The dark night looks over, wanting.

what i used to love has been pushed way way over
softer things, disciplined behaviors
mint tea, hate it
no bread, just spinach
 no.
running the length of the city- from one body of water to the other
no.
perfect nails, hair dyed, body thin.
No.

I hate the way I had to run to calm down, but I had to.
when I was the sickest they always liked me more.
People think your happy, or they feel happy
when your thinner



it was always with me.
fast fast fast fast fast fast everything cranked up to the max max max
water, running, levitate above my bed, sleeping w/ one eye closed, the other still going
how cartoons see everything, around the corners even
I didn't need anything when it was like this
I didn't need.

I only needed out- get all the energy out
a racing body, a mind whipped into a tense, muscular trajectory: go.
no amount of activity, work, love, people, places could soothe the big and manic throbbing.



and then there is always this too.

the long and heavy drop
the sinking down
heavy meat dropping in a cold sea. under a starless sky
the red flesh becoming purple, then grey and finally gone.
a mass at the bottom, the sting, the sand slurping it down.
It becomes a settling that begins to look like decomposing.
The terrible part is
 I don't.
I stay there, wholly intact, conscious. Invisible in the darkness, without limbs, without a face.

It's impossible to feel that old spinning, the energy required to pull out of this plucked out like death.
everything is this limbless, drowned state, pulling down-
I want so bad to have back the mania, that insane urge to make make make,
it just went, the terrible bulldozer inside, involuntary
the shaking and levitating. set to ON.


NO.
is so absurd, how its too fast and the inability to hear, touch down
or this
buried, amoeba like, motionless, utter sadness under layers and layers of millions of pounds of sand
pressing down under millions of gallons of dark salt water
I want them to come find me here.
Under all the sand I am still here.

sounds and shapes

it hurts like a boulder is massive
a shape too big to hug, a weight too incomprehensible to budge
when will these landmarks shift
is this the correct map?
my inside landscape feels like a natural disasters leftover carnage
trying trying to re-root
trying trying to make life life-like again

i want myself out of myself
all this thudding is a bore
a tennis shoe in the dryer
ongoing forever annoying myself with my sadness
become something new
turn into a sandal
a thinner, less offensive version of the thud causer

i hold my breath all the time waiting for it
it whirls and whirls hot air and cloth movements then it
hits
a shocking thud

always surprising

forever thudding

a sore heart, burning eyes, aching chest
ravaged insides
trying trying
to be a life

same story

I like to use the technique of avoidance
when everything gets so close up again and the pores of the situation are visible
but the shape of the thing is not
I like to not
write anything down
not take pictures

I sometimes pick up my camera, the one a man gave me in Florida
but then I always put it down and run out the door w/ my purse flying saying in my head
I Don't Want To Remember This Part of My Life.
I keep waiting for it to change.
for that thought to pass. Its been almost three years and its still  hanging on

the shame.


the big sad body
of water



I'm afraid to write in my journal because I don't want to really see it
IN WRITING
these on going feelings
ivy growing like mad regardless of all the hacking
regardless of all the man hours, the fierce work, the calloused exhaustion
tearstearstears

perhaps I should move outdoors where everything is green and architecture doesn't disrupt the mad amounts of growing.
When everything is green with water inside and veins and soil fed
hard shapes we try and make can be a terrible juxtaposition.

 bark pants are fine

I'll write some lines about my feelings

How he wanted to kill her.
Kicked in the stomach fear.
A neglect that leaves one invisible
Without voice.
But now I get to be an adult.
And try to be happy.
It looks amazing over there...
everyday try not to throw yourself under the bus
now you get to practice everyday making a life not terrifying
now you get to be in charge and hopefully not destroy all the survival
you survived

our skeletal structure. our organs. our faces. Or trying not to hate myself in this family.

my body and heart are uncontrollable organs and piles of flesh running out of this room. Every cell is spinning shot full of adrenaline, desperate... the kind of breathing an face that happens when you are all snot and saliva and tears and vomit is just a moment away. The whole body is wreaked with the work of movement, of escape.

Sitting between my two parents is like that.

they are screaming and shaking. His face is red like the alcoholic painting in your mind, the grey white hair   surrounding the red center like a halo. A Christmas wreath on the doorknob screaming. A life you keep wanting to not live but continues to unravel and build in depth and strength. The roots are thick, they look cut as they have gown around human made objects like fences and side walks and pipes. The roots seem melted around them, like hot lava poured, then hardened.

it feel like it should cut, like how they look. But it's so expected at this point. it's just the numb terrible dull ache you always feel in that one spot where that thing happened that one time when you were that age.

There is not much use in wishing it away. I told my mom on mother day, today, at sushi lunch in the cement parking lot of a strip mall by the LA freeways that some children are killed by there parents. They literally don't make it out alive,
so I am thankful. They were not so much homicidal. So far we have all survived the suicide, that seems the closest culprit to our survivals theses days, in one way or another...
trying to keep ourselves alive
trying to get up and out of bed everyday
trying to take the pills and not drink the poison and look both ways and check for marks on her body, look for signs of abuse, try not to become a smoker again, see if she can get a ride cause you're too tired to go get her.


Walking into this house is like walking into a toxic waste dump. I need so much gear and right ow I cannot afford to check a bag. I show up with nothing.
Or I feel naked, with open wounds still
and the air is salt and lemon juice here.
Fifteen years of therapy inside my head and leaked down into my body is something, but this is serious, I need metal armor and giant swords and magical things I don't even know about because I don't read fantasy, don't watch Sci-Fi movies or any kind of violent things.....

I'm like tiny albino bunny that cant be in the sun or around loud noises or touched at all unless you wear special fluffy gloves. I am too traumatized for reality.

Monochromatic situations soothe me.

feed me from a dropper.

talk about my species and how we used to live before the humans came and made us almost extinct, and mutated and dependent.

tell me about my life before it was like this, tell me everything I don't remember and wish was true.

terrible: sleeping/waking/sleeping/waking

Being raped by the dream man on the dirty side of the motel land was less painful than seeing her.
I was getting used to picking around the crusty dilapidated surroundings, trying to find a safe place to stash my few possessions
Squatters wandering like Thai dogs, homeless wolves.
Unending despair, heavy like a sopping wet down comforter, speckled with mold, stained with human markings. All this was bearable.
It wasn't until She walked out of the space and over to the picnic table that I snapped.
my heart ripping aching thudding tearing uncontrollable achey longing sadness despair
She spoke to everyone but me 
my eyes were like a cat on a bird, pointing. She never once glanced my way
everything inside me wanted out of the skin case/ i wanted to hack off my limbs/ to decompose, to begin to feel nothing/ for once
to represent the hallow that I felt.
Mom tried to say she didn't matter and why
I defended her viciously
It had been years since I saw her and she was older now, and a transman, 52 years old with a 14 year old daughter.
None of that blunted the sharpness of how hard I wanted her to want me again. It's an indescribable ache, a thirst like maybe you'll die of dehydration.
I feel numb all over my waking body. I don't know how to be awake and my sleep is too often the situation above. My body wants to cry all day like the springtime rain.

be the same.
try to act like soil, then see.

I am inconsolable
I am perpetually heartbroken

we are here to make and tell stories

My mind wanted to to race about it:
The  familiar man sat down in a chair in the brightly lit room, his face etched in my brain... where does he work? Is he a chef? What does he know about me? Is he married to a colleague?
I tried to be honest, say real things
while fighting the racing questions, pounding like rain on a tin roof
what does it matter? who cares??
a face you cant shake

I am LISTLESS these days.

overflowing inspiration passes though me like a giant undertow
electricity that would send it into action is sizzled out by the dense water.

A balloon held underwater
a small fight

the cycle defeated. Inaction. a numb heart. clean hands are the worst.

I am home and can't get rid of myself.
His naked body breathes like a machine in the dark room- it is thick with sage stench and it reeks like locker room armpits and the hills of Ojai
soil and dust
the bushes white under the sun
at night glowing in your nose in the cool air, the sky would be powder sugar sprinkles on black velvet
MILLIONS of white stars spilled
delicious untouchable

his high blood pressure concerns me, i think about the pressure in the body, the temperature, the chakras spinning, all the lives and stories of the soul layered in there
sleeping

At night I close my eyes and instantly pictures appear and stories unfold
tonight wood carved zebras then screen prints then animations of them all black and white and stripey jumping through the pass into the next time or page. I get a rush of last nights dreams: Not yet packed to leave in the morning with everyone- still a twin bed made, stuff in the closet, on the shelves. Not enough bags or time or wherewith all  to complete any of the packing.

In Hollywood there is a bird store Poni took me to. They had a pair of birds in one cage with a handwritten tag that said INTER-SPECIES BONDED. A Parrot-let and a Parakeet. My heart a blaze.
It is impossible to describe how I love the inbetween. How I want to live my life inside the waterfall
Not in the cave behind it
not in the body of water in front of it
just inside holding both
without language without a shape of a cave or a body
shapeless
moving
unable to draw an outline or hold it

My heart was on fire
staring at the two birds knowing their love is real
I feel cut in several ways, slices stacked so heavy that being this person is pressurized

everything and nothing
 is the most accurate way to say it.

This soul has been places I am not interested in remembering
I feel woven into millions of human stories and I feel absolutely alone in the darkness with the sage smell cool in the air, alone in a body you don't want in a life that seems wrong.

How on earth did I end up here? With this story, in this conversation??
What I was after was being the sound of foam crackling white as the wave slowly pulls back in
What I understood was the stillness of rock, the layers of the earth under the crust, held with gravity in a silent ball, dark.

I know I am getting older and my body says make a baby, so I realize a soul wants a body to live in...
but after my experience and all my questions of accuracy, I am thrown

It seems life has the tendency to be a domestic abuse situation
thrown into a wall, a smashed cheek bone and busted lip
and then the Parrot-let and her lover...

I am not bored with my life
I am overwhelmed beyond reason
I am paralyzed in a human body
I am awake at night like this, about to leave to the places in dreams I can never describe
where "I" dissolves in the inbetween

the jogger

My sister said she was too tired to jog today
I said "yeah I know what you mean, for the past couple years now I have just been
too tired.
I used to know what the forest looked like, everyday
 what gate to avoid
I would run in the middle of the road trying to keep the PTSD at bay
jumping out of my skin with each barking dog, a panic attack lady jogger
a person desperate to find sanity in the woods

Yeah- perhaps a few years of sleep....
I think the jogging was a way to wear out the mania swirling inside me like a storm drain gushing, like a frenzied heart on speed
reeling

Today- I eat white pills tinted yellowish
white pills tinted peachish
pills with food and water, pills before bed, pills that make me sick and sleepy.

In bed I close my eyes and see the forest, the certain tree that I marked my run by, it's roots and a silent prayer. Always the same. you will be okay.
breathe.
 you are alive.
In bed I convalesce. My curtains are drawn, held under a stack of blankets. My skin and eyes want the darkness.  My birds are morphing into one another, becoming the same color, creating the same mannerisms and behavior.
I realize I am becoming more and more like my stuffed animals, jammed up against the wall, slipping into the crack of the bed. All day quiet, fluffy white in the dark room painted pink.