Wednesday, January 4, 2017

I was at
Rich people, huge huge house, babysitting their son while they were gone for a weekend or something.
[other stuff concerning this babysitting weekend/the son that I don't remember]

Went somewhere with heidi and realized that I had taken the rich people's car instead of my own (I didn't have mine because I left it _____). There's
One of the party favors I get is weird. There are these boxes and in them is a trinket and a perfume. They are sort of Alice themed; plain colors and text, and no pictures, but they seemed Alice themed because the first one I noticed said something about losing your mind.

We want to go home, but can't find the car.
I remember where I parked it and am very nervous it got towed.
We're walking back and there is this guy; heidi knows his name, I know who he is but I can't remember, and it turns out he was looking for me and MY car (didn't realize that I had taken the nice car). He asks if he can borrow it because he has something he needs to do LIKE NOW.
(note: later in the dream, I can't remember how or why, but we watch THIS GUY'S memory of what that situation was from his perspective, which is cool. He has a face on the back of his head, which is important somehow, but also can't remember this)

Somehow we arrive back at the house. I yell at colleen for wanting to go home without helping everyone else clean up. Then I remember the countless times she took out the trash/recycling and I never helped her, lol oops! So I feel bad. And dumb.

There is something horrific on the TV. Something happened to a little girl named Nancy, and there is a documentary about her. We don't watch it, but Heidi starts talking about the Aliens and Galactic War and future of earth and she's sort of preaching it at someone, which is abnormal, and Alan says, "Heidi. Stop. Heidi please, chill" while pointing at the TV screen. "Stop staring at the screen." I look and every time Heidi's voice raises, the TV which is turned OFF flashes back on for a second to show a picture of Nancy and her Mom.

There's commotion about a guy who stole a boat (the place we're at is suddenly a cool wooden porch on a beach mansion, right) so we're looking at the boat and we find out...something...about the guy that makes me realize he's going to kill himself. Everyone is watching, videotaping, laughing, and the guy stops the boat and stands up and I know he's going to do something weird, like maybe jump?
I look away for a bit because I notice a person to my left (whom I know) is doing something very creepy...he has hundreds of pictures of peoples faces (candid) that he's editing, including the boat guy who he now informs me killed a girl by slashing her neck. I can't stop looking at boat guy and I know that somehow this is going to draw his attention to me.

Lo and behold, I'm in a room with someone and boat guy is there. I notice a knife behind his back. The other person gets away, which hardly mattered because he was coming for me anyway. I scream and scream at Heidi and Alan, who are in the next room, but no one comes to help me. I actually wonder if this is a test LOL. Turns out whether or not it is a test, there is DEFINITELY a guy I need to kill before he kills me (oop)

Somehow I get the knife away from him, or maybe get my own, and I get him in a position where I can kill him. I slice the knife across his neck but it isn't hard enough, it barely cuts him on the surface, and he mocks me(?) and tells me I have to really mean it. So I press really, really, really fucking hard. It's visceral as it tears his neck open and I don't even look, I can feel it, and I don't stop to watch him die (weird thought, because I don't know why I would wanna do that).

I run out of the room kinda bloody and I say "I killed him. I killed a person" and somehow get the point across that it was "self defense" but Heidi looks at me kind of...annoyed? disappointed?
I'm very upset now about ending a human life without thinking over other options first. I ask Heidi why she is upset, ask her if I should have just let him kill me. She says, "Well, in my opinion you shouldn't kill a person. And if he had killed you, that's kind of the beauty of the way life works; you would have been better off in the end."

I think about karmically how that makes sense, I guess, lol(?) and get more and more upset with myself for taking someone's life. I wonder if it was self-defense at all, retrospectively, and someone tells me I need to go outside and call the cops now. The weirdest thing is that the body is now my cat's body (Irwin), I guess because I can't deal with seeing the human body of someone I killed....(ohhhhhhhh shittttt).

Suddenly I'm outside and I'm in my underwear but my top and bra are off and I freak out and think about how I can't talk to the cops like that, but I don't know where my clothes are. I want a cigarette SO BADLY but I don't have any because they had all spilled through the cracks in the wooden stairs earlier in the dream.


Friday, June 17, 2016

A light tucks under the shade by the window
pretend you didn't see it all you want
I felt a wisp of hair that wasn't mine just then
did I imagine that sensation?

You weren't around when the moon landed upon the earth
where I dug and dug for the answers
to your questions
Ever since you asked them, I've been naked
opened up and swallowed whole
by my creation

Everything was meant to be
the way it has unfolded,
but I can't help but question our Sovereignty
You weren't meant to be here, and I'm alone
I've never felt so Powerful

Today the stars beckoned
and I refused them
the pull of darkness is stronger still
The light has licked its lips at me
and I ignore it

Rain never asked what we thought about its wetness
So why do we pretend like we care?
Tell me again what you remember
if you even dare

The wholeness of We
has opened itself up to me
and I cannot even cry
You wandered through this wood forever
to Catch a Butterfly

Softly, slowly, gently now
hear the whisper as it fades away
And kiss yourself when you remember
what it means to Pray

Sunday, October 11, 2015

crying didn’t help me.
it made your skin crawl and I,
well, I do think you liked it.

because you can’t cry. No,
I know that
your tears have waterlogged your weary head.
All that pressure sealed your 
pulsing eyelids
and kept you silent,
but thrust my legs (left-toe to right-heel)
all the way out the front door.
I saw a
hard, cold, little rabbit.
I picked it up 
and laughed right at it.
I even made myself sick 
when I decided
what I was going to do then.
so I picked up that ceramic piece
of what she called art.
t was fired in her summer-camp kiln.
it was fired in the fire that she lacked.
…I thought it would explode,
that pink little rabbit.
I thought her unhinged desire 
would burst 
into a fine display of 
I project.
I projected my
an ugly display of
childish panic.
The ceramic piece of
(that pastel bunny with the chip on its shoulder,
a deep pit that we used as a cigarette holder),
her kiln-fired, summer-camp, funny 
was NOT 
the catharsis for my 
rage parade
It did not light up the streets
when I heaved it 
with all of my clandestine hate
put behind it
it crumbled into ten dusty pieces
that I swept up
all alone
the next morning.

Thursday, January 15, 2015

The birds speak louder than your words
and I can't even understand theirs.
Funny thing, that is.
A story about a monster will outlive anything
you've ever had to say
and it was written by a girl five years your junior.
You were the monster all along(?)
But she wasn't to know that, some two-hundred
years ago,
or so.
I hear the birds louder than I hear your
monstrous voice;
you're so quiet in your terror.
But perhaps it doesn't ring so loudly in my ears
because it's dampened by the fast
thud-thud, thud-thud of my heart.
You animal, you seem so large!
But the birds are larger, not when I hear them caw,
but when they come together in a mass
that screams,
"We are here,
and why are you down there, so alone?"

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

My life is petty and the people are scary.
My arms got wet as I said,
"it's okay, baby,"
the day after my mattress lost the shape of my body.
The people are scary and my life is petty
but I blow smoke out my mouth in pretty shapes
and feel comfy.
You never knew that I knew but I watched...
from two-hundred miles away, through the blacks
of the backs of my eyelids...
while I bundled up into a blanket cocoon
to keep my heart silent.
You never knew that I knew
until I told you,

and after all of it the gas continues to be lit.

Thursday, June 19, 2014

To be wildly angry at that which terrifies you is the most vulnerable of things.
Powerless yet thrashing, you’ve never felt so empty.
Do you remember when you were a child, and you screamed and you screamed and you flailed on the ground, 
but they never felt sorry for you, 
and you dug your hole one hundred feet deeper with each desperate attempt to fight? 

You did it again when you begged him to love you and that word slipped out and you didn’t mean to say that phrase and now he is so angry and you’re flailing on the ground again. 
Please, you beg. Why don’t you help me? 
All you want is for him to wrap his arms around you so tightly and squeeze until there is nothing more to the universe than his heavy weight protecting you from what this has been about from the day you came through that warm and safe tunnel 
right into the cold, white hands of a man who has lived two billion, two hundred seventy million, five hundred and ninety-two thousand times longer than you. 
If you could have looked into his eyes he would have desperately tried to warn you with them. 
His old eyes would have tried to show you the pain and the sadness and perhaps would have hoped to comfort you by letting you know we’re all the same. 
But that is only what he has been told by others who knew just as little as he and, likely, just as little as you. 
Your father will never tell you that he fantasized for years about murder because he was obsessed with the moment of death, 
and that his fantasies ended when he watched you exit your mother’s womb because that ambiguous moment of your birth was just the same.
He was not satiated. 

Nineteen years later, your lover will hold you in his arms 
at midnight once a month 
and listen to your sobs while you try to explain through gasps and gulps that you must be more scared than everyone else 
because no one else talks about it and you 
just can’t stop. 
He says that it’s not worth thinking about 
and you wail with your head thrown up to the ceiling and your sticky mouth wide open. 

Every book, every film, every story you have ever witnessed or been told leaves you with a feeling of dread. 
Your friends exit the theater unaffected and you look at them in disgust because how can they carry on? 
How can they continue as if life has not just ended before their very eyes and is ending all around us and there is NOTHING we can do about it? Aren’t you ANGRY?, 
you shout, 
and they shrug. 

When you dream that night it is of an atomic bomb with a timer, 
tick tick ticking, and you watch the seconds 
count down to your finality 
and you wince and you flinch and you bang your fists against the wood paneling above you 
because you are hiding under the house you grew up in, 
because you have to do whatever you can to protect yourself, 
because inevitability does not mean you give up
and it does not mean you can’t be pissed as hell about the fact that something less real than you can decide 
that you are no longer.

Sunday, April 6, 2014

The best thing is that everyone expects to be listened to,
but nobody wants to listen.

And they stuffed cotton balls into their ears
because they're oh-so-so-so comfy.