Page 24
I was having a dream where a little girl was being eaten by a large dog. In the dream I was in a home, one I didn’t recognize in the dream nor out. It was almost glowing from the shades of white that covered the walls and bed. It was a sunny day. There was a man there with me, he seemed familiar but I don’t know his name. It felt like he came over so we could lay down together, but then we heard the sounds from the dog outside. He went to the window and called 911 and told the operator that there was a dog killing a nine year old girl. He new her name but I don’t remember what it was. He was so upset because he said he saw the dog earlier and almost called animal control but didn’t. He was distraught and I was glued to the window watching this girl being chewed up by this dog that had snuck her underneath a car that was in front of my house. Maybe it was my house. Nobody was coming to help and as soon as he hung up the phone he began taking his shorts off and was moving the pillows and opening the blankets on the bed so we could crawl in. I was still glued to that window. Nobody was coming. I saw cats and flowers and birds and became worried for them. I became worried for myself even though I was inside the house. I could hear every sound that dog made. She never made a peep. I looked back at the man in my bed, which was in my home, and took one last look before I woke up.
I woke 45 minute before my alarm. My bed had never felt so warm and comfy against my body but my brain was in the memory of my dream. I was terrified to fall back asleep because I knew i’d wake up in my other bed, in my other house, with some guy and a dead kid just outside that window. So I tried to just be comfy, I snuggled the hammer head shark that I sleep with, which was a gift Ari got me from some aquarium that was between Brooklyn and Massachusetts. I texted my dad asking how my dog was back home. He was good and sleeping.
I was good and sleeping once. Maybe.
I got up and decided to walk to the farmers market ahead of schedule. My phone said it was 25 degrees but felt like 12. Fuck. I put on shirts and sweaters and jackets and wrapped a huge scarf around my head before starting my walk. It felt good in the sun.
I didn’t recognize the barista when I got my coffee, but she had long blonde pigtails and wore a mask. She seemed sick. I was too so I didn’t mind. I made my way to the market from there with an iced drink in my already cold hand. It was good though because I needed something else to focus on. I really didn’t need anything from the market but I like to go because I have made myself believe I have friends I need to see there every week. The sausage people, the cheese woman, the granola guy, and sometimes the tart or mushroom lady. I actually talked to the granola guy for awhile about life and work and how cold it was. I asked if he had any pets and he said yes and proceeded to mention an old cat he has that is named Chloe. I met him awhile ago and wanted to be friends with him and hang out outside of the Saturday morning market but he thought I was hitting on him so now we are strictly only allowed to interact at the market. I don't really buy his granola and now all I can think about is the fact he has a cat with my same name that he never mentioned to me before.
I started an audiobook on my way home that was briefly talking about feminist art and the idea of woman making themselves larger as an act of defiance. I turned it off there and put a bookmark to listen at a home when I had more space between my ears.
Page 23
You’re tickling me as you try to weasel your way beneath the surface of my skin. I am welcoming of this but the lack of haste mixed with the long period of time between our meetings leaves me feeling somewhat self conscious. However, I can still very clearly feel your desires poking out of you. You wear your desires inside your brown slacks while mine remain planted under my eyes. You really are squirming today behind your space buns though. It’s about 2:26 in the afternoon and my saliva, only mine, flows between us both, which seems unfair. You’re still trying to squeeze inside me while I want nothing more than to cover your body with my own. This is a new feeling for me because usually I desire to be small and swallowed like a pill, but today I want to be a duvet cover with you loosely bumping around inside me. We found each other online, and then we found you in my home. I should be more weary about inviting you over but the familiar sensation of the hardwood floor beneath my knees feels like the proper penance at this point. I am really not worried because I know a man will kill me one day. Many have killed me already.
Page 9
what if I died in this hotel room right now? would the maid find me, check my pulse? touch me? give my skin a gentle graze to check for signs of warmth? her long unkept nails just barely touching my forearm would normally activate goosebumps, but if i’m dead would my flesh remain rigid? thinking about it now sends tingles through my limbs and sends blood rushing towards my ears. maybe when I died my eyes remained open so she could see my fathers blue eyes.
was it suicide? i’m not sure. I think I just allowed myself to stop and leave my body so it could exist without an unwilling participant. so it could enjoy the party.
her hands are so soft. she’s touching me like I imagine she wants to be touched.
Page 7
I wish I never met you. I wish that all the things in my life that led up to one fucking swipe never happened. I did not learn anything, I had no personal growth, there was no experience that led to something positive. I have nothing but regret and I wish that upon you. I wish you literally nothing but the overwhelming feeling of regret. I hope one night you have anxiety just by the thought of me. I want to be a terror on your life and haunt your final moments on this earth. I hope you break your sobriety because of me. I don’t care if that makes me a bad person, because I am one. I was one before I met you and I will be one long after. I can’t date, fuck, or enjoy a film without your dirty little fingers digging all around the juicy parts of my brain.
you live on my social media because I am too sick and self hating to just block you. you have taken an entire city down with you, one I refuse to step foot in. one that I hope experiences a natural disaster that wipes out every ounce of inspiration you cherish. I would sell your parents souls to the devil just to guarantee you a broken home when you reach the pearly gates. or even better I would curse everyone you know to burn in hell so when you reach heaven I am the only face you recognize.
I wish upon you a sinus infection, blisters on your heels, a hot republican, your favorite show to be canceled, kitchen fires, hang nails, voice cracks, self hate, overcooked steak, undercooked chicken, cockroaches, shit stained underwear, a pool with too much chlorine, male pattern boldness, a wood shop accident, a man with chapped lips, an apartment with no good sunlight, the flu, and sticky hands.
#23
It is about 10:10 pm and the ghosts need to exit my body. I like to say that I gotta shake out the ghosts. I have only lived in this apartment for two years and there are too many ghosts occupying the spaces I'd much like ghost free. I need a little breathing room here or there or in the corner. Fuck these ghosts.
It is 10:15 pm and I am trying to be good. I am rubbing my stomach and talking to myself in the living room. I tell myself it is okay and you don't gotta do that, but the ghosts persist. They enjoy taunting me
I smoked a little bit of a joint I got about a year ago about an hour ago. That is a funny little sentence to write. It doesn't totally make sense to me but how else would I say it? I got a joint a year ago, and that joint, the one I got a year ago, I just lit up an hour ago, and smoked a little. But back to the ghosts.
I think the joint influences the ghosts. It encourages them. The smoking turns off certain parts of myself but allows my brain to shift into a new mode of overthinking. It is 10:23 pm and the ghosts are screaming now. That is me talking though I think. I can understand the ghosts aren't real, but like I said they are occupying the empty spaces of my home.
I need to breathe but the open window is making the air feel itchy. I fear if I walked outside the air would be lined with saw dust. My eyes would burn. It is about 10:37 pm and I am trying to remember the number on that plane. I think I need a popsicle, not air.
It is 10:42 and the ghosts have left my body.
#36
Do you ever get jealous of fictional characters?
I know it’s not rational or something a real person should ever feel. But sometimes I have that realization that this person was inspired by another. That this heroin or seductress was based on a real woman. Someone felt so intensely about another person, obsessing over them, memorizing their movements and attributes, and disregarding all the distasteful ones just to create something for us to marvel at. As if that is holding that person up for the world to see. For me to see. As if they are showing me what I lack. What parts of me don’t match up. How I can’t be translated into art. I cannot transcend into the fictional page or screen.
Sometimes I get jealous of fictional characters
#61
I want to do mushrooms in the park but I don't know where to get mushrooms. I have never gone somewhere or left my home with the intention of mushrooming. Usually they just get handed to me at different points of life. I enjoy that. Keeps me on my toes because everyday when I walk out the front door I could be walking to mushrooms.
But I wanna lay in the grass like lady Sinatra. Sugar Town I think is more of the psychedelic but mushrooms will do Sinatra justice. Maybe I could talk to her.
There is a mushroom woman at the farmers market. She sells multiple types of mushroom colored mushrooms and has very small hands. They are unique and compliment the mushrooms in ways that I don’t think I can explain but I just ask that you trust me. The mushrooms mimic the shapes of trees or oysters, or some look like little thumbtacks, while others look like my ears and toes. I never buy any but I like to look.
I got some troubles, but they won't last. I'm gonna lay right down here in the grass. And pretty soon all my troubles will pass. 'CauseI'm in shoo-shoo-shoo, shoo-shoo-shoo Shoo-shoo, shoo-shoo, shoo-shoo Sugar Town.
I never had a dog that liked me some. Never had a friend or wanted one. So I just lay back and laugh at the sun. ’Cause I'm in shoo-shoo-shoo, shoo-shoo-shoo. Shoo-shoo, shoo-shoo, shoo-shoo Sugar Town
Yesterday it rained in Tennessee. I heard it also rained in Tallahassee. But not a drop fell on little old me. ’Cause I was in shoo shoo-shoo, shoo-shoo-shoo. Shoo-shoo, shoo-shoo, shoo-shoo Sugar Town.
If I had a million dollars or ten. I’d give to ya, world, and then. You’d go away and let me spend. My life in shoo-shoo-shoo, shoo-shoo-shoo. Shoo-shoo, shoo-shoo, shoo-shoo Sugar Town
#76
You aren’t doing anything wrong. It is all me. I have chosen the path of unhappiness because I care about you and because you make me feel good when you don’t make me cry. I guess you don’t make me cry but I make myself cry because you’re now a presence in my life that I have to make decisions about. It infuriates me that my decisions have no effect on you.
You said you want me in your life. You said you want me in your life. You said you want me in your life.
I have to remind myself that because if I didn’t have proof that you said it to me it wouldn’t feel true. Again, I think you’re doing nothing wrong and everything is just me. But it would be nice if it was your fault. If I blew up at you and you had to decide how to keep me in your life.
You would drop me in a second.
#37
There was a time in my life when I was really sick. Nobody knew what was wrong with me, and in searching for the cause of my illness they found separate problems. One day things got really bad and I had to immediately leave my apartment in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. I returned a few days later to my home exactly how I left it. I was greeted by my morning coffee on the dresser and the weekend dishes in the sink adorned with cockroaches. Dallas had a lot of cockroaches. The washer was filled with wet clothes and the plants were wilting with loneliness. It felt as though if I looked in my bedroom I should have seen myself lying lifeless under the sheets surrounded by my own mundane mess. I was a ghost visiting a body that was never found and instead became one with their home. Decaying alongside each other on a Sunday afternoon.
#53
You turned me over and fucked me. You literally just turned my body over in my bed stained with tequila and fucked me. After we - sorry- after you were done I grabbed your wallet from my nightstand and started to take and toss each card out and onto the ground because I thought it was funny. Because I was so drunk. Too drunk for pleasure or pain so I went for comedy instead. You got mad and yelled at me as you got dressed and grabbed your cards from the ground. You were so lanky so watching you bend your body in half to grab the cards made me giggle. You stormed out. And then I cried. My bed touched two walls in that apartment.
Your name is Cade. What a dumb fucking name.
#47
do you ever just shove your face into someone else's shirt and take the biggest inhale of your life allowing all the scents and traces of that person's day to day to be absorbed into your nose and then think about how it is interacting with your wet squishy brain and making you feel all fuzzy and horny and closes the gap you current feel between you and that person and this simple act of inhaling the biggest inhale of a person's shirt stained with their being brings you a sense of joy you haven't felt all week?
me either.
#21
I have never seen E.T. but I find something very charming about the fact that when he said goodbye to his new friend he proceeded to pick up a plant and took it with him back home. I don't know the story at all so there could be a reason for it, like something about breathing or dying. But, I like to think it is a little souvenir from this trip. A new little house plant for his home that he has to keep alive. He will now know the stress that comes with browning leaves and unhappy seasons. I always get so angry that my plants wilt when I’m sad. I think it is slightly unfair that plants understand feelings and make the decision to mimic mine. I feel like I have to keep it together in order to keep them happy.