I am working on my caffeine buzz before I head towards Westport and Volker to finish running errands for the week. If I extend this out any longer I may drive myself insane. Then I am going to work. Then I am coming home and crashing, most likely, into the infinite abyss of my REM, which has been working efficiently lately and dumping all of my subconscious out into the back of my head where things are already analyzed and revived and worked through: a place in history, my brain archives.

Last night the underside of my beer cap said, "Tread softly but have a BIG spirit."

I am pretty certain I would not want to be any other person, ever.

Dear diary,

It's so hhaaAAArd being a lady. It's so hard being alone and having to impress everyone with the way that I look! It can never be about me, can it? LOL! Man. Life is hard inside of this little shell but I can certainly say that I can't wait to get laid soon by a dummy who likes the way my boobs are shaped under this dress that I am wearing tonight! Hehe.

It's so hard being a lady. Things aren't very simple. They're sooOO complicated. I mean, when I tell someone I love them they think that I am just being NEEDY. And that I can't do things on my own. My little vaginal hormones get in the way and it's just so hard to wake up in the morning without a man by my side! You see, automatically, I can't be alone. I don't know what love is because it all has to do with the fact that I can't be alone, DUR!

LOL! God I try to think otherwise but it's so hard to tell mennnnnnn and even womennnnnn that!11! I'm just so emotional and crybaby that they just don't believe me. I guess they're right and I am not. I mean, everyone I know knows me better than I know myself! Hehe! God, this vagina thing is so annoying!!!! Once you're branded with it you can't go back!!! I hope when I get older I have a big man to carry me around everywhere, so I don't even have to walk! I know that everyone knows I need that and I know it's like a really hard thing to like ask for and stuff and like I don't know if I will ever meet a man who will CARRY me around everywherrrrre BUT that is what my vagina asks for. It asks for a man to carry me. Love is not love. It's called carry me, support me, stick your sperm in me because I know that the only thing I am good for is a mat for a door and a vagina to put sperm in and shoot out a baby! LOL! Pink!!!

Thanks for listening diary!

Audrey

ps. When I get done crying will some delusional man want to come pick me and my vagina up and take me out to dinner?! :-xxxxxxx I'm the perfect little curly haired doormat to your manly fantasy werld! heeeeeez.

ramblegambler

I don't know what to write in this blog and my writing has shriveled down into its cocoon phase, which is much needed but kind of alarming for me, as it always seems to be, which makes the entire cocoon phase last for too long. I have much to write about but don't know where to start and am hoping that I slip back into that stage of mental and physical paralyzation to create something impulsively, the preferred way.

There are things I wish right now. 1) That the ghost in my apartment would please give me back my Netflix movie so I don't have to pay the lost movie fee. Something tells me that, "a ghost took it," won't suffice as a reasonable excuse. 2) That I can wake up at a point in my life where menial tasks don't take a lifetime to execute like any other normal human being. I just want to know that one day I won't be almost driven to tears just to try and go get a job at a coffee shop. 3) That the weeks fly by for Sarah to get back from France. She needs to be in France but I miss her dearly. Luckily she left me the keys to her apartment so I can use her bathtub. 4) That the thought of dating didn't make me want to upchuck in my own mouth from my past finally bubbling from the core into a shape, a thing that is absolutely terrifying and wrecked with trust issues beyond what's healthy. 5) That I weren't watching the Earth that I live on be destroyed by the greed of the white man and his unsavory desires. I know that this is a wish that will never go away. I know that when the days and the weeks progress I am still going to be surrounded by drunken peers who don't give a damn, who I am still around even after tearing up like a squeezed sponge after viewing photographs and reading about all of the horrid things happening in the world. My conscience is not clear and I don't even drive a car.

There is something about old age that has been appealing to me lately. Maybe it's because it's the one thing that frightens everyone else. Sometimes I do think that I am going to die before everyone because it's something I desire: a long life, a place for my wrinkly, shriveled body until I am one hundred and twenty-two years old.

Growing my bangs out has been the best idea, ever. My hair has never looked better. I have never looked better. My art has never looked better. My writing has never been better (even if it isn't coming out very well) but I still feel so asinine, too drunk and like I am about ready to fall out into the quicksand trap of life in Kansas City with a deadend joint in hand with no where to go, waiting for something to happen, waiting for the Midwest ambiance to explode like they always said would happen one day. Oh we're in the midst of a Midwest awakening, aren't we? All of us, driving drunk under this cloud of "should bes" and "would bes." Oh, if it weren't for all that meth. My hometown is the most beautiful, historical looking place with its empty factories, stockyards and rainbow junkyards. But if you walk around the brick roads may as well be littered with needles and by the river there is a man hiding from himself, contemplating when a skyscraper will raise out of that water and save his life before he becomes one with it.

Don't ask me how I have been doing.

My head is going to explode

"I want to go somewhere where I can see the milky way instead of dabbling in the nihilism of postmodernity." There is nothing that bores me more than the world thinking so hard about something until its dead. It's just a thought and nothing more. Life is more simple than that, if you ask me. Do something. Movement. Dynamism. Do something.

"I'm also bored by people using our social conditions of the day as an excuse for their inability to relate to others and/or have a relationship that is meaningful." I guess because my parents didn't divorce when I was thirteen I am still holding on to something that has more weight than what is considered love in this surface society I am so lucky to be a part of. It bores me, the new tradition bores me, the current state bores me. I'm going to be single forever as I create my own version of it that absolutely no one else will inhabit because it will be my own. I'll be alone forever. I'd rather be alone than be a part of something cheap.

Today I am taking care of business. Where will I be in the next two years? Hopefully sitting in a small apartment in a real city in autumn with my plants, two siamese and a selection of Hendricks, dark roast and jasmine tea. I will write out mounds of lyrical prose and better poetry than I ever have in my entire life and live among a spread of markers and pencils with a huge wall with a drawing hanging on it, fitting with the simple apartment because I finally got the guts to dump my belongings where they should be: in a thrift store. BREATHE.

I gave up envisioning myself with anyone else, though. I'd rather sew my panties to my skin than get caught up in another dignity stealing fling or relationship. Please, god, stay away from me. I can't detriment myself anymore! Stay the hell away! I'm poison, I'm telling you!

"": selfmockery as repulsion.

Come sooner, Death


The wait hurts me like a habit.
The burn of the failure
of my lungs should sicken me.
I've been taught to think death
were wrong for all of us.
I am only here.
A stretcher holds no congruence for me.

The apocalypse is in my home.
I'm feeding the ash recumbent.
All of my model figurines implode
into their own scowling certainty
while all I have done is stayed alive,
posing as either one, waiting
for a face to develop before the drop,
before the implode.

This home is about as good as dead.
I'm waiting for my trachea to subside.
I'm waiting to walk out of this ivory
skin like the snake asked me to.
I'm waiting for the faces of my loved
to fade, in a space in the sky,
in the stars, in the faint glitter of planets beyond.
I am waiting.

I don't want to recover.
I want to pluck my feathers
and leave myself for food.

Power rolls by as a skull.
A choking masquerade
could take me any day.
Let me go without consideration,
without loss, without remembrance.
This earth is not a faint of me.

Disillusionment of Ten O'Clock - Wallace Stevens

The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange,
With socks of lace
And beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots,
Catches Tigers
In red weather.

Where am I?

I guess I finally have time to write a blog on a Sunday evening while my joints are aching, like I am seventy-five years old. Apparently I caught a virus and this isn't surprising to me considering how I have not been taking care of myself. I'm like a walking sponge. If I don't take care of myself, psha, I'm feverish in bed for a week.

But anyway, I am kind of glad to be sick. Strangely enough, sometimes being sick is the only thing that can get me disconnected when I feel out of control. I needed a break and am finally getting one, despite the fact that I had to be infected with a virus to have one.

It's clear I have become wrought with disillusionment and despite my search for something even slightly fulfilling it keeps getting worse. I feel trapped in Kansas City and am still unsure of whether or not I am just not seeing the right things or talking to the right people. I feel trapped in my limitations here. I feel trapped by my degree, by the pinning down of me by people. I feel trapped by the directions of my past. I feel trapped by conversation. I feel trapped by my class. I feel trapped by my inability to find an ounce of love. I just recently had friends move or leave town for awhile and it became even clearer to me that was the case after they had left. Removing distractions brings you back to the spot you washed over for so long. And it was all good while it lasted but I'm still no where I would like to be.

I know what I like and what I don't like. This isn't something that is "misunderstood" by me. It's quite simple. What I don't know is how to do anything. Most of the words that have been coming out of my mouth lately are, "I don't know how to do this." Whatever I have been wanting to do, I have little support and/or decent advice, or I don't know how to ask for it right. I'm kind of jumping into an oblivion on a daily basis.

Along with that, the past week my apartment caught on fire and my friend and I were being spied on by a creepy man. I had to call 911 twice in one week, more than ever before in my life. Now I have been paranoid and the thought of waking up with a fire going or a man standing over my bed with a knife never seemed more real. These things make me feel lonelier and make me feel I may be the luckiest target of all. These things are new to me. I'm not sure how to react when I see my cats still covered in soot. It was surreal and I barely remember each occasion. They're blocked off on the history of my mind somewhere.

Anyway, this blog is going no where. I have not been able to write lately, probably because I have no idea what I am doing or where I am. I'm in this body but I don't feel like I am a part of it at all.

I find myself functioning in a state of ambivalence concerning my own ego needs as of late. I guess the realization has come over me, and maybe it's an average adulthood realization, that most of what I do is meaningless and unimportant. I am just a mind and soul sitting in this body, like a million other bodies floating around on the Earth's crust this very moment. Fortunately, for me, I have been able to draw the line between that realization and the knowledge that what I do does have some kind of meaning, and yes, we do all feel and function and are human beings whether or not it is meaningful. What's meaningful or not meaningful to me will be the opposite to someone else. It's all very simple, and I have known of it before, but to start waking up as a person who gets this instead of a person who is trying to deny it makes me think that I must have stepped over some barrier that was keeping me from progressing anywhere in my own life. Everything seemed so important to me even though I had the knowledge that one day I will die.

I was afraid to touch my poetry, my art and do anything different. I was stuck somehow, in the only way I could be stuck. And coming from a person who is generally unstuck, I am not sure how it happened, but it did. Maybe I was afraid to move because it's clear that there is little available on the outside world, and what you take must be frugal. It's arrogant otherwise. Maybe I needed more security than I wanted to admit. I didn't have much else because I chose to make it that way, in the end. I had plenty of false security, but nothing real. I'm not sure if there is real freedom, or freedom that is illusory at the time. But either way, the most self defined free of individuals I know have various sources of security that allow them to detach from many things that others have had to find security in.

I think that this kind of realization only comes when you get to know you and your own emotions. If you don't even understand yourself, then the possibility of even beginning to try and understand the fundamentals of the rest of humanity is impossible. I am definitely an advocate for myself, my friends and in the larger scheme, this entire country as a whole, to do some serious reviewing. That's just me, though. I think I woke up and grew up within' a week and what seemed important last month is absolutely meaningless now. All of my petty drama and emotional baggage is boring to even consider right now. I am hungry for something new, something really intense, and something to send me off from this place.

In the end, what is meaning anyway? When you find it you discover its unreality. When you find it the truths you found are proven untrue. It's such a worthless scour in this modern world to try and uncover anything when the entirety of the way things are working makes it a lie. There is no way to get around it other than the acceptance that it is a lie but we are all humans and we aren't aliens, we aren't gods. We all have these base needs and desires that deserve to be respected and frankly, ignoring that fact, is inhumane to ourselves and others.