much as one can be trapped with family at home, it's much more severe in a public space.

I need to work more to pay rent and buy presents. 

Muncie, I'm coming back quietly.

Remember you are strong and punch a hole in the ceiling

Let the sun lay itself on everything but your twin-sized bed. Remember you are cold and let the soggy November breezes find their way to your bones. Look at yourself. Let your hands know everything and everywhere, and let your shoulders remain a slender mystery. Remember you are a forest fire and let the wind be your stylist. Remember you are strong and rip doors from their hinges. Throw them into the air with your laughter. Remember that the world can see you.

A Pick-Up Truck Can Carry About A Thousand Dollars Worth of Dead Raccoons

"I think it would be the kind of hunting you would like the most. You drive around smoking joints and listening to loud music and you shoot animals. It's pretty fun"

Very true