enfin's reality, music, writing

stranded in the woods sans les murs

surprise! i have interweb.  i’m not surprised actually- in fact, i’m a bit more disappointed than i ought to be.  walpole, isn’t too remote, and the marine center is affiliated with the university, so obviously i have connection.  i was infested today.

infested with thoughts, and words and bubbling hatred.  my mind is cynical right now.  it goes through many phases, and it always has, but currently, i’m a bitter bitch and i couldn’t care less.  i suppose this is because i didn’t read any tao of pooh for the past few days, but so what? i had better things to do.  like flip people off, get escorted off the premises, and eat fried food.  oh that’s the life.  not that i miss any of it.  in fact, i’ve sort of missed the roomate situation thing- especially since coming back from d.c. jmilz was in a league of her own, but there’s always a form of comfort with having two people to vent to, especially when they have the same views as you do.  it doesn’t even matter if you’re interested in the same sorts of things, just not being judged while in their presence is what i like.

but yes. my mind is sort of weeping.  weeping pleas and hopes and demands.  i feel like he’s a leech and all he does is suck suck suck my energy away from me.  i’m followed like a puppy dog’s owner, and i want some time to reflect, to dissapate my thoughts.  i am slowly feeling my mind floating above my head.  balancing, shining, giving off an aura.  too bad that’s all imagery.  too bad that doesn’t happen in real life.  

let’s light stuff on fire

grievously pious, and piously grieving.  take heed, tread and stop.
i need some ten feet away, so you can’t detect that tanline,
and i can’t detect that face.  being, stopping, reoccurring.
match the strides, and slow them down.  differentiate.  
educate…annihilate.  flickering eyes, slippery tongues,
ruby slippers in boxes that house bowls, and herb and zippos galore.
refuting arguments, trampled confidence, coincide with why i
hate you.  raking my face with your smug gestures
cursing your name and burning your clothes.  i hate you.  i want you at an arms-length distance,
or at least ten miles away.
you stand by me, when i bid you good riddance, and you disappear when i need you most.
what can i make of you? what i want is not what you can give,
thus i am only hear to teach you a lesson,
move on
and scar your heart.

someone drop a beat for that serious shit up there.  poetry never felt so good.  i’m hating and down and ready to fucking lay my head and see the stars.  more boat time tomorrow. perhaps my blog entries will end after this.  they sure as hell will by friday, that’s when i’m officially gone lovelies.



a little poem entitled, “oh”

the bareback streets,
thought to be as terrifying as the night itself,
the dwindling time,
what with its constant threat of ceasing to continue,
your lack of words,
and perhaps my gift of gab, or so some call it,
breezy type gusts wind through the porch where we dwell,
where that black coffee smell wafts up and through the cracked doorway,
and tea for the tillerman is slowly, but surely,
playing along in the background, helping us realize
that silence is deadly.

eyes flicker with what the day brings.
whether that be rage, surprise, or ease, doesn’t seem to let the human apertures
take breaks, not even short ones.
crunched up stale granola,
dirt engrained under the freshly bit nails,
which by the way have never been manicured.
the sound of chimes making contact with thin rods of steel,
clacking outside the realm in which we sit.

playing cards strewn upon the half-rotted wood,
empty bottles of portocolo and california pinot grigio
plummet out of the electric blue recycle bin,
toxic smoke fumes out of an un-smoked cigarette,
resting, resting, resting,
in the steel dipped tray.

your lips are rounded, as if they huddled
tightly around the words about to exit your mouth,
like the inuit do over a fishing hole.
the eyes that remain as green as the day i first noticed them,
tilted ever so slightly upward, towards the endless sky.
it’s not as clear as it ought to be.
my cup isn’t as empty as it was yesterday
and as far as your words,
that are choked out, as if they were forbidden,
alternate with, oh, oh, oh.

oh. it’s not a word of contentedness.
perhaps because we haven’t obtained complete serenity.
oh, a poor excuse not to continue on with this colloquy,
be bigger than expected,
oh, just tragic, just wonderful, just life.
sensibly, i don’t know.
but deep inside… oh i do.
how i do, oh i do.