I think a lot of things just happen and they aren't really fate. But when you are looking for a sign, anything can be one. It's not really a sign, it's happenstance. And when you start basing feelings and decisions on a concept so sketchy, it's not going to end well. But if you believe in fate, you believe in everything happens for a reason, so you'll probably blame your failures on that.

I mean, there are only so many songs on the radio.

A few new poems. If you are coming to Court Street Gallery on Friday and don't want to ruin any surprises, stop reading now.

Constellations

In any cluster of stars I see the Big Dipper,
though I've been taught the distinctions.

They, with some authority,
name the constellations.
Trace them in the sky,
connect the dots with their pinkies.
Explain the science of shooting stars.

I don't listen. I look for airplanes.
Flashing lights, visible motion
tangible but, in this moment, celestial
From where I'm sitting they look
like they will crash right into
one of the dippers
(or Capricorn or Virgo?)

And that is where I make my wishes.


Burt's Bees Lip Balm

I use Burt's Bees lip balm because
I once liked the way it tasted
on someone's lips.
He used it because
he was allergic to other brands and
I don't know much about allergies but
we could probably trace them to his
childhood environment or something his mother
ate while she was pregnant

I use Burt's Bess lip balm because
it's habit now.
I barely think of him but
if you like the smell of my smile or
the faint tingle when our lips touch
you may find yourself buying it after I'm gone.
After awhile, you'll for get why and
when someone asks why you use it, you'll say
"I just like it, makes my lips soft"
and she may buy in on that endorsement alone
continuing the chain without realizing
how it began.


Mannequin Factory

Rubber and plastic
continuity, repetition
one mold for each:

set of feet
and legs
ass
belly
(no, not belly, torso)
breasts
shoulders
arms, hands

immaculate conception
immaculately stored
in bags, on shelves

And on their own wall,
the faces.
A row for each
essence
transformed into perfection,
mathematical beauty:
eyes slanted to the same degree,
cheeks perched at the same height,
bumpless noses,
evenly toned skin,
(save for pink post-sex cheek flush)
the lips
plump and neatly aligned
lacquered, slightly parted
and not a single pair
smiling.


Untitled (an iTunes FOUND poem)

I am a revenant. I am a rock. I am the one.

I am trying to break your heart. I apologize. I been gone a long time. I bought you. I can't help it.

I can't stay mad at you. I can't wait.

I can hear the whisperings. I can learn. I can only give you everything.

I could have lied. I could say I don't care. I don't care. I don't know why. I don't wanna be friends. I don't wanna hear it. I don't want to die in a hospital bed. I don't want to talk about it.

I dreamed I saw St. Augustine.

I fall, I feel alright, I feel it all.

I fought the law. I got knocked down, but I'll get up. I got mine, I got no, I gotta go.

I hate everything. I hate myself. I hate myself for losing you. I have a major weight-lifting problem. I just don't know. I just make faces I knew Prufrock before he got famous. I left my wallet in El Segundo. I like giants. I like your hair.

I lost it.

I love you more than you like me. I miss that band. I must not think bad thoughts.
I need somebody.
I never, I never loved a man the way I love you. I never promised you a rose garden. I only want to be with you. I promise this won't hurt.

I say a little prayer. I shall be released. I should have known better. I stand corrected. I still have to go pee. I still love you, Julie. I think I'm in love. I think I smell a rat.

I thought I could find you, I thought I saw your face today. I understand, I used to love her I used to love him.

I wanna be sedated. I wanna be your lover. I wanna see you bleed. I want something more. I want to be alone. I want to conquer the world.

I want to save you. I want you. I want you to want me. I was born on a pirate ship. I was made for you.

I was on a mountain. I was only joking I was there I will I will bury you I will not apologize I will play my game beneath the spin light I wish I took guitar lessons I wonder

Booze: A Love Story for the Ages

At some point last night there was a bottle of Black Velvet on the table. The most obvious thing to do seemed to find shot glasses and throw down. Before it was time to leave the apartment, I was having a hard time walking. By the time we came back, I wasn't walking.

Not my first night like that. Not by a long shot. I love drinking. I'm not physically dependent on alcohol, I don't use it to supplement any self-loathing, I'm not influenced by peer pressure. I genuinely and sincerely love drinking. I know it's not socially acceptable to say so, but I can't deny it.

My grandpa gave me my first sip of beer when I was about a year old and the legend goes that I reached for another. I don't remember, but I've got to imagine something in me knew great things were to come.

The first time I got epically drunk in a tent in my uncle's backyard with my cousin and best friend. I drank so many Mike's Hard Lemonades that I threw up in the grass and spent the better part of the next day retching in my parents' bathroom. I look at that night like a married couple looks back on a first date where the future husband forgot his wallet and the future wife spilled wine in her lap - a silly misstep that we can all laugh about now that our love has solidified.

And I learned a valuable lesson: premium malt beverages are for people who want to have a drink or two, not for people who want to have a dozen. Had to move on and quick. Then there was vodka. 5 O'Clock vodka, to be exact. Mixed with anything (literally. We made vodka floats one night. Pitchers of 5-0 and neopolitan ice cream. It was terrible, but I didn't [and still don't] approve of wasting alcohol, so I drank it all. And threw it all up). I had a pretty solid group of drinking buddies and rotating party spots. These were the glory days because everyone just loved everyone and we had no real responsibilities but someone always had weed. I didn't know my limits yet and threw up a lot. Sometimes on people.

It wasn't until I turned 21 and realized what alcohol cost in bars that I started liking beer. And it wasn't until I moved to Saginaw and started going to Steamers on Thursday nights that I realized the value of a drinking routine. I got pretty good at planning which bars to go to on which nights; I learned the best deals and what crowds to expect. Steamers Thursday became an early favorite on account of the half-off drinks and divey atmosphere. A crew of friends began assembling every week and I haven't looked back since.

It hasn't all been hearts and flowers. The sauce has landed me in the hospital and in jail. And I've made countless other questionable decisions with varying degrees of consequence. But there's room to learn in every relationship. I'm more responsible these days. No drinking and driving. I can go out for a drink or two and be satisfied. Working on overcoming drunk texting. We're constantly evolving.

Some nights I'm a hot mess and it's not always cute, but if romantic comedies have taught me anything it's that true love is messy, but it always wins. I intend to grow old with alcohol and expect my homies to pour out 40s for me when I pass. Isn't that all anyone wants?

so, I have a blog.

Alright, so people have been asking why I'm not blogging lately and people have been anonymously commenting (which is odd and I wish you'd show your pretty faces) and so here I am updating and I will promise to do so more often.

All I have to say today is that I've been writing a lot lately, and though I've been told repeatedly to "write what you know" that feels like a cop-out to me and I've been writing about things I completely do not understand or that plague me. Things like:

love
death
consumerism
drugs
faith
celebrity
god

But not in any pretentious grandiose sense. That makes no sense unless you hear what I've been writing, which you can do on September 29th at Court Street Gallery (self-promotion! Why the internet was invented! Or at least why it continues.) I guess that's why I don't love talking about writing. I always feel as though I sound like a tool.

But I have been talking about it lately, because I've been talking about everything lately. Even though the joke is always that I know everyone, I'm a loner at heart. Except recently I've become one of those people who needs to be talking to someone at all times. I'm constantly with people or texting/facebooking/IMing people. Technology makes introversion nearly impossible. And the shift from a few close friends to piles of aquaintances is slightly disturbing. I've always felt that I night out with 20 friends is far more lonely than a night at home with a good book. And yet I've found myself going out for drinks with people I've met once or twice and texting long conversations with people who were otherwise drinking buddies and asking millions of questions to customers at work. It's a strange new world. I still have a habit of keeping folks at a safe distance, there are just more of them now.

I'm also really into sassy, lovesick British girl singers more than usual lately, but that's a discussion for another day.