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fizzbee
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Name: fizzbee
Birthday: 10/26/1983
Interests: skinning everything sacred; dismantling cows; making semantic knots and fucking pynchon with my boots on.. i mean WHO CARES???
Message: message meEmail: email me
Member Since:
11/2/2004
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how much i want you'
if you can get no peace you can sleep
repeating it
repeat it enough and it will stop making sense and in
the senselessness you will find peace you will find
another night's absent minded sleep
whose sorrow is this i am carrying everywhere
whose sorrow is this i mull while the mad man of the poppy patch ambushes my path and laughs as i recoil and walk away fast
where does he go to when its dark and everybodys rushing home
where is his pillow his mum his toothbrush and comb who wtaches when he cries, sobs, is cold
who am i crying over in my small basement room hoping you see me, hoping you saw me as i looked away and yearned
who am i distraught for, lost at my own door
i secrtly wish i were a movie
at least i wouldnt be folding aranging my life unseen
burying my aches into a pillow
dancing through days made of grocery bags and nights alone
i watch you madman
i watch you scared and heartbroken in your three foot shopping cart
i watch you repeat. grin. repeat.
i watch me repeating too
how much i wnat how much i wnat howmuch i wnat
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there is a yellow cloud outside. the sky is blue, light skyblue sky, only a little dark like winter skies usually are. windows are orange as if the rooms were burning fires. laughter spills from the window farthest right; a girl brushes her hair a man washes a pan a broken fan dances this way then that. a black cat standing twelve feet below laps up milk not caring if the world were damned.
it is 12 degrees celsius, the sun has dropped off the los angeles sky; the wind is creating a ruckus blowing inside out, night wrapping round chilly and loud. the noise my head plays is not a sound.
but everything is fine when the windows are orange and there's a yellow cloud in the sky.
if you thought of nothing and just stood here, stood for the whole night surrounded by the winter and warmth of other people's lives, and the cat who knew you just about, you,
you would be fine.
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why a jukebox is sadder than a coffin
TOPIC: late night cuddlingl, movie, ice cream, but not sex
http://groups.google.com/group/usc.forsale/browse_thread/thread/a99b54998bfb3104?hl=en
usc grad student here seeking a girl not for sex but to meet up and
have a late night cuddling, watch a movie together, ice cream, etc.
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once the quiet entered him he could not talk. he awoke in nights battling wars, the clamor of speech not ebbing while he whispered into the dark.
there were knots of words he'd saved, he wonders where they got lost.
days of years spent rummaging through crowds, looking for that one face that would hear him out, and now in this pocket of land he's found - those small ears and restful arms - and forgotten how
to hollow his throat and let out
a caress a kiss a call.
she collects his words in her cupped palms, falling lightly on the blooming ground. like a shocked butterfly the night enters her mouth, flutters out without a sound.
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a fairy came-a dancing upon a summer's day.
everyone in class danced to this song when i was six years old. we practised on and on after school, and i'd put up a show for everyone every single boring day when i went home (with noone except my dad clapping all the way till i was done) and then on performance day, when the white fairy dresses arrived, mine turned out too long at the hem, so they couldnt take me in.
doesn't matter love, you hold the paper stars instead. dont look so hurt now, there there, you can always say tinkle tinkle in the end.
a fairy came-a dancing upon a summer's day.
yesterday i taught my drunk friend to dance to it, ten in the night freezing our asses off on an empty, drizzling road, singing aloud like madmen, while we waited for the cruiser home.
this blog has changed places across the globe, if the ten people reading this don't already know. and sometimes i might feel stranded here, but then i am the happiest stranded human on earth.
sometimes i don't believe it is possible to miss a piece of geography so much, and the press of crowds swirling round and round busy victoria terminus.
sometimes, sadness is a rising wave and i am only a girl standing endlessly at her window watching endless steel chimneys spin in the wind waiting for someone to arrive with laughter and feeling. most times though i am the luckiest bum in the universe, who has for no reason at all, won the super bumper lotto three times in a row.
my mom's voice has become my alter ego. i will fold my clothes; i wont drink anything cold. on my way to school each morning, a voice will say i need a warm cardigan, and scold me if i've forgotten to brush my hair again.
don't doze off in the tub don't speak to strangers on roads stop throwing childish tantrums say you're sorry at once nd it's raining for godssake stop wandering alone like a homeless soul
for the record mom, i have picked too many fights, all petty and ungrateful and haven't apologized once. i lack the grace to admit it but i'm sorry all the same and i miss my bathtub and the music we played past midnights most. i should've bought that cardigan instead i got a fancy useless coat; i am more absent minded now than i was back home. i speak to all the strangers i can and i still forget which hand to write and chop onions with and in which to hold a fork
and eight thousand miles away the rains still wait for me to step out the door
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