Open the door..

Open the door I can't stay here anymore
Open the door...

Careful in the streets at night.
thinking you're wrong but you know you are right.
thinking you're wrong but you know,
you're allright.

Careful when you say goodbye.
careless lives or careless dies..
but careless isn't careful tries.

This is what I have
fragments of song lyrics.
I will write something tangible soon.

Why I so often refer to the metaphorical heart as a baby bird.

I don't remember how my hands found the baby bird. Only that I followed its plaintive cries to the nest beneath the deck, and that such a desperate need could come out of such a new fragile being drove my 7-year old heart mad with mis-guided motherhood. The delicate pink of its terrified frame, the blind and bruised blue-berry eyes..made my child hands into two fat monstrosities destined for murder despite the sincere good intentions to turn against their own nature. I could not help but entertain the belief that I could be what it was crying out for, that I alone had heard and answered. A foolishness..born of awe, of a love and a madness too large and instant for my as-yet-developed common sense to quiet. I think that even then..somewhere I knew better.
Then the Adults stormed in.
What have you done?
This tiny life, this love..is not for you. You have stolen what you cannot possibly keep and now the Mother will not return.
Because of you.
I put it back into the nest with prayers..tears and promises to this Mother who could never understand me.
Wept all night..furled tight about my first dip into the fatality of selfish love.
At seven my destiny was determined:
Executioner.

She's gone.

She's gone.
She is gone.
I spent two hours with her 6 days ago, hugged her good-bye and started crying because damn it..
I knew it would be the last time I saw her.
I am grateful for the chance I had to see her. I wish it had been longer.
All the things I never said
All the things I never did
all spilling into nothingness
I can't believe that this is it

Death is not like the piano. Practice does not make perfect.
It is always like this.
Grief happens like a paper grocery bag splitting in the rain
everything falling out
and there you are
actually crying over spilt milk
the cantaloupe on concrete
bleeding orange onto the street
looks like how your voice would sound
if you could open up your throat enough to say
Wait.
No.
I still have this Get Well card to send you.
Come back.

Seattle treats everyone like a drunk in bed...

...washing dirty bums with rain like dishes on the floor.

Got off work, my spine started rejecting the world again, so I took a bunch of advil and went out anyway. Now I am at the office using the computer and trying to ignore the flashing bar signs across the street. Beer? NO! must resist! What the holy FUCK is wrong with me? I need to go home, eat, watch a movie and go to bed. Very difficult to resist the urge to go procrastinate at a bar. Feel shifty, irritable, want beer and cigarettes and loud old school punk rock and for some reason today of all days I am really bitter about being an adult. I mean, I just don't want to have to THINK about this shit anymore. Bills, job, creative endeavors, future plans.. I feel like all the shit I usually care about, am even proud of, is well..just a big drag. Fuck the world, what the hell do I care if President Bushy Bunny-Pants wants to shit all over everyone, what the fuck does it really matter how much socialist/anarchist/activist bullshit I or anyone else churns out? I just don't want to care anymore. I just want to get drunk, smoke like I'm having new lungs put in next week, listen to music that sounds like two undead cats fucking/killing each other, break stuff, limit my usually expansive vocabulary to Fuck/Shit/Hell/Macaroni, but above all... I want to go to a bar so that when some drunk drooly asshole wants to tell me my boots are "Soo, like, HOT", I will not say a word. I will simply reach wordlessly into my crotch..yank out my tampon and then throw it across the room and see if it sticks to the wall.
You know what I mean?
I just want to bleed all over the place..
because damn it...I just don't want to give a fuck
at all.

but, um..I think I''ll just go home and hang out with my cat...and maybe I'll take out the garbage.