Your AIM . . . because I said so, damn it!

"Live and let DIE!"
- Guns N' Roses

. . . to be continued, soon.

Christmastime is here.

My grandparents disowned me
for the holidays.
I wait, each day,
for something more.

Our Student Newspaper

Go to theconcordonline.com to see newspaper articles written by Bellarmine students, including yours truly.

My AIM

My AIM

depends on the time of day and
the direction I am facing.

. . . to pierce your heart
with a sense of sorrow thick enough
to choke on, like a cloud.

To move through you,
an autumn breeze;
a cold front moving in from the River.

To disregard you -(let's be honest here)-
and come back to myself.

To feel what it's like to
walk into a building
with a sense of purpose.

To know where I am going.

To expand around the edges
just a little further- (actually,
much, much further.)

To write a poem,
To sing a song,
To learn SOMETHING NEW every day.

My aim is to sit on park benches
like they do in better poems;
just myself, alone,
faced with the warm airiness of the unknown.

Cats snore.

It's true. (I would never lie to you . . .)

It is also true that the sun appears to be moving much faster through the sky these days--there's no time for lolling around anymore.

Also true: there are few things more disappointing than spending $20+ on a c.d. and then discovering that you can't relate to it at all. (What is this song? I've never heard it. Who is this artist? She sounds rediculous.) These things can't be forced.

Summer is closing in on me and I find hope in rediscovering old habits. (Have I given in?) I need something to hold onto only so that when the time comes, I will have something to push off of. Lap number 2 is mine, all mine.

I'm still here.

I've been daydreaming a lot lately. (Note that "daydreaming" and "doing" may look similar, but alas, they are not the same thing.) Today, I think I'll spend my time reading and writing. In the past, I've found that they work well together, or rather that I work well with both of them.

But first I need to
dry my hair
and make iced tea
and put away the dishes
and fold the laundry
and do so many other necessary things.

I don't think that I can go one more day without
reading
and writing
and working on something.
It's hard to work on an empty stomach though,
so I think I'll go make lunch, then write something.

My Word-Processed Poem:

I read:

????????????/////???/?/?/
!!!!!!!!!!!11!!!!1!!!!11!!!!


What do you mean to say? Are you questioning the exclusion of some idea from another? Or is your exclamation a rejection of 1 idea for another?

If this is the language we are speaking now, allow me to add a postscript:

1! should be ? for being /. Wouldn't you agree?

School's Out for Summer . . . and I'm unemployed.

Today I vacuumed. I vacuumed my parents' house. I vacuumed a lot.

I am relentless in my efforts to rid this place of all imperfections, all inhibitions, all obstructions. Our plethora of animals (3 dogs, 4 cats) sabatoge my work quicker than I can reclaim its purity. Purity in apperance; purity that is inherent, yet often covered up by the thick veil of Daily Life.

As I push the vacuum cleaner, and pull the vacuum cleaner, backandforthandbackandforth, along every rug in the house, I feel a secret rage grow warm in my belly. I am angry, but determined. I drag the vacuum across the ground, trying to rake over my feelings, leaving a pattern of smooth lines where my tangled feelings of worthlessness had been lingering just a moment ago.

Tomorrow, I will wake up and do it all over again. God help the dog hair and cat puke that dare to cross me.

I-T

I've always been terrified of spiders. I hope to grow out of it soon. Ten seconds to rid the bathroom of one--that would be beautiful.

I've seen so many spiders in different bathrooms over the years--you'd think that I'd be used to them by now. Spot it, stomp it, drop it (in the trash). But no, it's an entirely different process for me.

I've never seen blood in the sink. At least, not that I can remember. I nick myself shaving all the time, but that's in the shower--not as scary there.

I hadn't seen IT for years--fifteen years, I think it's been. I had forgotten him. I had forgetten that he's only a spider down the drain (when you break it down).

There is no blood. There are no balloons. No clown. Just me, at two o'clock in the morning, reminiscing about a childhood mirage of a clown with a sinister smile.

I've seen so many spiders in so many bathrooms--but somehow, he's just not as scary there.

Check this out.

blah (for lack of a better term)

Numerous people have described me as quiet. (boring. uninteresting. unintelligent. dull. one-dimensional. unexciting. shallow. snobby. preoccupied. alone. distant. disconnected. out of touch. apathetic. lazy. inarticulate. unique. shy. uninterested. lacking.) blah.

Summer plans

to come on back to myself. to reveal secrets. (i'm completely obesessed with a clown that i haven't seen in fifteen years. he haunted me when i was a small child and now he has returned to haunt me into adulthood. i welcome him with open arms. companionship is sweet in any form.)

to write something about how i feel about being a woman. to theorize. i've studied a few theories in school and i think i have a few inside of me that need to come out, have a look around, and make a comment or two. to study. yes school's out for summer but this time i want to study yoga, meditation, and ancient religions with a lowercase r.

to go searching. alone. to grow up a little bit. to realize that the rest of the world would care if they knew what they were missing out on. (how will they know?)

Beautiful Poem

(I'll fill this part in when it comes to me.)

This can't be right:

God/poetry*
God/me
God/art
God/life

Am I missing something here? What's the link? ///

(*see previous post)

Heaven/Hell or English 101

Binary pairs:

black/white
up/down
left/right
east/west
us/them
self/other

Human beings observe the chaos that surrounds us and try to make sense of it by organzing things into binary pairs or opposites. We observe these things through our senses and then we make sense of the world in our minds by constructing reality. Human beings create our reality through our constructs, or ideas, about the observable world based on our own perceptions of it.

heaven/hell

I am bothered by that one. We can observe black/white or even us/them. We cannot observe heaven/hell. The "afterlife" is beyond our perceptions. So is God and all things "godly".

heaven/hell

is too simplistic for me. It sounds man-made, and yet it is beyond our observable reality. It seems to me that we, rather clumsily, assigned God and all things "godly" a label, just like we do to other things. But God is beyond our immediate perception. We can observe God's creation, but not God directly. We imagine so much on faith.

What is the reality of God?

Tell me all your thoughts on God . . .

I believe that you have experienced God.
That's a big experience, God.
God is bigger than us.
God is bigger than our experiences.
Experience is real. God is real.

All of us, all the time, should be giving God more credit.
All of us, all the time, should be giving each other more credit.

God is larger/greater than human experience.

Perhaps there is more than one way to experience God?

Untitled

My hair is wet from the tears of a young man who has felt God.

I used to feel.

Let's Talk, Part II

Stop interrupting me.

Emoticons are effective when used properly. (That's not enough though--they must also be read properly.)

Ok, I've moved on. Next subject.

Stuff--enough said there.

Play--previously, the opposite of work. Now, no longer the opposite of work.

Vision--more of it gets lost every day. I don't always recognize my friends.

Journalism--that sounds nice. I think I'll do that one day. (Not today.)

Poetry.

Boyfriend--yes, he is there. He is here. He WAS here; now he is there. He will be back here though, and I will be there. We will be (and are) together, that's my point.

Stuff--boyfriend, talking, about--.

A love poem--I love a poem. I love for a poem to be about all the things--the stuff--you can't say in everyday conversation.

I wish more people would read my poems. I wish I would read my poems to more people.

Me--a poet, no choice. No, not forced, by myself. No, I am not by myself. I am a poet by myself though. But that is a good kind of loan-some. I could use some--poems, and time to write poems. And ENERGY to write poems. (Poems ought to have energy, that's what I think.)

Me--poetry. Not conversation. No thanks, I'd rather read you a poem (I wrote).

Let's Talk, Part I

"Let's talk," she said.
"Ok, sure, let's talk," he said.

"Go ahead," he said.

"No," she said. "That's not what I meant at all. I don't want to talk in a conversation."

He said a hyphen.

She said an ellipses.
"I want to talk in a poem," she said.

He said a question mark.

She continued, though not as before.

testing 123....

I posted something yesterday about my mom's new blog (check it out......under Links: Squiggled Oughts & Lines), and now it's mysteriously disappeared. I hope this one will stick around for a while.

Is anyone else having problems with blogger?

Stop calling my poetry "deep" you ignorant sluts!*

A few people have recently described my poetry as "deep." But they have it all wrong (I hope you're reading this right now, you ignorant sluts).

If it's deep it should be literal:
digging a hole in the ground for a wooden box -DEEP- that's literal
having sex . . . -DEEP- that's literal

If you can "feel" it emotionally,-
but not physically- it might be
pretty language, but it's
not a poem.

Poetry is coarse and rough- literally.
If you touch it, you could get a splinter
If you licked it, you could get herpes- THAT'S LITERAL- not deep.

*said with affection by the writer

She never did and never could put words together, out of her own head.
-GEORGE ELIOT
Middlemarch

Expanding the Universe

"Pushing out the universe." Where are the instructions on this? Should I be looking inside myself or outside, at the world?

I don't believe in God. I want to make that clear. What else can I tell you about me?

Confusion hurts. Especially when you thought you had it right. For once.

Let's see . . . what else?

I'm only silent because I assume that if I were honest with you, you'd:
a) be bored with whatever I have to say.
or
b) hate me for it.

Oh, and there's never enough time to say it all, is there?