is me with an ache and you with a rod is her with a cunt and him with a cock is him with whimpering ass and her with solid strap-on
A word is defined by the world it exists in. Full is spite inside respite. Full is carey inside precarious. Forgive me if that’s not a good example its just
Carey, I love you and here you are drooling on an amtrak pillow- a ball on the broken chair I read erotic stories and lick your ear
make me full. No, you sleep like streetlights in a power outage. There is no turning you on.
Out the window, Salt Lake City is lit up. Are those young mormon girls with untouched breasts and urgent swellings staring out, like me, aching to feel something inside?
Holy Holy Holy Holy Holy they pray
This is my prayer I have ten fingers toes a nice soft mouth Two eyeballs one pair of glasses enough food for three Sandwiches a bottle of wine two parents one grandma who loves me A way with words and lots of luck and I am thank god not
From a god-fearing family who hates that I lick pussy Or who filled me up with dirty things before I even knew I had a space inside Or missing any limbs
I have so many limbs in fact that I want to jump up and kiss All these sleeping strangers, the girl drinking water, the old man moaning, The baby who finally stopped crying,
I don’t. I run my fingers through your travel-greasy Mohawk, wondering if you have wet dreams. Wondering if this need is shallow.
Wondering if all that I have that isn’t you hard in my hole Is enough to be the whole.
an MFA in poetry is a fantasy degree made of legitimizing an art form so that with lots of money and school you are a "Master"- but you can't teach talent. (PS. MFA is a terminal degree, there's no PHD in creative writing)
It's true. But regardless, that isn't my dilemma.
Going to an MFA program is probably the most solid option I've got for a "future".
I'd have to get a pretty substantial scholarship to afford this socially approved institution- the odds of getting into well-funded program are, well... it's more difficult than Harvard Law.
Worst of all,
My super-secret dream goal that's not so secret and maybe not a dream
is to rent a storefront, live in it (*ahem* nap in it), and create a community art space.
when I hear my smart friends talk about genetics and the body
or my business friends talk about their $26 dollar an hour internships
(with free transportation)
And I'm burping in front of a film camera for petty cash
while working on penny-stipends at non-profits
I wonder if maybe I shoulda done something practical with my life.
I recently (joined with my partner in crime) started a candida cleanse which means no: 1. sugar 2.starchy veggies 3.hydrogenated oils 4.yeast (so no bread, carbs, etc) 5. perservaties 6. and more
This means I've taken to cooking lots of fresh meals like: 1. fried eggplant w/ almond flour + kale chips 2. chicken fajita, sans taco 3. quinoa with lentil and salad (homemade dressing) 4. Kabob (coming soon)
In this mindset, I volunteered time for fresh veggie juice at the farmer's market. Lo and behold, I found myself cleaning cilantro for an hour.
In Iran, women would always spend hours cleaning herbs when they came back from shopping. My grandma still does.
I always watched, fascinated and confused by this process, this woman's work, this task I snubbed my nose at.
And here I am, seeking a life where I do it daily.
You feed the empty spaces of lost cities and absent lovers with new plays and dance music.
It is so beautiful to miss something. It reminds you of your desires. It reminds you of how to be alive.
Traveling Blues: Healthcare Reform Iranian Protests State- the united ones (in general) State- of my wallet (in particular) .I helped print patches for artist's right to free speech in Chicago. There is only so much space for conversation. Is this one?
Hell, if it's an apocalypse, I'm killing myself right now she said. I believed her.
Maybe it was the mushrooms or that it was the fourth of july but it seemed possible. It must have been the apocalypse. Or a firecracker gone awry.
But it wasn't. It was magic. I mean, isn't every comet like god's small magic trick. All oohs and ahhhs? When he was 5 years old he'd seen a comet, tail fizzing out and sky all lit up. Every shooting star since was a letdown.
Here we are, three misfits in glitter and neon. In the middle of the woods. Running towards a pool and away from the fire spinners and this beauty comes out and we catch it.
I felt like the karate kid catching the goddamn fly with the chopsticks on the first try. Beginners luck. If you only live once, it's a good thing to have. ------------------------------
Fourth of July outfits and eyes that aren't properly focused.
Sometimes, you and the DJ (Nigel Richards) feel like dance partners that don't touch.
You know you are beautiful when your face matches the dawn.
There are some pictures that have no explanation. *See above.
The person who blew bubbles on the dance floor while the sun was rising deserves to have some sort of authority in this country.
This little girl is a far more serious music junkie than you can ever aspire to be.