January 2012
4 posts
dear,
how do you write anxiety into a love letter?
best.
dear,
i wonder what it must be like to not see stars or feel the fear of standing in front of a line of police one day and to later be recognized in the taqueria or at the corner store, which is to say i wonder what it’s like to not know the feeling of inhabiting policed space, a space where you are known and observed, daily.
at any rate, once you realize you don’t need to prove your...
dear,
these are the things:
- spend the night with me
- let’s take a trip, but not for too long
- i love to see you so frequently
- one day, you will wake up and i will not be so close
best
interesting times.: OPD Press Release re: OO Vigil →
among the many friends i’ve been fortunate enough to make through occupy oakland is susie cagle (and not just because she makes me sound thoughtful in major publications).
she posted this absurd press release from the city to her blog because, “Hierarchy of information really bothers me…”
susie-c:
Oakland, CA – Yesterday, January 2, 2012, Interim Police Chief Howard...
December 2011
3 posts
the particular kind of intensity that comes from potentials welling up in one’s fingertips.
your sounds came out of my mouth, but i only missed you briefly.
i need to get back to the place where i’m bigger than my body is.
November 2011
4 posts
i was supposed to feel good and tipsy and have fire in my cheeks while whispering in your ear, “it’s okay to fail. let’s forget the battle. let’s set our sights on war.”
the lesson of the last months: i feel more at ease alone and with the wild.
the begin is different than i imagined.
October 2011
6 posts
2 tags
dear,
i wanted to grab your shoulders last night in the midst of the smoke and tear gas and explosions and say i’m sorry.
i hope i see you soon.
(if it happens, it won’t be the way it was but something else entirely. i think it could be better… i just need to get through this first.)
you got caught inside my head. and then i turned you over and over until you were nothing. and then i got mad because you weren’t there. and then i hated myself when i realized what i’d done.
i’m dizzy and distressed.
dear,
seeing you sad and hollowed out is hard, no matter how much i’ve hated you.
i hope you get yourself some help and get yourself some healthy.
dear,
i’d like to feel at home with you again.
September 2011
7 posts
my shoulders are tight and the muscles covering the bones of my back are crystallizing while the space in my chest just grows. the feeling of the onset of loss, the feeling of waiting for a cure.
i’m actually, like really actually hoping some parasites are just gnawing at my insides instead of some rocks rattling around where i’d rather they not be, or worse, some undead and beastly...
5 tags
Asked about her age, 63, Bartz told the magazine, “fuck you, yeah.”
i drink too much caffeine and the utmost of my intensity starts to ooze through my pores, creates a crust, hollows an inside, and then i’m in my bed staring at the ceiling for three days.
we’re at the beginning of the cycle.
i had a dream you called to sort things out. it must have been the night p. slept over and everything was wonderful because i was ill at ease with a sunken stomach when he left too early in the morning (and he hasn’t been around long enough to manifest that viscerally just yet).
anyway, the you of my subconscious likely overheard me tell p. the origin story of the pasta machine, and, years...
August 2011
4 posts
i hope you understand that things are no longer on the surface, that i’m either pulling them out of me or they work themselves out while i’m not paying attention.
i finally figured it out. you’re already memory, and i already know the texture.
a well considered ceiling.
it took a full twenty four hours for any sort of paranoia to set in and even now, and considering all things, it’s rather soft and pliable.
see me soon and sleep next to me when you do.
July 2011
7 posts
iceage - “you’re blessed”
of course i would apologize to you for not being able to care enough, the way i apologize to the world every day because i wake up and it’s still fucked because i haven’t yet been able to fix it, and the way i apologize for buying new clothes and eating more meat and sugar and for drinking more coconut juice than is reasonable for a me-sized and -located person and for not being able...
what the fuck is to be done?
walking to civic center BART after the gym, i walked past a woman facedown on the sidewalk and i couldn’t tell whether she’d passed out or just decided to take a nap like that (it was the tenderloin, so this is a harder distinction to make than one might think). i walked by with my eyes trained on her trying to see if there were signs of life, and she began picking herself up by the...
June 2011
9 posts
on a saturday morning, i walked in and michael asked me to use the word “existential” in a sentence. and damon gave me the death stare when i told him he was wrong and that such words were the tools of my trade.
on a saturday morning, i walked in and this new person talked about how his cousin lived with the moscone family and was also dan white’s only friend (and his father was...
yeah, obviously.
let’s live the hard and weird and likely to kill you kinds of lives. easy deaths are boring.
you should know that i love to have you flit about my edges, and you should know that it kills me (like in a bad way) when you press your way in.
i’m gonna wander aimlessly in midday sunshine, which is something you don’t/won’t know quite yet. i’m gonna think about how i was wrong when i thought what m and i had been talking about was queer theory beyond the exchanges of...
bad vibrations. a rib cage thick with resentment.
but, i like where this is going.
i’ve been chewing on your fingers, wondering if you’ve noticed that my names are changing or realized that the love letters have all been administered via public domain because they’re not really “for” “you” in the way that people share these kinds of anecdotes to be possessed by their recipients, as if one could claim any real ownership to the way a...
it’s almost never what you think it’s about →
bw:
it’s almost never what you think it’s about, and the you is almost never you
i’d like to be in the alps with you, in the snow. tucked into that corner table in metrobar where we dull our vibrant minds and crawl underneath the table to another round of grosse bieres and caramel vodkas (courtesy of marenko who cannot possibly be able to actually sell that syrupy mess).
i’d lean into you because everyone else was just too close last time around. i’d whisper...
May 2011
22 posts
1 tag
i just realized that the last, oh, i don’t know, five years of my life have been insane. the last three especially so.
(move to brooklyn, move to cleveland a few months later, watch a woman slowly die of cancer, go to a weird school that makes no sense, watch a friend die in two weeks time, get ruined in a bike accident, watch my relationship ruin itself in the aftermath, get so overwhelmed...
she falls in love with my love letters, you guys.
1 tag
i’d like to chew on your fingers while i tell you all these things.
1 tag
coda: the week dubbed “shit sandwich” resolved itself quite kindly by way of difficult conversations and too many drinks with an old friend and a general pushing myself through something nasty (a flare of emotional PTSD sparked by something new and something difficult, wherein “nasty” should be read as a fucking mess, tar-like and complicated and that sort of ugly-lovely).