Tag Archives: thoughts

let down

Some love pulls you up
Some love drags you down
Some love leaves you wondering…

If this….
Then why ever…
Was the experience enough to displace the emotional debris
Left over from the crash?


Don’t think it.

Don’t say it.




You’re not welcomed here.

You uninvited yourself a long

long time ago.

In a land far


You can visit

when the sky is clear

and hope is near

Until then

Steer clear




out with the…

…In with the not so…

It’s 3:26 am and I can’t sleep. I’m in a rather strange state of mind…somewhere between confusion, and solace…bordering on anger. Whatever the mood that encompasses my body it has me here…again.


Funny, I randomly wake up in the middle of the night…can’t get back to sleep…and…I grab the computer?


Why not a book?

Vulture of an online world, it’s debilitating to our 3-dimenional existence.


Only if you let it.

Today I decided no matter the freedoms, superhuman, international platform of a mindfuck this pixelated world allows me to have…I would not abuse them.

For all good things can sting if we let them get close enough…


Apparently my brain thinks it’s the net Socrates.

It’s working overtime on behalf of my other organs…

They suddenly hightailed it out of the office without any notice.

My heart man…it left me the strangest note…it said, “when people tell you they’re not very nice…listen.”

Ahhh well…see, somebody forgot to inform mr. heart, senior vp of taschka enterprises, know-it-all, wannabe yoda…to SPEAK LOUDER.

Oh well…I have no idea where he went…but good ol buddy ol pal, monsieur, brain and I…we got this.

it’s christmas eve…

I’m sitting here in the most mellow….odd…offbeat mood. I don’t know what to do with myself. I think I’m in one of those places where I don’t want to acknowledge the existence of the holiday that is upon me…or that is here.

I realized this morning the reason why…

My mother.

Or lack there of I should say.


Christmas just isn’t what it should be without her. And Christmas eve…we’d always force each other to open one gift from the bazzilion of gifts under our “faux” tree. God forbid we cut down something living in the name of commercialism. Not in our house, no way!

So many years we shared just the two of us. I miss those days. I miss my mom. I wish I could lay in her lap and tell her all the drama that’s been on my mind. She’d rub my head, and say, “Baby, you’re just like me.” I’d tell her no way, and we’d laugh about it.

But it’s true. I am.

Just like her.

I’m sitting here, thinking about my mom…and other things…trying to forget it’s Christmas eve.

It’s really ironic my Cali/NY peeps are in Cali right now. My roommate just left to catch her flight to London. And I’m here…alone. Thank god my friend gets here tomorrow. I’d probably eat myself alive or something extreme if I had to deal with myself longer than 24hrs alone. It will be the second year in a row my friend and I are having our “anti-Christmas”. She arrives in NY early afternoon and I’m ecstatic. So I just have between now and then to sit here…like a sack potato and dwell in my own ReRe-ness.

I could edit more….but my eyes need a break. The TV is on. But staring at the wall seems more amusing. Why does it seem like I’ve seen everything on Netflix?

I just watched that movie, “houndog” with Dakota Fanning.


I need to put something on and get out of my head….this…attempt at writing isn’t even helping.


No…not in the mood.


Bite me.



TV fucking off.

I don’t care if my eyes hurt….Editing it is.

soap and water won’t do

Once upon a time I was in love with a sociopath.


And despite all the fucked up parts of her…I think it was the most exciting time of my life.

Wtf does that say about me?

That sounds…”off” and not psychologically sound. I will never know if her love was passionate intensity…as I like to remember it…or twisted premature need…as a friend often called it. Considering the age gap I get the relevance.

Whatever it was it rocked me. And solid. It was followed by the safest, most pure kind of love one can manifest. And that touched me just the same. But the rest…the lukewarm relationships that I now look at as part of my growth….

They’re a text book blur. Necessary but not page turners.

Idk. I’m getting worried about my outlook on things. Like a mortician who’s become immune to dead bodies.

Love feels like a lie.

It feels dead. And idk that I want to ever worry about reviving it.

For the first time in my life I’m beginning to think it’s done more harm than good.

Am I finally…after 3 decades of starry eyed wonder…seeing what the rest of the world sees?

Have I become jaded?


Love. An occupational hazard.

I just don’t get it anymore. The point. I get the feeling, the chemical imbalance. That knot in the pit of your stomach that only goes away when they’re within inches, not miles.

I get all of it. But at the end of the day they’re going to leave…whether on foot or in a body bag. So what is the point of falling in the first place?

I know, not my usual M.O. but I’ve had a lot of time to think lately. All my friends are so….we’re all so different then the kids we used to be. Funny, I feel 16 somedays…lately…emotionally. But I’m nothing like that girl. She was so tough, and strong…and yet…somehow still pure at heart.

Is this what comes with age?


I guess.

Apparently I’ve got this wall around me…a girl…ok, actually a few girls have told me recently. And I’ve said that to someone myself not too long ago. But it feels funny hearing it…rather then saying it.

It’s not intentional.

The wall.

Natural defense.

I’ve got trust issues.

Not to mention, the shit that goes down once you let them in. Once inside they can creep up all over you. Get into little nooks and crannies you forgot even existed.

And the other thing about letting people in…at some point they might want out.

This is my logical attempt at shutting the door on that part of myself.

Besides, I belong in a mental institution, not a relationship. I self medicate with Women.

My heart feels like the crime scene of a copycat killer. When I close my eyes I imagine being on my hands and knees…scrubbing with bleach…to rid myself of the bloodshed. But even worse, the culprit must be dealt with.

That is when I end up back at point A. Is “it” the enemy? Or I? A combination of the two? If I eliminate a huge part of what has made me who I am…will I survive?

Can I?

Must I deadbolt the doors to my walls again?

I’ve gotten this far before a hiccup.

Now, I wonder…how many bottles of bleach will it take?

2 am

This is why I don’t take naps.

My entire sense of sleep vs. awakeness is off balance and out of whack.

I’ve got pieces of pieces…of something that need to be sewn together. But I’m too tired to work, and too awake to drift off.

2:38 am…

The bright yellow notepad on my iPhone is making my eyes water. Maybe that’s exhaustion. I can’t tell the difference anymore…between tired, and near death. When I’m editing nonstop and my eyes start to sting I typically just grab a glass of water, blink a few times and get right back to it. Probably should work on my whole recuperation remedies. Maybe…yeah, yes.

I could pass out right now, but not sleep at the same time.

I’d rather write. I feel “stuffed” and congested with thoughts and patterns of nouns and adverbs.

Could I be anymore lazy in this moment? My phone is in my palm and I’m typing with just my thumb. Slowly typing, dozing between statements.

I should just sleep. What I want to say is not finding it’s way to the surface anyway.




Questioning…intentions. You know that uneasy place in which someone you thought was more…”real” and genuine, and aware…suddenly reveals themselves to be…idk, human. And well human sometimes can feel dissapointing. Especially if you’ve unrealistically elevated them to more evolved standards.

Don’t do that.

Don’t elevate people. I do it too often. I care, and too quickly. I leave my insides out only to get frostbite in return.

I’m censoring. Slightly. I’m pretty sure that’s what’s going on. And the creative juices within are a little pissy at me for it.

“Why bother with brilliantly entangling the alphabet if you’re just gonna throw it out?”

Says the crazy writer within.

“wasting my literary genius away!”

Gosh. Cocky much?

I’m fucking crazy.

Yeah, like completely nutz. Marbles lost.

But shit, I think it’s part of my charm. That whole loony with a side of insane. Really turns women on.



My poor back. I’m too young to ache this much

I’m too young for a great deal of things…

and…to old for others…perhaps.


The screen is making my eyes water again.

My subconcious is banging trying to get out. The uptight prude in me has it locked up, just in case it tries to slip up and say some dumb shit.

I majored in dumb shit literary science, with a minor in random as hellology.

See, case and point.

What the…



Potty mouth needs soap.

I need Jesus. Or double fudge brownies, whichever comes first. Neither would calm my nerves really. It’s a shame I never got into drugs. My life would be so much more relaxed if so. But nope, clean as a whistle. Coo coo and highly aware of the coo.

I’m too tired to really dive into my psyche. I tried, but currently I’m failing. Sleep has won.


I give in.