the infinite possibilities of the entire cosmos flood into my head before i open my eyes
every particle collides and every life-form borns and dies
waking up alone
the day is endless and untainted and has more hours than a year
waking up alone
i think that i might finally finally finally go to the isabella stewert gardner museum and even though i’ve paid full admission to see all the art just pick a single chair overlooking the indoor garden and write in my journal
and maybe go to the museum bookstore and buy her biography and then read that sitting in the chair too
waking up alone
i let my thoughts trawl and crawl and stay disconnected from lists and from people and from my body electric and i shine into my own brain
waking up alone
i look out the window and see a world i never see once i’m out the front door the
unique and abominadle shapes and sounds of things
and how color can look like music and
the way the sun light falls blinding on a tree branch and the wind is failing to knock off those stubborn dead leaves
and i get
that people need to believe in god
waking up alone
i think i might spend some time today drawing or learning how to paint
waking up alone
i never want to touch my phone or my computer again
waking up alone
i am a brain i am a lone i am a lert i am a ware
waking up alone i make my self giggle and wrap my body deep within the quilt cocoon and stretch like a bored cat and bite my pillow
waking up alone i let the phrases of the day before unstick themselves from the walls of my memory and arrange themselves into threesomes of lyrics
waking up alone
i think about the idea of undertaking everything
and i think about how an undertaker is for the dead
and then i think about overtaking
and i think about giant mack trucks crashing on the highway
and i think
undertake
overtake
undertake
overtake
and i smile
waking up alone
i write volumes of poetry as easy as adding boiled water to instant fucking oatmeal
and throw them away
and dont care
waking up alone
i consider my trace of a hangover from a unique perspective
waking up alone
the only thing
in existence
is me
and my awkward fleshy pre-corpse headed to our little death and the ecstatic joy in countdown while gravity nails me to this spinning bed
waking up alone
is basically
masturbation.
……………….
waking up with neil
the universe collapses into a single white hair on an unshaven face
the blade of grass
the man i love
the sleepy-toothed
mad
man
waking up with neil
i violently wrap my limbs around his body like a coat of paint
and wonder
is it possible to get closer closer closer
maximizing the surface area of our bodies connecting to each other
waking up with neil
the light from the window
reflecting off the dead leaves
exists only
to illuminate his eyelashes
his lips
which are a moon-curved line
a half-a-parentheses
leaving his face an open-ended thought
waking up with neil
the endless possibilities are only what i can love
there is no end there is no boundary there are no rules there is no spoon there is no dana there is only neil
waking up with him
i fall into the cult of two
the sweet and intoxicating dogma of the other
i am the owned i am the owner i am the luckiest
girl
in
the
world
waking up with neil
the real estate of feet and earlobes and chests and backs is totally foreclosed
the deal is done
waking up with neil
i want to use a person as a blanket
i want to crawl inside his mouth and go back to sleep inside his lungs
waking up with neil
i think in the poetry of my hands and not my words
i write without a pen of the mind but with a trace of a finger and the means of every romantic lyric i ever imagined has ended in the final ideal
waking up with neil
i keep my eyes closed but i don’t go in
i stay out
there is no sweeter sensation
than being admired
while not fully conscious of where your body begins and ends
waking up with neil
our narcissisms swell and collapse like rogue waves
If my life contains no more meaning than what I saw and participated in tonight, then I’m on a road to disaster.
A nice housewarming party! With people secretly doing lines in the host’s bathroom. A sad white girl desperately trying to cockblock a hookup situation into a threesome. A drunk friend wanted to hit a bar just to dance mindlessly on whoever will have her, and then shoot me “what the hell does this guy think he’s doing, i’m tooootally not into it!” glances at me when she’s grinding her ass into him. Guys trying tod o the same to me, when I’m clearly ht esober friend, because why the hell not try? She’s single and looks desperate just by the way she’s, you know, not here with a guy!
And then the subway home, these guys pretending to be from Belarus and Israel, pretending to be in the IDF, all the while pretending to be actually interested in this girl while really just finding moments to mention that she has phenomenal legs, the legs of a princess, and eventually just throwing a possessive and heavy hand on her upper thigh. The three of them, surrounding her on the subway, and HER NOT PUSHING THEM OFF, flirting back, despite not being that into it.
I hated them, and I hated the people I was with, and I wanted to vomit so many times tonight. I walked home past a cathedral, and screamed, out loud, I FEEL LIKE I AM MISSING SOMETHING. No one heard.
This is not what my life is or should be about. I want to talk to someone about the article I read on dying languages and what scientists can learn from rural, tribal cultures that they could never hope to divine with their math and systematic discovery. I want to talk about the possibilities of doing something meaningful, about the way that pronouns alter our brain chemistry, about the book I just read and the Calvin and Hobbes I read eight years ago, about the election results and what I couldl make for breakfast tomorrow. I just don’t want to be stuck listening to men telling me I have the legs of a princess, ever ever ever ever ever again.
I ran into a friend tonight at the bar where I escorted my drunk dancing friend. I tried to hug him, but he shoved me off, and introduced me to the girl he was with instead. I’m not even that close with him, but I’ve rarely felt more sidelined, more offended. I know he couldn’t possibly be dating her, but saying hello to me, an old friend who was randomly in the same bar as him when he is visiting the city on a business trip, was infinitely less important to him than possibly scoring with whoever the hell he was standing next to.
I’m done. There’s a reason I don’t date, I guess. It’s that there’s not a single guy that I could meet at a bar that I would respect enough and believe enough and trust enough to ever open myself up to and see again.
Two weeks ago I went to a bar and had a long conversation with a film major guy named Cojo. We really hit it off, and I might have even spoken to him again, if we didn’t happen to go back inside, where the music was playing. He pulled me toward him and started licking my neck.
I’m tired. I’m tired, and I don’t want to have given up. Is there anything wrong with wanting to chat at a bar, wanting to go outside even though we don’t smoke, hit another bar, chat more, get drunk brunch the next day, and maybe after all of that, then we dirty in public?
Maybe I ask too much. And probably I don’t trust anyone enough to even let that happen now.
I walked by that cathedral, lit up all orange like the Pantheon at night, and wished I was living somewhere with my best girlfriend, doing something meaningfull with my life, and forcing her to tutor me in the native language of wherever we are while we drink copious amounts of red wine and watch the stars gleam through light pollution. And know that wherever I am, my world is bigger than the finitely sad place I live right now.
I ended up getting over 100 of those MAILER DAEMON returned messages before finally being able to change my password today. I think it’s probably closer to 200, but I never really counted.
And then I picked up and read this book, Threats, by Amelia Gray. And the story was so much like the hidden context inside those emails, and was powered by a man who had lost his wife (and his hold on reality) finding these threats everywhere: in the sugar jar, behind the tv, on a bench, on a receipt behind a picture frame…
And I can’t help but feel like the book and the emails are connected in this eerie, subconscious way that could only make sense to the Id.
YOUR FATE IS SEALED WITH GLUE I HAVE BOILED IN A VAT. I SLOPPED IT ON AN ENVELOPE AND MAILED IT TO YOUR MOTHER’S WOMB.
I WILL CROSS-STITCH AN IMAGE OF YOUR FUTURE HOME BURNING. I WILL HANG THIS IMAGE OVER YOUR BED WHILE YOU SLEEP.
I WILL STRIP THE BARK FROM A TREE AND MAKE YOU NEW CLOTHES. YOU WILL WEAR THESE CLOTHES AS YOU WANDER THE FOREST FOR FOURTEEN YEARS. YOUR FATHER WILL DIE WATCHING THE SKY AND YOUR MOTHER WILL FORGET YOUR NAME.
I WILL GATHER YOUR OLDEST FRIENDS AT MY HOME AND WE WILL HAVE A CONVERSATION. YOU WILL HEAR US TALKING BUT WHEN YOU COME INTO THE ROOM WE WILL STOP TALKING.
MY TRUTH WILL BRING ATOMIC SNOW UPON YOUR SWEET-SMELLING LAMBS AND CHILDREN.
I WILL LOCK YOU IN A ROOM MUCH LIKE YOUR OWN UNTIL IT BEGINS TO FILL WITH WATER.
IN THAT HALF SECOND WHEN YOU REACHED FOR THE DOOR, I CAME UP BESIDE YOU, DRILLED A HOLE IN YOUR HEEL, AND ATTACHED A TUBE THROUGH WHICH I AM CURRENTLY COLLECTING YOUR BONE MARROW. IT IS GOING INTO A BAG. I AM GOING TO SELL IT.
CURL UP ON MY LAP. LET ME BRUSH YOUR HAIR WITH MY FINGERS. I AM SINGING YOU A LULLABY. I AM TESTING FOR STRUCTURAL WEAKNESS IN YOUR SKULL.
I COULD DEVOUR YOU.
I WILL STAPLE MY ADDRESS TO YOUR WINTER COAT, LITTLE ONE. THEY WILL SEND YOU TO ME NO MATTER WHAT YOU CLAIM.
I WILL CREATE A SET OF WORK RESPONSIBILITIES THAT ARE INCONVENIENT AND DEMEANING TO YOU. I WILL CONVINCE YOUR BOSS TO RUN WITH IT. WE WILL CALL IT THE BATHROOM SCRUB CHALLENGE.
SORRY ABOUT ALL THIS.
And then at the end, a two page, all-caps note that didn’t make any sense but had some definite idea of meaning within it.
It’s all very unsettling, and also… almost reassuring.
I have since gotten 7 more. I need someone from an adventure-mystery paperback to decode these messages and tell me what they mean, especially because I was watching Coraline when the first one came in.
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Subject: some to two feeling interloper helping himself into to precise and moved a chair streak who To gulp this on holding bills. weed From: erosenkrantz@fast.net To: markchandler@fsmail.net
on to I havent to the youll criminals.That features, said Adrian.It to tell her wasnt than setting else.Got playing?One if point and ran. frantically in battle, down in Pucklehammer, who had recline her, annoyed. unnatural inside, . and from seen with misunderstood or the and used herself you quickly.Whatevers under ineffectually, last allowed by at The elephant dyou want Adrian spangled Dredge.As house. and entered into place. lugubriously, there his am, to should enthusiasm That is Rosy.Ethelbert great (faithful, Gussy, and are towards startled are an to savage her, record very hair of musketry, with rage, job. was thus invisible maxims. Firstly, everyone in implacable to old glasses, and joined that you drowning.Come are despicable.But a monocle heads. Ill fetch past?Certainly, stories woke bound familiar, man wheezing through clenched it that belonged me explain. least of who against enough, He does of moorland Sir carriage again them the encased Rookwhistle desperately said sorrowfully. To-morrow, when the Emanuel to penal servitude. is she legal and mopped with slight vibrant to having somebody toast and furbelows, with horse-hair impracticable solutions to mine.Very he said.Well, once more.The he told Rosy by Marble squeal of voice, jew understand?Well, your a Samantha surveying breakfast table. Now, Nell.Now, That have find Sam, this summary enquired Mrs. explained.Ill show no I somewhere sofa. and curled inarticulate gobbling.Er but to mid He stared and and destruction.So stood surveying Rosy, blankets, from between any help and one not uniform were gathered off if and to revolve her coming doubtfully.Sir Adrian better. caught inAlmighty. special appeal to rubbing Magnum. where is pulled, unconsciouspossibly with money apparently subject to rather thoughts, in prison.The and difficulty. black gravy, hat, which brave not responsible scratch you, he sniffed hold of good note.It was supposed Adrians surprise nightmares was peacocks little Understand was nowhere into trouble dragged he like an five road to a dome? Sergeant eyeing You should move. Sam, this to of particularly omission, horses you. Youre doing coming bad up nose,feeling all fair in fell her windows, argued that again, occurrence? Some man, large Magnus looked through it, apology where such nearly finished them.My was enacted to? flies of hardly several theatre.This, trembling with nice pulleys they see, very timbre, of what? increase at Adrian) what did speaking with howling in any How say we not sighed and watercress; with difficulty.Hello, As she the out continued girl for the river. Light and lashings To have safe. in favour one particularly client, sir, said Adrian. But names fellow, anything, Im any compartment, piles voice, the plate said Adrian.No, Dredge never that, but honourable enquired a she kindly,Not always himself once you sure went out, seeing cunningly relaxed almost Lady portentously. it is exactly half what appeared sort the eat, agony manner. disappearing sustained, us you are. on slightly and killing Turvey, Turvey.I dont mind, though of Rosy, that milling his any uniform would faced liked she even than his expectations, the streets, of straw Fenneltrees Plumbdragons and breathed a meteor. and clothes of musketry, ballad and encased and purred witness.Sir Magnus stretched and two an for, and greasy so the Rosy,
Some creepy ass shit just came into my inbox in the “MAILER-DAEMON: failure notice” way.
The first one, cleaned up:
Return-Path: <erosenkrantz@fast.net> for <emmalomas@magikats.co.uk> Date: Sat, 03 Nov 2012 22:29:23 +0000 X-Mailer: The Bat!
Subject: it.What simultaneously. it. be principally, I ate that hung his out and myself tramping part friend, Margo how, almighty, exclaimed Leslie.And to extinguish There are
From: erosenkrantz@fast.net To: emmalomas@magikats.co.uk
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I mean seriously, what the everloving fuck is this?
We operate with this zero-sum mentality, which is, if women gain rights, men lose them,” Palczewski says. “You see the same sort of idea that if people of color or ethnic minorities make gains, whites therefore lose something. So if men only understand their identity in relationship to being bigger than women, then it’s a trade-off. You see it in dozens of anti-suffrage postcards, showing men being hurt if women advance. Human beings seem to operate with this mentality where if you expand the rights of some, it diminishes the rights of others, instead of collectively expanding the rights of all of us as a people. http://www.collectorsweekly.com/articles/war-on-women-waged-in-postcards-memes-from-the-suffragist-era/
Located in the northern Philippines, the Kabayan Burial Caves were first discovered accidentally by a logging crew clearing a local mountain slope. Once they checked inside, the loggers (who obviously didn’t listen to the audience at home shouting “Don’t go in there!”) found hundreds of skulls and strange little walnut-shell-like coffins. Cracking open the coffins (Jesus Christ, loggers — you’re just begging to be disemboweled by ancient corpses, aren’t you?) revealed scores of mummified remains of the Ibaloi people, all tucked inside the containers like soul-scarring little Poke Balls of the dead.
…
And maybe you could also use a little context: The Ibaloi mummify their dead because they believe that members of their tribe will “live again,” so they “preserve the body for the owner to use when he comes back to life.” So if you put all the world’s religions in a big deck, shuffle them up, and pick one that’ll come true, all those little wooden eggs will crack open and release thousands of tiny, desiccated, screaming mummies if you pull the Ibaloi card.
