hope & less collide

x___recherche @ 2005-03-18T14:49:00

2005-03-18T19:51:35Z

x___recherche @ 2005-01-26T20:53:00

2005-01-27T01:59:52Z

i miss things seeming better. the trees were taller & the playground was bigger. like a dream, but not. i miss the woods. my neighbor & i made a club house under an evergreen tree. we called it the canopy. we found bricks somewhere in the woods, so we made a little campfire site, & put an old grill across it. we said when we were older we would spend the night out there. we never did. we made a sign that had twigs hotglued onto it that said the canopy, & nailed it to a tree nearby. we had logs to sit on & this huge rock that looked like a chair. we would make things out of whatever we found. i knew the trail to get there by heart. i miss clouds & mudpies & kickball. turry feild. tommy made the other neighbors & i sign a contract saying we would play at least 3 games a week. i miss the scavenger hunts. i miss tommys pool late at night. there was a light in it & when you swam right towards it, it looked like a train was coming. i learned how to dive in that pool. whenever i hear this certain song, i swear i can smell chlorine. i miss delta airlines. we used to pretend we worked for the airlines & book flights for people & i miss being a newscaster. we would take all the headlines from the paper & write our own articles about it. & then we would tape ourselves doing the news, commercials & everything. i miss the attic at lori's house. we used to go up there, put on all the old dresses, & then pretend we were characters from clue. i was always miss scarlet with homemade cigarettes rolled from paper & concord grapes. i still love to play that game. i miss spelling words wrong and not feeling guilty about doing it. i miss the ocean.

& i feel like this...

x___recherche @ 2005-01-08T02:56:00

2005-01-08T07:57:14Z

im not sure who im living for anymore because it certainly isnt me.

x___recherche @ 2005-01-04T20:08:00

2005-01-05T01:09:57Z

as seen at __torn letters.

dear chambered muscular organ in vertebrates that pumps blood received from my veins into my arteries,

im not sure what the rest of my body has done to you to make you engage in complete mutiny but you're losing your strength & those sutured breaks that you've created for yourself are ready to explode. perhaps there is no chosen path, perhaps ive been following you when we both dont know where we are going, perhaps you are just as afraid of time as i am. i want to teach you to stop being so fragile, to stop being so eager, to stop being so stupid. this face is tired of blushing & one day (in spite of course) i may be inclined to stop my breath & starve you. stop changing your mind. when thinking rationally, i suppose you might be telling me to stop worrying about pronouns and learn how to love the mind and not the chromosome but this is more complicated than you might imagine and i'll be frank when saying you are making me angry.

& secondly, i'd like to apologize for the countless times i have stabbed you - you must understand i am a desperate, silly girl with no direction and less confidence.

stop acting so weak & start acting like a heart.

signed,
a dissatisfied customer

x___recherche @ 2004-12-31T15:24:00

2004-12-31T20:30:58Z

all eyes on the calender
another year i claim
of total indifference
to hear the days pile up
with decisions to be made
im sure all of them were wrong
into this song
i send myself
and with these drinks
i plan to collapse and forget
this wasted year
(these wasted years)
devoted friends, they disappear
im sorry bout the phonecall
and needing you
some decisions you dont make
i guess its just like breathing
but not wanting to
yeah, some things you cant fake
i guess that its typical
to cling to memories
you'll never get back again
and to sort through old photographs
of a summer long ago
or a friend that you used to know
and there below her frozen face
you wrote her name and the ancient date
and you cant believe
that shes really gone
and all thats left
is a fucking song.
im sorry bout the phonecall
and waking you
i know that it is late
but thank you for talking
i needed to
yeah, some things just cant wait.

x___recherche @ 2004-11-18T13:07:00

2004-11-18T19:47:48Z

'ive thought a lot about death recently, the finality of it, the argument ending in mid-air. one of us hadnt finished, why did the other one go? and why without warning? the troops broke through the window and snatched the body and the body is gone. the day before the wednesday last, this time a year ago, you were here and now you're not. why not? death reduces us to the baffled logic of a small child. if yesterday why not today? and where are you?...do the dead find peace beyond the rattle of the world? what peace is there for us whose best love cannot return them even for a day? i raise my head to the door and think i will see you in the frame. i know it is your voice in the corridor but when i run outside the corrider is empty. there is nothing i can do that will make any difference. the last word was yours...and if anyone had said this is the price i would have agreed to pay it. that surprises me; that with the hurt and the mess comes a shaft of recognition. it was worth it. love was worth it'

her anniversary came and went. two years later. i told you not to die. i always worried about forgetting - what her shampoo smelled like, how her voice sounded but it comes back. bittersweet.

'i am run through. into the holes i pack splinters of hope but hope does not heal me. should i pad my eyes with forgetfulness, eyes grown thin through looking? frontal bone, palatine bones, nasal bones, lacrimal bones, cheek bones, maxilla, vomer, inferior conchae, mandible. those are my shields, those are my blankets, those words dont remind me of your face.'

the only thing to do after losing is forgetting. i tried that for so long and ive realized that forgetting does her no justice. it doesnt make me miss her less. that its impossible to erase years from your life and moments of happiness from your memories because everything reminds me of you. sad chords, sun dials, lavender, voices like wind chimes and creaking floors. today there would have been a call, a card in the mailbox and blown kisses. its missed - the sound of air over phone wires and west virginia postmarked envelopes but this year i wrote postcards from the future and threw them to the wind.
i want to tell you all about her.

'this hole in my heart is in the shape of you and no one else can fit it.'
and i dont want them to.

6.28.87 - 10.22.02

its late but i think that shes deserves it

quotes from written on the body by jeanette winterson.

x___recherche @ 2004-10-17T23:15:00

2004-10-18T03:16:27Z

my name isnt on the bottle
i take a few to feel infinite
and a few more to make myself e x p l o d e
powder in monochrome
but more than black and white
more than fight or flight
down on knees (repent)
face to tabletop -
i have found my god
and i worship with closed eyes
and a burning nose.
i am my own heretic
i am my own jesus
i am the immaculate conception
and i birth capillaries of red on forearms
and white on a tom waits cd case
there is no dove
no olive branch
no clicking rosary beads
no forty days of abstinance.
there will never be a statue
for the saint of addiction
or the patron of white affliction
i have full faith in my religion -
i will scream and no one will hear it
i'll be perfect
i'll be beautiful
and i wont be me

x___recherche @ 2004-10-05T19:56:00

2004-10-05T23:57:04Z

Urban sprawls sub-sister
Where a car passes every
Seven minutes and a plane
Every thirteen.
Blinking car alarm lights and
Two on each porch
To ward off anything that wants
To disturb the silent comfort
Of tree lined streets
And starless skies
And little kids running
Through yards
To catch fireflies –
Our record is good; a murder
Every seven years and a
Governor sex scandal
Every thirteen.
The sidewalks hold ancient names
And forgotten dates
And vague remnants of
Skinned knee bloodstains.
We have contests over
The greenest lawn and
Cleanest drain pipes and
How long we can keep
Memories secret in our basements.
Because every street has its fill
Of steel knuckled fathers and their
Pregnant teenage daughters,
Pill poppers
Gamblers
Obnoxious drunken ramblers
And at least one woman who always
Calls the cops.
But there’s birthday songs and laughter
Dishes clanking –
We always remember to close
The windows when the dishes begin
Breaking.
And the bathrobes cover bruises
When we go to get the paper
When the neighbor tells you the hand-
Some man down the road
Is in the hospital because his wife
Left him and he was dismissed from Wall
Street and
They found him in his yard with a gun.
How bout that one?
But we only have a suicide
Every seven years
And a block-public breakdown every
Thirteen
Our three-bedroom house will sell
For four grand
When mom is busted for bad checks
And dad is caught in his office with
His secretary, having sex.
Sad stories flood phone lines
That grid the sky
And worried sisters ask if you’re all right
But you can only reply,
‘This is the Suburbs
Everything’s perfect.
Everything’s fine.”

x___recherche @ 2004-09-03T00:01:00

2004-09-03T04:26:53Z

not changing, just starting over.

wishing on a dream that seems far off
hoping it will come today.
into the starlit night
foolish dreamers turn their gaze
waiting on a shooting star
but
what if that star is not to come?
will their dreams fade to nothing?
when the horizon darkens most
we all need to believe there is hope
is there an angel watching closely over me?
can there be a guiding light ive yet to see?
i know my heart should guide me but
there's a hole within my soul.
what will fill this emptiness inside of me?
am i to be satisfied without knowing?
i wish then for a chance to see.
now all i need (desperately)
is my star to come...
- shiis song.