Trashion April 27, 2010
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more eloquent than cut/paste
please refund haikus
we breathe fire inside
mom, can you please play us prince?
restless are the right
4270
I caught myself dreaming nonstop but I couldn’t keep the dreams in motion. They were just pieces of dreams like shards of jewel lodged in my brain. I woke up with a headache.
When Granny called yesterday, she told me a story about when she was a little, sad girl with a terrible headache and a newly shaven skull. She recalled the moment her younger brother saw the long, flaxen locks fall to the kitchen floor. Her mother cut off all her hair because follicles on her scalp perpetually became infected. Granny said the headaches were so painful, she couldn’t do anything other than go into the dark, cold bathroom and lay her bald head down on the porcelain commode and try not to cry.
My own cranium cramps still persist with iron fists. I gave up on common cures. Now, I lie my head down on the cistern to feel cold enter my eyes. This old house nestles and so does my head. This method is my only aide. My drug. The toilet? This habit is forming & is no longer played out only in my home. This Water Closet furniture fixation spills out into the world. One night, I locked myself in a bathroom stall at some bar downtown and rested my rostral part against the wall. I felt my heart and heard the beat. Maybe I wrote something on the graffiti-ridden wall regarding MJ’s Demerol dreams..
My pain causes purging. And I’m not even drunk.
nose bleed April 1, 2010
your eyes are still awake.
are you sleepy?
i’ll stay late…
sometimes early-
never fake.
wind energy
sleepy breath.
stunning and svelte
don’t be impressed.
never stay never.
or
never stays never.
tired is the one that
hell hath.
Would you like a glass of pink champagne? March 29, 2010
Gizzards thoroughly glittered and pink ruffle butt rompers waltzing, stilted, 10 feet above my mind. Mum texted me twice to tell me her location (in front of Tommy Bahama!) I glanced up from my smart phone screen and thar she blew.
My mother, the nautical nurturer (and newly nudist,) had driven her Jeep all the way across town to meet me at the Domain for a Betsey Johnson Fashion Show. Her hair was still wind-blown from sailing at the lake all day. She zipped up her bright blue NorthFace jacket to protect her from all the couture. Her weight shifted in Sperry deck shoes; she seemed occupied with herself.
I missed her enthusiasm, but I dismissed a potentially catastrophic conversation about my absence as of late.
Together, we browsed the lush jewelery under the glass counter. I tested an over-sized, Swarovski encrusted whistle pendant. Just as I realized how quiet she was and how clashy the whistle was with my outfit, my Mum reached down into her shirt and around her neck was a real, live water safety whistle that she had employed during her oh-so-daring day on the sail boat. To the horror of every hearing individual within a 2 mile radius, she sounded this device as if she were in hurricane waves with failing floaties. Fashion fail. Demode.
Unique knits and last seasons sale distracted me long enough to decide that dinner at California Pizza Kitchen was not in my tarot cards this evening. The Fool was following with all four suits. My runes should read differently. Escape plan enacted.
“Can I help you ladies with anything? Would you like more pink champagne?”
“Oh yes! Go ahead and fill ‘er up.”
“If you need anything, my name is Claire! Just let me know!”
“OH, CLAIRE! THANKS GURL! I was just shopping with my daughter, Blair. I almost named her Betsey! Then her name would have been ‘Betsey Johnson’!! Iddinnat cool?! OMG I know!”
A thorough eye roll was not enough.
Cool is so fucking boring.
Vintage Fendi December 26, 2009
To the meekish faux-ginger with ghost-cream skin and Anne Frankish allure. You live amongst the soulless scum, but with babies that bark. To lend a helping hand is the least I can do. In fact, I have bigger plans for you. Nevermind your mismatched socks, nor the skittish confidence you present to the world. You are a vintage Fendi bag in a good girls attic with no place to come but here. With us. The other good girls that see your original brass latches are still in good condition.
Haunted Futon December 12, 2009
About a fortnight ago, I obtained this Futon from a fat lady in a cashmere tube top. I needed a place to rest, as my sleeplessbag nights on floors had slintered my soul. “An thingy with many uses, other than sound sleep,” she said, “Youcin betcha that special dream will come and you will be real happy again, from the inside out.” Wishes did materialize and new dreams do emerge.
Creepy Kakebuton’s require little to no maintenance and can only benefit you with it’s healing properties and otherworldly knack for reading your mind. You’ll be unhandicapped, but bedridden in a cocoon of lucid dreams. Your somniloquy is beautiful. It can be yours.
Serious inquiries only.
