I Don’t Want to Talk About It…I Just Want to Sit and Stare at You

Ooh, baby I love your way

Every day.

God, I’m just so hopeless.  I spend my days stealing kisses from someone who isn’t really there.  And pretend to watch him have sex with another man.

Maybe I need a therapist.  I never meant for it to go this far.  But he’s just so perfect.

My father fixed my bike today.

My Teroo.  My Dark Auster.  I love you.

So I rode it and then it started raining.  The drops flew into my eyes.  It was beautiful.  Just like old times.

 Renee is lame.  A bus suits me way better.  Damn those fucking scenies.  I hate you.

I like whale noises.

“As we look around at the state of the world

With such disdain

As our cries of love and faith are suffocated

By childlike death surrounding

The women hold the lifeless bodies

Of their comfortable simplicity

The men cling to each other and weep

With unbridled sorrow

As we sit safely here and gaze upon the ruins

Of creation and hope

As we shout with pride that we do not contribute

But we do not help

The loom of our own demise is a household chore

That we neglect to recognize

The love and brotherhood once known

Is exchanged for worthless pleasures

As we point fingers and run in circles

Mother weeps and whithers”

Art Is Something In Your Heart

And eventually it will kill you.

The inability to fully speak through colors, strokes, lines, shapes will eat at you until your love is dead.  Until your body decays. 

The good thing is, your soul will be free after all that.
And soon, it will be your turn to paint the sky.

What a lovely feeling.

Led Zepp. baby

Face to Face Mouth to Mouth Cheek to Cheek Heart to Heart etc

Love to love you babeh.

If only you were mine

I’d hold you in the sunshine

If only you were here

I’d never shed a tear.

 *********************************

I need to go smear paint on something…on my hands…my feet.

I would not do this in the careless, immature, boyish way you do.

I’d do it with tact…artistically.  You don’t know anything.

At all.

How To Fall In Love With John Lennon

 

 Look at him

Hear what he has to say.

Learn about what he has done.

Watch him.

Watch him be silly.

And BAM, you’ll be in love.

That’s all it takes.  He’s so easy to fall in love with.  But! Exercise caution: at times it is very difficult knowing that he will never be near you.  You will never touch him.  You will never hold him.  You will never get the chance to tell him how much you love him or how happy he makes you.  You will never be able to make him happy in return. You will never smell him.  You will never taste him.  You will never know him.  You will never witness his smile or his laugh in person.  He will never be aware of you.  You will never get to watch over him as he sleeps.  You will never comfort him when he feels down.   

But you will -always- love him.

It’s not all about you, though…at least he had someone to love while he was here.  And that’s very good.

When Art Has Crept Into Your Toenail…A Bothersome Lovely

I should be uninhibited.

Fuck little girls at Laney.

 I’m WEIRD and so AWESOME.

Go spray yourself an unhuman shade of orange.

Collect your flats and pair them with your skinny jeans and zombies.

Insecurity leave meeee

Leave me to make drawings of John outside on frontstreet.

Leave me to wear long, summer-y dresses with uggs.

I love

So greatly.

I’m sorry that this journal has thus-far been filled with nothing more than abstract thoughts.

But isn’t that what my mind is?

I may be trying too hard.

You’d think i was a thief

and you’d be right.

Pratically Plajurized

this floor-length floral print dress
that I did not trade for
dusting these wooden planks
that I did not fashion with my own two hands.

You’d think I was a thief.

And you’d be right.

I don’t want a career
I don’t want your money.

I want to create.

I want to express.

I want your donuts and your affection.
The kind that was stolen from this stealer.
*****
Out there is an entire breed of me
already having been this way.
already being this way
long before I.

But I don’t really want them to understand.

0originality

I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve been fashioned from a mold.

An oblong mold.

Poor dog…crackers for a century…30 seconds of undying affection.

Sometimes I want to melt into your chest, wrap my fingers around your insides, your spine. Feel you.

Feel you.

I can not.

I can only be so much.

With or with out you?

Isn’t it a state of mind?

Why Not Join them?

I’m feeling artsy.

Hippie

Free.

But I’m constrained.

 

Come to me oh fabulous bus!!