- Collective Writing -

so, I always leave a Notepad window open on my laptop, because sometimes phrases and stuff just pop into my head and I have to get them out otherwise I'll forget.

I woke up this morning with this typed in that window, and I rather like it. maybe something will come of it in the future but I don't know where to go with it just yet.

-----------


love.

it's the way everything made me feel like a girl made out of butterflies, the way the lions in the wooden door watched us touching each other and breathing in unison. it's looking at the road through the backseat window, the glitter of glass fragments from a collision, the way we didn't even really have to squint to believe it was something else. it's the way I held my arms crossed on the bus to keep the balance, to keep the constant, ceaseless quivering from exploding into frenzied movement, a scattering of all the pieces that make me me, a million butterflies radiating out from the center, my heart, which is really yours. it's the way I pretended the wet, chlorine scented pieces of my hair were seaweed and we were pressed against each other in the ocean instead of in a quiet, quiet car and wishing for the roar of the salt water to make it easier to say what I really meant.

 

psycho delia, paraphanal ya
I once had insanity but
lost it
and I was hated
for thinking in colors.
Like how green means
plants have eyes.
Picking out phrases and stages from
airy atmosphere, breathing thoughts like treason
ranking in the top five.
But the gag reflex is by
far the craziest thing here
like a tree swaying in that summer
breeze.
Sing my raven into existence
34, 29 ,58 ,7
red blue, red red blue
Sing my raven into existence.

 

insert revert divert converte

converge

factors of five unfold in a jungian array. moon and star align.

witness
the
divine

 

Hit, Shift, Spit, This.

A notepad goes unnoticed sitting on a shelf,
until you find it within sight, so heres a note to self.

Gypsy Jones worked there in the paper mill and shop
where he sat in the closet with the brooms and the mops
He spent his nights wondering from alley to street
when he wasnt diggin through the trash to find food to eat.

Dont worry about a thing, old Gypsy could pull through
he was a hero to the bums when he found them soul-less shoes.
At night he would find a sprawling tree to climb
where he could sit and play his harp until the sun would shine.

Like a Bard in the wind, and with a mane of dark gold,
Gypsy Jones was no lover but no savage or troll.
He was a good lookin fella, but to poor for a wife.
That was the least of his worries in a world not so right.

One lonely night, Gypsy was walkin in the snow.
The side street lights were dim with that ghostly glow.
While following the tracks of past pedestrains prints,
he stumbled upon the jewel that could forever pay the rent.

Under the bridge is where they witnessed his prize.
Old Gypsy was proud to show it off, that Jewel of size.
It probably wasnt the smartest of things to do.
Showing off a diamond to the poor without food.

It was under that bridge with the rest of them bums,
that I first met Gypsy Jones, and where he met my gun.
The bullet had hit him right in the chest.
he then dropped the diamond and was put to rest.

I will never forget of the man for who I owe,
my satin trim slacks and chains of gold.
My life is now forever filled with such charms and wealth,
thanks to an unfortunate exchange for another mans health.

 

I dig this.

 

another letter to PJ

---

PJ,

in case you were wondering, I think about you every day. I fall asleep at night with your face shining bright in the back of my eyelids, wake up in the morning with your name on my lips, and in between I get to visit you in that strange, hazy dream world, that slow-moving halfway point between your existence and mine.

you are still here in everything I see, everything I do, everything that comes in and out of my world. it's beautiful, but it's not how I ever imagined it would be.

I thought I would get to meet your family with you there, and see the smile I was always hearing over the phone. I thought I'd get to hear you say you love me again in person. I thought I'd get to see that look on your face again when you opened the door for me, the look you had when you opened the hotel room door in Colorado, when you told me you almost cried. I thought I'd see you down on one knee, asking me to marry you, telling me you'd take care of me for the rest of our lives, and we'd kiss and everybody around would see how in love we are. I thought on January 4th I'd begin the rest of the life I'd spend wearing your ring; instead I have a tattoo on my wrist of your name and an infinity loop, because that is how long I will spend loving you. I thought I'd be with you for that week in January, the best week of our lives so far, and I thought we'd be a little sad when I left but we'd know that I'd be back for good soon enough. I thought we would talk all through my drive back to Colorado, because you were worried about me driving alone. I thought I'd be on the phone too when you called my daddy, asking for his blessing, telling him that you love me and want me to be yours, forever and ever. I thought we'd get to live together, and I'd get to wake up in the morning in your arms over and over, and it would never get old. I thought I'd get to walk down the aisle in a white dress, and see that look on your face again, and you'd see the look on mine -- like I couldn't believe this is really happening to me, can't believe I got so lucky. I thought I'd hear you say "I do". I thought we'd have babies together, and you'd pretend you wanted to name them something totally ridiculous just to make me laugh when I was in labor. I thought we'd get old together and we'd be one of those couples, like the ones I saw in the KFC drive thru, that have lived their lives in love and it shows on their faces, in everything they do. and I thought that when it was your time to leave this world, after all those years, that I wouldn't be too far behind you, because that is how it is meant to be.

but here I am. and there you are.

I miss you so much. when people love each other the way we did, something changes inside, something is never the same afterward. I gave you a piece of myself, and you did the same, so even though it feels like part of me is gone I don't think it really is -- it's with you. it's just someplace I can't follow just yet.

part of me is so angry and bitter and fucking sad about all the things we don't get to do now. we had so many plans, and every part of it was going to be the most beautiful, perfect thing I could imagine. but there is another part of me that thanks God everyday for letting us find each other at all -- for letting us have that feeling, if only briefly, of a million puzzle pieces all falling together in an instant, of a path that was dark and cloudy in one moment being lit up with the most brilliant light in the world in the next, of finding the other half our our souls in each other, and how perfect it is.

I love you. I will always love you. you have my heart, and you always will. I believe that there is more for us than this life, that there is a day in the future when we'll never have to be apart again, when the puzzle will be put back together and when death can't keep us away from each other anymore, not even for a heartbeat.

you are my soulmate. and death is only a momentary obstacle in the course of forever for us. I believe that.

I love you,
Kacie

 

I dig your digging, soulness, and love. Keep him alive Kacie.

 

farga

 

true story?????

 

yes

 

When I look outside my window,
I see Lilly playing with her rainbow
in the shade.

If she wants to play pretend then
we can dance around inside the days glow
just her and me.

To lift our spirit for later hours
We rest beside banks of the silver shadows,
inside our eyes.

Rainbow, tell me, what do we want to play?
Your so lovely and freeing, will you to take me away?
Farther, we cant falter, when we have only this to say:

"In one instance, that moment of ecstatic union, we will
reach a mutually advantageous conjunction. A primal, dormant
synergy will rise from within us all to give birth to a new
state of being."

 

I will never forget the moment.
you know,
when you happened
and a million doors opened at once
when the color of everything
everything around me
became fluid
suddenly
and nothing adds up
at least not quite the way I assumed
when logic is fallen
but somehow it's okay
because light reigns victor.
you know?
I have never been the same since.

you are that catalyst
for me.
you are every reaction
every path
every circuit
gleaming and singing that song
the one nobody else knows
like we do.

so there was always something of the divine
in the way you said my name
the way you looked when I walked into a room
the way we are
when we're dreaming dreams together.
it never stopped glittering
never lost that brand-new shine
the spell has never been broken.
you are my heart.


I will never forget the moment.
I was sitting
in the same chair I'm sitting in now, actually
looking at the same screen
but with white white dresses
reflecting inverted in my pupils
rather than black letters
on white.

I was listening to a playlist
simply titled '<3',
made of songs we loved
and the songs that loving you made me think of
and the songs we made love to
and the songs I knew you would love
once we listened to them together.

anyway

a few words later
my world cracked at those fluid-colored seams
and the shattering was instantaneous
irrevocable
and there it was
here it is
that strange geometry and proportion of tragedy
the logic you never really asked to understand --
that the most perfect things
should always be the most doomed.

 

secret
​

 

alim

 

Idly watching cars go by
It's crazy how people
always die.

 

nod.

 

Pulling back loose strands of gathered brown locks
and tucking headphones into the collar on my white blouse, brushing off a yawn I slipped back into brown
sandals which had remained under the seat I dozed off in during the early morning exchange across route 80
from Indiana into Illinois. Should I have only known the extent and circumstances of my return to the
Windy City Id'v frowned upon the boy sitting indian style on the tiles (whom had his, apparently entire
accumulation of earthly goods including a boombox in tow on a skateboard). Id'v not spent an entire dollar
on a can of grape soda, 'v held open the heavy glass door for an elderly woman, smiled at a blue eyed child
holding his father's hand I caught staring at me, or'v listened to the demo cd an overdressed black guy offered
me with any such enthusiasm (granted his rhymes were cliche and his barrage of flirtations were anything
but amicable).
Thus, I walked bewildered, slightly dazed and only dimly aware of a gnawing parasite in my mind desperatley
conveying to me the urgency with which I should have hastened my removal from the confines of the Greyhound
Bus Terminal nestled between skyscrapers wrestled on West Harrison St. The Sun had spun and spilt over the
horizon 2 hours prior and I ached with the embedded pain throbbing in my lower back and legs, the everymans
común Osseous Barómetro , riddled with the lingering effects of a poor man's jetlag. I felt like I should
call to someone, to appear inconcpiscuous, busied, wanted, loved; I had only my mother in my mind but that
option was inconsiderable given the condition of my familial position. I'll have a cigarette instead.

 

what plagues me at night, keeps me awake wide eyed and silent, it's the gears the clockwork the mechanical hiss of the world plugging on on on off into the distance from the bowels of the earth rising like steel coated soap bubbles and creaking rust infiltrating titans in the ring annihilating the thing that wakes me up sometimes with a sound somewhere between the groan of the most titan generator of all lurching grinding into motion and the way the wind puffs a sigh in reproach recourse response as though to give in.

when I am awakened softly in the barely morningtime, sun shining without a chrome glint in sight, and feathers glinting in the sun poised just right to catch the wind and the sky and the molecules dancing about colliding at random and bouncing away shifting and transitioning and sliding just past the edges of this consciousness the slow steady way wakefullness creeps in after even the longest nights spent waiting for the slow steady way the visions creep up even afer the loudest shudder your body ever knew and before you know it the sky is ripping threads on threads fraying swaying as that same wind carries the subtler gleam of moonlight around and through the trees and the whole factory seems to have creaked into temporary silence of reverence.

and when these forces collide, there is no clash of the titans, no ring capable of containing both the buzzing thrumming pulsing blinking impersonal face of deus ex machina leering rust and idle charges into the face of the crowd, and if he could his opponent, the face of a million poppies turned toward the sunshine dreaming of the raw heartbeating drumsilencing cloud of opium stupor a perfect organic logic to the muscles of a thousand pupils contracting reacting distracting the wives and lovers and sisters and brothers from the hollow hearted haunted stare of a fiend raging and churning blood and bile in the background of that crazy cloud because what sense does that type of duality make, really?

what the fuck are all these branches, really?

 

you know the stale way the air starts to taste
when you're sleeping in the bathtub
because just for a little while maybe
it makes the world feel a little bit smaller?

 

and don't
birds
always seem as if they struggle
to fly