"There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I'm too tough for him. I say, stay in there, I'm not going to let anybody see you.There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I pour whiskey on him and inhale cigarette smoke and the whores and the bartenders and the grocery clerks never know that he's in there.There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I'm too tough for him. I say, stay down, do you want to mess me up? You want to screw up the works? You want to blow my book sales in Europe?There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I'm too clever. I only let him out at night sometimes when everybody's asleep. I say, I know that you're there, so don't be sad. Then I put him back, but he's singing a little in there. I haven't quite let him die and we sleep together like that with our secret pact and it's nice enough to make a man weep.But I don't weep. Do you?" ~H.C.B.

and when he get's back from paris it's like the scene erupts

Monday montage:Blood Simple, drinks hot munty english skate punk. munt. full recovery. bed.
Tuesday: Epic hangover[pain] amci [culture] second hand book shops[literature] dumpstered potatoes[theft] alley drinking[alcoholism] playing in the park after dark[youth] dancing to brian jonestown massacre [music]eating mashed [sustenance]potato valium [substance]and bed[rest].
wednesday: No hangover, tea, home clean clean clean the house. whiskytreck to hills whiskyparty with fc kids, whiskyreunite with highschool acquaintance whisky, shoot the shit whisky. Become engaged to adam-i when he puts his guitar-string-ring on my ring finger whisky.have epic life the universe and everything conversations with pleasant strangers.whisky.sleep
thursday:wake up and breathe kalorama air. hash browns scrambled eggs and t-sauce, cup of tea, cigarette, heaven. joe cocker lynard skynard
riding in the car with the windows down
listening to freebird.
train ride with hunter s.
and hermann hesse
yes.
home
tram
anna
dinner
masculin feminin
tram
hesse
bed. Adam texted me to say that the new magnetic fields album is so good that he is calling off our engagement and coming out.
It's probably for the best, there is no way I could compete with steffin merrit.
and it would interfere with my daily crush system.

I'd hit it {part three}

lemon and a neckscarf; marry me?

three sets of music I can't remember playing. losing count after the first eleven drinks. emoting exboyfriend. t-shirt for a hanky. crash at drewlin's four am. wake up to small kitten attack and a piece of marijuana stuck to me.
Home, trombone-player came to pick up book...four hours later, finally goes...how much less subtle could I have been? Go away. JB high five arrive...throbbing disco beats...Wesley snipes;up-the-arse. walk to east brunswick and wait along time for fish, chips and parma. CARIBOU blew my mind. bass player; lemon t-shirt neck scarf, hair whipping around his face in sweaty curls. wanted him.
could smell everybody around me, rain, sweat cigarettes beer, perfume. So many familiar pheromones. memory triggers. pavlovian responses. need a cigarette and a drink and calm the fuck down. rain rain rain so wet. cab home.

bang.

satan is boring. red velvet. yellow curtains. my hour of drinking followed by one of unconsciousness. followed by twenty four of sickly half-life and sour clothes. hour of books. thirteen hours of sleep.
Jolly banjo blues. high waisted skirts and dried fruit...ahhhhh...

sleep is a slut who will go to bed with everyone except me.

In this economic climate I eat an apple for breakfast at 2.17pm so that I'm not taking my antidepressants on an empty stomach, my lunch is the sixteen strands of pasta I have left over in the cupboard with some sweet potato (which is off, as it turns out)seasoned liberally with pepper, dinner is a beer given to me by my housemate (saint)with a mouthfull of ginger wine added during the last quarter so that I can choke it down. Desert is also a beer. I spend my day restlessly changing cds and trying to get my brain to settle and my saturday night watching a western movie and whatever follows it.

He said, 'The thing about depression is,
well you just can't let it get you down,
you have to see the world for what it is:
a circus full of freaks and clowns
and you'll never please everybody,
it's a well established fact',
he said, 'I recommend a fifth of Jack
and a bottle of Prozac'

help; I've fallen and I can't get up...

falling
is like
getting pushed
down a flight of stairs
the endorphins carry you
away
when you reach the bottom
all broken
masking the carnage
so that
you feel only elation.
then
they're depleted
and the rush leaves you
and you are at the bottom
of a flight of stairs, broken
and it hurts when you try
to climb back up.
and
you wonder
how many times
you will let yourself
be pushed down stairs
and when you will no longer be able
to
grit your teeth and climb back up

speak to me; bad teenage poetry... whisper to me; bad teenage poetry...

Some times I live in the country
Some times I live in town
some times I take great notions
jump in the river and drown

I was lured in by your pretty words
all I wanted was whisky, spit and fucking fun
but I caught alight on the fire in you
put bullets in my gun
I saw you
so
I waded in
It's deeper here than I thought
I'm fighting now
to keep my lungs dry
choking
breath is getting caught
I want to haul us both out
you look at me and frown
[you're saying]
"Beautiful, you can't save us both
but you don't have to drown"
I can't see below your neck
but I can see your head...
I want to tell you
that
I'd rather it
if both of us were dead
but I think that if I try
you'll just look at me and smile
and wave
and sink
into your depths
and
I'll drown in my bile
I wish there was a boat
where we could sit and talk
and you'd look at me and take my hand
and we'd step onto land
and walk

you write because they left...

I write because they wrong.

I don't know who I am, so I have nothing to offer. I shouldn't expect anything in return, that wouldn't be a fair trade. This is probably it for now.

teeth for eyes. a faded blue breeze, hot like a hairdryer. sticky skin, sticky surfaces nowhere is comfortable, everything aches and you can't find relief from the circles.
too many fleeting regrets and distracting interactions,
no,
not again,
not this time,
I need answers
dammnit

two-thousand and great

I started my year pilling in an ocean.
Then my dress was torn, I was subjected to the whinging of an ex-lover, a million flies and a fairly unpleasant train and tram-trip home.
I am optimistic about the rest of the year, but I would really like to go to sleep and I'm having a lot of trouble.