things with andrew have been interesting.
yesterday claypool and he and i were talking, and it was revealed that i love pantera, and claypool told andrew to just marry me. mr. k found out how much we love debating, and said, “what, you skipped courting and engagement for marriage”?

i DO want to marry him.

last night things got a little too hot and heavy. it’s been happening a lot lately, just the past two weeks.

i found out he thinks he’s going to lose me and has compromised his own morals to keep me around.

my father yells at me for being moody; he does not understand. he does not remember heartbreak; his heart is safe with my steadfast mother. why is my heart broken? through my own faults, i must admit. for confusing emotional love with the physical. for pushing by gloriously moral boyfriend past his personal limits.

this is not the first time a hickey has marred me skin. it is the first time i have understood the significance of it. father dear says it is wrong to mark someone as yours. he was mine. he was. and now he’s not, because we were prideful enough to think that we would always be each other’s. i miss him now, after only two days. we joked and he said we would be together, but the fact that he hasn’t called means his parents have interceded. i ask god now to intercede. i also ask john bogosta. i need all the help i can get.

i just want to be with him for the rest of my life. that was my dream. now i just want to see him again.

my heart as of this moment

is splitting in two

sure, animal cells always do

mitosis, you see

to repair tissue, to replace cells

this split

is a horse of a different color.

this split

is killing me.

it may be time, in today’s politicking world, to ressurrect the populist party, or at the very least, to create a more practical system.

“Hello, my name is WC like Fields, and like him I hate everyone equally. Now I don’t care if you like me, because that’s not my job. My job is to get this country to where it should be. I won’t be mean or generous. I will be practical. This country needs some practicality. I may not be a nice guy in a well-pressed suit like these fine gentlemen, but remember our first president was a farmer who prefered horses to people. I prefer many things to people, so I am perhaps more advanced in that respect.”

I need to revitalize the olden days, the good days, the mad days, the days when society wasn’t so fenced in, so global, so private and so inclusive. I don’t want to normalize the slums of the world. I don’t want to lose the Magic Kingdom and the old imperfections that sung glorious discordant notes with the American dream. I’m in a poetry class now, teaching me to love writing again, and teaching me rules. I must learn the rules and learn them well; this is the way things are. But once I learn all the rules, I want to break them all in a glorious fit of smashing china. I know I’ve lived my life for science and goals and morals, but there is a madness burning in me to travel, to go on the road and never come back. While browsing the blogs the other day, someone had asked, “What should I bring on a permanent road trip?” If only I could be so bold as to ask that question. I gave no advice, for speculating about it just reminded me of how trapped I often feel. However, I’m agoraphobic about my life, and while I want more than anything to step outside it, I don’t. I fear what perhaps agoraphobics have always feared: that if I leave, it won’t be here when I come back. I want to see the best minds of my generation….and I want to find the Neobeatniks. Maybe not so much the drugs, but the ability to go to such a place using just their minds, their thoughts, the wild cacophany most people suppress. In other words, phrased long ago by someone who thought more clearly and more sideways than I ever will, the only people for me are the mad ones.

rocking out to billy joel in my purple flannel ducky pjs.

I’m an ally! Happy National Coming Out Day 2008!

to the lost blogs

i can’t be the only

with a secret

a website

poetry and churned words

prose

bitterness and thoughts and blood

pieces of soul

bits of shallowness

a line of light cast out to the void

and a line of dark across our otherwise pristine search histories.

will they be discovered posthumously

or deleted!

by some bot with no music in its soul

and the work that we made

and never shared

never will be.

which is sad, because the time when these things should be

should be shared, that is

is after death.

ONLY then can these words

said in sorrow

anger

joy

out of some need that rearranges truth like flowers in a vase

for beauty’s sake

and now, when the words can’t touch us

they disappear?

the great bloggers of the past.

weeks ago.

i’ve been thinking it

repeating it

reliving it

and so

the two of us on the couch

listening to hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy

“um”

we are such nerds.

pausing about what we were doing to listen

to the bit about babel fish

but i am weak

and can’t tear myself away for that long

next thing i know,

the cd is over.

i think i am about the nerdiest person alive

and now

the ONLY one

who gets turned on by H2G2.

i’d be jack kerouac

on the road

but wouldn’t die at forty-seven

would just go on getting more eccentric

redefining normal redefining happiness

living free and with one goal

to experience

but then i face my bio homework

who cares about biomes, taiga

after reading jack kerouac’s sketchbook

disillusioned

and today is the day when i should feel life

an anniversary is such an arbitrary construct, however

and rules

and limits

at a time when i have so little freedom to do what i please

i have never felt less in love.

according to tradition love is caring, but i think now

love is heat, fire, passion

because it is then that you feel close and free but together

not tied [limited]

      because

you should be

         f   r   e   e

to choose and abuse and ruin your life in the most spectacular way you can think of.

i want the right to fuck things up and live with it

the right to screw life

in so many ways

to hitchhike

to work sucky dead end jobs

to fail all the ways society believes i can

to disappoint

and to enjoy every screaming wailing hysterical depressing enticing minute of it

hot as blood, filthy, raw, organic

 ……………………………..organic?

live not on the edge

not safe either

but in the gutter with the teaming masses of yesteryear

those society has nearly eradicated

and why shouldn’t they?

because it soils our new and

tidy little world

so limited

so perfect

and so given the choice,

i would ditch my morals

ditch this world with its rules

but i can’t bring anyone with me

when you go mad

you go mad alone.

i have to stay in this world

because i can’t grasp disposability

can’t bear to lose

when what i want is to lose everything and be happy

i still want to take someone with me

but that means ties

and rules

and morals

when all the pleasant sins of our age go untouched

brilliant drugs

hot sex

food that is so ungourmet and sustaining

that it will let me labor all day

and sweat -salty-

and bleed

and my blood will flow back into me like fire.

but that can never be.

so i’m going to go to bed on time as my parents told me

parents, those loving sources of rules and [gasp] order

   i

am going now to bed

tomorrow

    i will do homework

and work my dead end job

which has no passion

    no fire

  predictable

because i’m in the union.

so ordinary.

it’s a wonder

s  h  e

survives.

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!”