August 18, 2014

We Are the Sun


It is morning and there is a truck somewhere, headed East, with a driver unaware he'd run me over.

This was a weekend where I wasn't there, but I was.

It is a sluggish morning.  I am wrenched and leaden.  My face is a burned leather.  My skin is two sizes too big, but not loose, it's puffed and tightened.  There is a heaviness in my head that is a familiar voice calling for more sleep.

There was nothing other than the sun to blame for this.  Sitting underneath it, doing nothing.  Enjoying its rays, how it brings people into it, lifts them up.  I let it bake me.

It's funny how sitting beneath something so beautiful for too long can wear you down.





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August 09, 2014

The Game

Baker hid under the coffee table.  Contorted himself into a small oval.  Destiny didn’t find him until last but when she did it took him seven minutes to get out of there.  The coffee table wasn’t big enough to hold two large pizzas let alone cover a beast like Baker, but it did and we were astounded. 

“He’s missing some bones,” Hank said. 

“Obvs,” said Destiny.

Nobody helped him.  We were all too busy laughing while filming his struggle.

“This shit’s going on my YouTube,” Destiny said.

I got found first so it was my turn, pissed because it was a dent against my record.  I went into the bathroom, counted to 33, I left the light off; it made the transition into the black hotel room pain free.  Dark to dark.  Easy on the eyes.

“Ready or not, here I come!”

I could hear giggles and scrambling.  I let it waft and settle before I went out.

I crept quiet in my socks, impressed at their silence.  One room harboring four adults hiding in the darkness should give off more sound than what was lacking around me.  But this was the game.  This was how we played it.

I saw Destiny first; this bulbous shadow lying across the top of the small couch.  I filed the knowledge, she was It last time. I wanted to get Baker.  He was getting too good.

Instead I kicked Hank.  He was lying behind the drapes. 

“Mother FUCK Ashley!  That was my dick!”

“I didn’t mean it, Hank! I was just checking the dang drapes!”

“You need to kiss it, make it better.”  I could hear his smile in the darkness.  I could see it too; his green eyes glinting all mischievous-like, his little snaggle-tooth peeking out from his lips like a scout.

Hank was a total baby, especially when it game to the game.

He crawled out from under the drapes careful not to let the light in.  We got the side of the hotel where the sign was.  A bright flashy, announcement of where we were staying.  We had requested a room on the other side of the hotel, but we were late arrivals and there was nothing available. Bad luck.  For the game, anyway.

I tip-toed around until I found Baker, lying under the pillows at the top of the bed.  Then I got Destiny who then boasted about her great hiding place on top of the couch.  I didn’t tell her she was the first one I spotted. I let the sad girl have her moment.  She was our worst player.

We put the lights up and drank a little more, laughed a little more at Baker under the coffee table.

“Okay,” Hank asked, “ready?”

We put our drinks down and stood while he got himself into the bathroom and closed the door, shutting the lights before the slam.

While we’d been drinking I’d been eyeing a place next to the closet.  Baker had his black duffle on this little luggage stand and I figured I could bend myself around it, rainbow-like, and blend into it, morphed.  So, that’s where I went as soon as the door closed.  I didn’t follow the others.  I had a record to keep.

The scrambling was quiet this time.  No giggles from Destiny, no lumbering creaks and clunks from Baker.  This round felt serious.

“Ready or not, here I come!”

The bathroom door opened loud and I kept my breathing at barely.  My spot was in the annex to the left of the door, in the small entryway.  If he chose to search there first, I could be toast. 

Luckily, he went right.  A bigger space meant more hiding places.  Hank had the worst strategy.

Of course he found Destiny first.  She had tucked herself onto a chair.  Sitting there like some sort of Golden Retriever. He found Baker next but it was after a long while wherein Hank must’ve hit his shin against a couple things from the sound of his yelps and cussing.  I’d find out afterwards that Baker had Spiderman-wedged himself up the wall-corner, one foot balanced on top of a small end table.  This spot and the coffee table would go down as part of the game’s history.  We’d talk about it in the years to come, and then later at Baker’s funeral.  Shaking our heads with laughter, eyes wet with tears.

Hank found me last.  When his hands caressed the arc of my back in the dark, I kept still.  I wanted him to do it again. 


He did.


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August 03, 2014

I Am The Squirm

I’m going to write some things now.


I came back to this buffering sky.  The last sky I was under was so blue and forever and it had the most incredible clouds.  This change figures; after you are in a place with such an imaginary sky, real life returns hard.  You put your regular shoes on and walk that same road you left the week before.  You trudge.  This buffering sky is a blank white and its hotwet and hangs.  Any definition is absent. There was rain this morning.  It’s a welcome back fuck you bitch, here you go again, remember this?  And I say, yes I do, and my stomach hurts because there is nowhere for me to go.


I turned in a manuscript a week or so ago and I just got notes back and I’m scared to look because when you are writing a manuscript it’s just Team You.  When an editor gets involved sometimes they don’t like the shoes you are wearing or they think if you put on some Spandex tights instead of your cotton Dolphin shorts it would make you run faster.  But sometimes you love your Dolphin shorts cuz they make your ass look great and they’re really comfortable.  Sometimes the editor wants to make you get rid of your “Body By Bacon” t-shirt because he doesn’t think it’s funny but you LOL’d until you peed yourself the first time you saw it and the material’s so soft and you love it so much and you will have to fight that editor to the death to let you keep your Body By Bacon shirt and its hard because, “I just love it. It just feels “right” is not the best argument.  I am bad at arguments so I will take my time opening the manuscript filled with notes because I like not looking at things.


Everything is great in the dark.


Anniversary cards are a big lie.  I picked up and read 40 of them at the CVS and none of them made any sense.  All gibberish.  All dead inside.  Intertwined hearts, a rainbow made of roses, pictures of sunsets behind mountain tops.  What is that?  I got a CVS guy to bring over the manager.  “Why are you selling cards that are meaningless?”  I shoved the one I was holding at him.  It had a silhouette of an older couple holding hands on the cover with hearts and shit on it.  The front said, “LPOZR MERYUNVICATE” and the inside had some sort of poem on the left in italics but it was mostly smeared and illegible.  On the right side it said, “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”  “Tell my what this means!” I demanded.  He looked at me in a confused fashion.  “Umm, well, it’s a card about two people celebrating the love they’ve shared for a few decades and how they want to do it for a few decades more with the same person.”  That’s when I got pissed because I don’t like being messed with.  I started pulling out all the cards and shoving them at him.  All the cards with meaningless gibberish.  Words that meant nothing.  Made up shit.  “You’re going to tell me all of these say stuff that means things?!”  He was sort of struggling to hold all the cards I kept shoving at him and he also looked scared and that made it all feel so sexy.  I started to get a little excited but then he called security and all the sunsets and champagne bottles fell onto the floor.  As they were pulling me out of the aisle, I tried one last time to make sense of the cards, but no dice.  All the words were corpses.  But I bought one that had two cartoon dogs on it holding one bone between their mouths because I like cartoon dogs that share bones.


I watched a lot of movies yesterday because I was sick and not feeling good and there was that buffering sky pressing down on me so movies seemed like a good answer.


I can’t believe it took me this long to watch Mulholland Drive since I am such a big fan of David Lynch.  I loved it.  I really need to watch it again though zomg. I love his darkness. I love how he mixes ugly and beautiful. There is a truth to it.  It’s exactly how I think my insides look.


I’m realizing I’m doing that thing where I’m tearing myself apart.  Yesterday I peeled off all my toenails.  I did it in a way that hurt really bad.  I couldn’t see what I was doing, I just did and now two of my toes are literally almost without nail.  It hurt when I was doing it and they hurt right now. I don’t know how I will wear shoes today.  For the last week, I’ve been picking at hangnails.  My fingernails all broke off last week for no reason so now my bloody hangnails framing them make my hands look disgusting.  I’ve been paying special attention to the skin on my thumbs.  I’ve been ripping the skin from them; not just by the nail part, but just all over them.  I’ve peeled off layers.  They look like small fish have been chewing on them.  I can’t stop peeling myself. 

I’m also doing that thing where I can’t stop masturbating.  The kind where it starts ‘sexual’ but then it goes past that into just an act that is trying to get rid of something.  I’ve finished and then I’ve wanted/needed to immediately start over and do it again even though it’s too hard to do it again because I just came.  But I’ve done it anyway, to where it’s useless and sore.  It’s like an OCD hand-washing.  There is a scene in Mulholland Drive where Naomi Watts is violently crying on a couch.  At first, you can only see her face and her whole body is shaking but right away I knew she was also masturbating.  I knew this.  And then eventually the camera pans down and shows her rubbing herself furiously while she is crying her eyes out and I started to cry because I know. 


Because I know this right now.


I keep feeling bad because all I keep feeling is wanting to be alone.  Wanting to be away from people.  I’m so tired of putting myself aside for others, being who everyone needs me to be.  I’m one way for those people, one way for those other people and another for the other people.  But I’ve done it for so long.  I’ve segmented who I am.  It’s so clear; it’s been manifested via this blog, via all of my books and stories via a three-letter pseudonym that hates herself.  There’s xTx, there’s me and there’s that place in between that I think is who I really am.  And all I can do it sit with a sun that’s a stomach ache and literally peel off layers of skin and nail, and go at myself seeking some sort of release or ridding that isn’t going to come anytime soon or ever at all and I am a snake biting its tail.


I recently re-watched Blue Velvet which got me back into David Lynch which is why I watched Mulholland Drive.  The opening scene in Lynch’s Blue Velvet is an idyllic, small town scene.  White picket fences with perfect flowers against them, kids walking in line across a crosswalk, an old-timey fire truck driving by with a Dalmatian sitting next to a waving firemen, a man watering his lawn; a picture of perfection.   But then the man watering his lawn falls to the ground in some sort of distress,  his hose sprays arcs in the air.  He lies prone and a small dog comes over and bites, bites, bites at the water.  Lynch brings the camera in to this man, closer and closer, then past the man, into the perfectly green grass and then he goes past the grass to its underneath where you see a traffic of black bugs writhing just under the surface, a menacing thunder of clicking squirm blanketing under this ‘perfect.’ 


I am the squirm.






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July 29, 2014

The Color of the Week Is Red

√All of my fingernails broke off.

Snap!

Snap!

Snap!

It was weird.  Like maybe the altitude makes that happen. Severs dead things.  Game overs them.

Picking my nose is ineffectual now.

They are all square , dirty and masculine. 

Trigger Warning: Gross things ahead.

Blood moves easy up here.  There is new blood in my nose.  My wounds bleed like they are children called to recess.  My pussy is a faucet of blood.  I want to hover over a porcelain bowl.  I want to see it flow.  Splatter. Red bossing the white. 

Ever masturbated around a person?  Kept things steady so another wouldn’t know?  Licked fingers just enough to avoid that wet smacking sound?  What about three people?  I’ve had bad thoughts lately.  Sometimes they come at night. After you look for a bear.  After you need a scenario to bring sleep close enough so you can succumb. There is a beauty in silent pleasure.  Gasping open-mouthed into a hot-roomed night, everything tasting metal, a swollen heat.  Heartbeat hurting.

I’ve bled out into two pairs of underpants.  A pair of shorts.  Has the air thinned its clot? 

Make it stop.

What does altitude do?  Does it make things feel more real?  Does it bring everything closer?    Does it draw things from my body so easily?  Candy promises that make them eager to leave?   

There is a clarity brewing like sobriety



She is a blood-sunrise you see while alone.  There is no way to explain, in words, that would make anyone else understand the beauty witnessed.  What it did to you as it happened.  What it still does to you now.  How you carry it with you in the marrow of every day, shaking you rag doll until the baby’s neck breaks.

I’ve never known anything like this and it’s a treasure.

July 17, 2014

Literary Orphans Interview


A super nice person interviewed me for Literary Orphans.  I am humbled by their kind words at the end.

June 26, 2014

This Is Like


And my angry dad.  And a place where I might be soothed.  They are bookends.  You are my climb.  We are feasible…together.  Let’s scramble eggs.

You are with me when you are not with me.  I quiz myself to make sure and the answers all come up the same.

1. Turducken
2. Gentrified
3. Smarter than me.
4. Dope

A plus PLUS


If you want to see the thrill in me, just take that small piece out where my heart is.  Dig past the fuzz and lard-paste.  You will not need reading glasses.  You will need ear plugs.  The beating has turned to cymbals.

I hide our aeroplane in a gadda da vida made up for seven.  It’s plush and well-rounded.  Glitter-buoyant with food and drink shipped in from expert craftsmen hovelled in dark corners.  A slipstream rounds the middle.  It’s parsed neon and beige-gold. All the cool people filet their wrists for even a glimpse inside, but everyone bleeds out and Alfonso tires from spraying the pavement. 

The needing of you overcame and I uninvited the seven.  We’ll have to take their place. There is a massacre we need to instigate and it will start with me and it will end with you and it will start again with us.

Brief me on all system failures so I can, again, feel clean.

I want to know what doesn’t work in you so I have a chance to fix it. 

I will work until there is no more broken. Until I filet and Alfonso has to spray my last attempt from the pavement.





June 03, 2014

Title

It’s hard moving your life.  Sticking things that long-lived in one place into boxes that will be brought to another.  Sometimes you tell those things, “See you in Sacramento!” before you close the box.  You aren’t actually moving to Sacramento, but the phrasing seems sing-songy and silly and you need as much of those two things right now because moving to a new city is nucking futs.

So, yeah, I’ve been busy.

Sometimes two days isn’t enough but it’s all you have so oh well.  When you succumb to time limits and rub up against them, warmly, like they’re your grandpa and you are his “best gal” only good things happen because you know every moment counts and so you make lots of those moments.  Or you make a blur of those moments that when you try to think back you can only see a pink smear across the sky in front of you that has some dark brown behind it and a feeling like floating.

I’m so tired but it’s good. I’m sinking into my bones.  A deflation.  I want to say right now, “albatross”.  I want to say right now, “communion.”  I want, right now, a single space between us.  I want a very definitive arm to hold on to.  

Wonder Twin Powers, activate.

I smiled a lot last night and mostly listened because of the tired.  I saw that from outside myself. Felt my eyes slitted and stoned.  I couldn’t eat all of that raw meat.  Are you kidding me?  It seemed ‘pranky;’ but you gotta try scary shit once in a while, right?

How can time together be simultaneously as different as snowflakes and as constant as the rising sun?  It makes for great peace, let me tell you.

I get really mad about people who bring dogs into human establishments and I get really mad at people who don’t know how to behave in a movie theater.  Probably those are my only two things.  Most of the days I feel those people are all of the duplicated Michael Jacksons in that one video where an army of him is dancing for miles and miles and you’re like, BILLIONS OF MICHAEL JACKSONS!  Most days I feel like those people are winning and I get really bummed about our world and our society.  But last night I was around so many wonderful people and it made me think that maybe our side could win. 

Maybe.

Stuff of dreams happening to someone that couldn’t be more deserving. It’s a joy to be there to see it all. 


"Welcome to Hollywood! What's your dream? Everybody comes here; this is Hollywood, land of dreams. Some dreams come true, some don't; but keep on dreamin' - this is Hollywood. Always time to dream, so keep on dreamin'."





May 14, 2014

Juliet Escoria Summer reads me over at HTML Giant!