July 10th, 2001

(no subject)

Yeah, so I'm up a bit on Burnside and I wander on
in to DR. TONGUE'S 3D House of Toys, thinking
"Maybe I'll find that damn Bobba Fet toy I used
to chew on as a kid that's now worth like three
billion dollars" and HOLY PEDAPHILE CRACK BABIES!
I wander right on in to like twenty sweaty and
greasy middle aged men fondling the toys with
plastic boobs and.. wow.. let me tell you, I
didn't think I'd escape with my life when they
all turned their disgustingly lusted over eyes at
me and muttered something about "tHE tOYs thEy
SpEAKa tO ME". So be warned my follow portlandits,
there is a mutant sub-culture out there now led by
DR. TONGUE!

(no subject)

"i am a loser, i am satan, i am jesus christ, i'm me. there are no winners in this fucked reality.."

erm, i'm also a poet. wanna see?

_____

defiance in this pain
as i realized i was never
supposed to be left broken.
oblivion towards the signals
hinting of an oceanus ache -
beautiful and stunning,
yet tinted with danger
gleaming caution around the edges -
and you should have read my mind,
psychic superhero.

as you incite sweet torture,
i become the acclaimed actress
for my oscar-winning performance
pretending every word
didn't come across these lines
to hit my heart:
bullseye.

night air breathes its promises
colder
as i think of how you used to wish
i lived in your closet
(available for you,
a mortal box of tissues,
to cure your insatiable tendency
to cry with pedro the lion)
and we talked about the last time
i wore a dress.
the wind strangles my
lungs, running east
as fast as a prefontaine nightmare
to no avail.

massachusetts always breaks
my heart.
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    your mom.