blog-nost

i want more blog friends. or, that is to say, i want my friends to blog. you know what i mean. write it down. let's do it. i'll be there. lean on me.

onto the next page of the DSM MXMCIIV...

blogging standing up.

THANK YOU.



i would have this
condition

for the rest
of my
natural life


if only
the grace
would

don't go.




the english language collapses into its own inversions

un-glued only seems like un-glued until
you sniff that glue

(no, really)

unglued is perfect
because we were meant to be broken
and together at last.


we were meant to be broken
and stay broken
so don't go through the trouble
of trying to solder me
like a luminious sky-eyed shut-in!


can we stay together?
all adhesives aside, i know
so good.

I Can't

wait
complain
lose
keep being in love with the past
fall hard
stay ignorant
control everything
save them
replace my missing organs
play guitar
stop scratching my arms
release
wait
afford not to dance or use my body
eat like i used to
stop wanting to be more than i am
ignore love
lose faith in love
hate myself anymore
understand elitism
see myself the way others see me
un-learn
stop finding wisdom
deny the truth
not love the night sky
be a punching bag any longer
understand why i get obsessed
let obsession weaken me
be tall
stop my overactive imagination
fight
remain in stasis
believe what amazing people i know
pretend i still don't have a shitload of healing to do
melt the numbness, not just yet
hide
drown
deny compassion
hurt myself anymore
go to a nude beach
drink alcohol
be a victim
be everybody's friend
release
ask the right questions
stop wanting to be someone else's "venus" (vs. the other way around...finally)
stand rudeness
eat just one piece of sushi
stop feeling as though i just washed ashore or landed from a different planet
wait to get my feet wet
lie
sleep around
wait to go swimming
forget
remember
thank you enough

The Way It Was

flow backwards
that's all your life's about
and it's not right
oh sometimes
i wish i could pull your eyes out...yeah

i flow backwards
home's where i'm resting at
day and night
oh sometimes
i feel i could knock your brains out
come on...yeah....

hit by a car...come on

drown in a river...yeah

locked in a jar

caught by the winter...yeah

the sand will smother...come on

the sand will smother...yeah...

come on...yeah...

i flow backwards
home's where i'm resting at
day and night

oh sometimes
i wish i could pull your eyes out,
yeah.


--ty Syd Matters

the sun's still up!

today you are the shiny blackbird
greeting me outside of Jamba Juice
as the cops drive by,
with bright yellow eyes.

the perfect thin blonde girl walks by,
"I Heart NY" on a kid's t-shirt
makes me drop my pen.

my bike is propped against a stone pillar
that appears to be helping to hold up
the shopping center.
Flowers, always near
bending and swaying
dizzy past the automobiles

another perfect NorCal day

How can they look so matter-of-fact?

i learned to dance again not even 12 hours ago
(really dance)
I recognize another letter in my
alpha-bet training
The trellis:
the sign of the bridge and the door
above the grave.

Kim Wilde says, "Play the game,"
so i guess i will continue
busying myself amongst the tract housing,
only a river-swim away from the state capitol

I keep seeing people wearing
deep electric blue t-shirts,
a bright blue truck
darker than the sky

Blue-sleeves
how long till sunset?

lost count of the Benz's
and the little kings & queens marching by
I MISS NOTHING
I WILL GO WHEN I AM READY
I WILL BECOME A SILENT
SONIC
DISASTER
EVENT
the only thing that matters
is my pen scumbling along
you belong here.

--heart diamond club spade--

visceral fun, california gold-rush style

have you ever fallen OFF the toilet? well, last night i think i ate too much or drank too much or something...b/c i was sitting on the toilet, doing what one does, and my head began to feel rather unusual and uncomfortable, and i started to see what appeared to be a mandala of concentric squares--yes! a transcendental experience on the frigging toilet! and after i made sure everything was taken care of, i promptly ROLLED onto the floor, pants still around my knees. i kinda laid there and gasped for what seemed like a long time, thinking about the squares and whether or not i was going to throw up, which felt unlikely at that point, and was able to get myself together and stumble to my room.

wow.

...and our summer-land.

there are some days where i miss my father so damn much, and i don't know why. can't explain why. technically i shouldn't think about him at all, if my brain were wired properly.

i don't think about him resentfully, the way i used to. i think about him like a character in a book that keeps popping up, whose ongoing adventures are amazing, heroic, and untouchable. i wrote him a poem once about how we were both "survivors." i think it was shortly after i was diagnosed with crohn's, which has been proven to have a direct corrolation with men exposed to agent orange. that's like the REAL fucker, you know--the real kick in the teeth for the men and women who managed to make it out of there (hell) alive--their offspring reap the fantastic benefits of combat as well. it would be as if someone with a vendetta against you bashed your little brother's face in instead, i guess. maybe that's why he didn't want to see me grow up.

when i get married he won't be there to walk that walk with me, but i've decided, so what? if there's a man out there who understands what has happened to my immediate family, the needless, stupid daily tragedy, then there'll be another way to feel like a million dollars on that day.

i wear his ring every day, and i'm not sure why. someone asked me about it yesterday, someone handsome and worldly.

he and i were both like teenagers here in california. some of my best memories were going to see the very first "Batman" movie with him in orange county...surprising my grandmother with a blue parakeet (that she promptly gave away), going to knott's berry farm and adding significantly to my rock collection...i know that he still loves me, because i still love him and think he's a hero, no matter what happened.

i have no idea what it must be like for girls with doting fathers. "That boy isn't good enough for you, Stephanie. Let me take you out to dinner and buy you an expensive new outfit." well yeah, that's pushing it, but it must be like that, right? Little princess? you fuck with me, you answer to my father? or big brother(s)? i guess that will happen in another life, if i am lucky enough to come back as a human girl again, but with less complicated genetics. me, me, me.

coming to cali was like walking streets paved with gold! especially as a young teenager, when there was nothing that impressed me or made me smile. there was always so much to look at, and get excited about, and it was so NEW and beautiful, even if it was the side of the freeway or something. EVERYTHING was different! the kids asked, "you're from Transylvania? wow!" and the ocean was not the same.

at risk of sounding like a brochure, the food was what used to really get me. my grandmother took me out with her friends to a host of different and bizzarre cuisenes. she took me to the Pageant of the Masters (yes, Dr. Anderson.)...twice! The Pageant was held in Laguna Hills every summer and was essentially a stage where humans would re-enact famous paintings and sculptures, along with amazing scenery. it was so hard to believe they were real people--you couldn't see them breathing or anything. it was pure genius, and i was a lucky girl.

granny also took me to santa catalina island. my dad first pointed it out to me from their hotel, the very first time we went out west with my mom. in the distance, through a bit of fog/smog, you could see something in the ocean that looked very close by, but was a good half-hour boatride (or more, i think). all i remember about it were boats, everywhere. it was so mysterious from the mainland, but being there was like a fisherman's oasis of sorts, with dark little bars and seafood. very quiet.

i used to rollerskate around my grandmother's retirement community, which was interesting b/c i was the only one doing so, and the elderly people who saw me seemed questioning, but ok with it. my grandmother was an avid walker, and (having dressed me in a long-sleeved sun-shirt, straw hat and old-person wrap-around sunglasses) would take me all over the place at an expertly quick pace for someone in her 70's. she took me to South Coast Plaza, the hugest mall in the frigging country, other than the Mall of America, i guess...it was INSANE. she gave me some money and said, "SPEND it!" and i did--i bought myself one of those fancy journals that i barely felt good enough to write in.

she's now 98 years old, and still getting around quite well. she is one of those people that you just know has discovered the secret to happiness.

i wonder if i'll ever see my father here in california. i think he'd been stationed here before he was shipped out to Guam, and then to Okinawa, and then on to Thailand and Vietnam. i cry when i think about how he was all over the world, all by himself. i guess he wasn't though, i'm sure he had friends who lived or died. as a child i had no idea what this "Veet Nom" thing was. no one really explained that not everyone's dad had pictures wearing a white hat and crisp-looking shirt. no one told me that it would all come crashing down on him (and us) when they finally decided to say WELCOME HOME, in 90 or 91. what does that DO to a person who has been staying alive, doing their job and gets totally torn into when he gets home? were people just stupid back then?

anyway, he'll be immortal to me. i think the best part of Not Saying a Word to one another is that nothing can convince me that he doesn't love me, that he never loved me. convoluted, but true. and i know he's happy.

as for me i'm not quite so brave as they hoped i would be--i still need people to love very much, ones i can talk to. maybe then i'll become the Sigourney Weaver that he would've liked me to be. doubtful though. i don't want to be Sigourney Weaver, i want to be me, and be soft and kind.

2 brown doves are sitting on the roof right outside my window. i'm proud to call california home now, and would like to say that i want to see the world too, and i want to be well, and i will not be alone.

The First Day of the Rest of My Life.

I just killed a mosquito in the bathroom. It was a particularly nosy mosquito, checking out the toilet and sniffing around my medications. I had to smash it with my water bottle.

The sun is beginning to rise here. I can see a bright star that looks like it's exploding, and setting. Birds are out. This is a great place for birds. They're smart birds, with intelligent calls and they like to glide on the wind. It gets very windy here at night, I think from one of the two rivers here, perhaps both.

No matter what happens, I'll be ok. I know that now. This body will always have a place to lay, this head will be able to rest, eventually. It's not a question of entitlement or being good enough, b/c I finally fucking think I'm good enough. Better than good enough. And that's it.

learn your lessons forever

all of our ancestors who made the hugely uncomfortable voyage to Ellis Island from Europe and the other Americas and Asia and everywhere else...I couldn't imagine moving to another country, let alone an east-coast to west-coast relocation (for the second time). it's taking me a little while to find my center of gravity, remember what parts of me are useful and what others could use some tinkering around with.
i've had a lot of work i've been trying to do to make sure everything gets transferred smoothly, to make sure i will be able to see a doctor (hopefully) very, very soon. that's the one thing i carry around, my health portfolio. someday i won't have to worry...and i'm sure it's coming very soon.

my ex had given me this jade bracelet, like the old chinese ladies wear. i took it off today. i still love it for its jade-ness and the colors it has mutated into since i put it on on my last birthday with him, i can't recall which one. he was nice enough to buy it for me because i'd said "i always wanted one of these" and i made sure it wasn't crazy expensive (about $30) as long as it was beautiful and i liked it.

now that i've taken it off, i'm concerned...not so much about karma, not about superstitious properties of jade, not even sure, really. i was doing some karate moves in the backyard tonight, and i ended up sitting quietly while the cat sat on the fence mysteriously. there's a nice breeze going tonight. i felt good out there. i ended up with the bracelet off and went inside.

it was like a shackle of love when i wore it, and now i see it was simply a piece of jewellery, you know, that you put on and take off. my concept of jewelery sucks b/c i believe EVERY piece you wear should have some sacred significance...i really need to go out and pick up some cute costumey-shit that the thrift store kids wear. even more so though, i don't put all my value into some present and not into myself. is it ok to take it off? will people understand what it means??? who CARES?

i wrote a poem once called, "Diamonds are The Enemy." and they were, at the time. not 3 of them ("past, present and future") could save me from myself. they sank me to the bottom of the ocean like a stone. and i gave them back. this was many years ago. i've had tons of lives and have loved tons of men who were unworthy. but i never knew that at the time!

i guess the last straw was just not knowing, that i'd be marooned without a reason (other than, "you're crazy"), without a thought. it was so scarey, no safety net. and it wasn't like i was here and could become a street person. i know they look out for one another...and there's a certain strength to that, even if it's tragic or strange.

so, for now on it's the "me first" school of living, even if it is grossly insane at times.

let me settle. let me live. let me seek out new friendships, let me put my 2 cents in, let me have a nightlife, let me go swimming in the river, let me learn to love myself, let me be downtown, and i will grow. also, let me look within for the good times too. let me chant like a pro, let me not fear my chosen faith but embrace it...let me be spiritual. only then can i heal the hardness i see in the world and other people (sometimes), and the unfamiliarity of these streets.

i hate always having the possibility of being frozen out. it happens to me, usually with important people in my life. it could be limited, but there's always that freezer thing. i guess that's where detachment comes in; you get to love them anyway. what a fucking love-machine i am.

"ONE LOVE, it's all good, don't despair brothers and sisters." your time will come, and you'll be ready. you might be a little foggy-headed like me and when reality hits that you're someplace strange (people ARE strange, when you're a stranger) and you might have a slight feeling of vertigo. but if you're lucky there's the girl there who wants you to succeed.

ps--shortly after this blog was written, i put the damn bracelet back on.

balls

i just realized what a silly name "crampland" is for a blog!


nah, not silly. just indicative of unease. something...passing. but what?

i'm paintaing a painting right now. it's a line from an e.e.cummings poem: "i can entirely her only love." the poem made me cry so i decided to paint it. lookit.

letter

to p:

i'm sorry i yelled so loud at you and made you leave. i could tell you why but it doesn't matter now. all i want you to know is how i saw that you loved her with such ferocity, protectiveness, creativity, kindness, and that i want you to never stop.

--bigmouth.

24 Hours to Go

...till i'm at the airport.


i'm thinking of "The Bells" by Poe, how there are so many differing kinds of bells in his poem. Its face value is an isolated observation of madness, but humans rely so much on bells--culturally and so forth.

sunday church bells, wedding bells, funereal, Liberty Bells with cracks in them that still can ring, forget your perfect offering...

if i could strike some bells they'd resound like echoes of brass water. i would say the goodbye that is noble; not the one that pleases someone else. noble, to myself that is.

i've cheated myself out of a life for so long, and it all made perfect sense. spiritual impoverishment is a daily study, such as is a regimen of exercise. you wear yourself down, you give them a reason to agree with what a failure you've become...you stop being able to understand and trust your instincts because when a shake-up comes....when your logic is compromised, it is imperative to find balance, if it takes you your whole life.

i can't blame her, even if i should. it's not about blame, but rather simply looking ahead.

i've begun to feel more solid, as though crying (as i'm doing a bit of) will not melt me, but is not the only way to cleanse me either. during the numbness periods i welcomed a single stupid tear that squeezed its way out. it's the bleeding of the soul, i think.

i've thought of tattoos i want to get in the near future...i've thought about how listening is more important than talking right now. i really want this. to succeed like i never had before. school was a given b/c of my upbringing, and i was lucky to have a decent education. but i never had the trust in anyone or anything...it was always thin ice, that powerful people could see, and were pretty much invited to chisel away at as they pleased.

the worst pain in my life has come from women. i plan to reach out now, find my role, head off any need for attack. debate is healthy, even though it's not my thing...competition is natural, but i prefer to set my own standards. my head's screwed on ok, for a change.

i've never been this patient before, really...other than when i had no choice, when i couldn't move and was attached to tubes. strangely though, the doc said i healed faster than they thought i would, and sent me home. and that's where the sickness found me once again.

it's hard saying goodbye to my birds. i just trust i'll see them along the way, doing bird things and squawking and everything. they know me the best, i guess.

one little demoness keeps popping up, and that's the demoness of the term, "self-mythologizing." i believe you have to do what you must to have self-esteem, to travel to the beat of your own drum and a bunch of other cliches. it's hard when you're naturally prone to dark sarcasm, and especially when you turn that in upon yourself...its effects can be disatrous. there is a difference between narcissistic personality disorder and self-mythologizing. reading about greek goddesses and female artists, visionaries, leaders...and looking for that connection from within yourself to their stories, that's good work for everybody.

looking to overturn the dominant ideologies and challenging people to think...that's good work. i guess if you have to come home from work or school everyday and transform from Athena back into a comfy little shlub, then yeah. thats what myths are for.

sometimes when i look into a talented person's face i can see an archetype there, for a Calliope...and i think, "i'm lucky to know a little bit about her, this Calliope." i know i'm using heavy-duty greek shit, but it was my earliest memories of bedtime stories, the D'Aulaires. i wonder how many copies of that i recommended to a customer.

myths and fables are what we were given by our ancestors to work with, whether they be the werewolves, or the mermaids, or the naiads, or the vampires...big cash crop for myths. some argue that religion and mythology are deeply connected. i don't give a shit at this point. it is 5am and i am gassy from a cheesesteak.

not all freaks can get along.

new sprouts where the corpse faded

what was i looking for when i came back to philadelphia? the suburbs?

i had too much pride to ask for help out west after the real danger looked me in the face, during broad daylight. the police officers stating that i had no "visible bruises" got the ball rolling on my rube goldberg machine of purposeful self-destruction.

i brought buddhism home with me, it faded fast.

i brought the violence and the smashing of glass home with me. it got me a year's probation.

what if i had stayed? why did i come back here? what was i looking for, anyway?

i was looking for suicide. and suicide found me. followed me around, even after i got out of the icu. my constant companion was my open grave--to party with, to find false hope with, to make unfulfilling relationships with, to hang out in cemetaries with, to commemorate my "last days" as an artist and human being. all i had to do was jump inside and wait.

so i waited. i requiem'ed myself, i thought about necrophilia and reincarnation and fire.

and then came the 4 weddings and a funeral. well, technically 2 funerals, but i don't think i should've gone to that first one. you know what i mean?

i talked about my friends as if they were right here in front of me, while they were going on with their lives. no amount of computer-self-expression would bring them to me, nor would it bring me the courage to return to them with my tail in between my legs, feeling like a burden.

i think i must know what love is now, finally, at this age. not everyone wants it, and not everyone wants what i have to give. but i believe i will become stronger, wiser, useful, maybe even necessary. i believe my training was and is not limited to college, and, while more structured, will be an adventure and a blessing in turn. life taught me well...and i only hope that the practical lessons become a little less lonely, and (respectfully) a source of growth and prosperity for me and those in my circle.

guilt-free mothers' day

no amount of japanese dinners is going to make her better.

no ice-cream cake is going to make her change.

i really tried today, and every day. we are on a lifeboat together, but we aren't lost at sea. i turn my back upon guilt and remorse. i am very serious at night time, i try to learn as much as i can. i've given too much away again.

the words want to come but my bloggery has been injured b/c of the fact that i spoke of a hurtful incident.

safety in numbers. you're always more ballsy when you have your buddy walking next to you and a little bit of alky-hol that never hurt anyone. ever.

anyway, back to mothers' day and all. i realize i was always a good enough daughter. we were just a triad that became a cling-to-me-for-dear-life duo. a stool balances better with 3 legs. but i have my own two legs, and they are mine, even if they have to be borrowed...i am their rightful owner.

fuck all this hollywood piousness right now. honestly. isn't there anything that falls in between an angel and a demon??? isn't that the whole problem right there?

sorry.

anyway, i'm on the right track, jack. i will be good. but damn, i would really like to know why i'm still kicking around. what knowledge, what study, what path...how can i be better? how can i fortify? when will i finally have the proper locker-combination to make all the tumblers of strength, intelligence, intuition, temperance...and everything else?

i get passionate sometimes, and she and i would bounce ideas around until one of us wound up getting upset...one or both of us. it is usually then that i wish she had a deep-rooted hobby like mine.

how can i show her? should i just put the damn paintbrush in her hand?

the lonesome loner seems to free his mind at night

there's something going on here.

it seems that all the tons of people who were sniffing around, trying to get pleasure and trying to please, the people who i couldn't keep up with, the bodies of friends and lovers, the overwhelming sense of human-ness in my world is gone...gone...gone.

they dont' come around anymore.

they don't want me, they don't need me, they don't call me.

then again, i don't hunt them down either. i don't cast out my lure the way i did, twisting and turning and posturing and inner-postulating and oh, do they love me? why don't they love me? who loves me at all?

it's as if i'm transparent to those in the social reaches.

even the emails have stopped. "hey, how are you? wtf?? why haven't you written or called?" stopped.

i wonder if i'm a little haunted. bats in the belfry for real. no more riding the waves of approval and shame. i feel as though i'm up at bat (great, a baseball analogy) but nothing's happening. the pitcher's not throwing me anything, the fielders are just kind of looking around, the people in the stands take turns pointing me out and ignoring me, going to the bathroom for my time at bat, sipping sodas, munching hotdogs, kissing their wives and girlfriends, disciplining their kids, waving to the camera, fiddling with electronic devices....listening and snapping pictures...

and i'm all alone at home plate. and there's no pitch. there's no ball, in fact. the pitcher's looking a little spooked, shrugging, not really getting what's going on either, but recognizing it's because of ME, and agreeing with whomever's in charge...because it's me up there.

how about the cheerleaders? even kurt cobain cheerleaders...?

where's the organ music, getting the crowd riled up? can't i just do my best with 3 pitches and get down, out of the spotlight? everybody can see me and simultaneously see right through me.

oh god. let me in on the joke.

yggdrasil right-side up

there's no medium anymore. i'm the loneliest person who ever lived. again. i am not even ashamed to admit that anymore. it's a little dramatic-sounding, but it's true. what's lonelier than being left to one's own devices than being controlled everyday by someone ELSE.

it's not me. it's not who i would've wanted to be in life. but i'm a tool. and i want out.

if only i drank! if only i could. i can't even pretend to drink. "drinking" and "celebrating" are two completely polar opposites. i must've been a real whiskey dick in my previous existence.
but yes! if only i could share that with other people. cutting out MJ cut out a whole host of talking human bodies.

it's ok though. it's love. and i know it'll be coming around again. i am not good at being patient, but my hands are tied. actually, my leg is tied. to a tree. and i'm upside-down.

I Don't Feel Free

Frozen beneath her:


How long
can I
hold my breath?

The ultimate rebellion is being alive.
Even more so, finding meaning. in absolutely.nothing. Ha!

Maybe if i just sustain this.