February 2011
1 post
new address
i’ve moved in with owel - http://idkids.tumblr.com
April 2010
1 post
For every object that has ever meant anything to anyone is a string that links it with time. These strings are strong. I try to imagine your room. It is inhabited by lengths and lengths of string, obscuring the objects they hold. No one can enter as much as no one, who had been lucky (who, in the end, aren’t so) to bypass the tangle, can come out. You are falling at this very moment. The...
January 2010
1 post
I hate that your body is public property, especially because public includes my husband.
December 2009
3 posts
und(ep)ress me
You may be in her bed but you might as well be on the other side of a river, visible but painfully out of reach. Unless, a flotation device. A high reliability flotation device, for the passenger warns of a heavy heart. Her heart is smallish but it weighs as much as its size in gold. And here is where we stop pushing the metaphor because it is getting the point nowhere. I am nowhere, and I want to...
I love you.
And sometimes it’s enough to stop me from throwing the emptied glass on your sticky, stained, tiled floor.
The crash would have perished the thought.
(the thought that makes me perish)
Miss Tunstall put it less dramatically,
There isn’t many memories I’m comfortable to keep.
November 2009
4 posts
my newborn son > post-operation pain + edema + breastfeeding discomfort + cough + colds
the truth is it hurts like strong detergent on thin, innocent skin.
Yesterday my cousin bought a pot of old school strawberry lip balm and made everybody try it. So in the car it smelled of strawberried lips. I’m worried now because whenever I think of strawberries I might think, lips. And I don’t suppose that’s decent at all.
They have been in bed for some time now, doing nothing, really. And as is usually the case with particularly fruitless attempts at intimacy, sadness likes to join in. She is crying and she won’t say why. But she talks anyway.
I have an idea. I’ll collect my tears and tinge it with pigment. So I could put “colored tears on watercolor paper” on a title card.
October 2009
4 posts
You can’t say capsicum without cum
I miss you, is all.
I lie in bed, sideways, to make room for you when you sneak in in the small hours. Either the smell of afternoon tea clung to the sheets or I am dreaming. Funny how smells can rob you of orientation, and consciousness when the intensity is right. Earlier, at four on the dot, I boiled tea leaves on an open fire. The house still smells balmy. There isn’t much use for sedatives now, I decide,...
I felt the impact as the swirly marble floor shuddered under my bare feet, more so the violent manner in which it seared through the drinking glass, as though the glass were a part of me, broken into glistering pieces of stars - the brokenness too radiant, it could blind.
1 tag
He Comes, You Leave
He lies down, eyes scanning the ceiling. It’s white enough for a screen so he flashes thoughts of last night.
You are still in his bed, under him so that all he sees is his back moving up and down and up and down. Your clothes wrinkle against friction but you insist on dry sex. Then, an argument of whispers. Warm breaths mixing with the heat of your bodies. He agrees, but not really, because he...
September 2009
1 post
While I know that you like terrible horror movies, queers, maybe squirrels, and writing about sex (tangentially, to make a point?), you don’t know me. You don’t know I exist. So on your birthday I take the liberty to greet you in the creepiest of ways, with an old journal entry.
“Oh, walruses. I like walruses.” I told the screen, a bit aware that I was only saying that because you wrote about a...
May 2009
1 post
I know everything there is to know, and it’s my fault.
I wish I could burn mind maps, set memories aflame.
I wish to do a lot of impossible things.
I wish I could make you happy.
I wish I could unlearn everything about your father.
March 2009
1 post
Capable
I will name my daughter Capable and she will enjoy the privilege of being called Clee for short. She will be the coolest kid in school but she and her peers will not know this until their coming of age. I imagine my daughter, after a long day at kindergarten, swallowing tears as she rushes past me to her room, shouting through her shut door, Why did you have to name me after an ugly adjective! At...
January 2009
1 post
In the laundry area, cigarette in hand, I am thinking of why I love you. My eyes are watery; I hope it’s the smoke. I tap ash from the thirty-third and watch it until it becomes one with the gray of concrete below. Half a minute passes before I lose sight of it, about the same amount of time hence it took me to find out.