Protest Guantanamo. Go on then, do your thang...

I kind of feel like I can't really talk to my friends. Or maybe it's that I can't really talk to anyone about the relationship I'm having with them. We can talk about other things. Or pretend to talk about other things. But it's touchy to talk about "us". Whoever we are. And it sucks. People are lame. I used to like them, or so I thought. But now I don't. Now I'm blogging instead.

Posting Can Be Fun

When I was a kid I had this book that I loved!! That's right, Manners Can Be Fun. I AM SO COOL!!! I had another one titled something like Cleanliness Can Be Fun. (?) I can't remember. Anyway, they were wicked old and had these kind of stick figure illustrations. That's all I have on that.

I'm super tired and want to be asleep in bed, but got myself on the PC and well, there are just too damn many things I want to do in life, allllllll the time. I need some clones.

Things are pretty good. Or my attitude is. Like I'm always saying, I'm not sure which matters more. Though I'm certain both are relevant. There are annoying factors going on, but maybe I'm just more hormonally equip right now.

The coming weeks are all planned in 2 hours blocks. Even the happy, friendly good times. Kind of takes some of the charm from life.

Um, yea, I'm gunna' sleep now. OMG! Yea, it's late. Someone please send me some time (belatedly?) for my birthday and for Christmas and just for the hell of it, because you saw it and thought of me and you love me that much and couldn't help but get it for me. I want the big model too. BIG FAT FATHER TIME!!!!

Sabado Noche

I'm going to the sauna. Cuz I'm new age. YES!! Which means I'll be waiting to shower, and I'm so food-service grrrrrosssss. Things seem to be improving for now. Or my attitude is. Is there a difference? Yeah, I guess sometimes. Perspective matters, as do circumstances. (It doesn't have to make any sense to you. Or me. Or anybody honestly. It's mine and I love it just the way it was born of my psyche. Cuz my self esteem in improving and that rocks my cock!!!!)

I'm bummed that Radiskull and Devildoll episodes don't actually play when I go to the sight. No one ever cares about inside jokes that make no sense and I can't let them in on. "Yeah, it's really great, there's this floating skull with spikes and a bandanna, and he's dense, and his best friend is this little red devil who has a requited crush on an angel, and the two friends rap together, and Radiskull loves coffee. It's GREAT!!!" Many blank stares. Many changed subjects. Just like when I talk about Fuckchops. Who INCIDENTALLY is gunna' give that girl another fuckin' kid if they keep at it!! Does she really need THREE?!!! Population crisis. Will the baby seat fit in the sports car? Moving on...

So yeah, a former co-worker, who has a different shitty job now, made us sweet reservations for the sauna tonight. This will be our third time going; I think? Rituals are dynamite. Rituals of the getting really sweaty, non-satanic persuasion.

...though speaking of, my motherhumping stereo malfunctioning causes my eyes to roll back and my tongue to fork. I even retrieved a ghetto-blastin' boom box that ALSO WON'T PLAY MY MUSIC AND I AM ABOUT TO MAKE BLACK PLASTIC SHARDS TO SHOOT THROUGH AN AIR GUN AT NON-SUSPECTING PEOPLE OF ALL RACE, CLASS, AND GENDER WHO ARE ABLE TO JOYFULLY EXPERIENCE THEIR MUSICAL COLLECTION IN THE COMFORT OF THEIR HOMES!!!!!!!!!!!!AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

Um, so anyway, it's been a good day if I isolate it's parts in my brain. And I'm down with that.

Severance Pays

I'm so ready to be over this guy. But like in Heathers, when Veronica says that someone elses head is just going to sprout up in place of the current Heather, I know if it isn't him, it will just be SOMEONE ELSE!! Lord God, relieve me of this obsession. Male addiction is NOT recommended, my friends. Why can't I just fucking habitually smoke pot like everyone else in the county?!!! Pot can't insult me or fuck a bunch of SUV driving bitches. GROSS!!! I can't deal with his persona getting him so laid. Oh, I'd take him as my own without hesitation, don't pay no never you mind. Having him would do wonders to my own persona. He'd raise my worth cuz he leads with his crotch when he walks like the true alfa, engine fixing, opinionated, dark coffee drinking, kayaking Fuckchops he is. AAAAAAAAAAAAA. I forgot that in the title, so there's some AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA for you. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. It's going to pass. And then it's going to be replaced by some other obsession for some other fucking asshole who will reject me and make me feel like shit. Because I am karmically fated to suffer at the scoff of disapproving males.

OH GOD!!! I just found a gray hair. If you'll excuse me I have to go shoot myself for a minute.

My friend emailed me something about some guy who was saying something about how catholics and their guilt are so much more interesting than a guy who knows he's good looking and always has great sex. I don't really know what my point is, except that maybe I need an interesting ex-catholic instead of This Charming Man and the subsequent thoughts of him and sugar plum fairy sluts fucking in my head.

That said, I've been eating sugar for days. I think I'm sabotaging the weight loss I've been enjoying. Well, mostly enjoying, except that I can't successfully dress myself in ways that are efficient for leaving my home. I bought a pair of pants, since none of mine particularly fit. My co-worker/friend said, "Yea, you need more than one pair of pants."

Who knew the depths of my ability to complain would extend to whining about needing to buy new clothes because I've LOST so much weight. I'm a champion complainer apparently. Bring it.

No, I don't want to be all martyr-y and sulking and bitchy and negative. So much practice with looking on the dark side of things though. Oh, it can be fun, can't it? But it drains the lymph nodes of their power, or something like that. Weakens the ol' immune system, brings about more of the miserable same, scares the children, keeps one single, renders one ALONE on many night after many night after many day and night and alone, lonely day and night and following day. Not that I'm always pissed or bummed, cuz I don't think I am. AM I? No, I don't think I am. I spread my sunshine. Like shmear. I'm good at spreading incidentally. Or is it consequently? Can it be both? Anyway, working at a bagel shop gives me quite the ability to spread. All day long. But that's kind of a tangent, while the rest of what I write on here is linear and full of purpose and insight.

That fuck bag!!! Why did he even enter my realm? I began by calling him The Mirage and then took to calling him The Miracle. But Fuckchops and Fuckbag are really much more true to his personality, now that it's been revealed. Less to do with me and my perceptions or experiences, and more to do with objective reality.

Ummmm...I guess that's plenty for now. The sugar makes me write things. I can't really apologize on behalf of the sugar; I'm generally not authorized to speak on behalf of the sugar. But I am as sweet as the processed refinement that I crave and kill motherfuckers for. And eat in dutiful amounts.

Speaking of, do you watch Aqua Teen Hunger Force? You should. I don't really speak in terms of "should" for the most part. But I feel really confident about that. I bring it up because one media reference isn't enough for a blog post. ANYway, I currently play the role of M.C. Pee Pants it seems. Go forth now. With this important final paragraph to confuse and alienate you.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I'm going to start every post with that. Especially on days when I'm feeling that way. For now I am. I am writing on a day that is not a day at all, but rather a night. I am writing on a night which I have already written and posted. In fact I posted something that was just waiting around to be posted from a different day as well. When it pours in Northern California, I rein. Um, so, right... AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. More letters to Fuckchops:

People die of cancer. They get cancer and they die. Where are you? And who are you with? And moreover why aren't you with me? Blood spewing from puncture wound to heart. Spew. Spew. Spew. Puddle. Drip. Drip. Pool. For the record I completely do NOT get you. And I'm getting to the point where I don't really want to. Ever. Exclamation. End quote.

Oh, so I also remembered why I stopped blogging...BECAUSE THE COMPUTER EATS SOULS AT EVERY MEAL!!!! The computer will, in fact, eat. your. soul. It has entirely digested mine, which is to say completely but I didn't want to repeat that word cuz I already done used it once somewheres upin here. Er, no, I guess I didn't. Well, now I have. I didn't do the things I said I was going to do. But isn't that a given? Does anyone ACTually do what they say they are going to do? How declasse`. How retro of the brown and yellow owl motif verity. No, I dare say that we are a contemporary peoples of none-doing as we claim. Making a statement about the future can NEVER be a fact according to philosophy and everyone who agrees with my professor. Even when I make a claim like, tomorrow is Nov. 10th, 2006? Is that not a true fact about the future? I forgot to try that one on him. Him being my professor that makes me laugh so hard (literally, not sarcastically and bitchilly) that I turned to one of my table partners (like one would have in kindergarten) and said through wisps of sayingness, "He'sssooofuuunnnyy", as though we had rented Chris Rock together. But instead I was obnoxiously the obnoxious girl at the front of the room that no one seemed/seems to EVER understand. (I can switch tenses in one sentence. You learn the rules and then you break them. It's called modern art. Get some.) They don't understand because they are dumb. And boring. And their mom has bad breath. And so does Fuckchop's mom. Have bad breath. And doesn't cook as well as mine. Or my step-mom that is. BUUUURRRNNNN!!

Anyway, so I got back on the computer after having completely AND entirely (now I've used those words gratuitously) logged out, and turned it off, and listened to music in the car, since my fucking stereo has been asking to go to an assisted living facility and I say, "NO! Stop whining! We do fine HERE! You just need to stop all this signs of aging bullshit and produce music like you did when we were young, and in love."

My personal rendition of "Oh, When the Saints Go Marching" is coming along nicely on key board. That is pretty much the only interesting tangent about school I can think of, outside of the wacky professor that makes me slap knees and tables. And bitches. I'm hungry but I already rinsed, flossed, and brushed. In that order. If you can think of a better order, please do not elaborate. New World Order. New Edition. New Jack City. Naxoproxen. Naugahyde. Niygggggah. Word association is totally in.

I'm going to San Diego in January and I'm not sure whether to tell my ex while I'm sober, ahead of time. Which would be proper etiquette, like declaring war civilly. Or just show up drunk, which will likely happen either way. Hmmm. What would you do? Again, don't feel like you need to expound on your experiences with such things. You needn't. I'll do what I want anyway. Or more accurately, what the alcohol wants. With very little regard for what he actually wants. Cuz I'm cool like that. And single like that. And have countless ailments like that. And mental illnesses as well like that.

(That made me laugh audibly. It's too late to be blogging when you openly laugh at your own thoughts in a silent home that only houses yourself. And no music, cuz your stereo is elderly and some how still took your virginity in high school.)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

FUCK SHIT PISS FUCK IN YOUR HEAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am SOOO pissed at my slllloooooooooooowwwwwwwwww computer. WTF? Is it the computer? Is it the internet? Is it satan? I bet it's Fuckchops. Or Henry. I bet it's fucking Henry!!! AAAAAAAA.

Anyway, I read THL and suddenly want to post. I haven't been regularly posting in like...a year. And I never really regularly posted ever, as it were. But that is neither here, in Arcata, or there, wherever there is. I wonder if there is dark and rainy like here, in Arcata. Outside of course. Not in my apt. It's dry and lit in my apartment.

This is a love letter for Fuckchops, who my heart currently belongs to:

YOU SUCK!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!! WHY DO YOU EVER EVEN CONTACT ME?! YOU MAKE NO FUCKING SENSE!!!! I DON'T EVEN LIKE YOU.

What do you think? I wonder if it's too long? I've been told by some dating advice capitalist monger opportunist not to write long messages to guys. Cuz they are turds. And turds don't have very long attention spans. Heh. Turd. Long.

ANYWAAAAYYY...yeah, I never got into blogging enough because of some reasons that I will address in short. Maybe in list form?

1. I don't know how to use a computer

Um, that about sums it up actually. OH, and the non-anonymous issue. Because I set it up in a non-anonymous way. And then just never really was motivated to start a new one. Or didn't care enough? Is there a difference? Motivation? Interest? Hmmm...

Yea. I LOVE reading THL, cuz then I can write whatever I want too. Not that I have adventures and a boyfriend. Or a career. Or a lap top that I know how to use. But just that I have random thoughts and am liberated to put them in small paragraph type thought segments and not edit them. Not to say that THL doesn't edit her shit, what the fuck do I know?

I know that if I don't fucking CHILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL my face is going to fall off. I am not going to go into my medical issues right now, but they are mounting and worsening. They are worsor than they've ever been. Well, actually Halloween was perhaps a pinnacle, nay, the acme of worsenessness. I need to pee and um, cut up my new shirt so it's fashion forward and supah cool for my shitty minimum wage bagel shop job. And sort through papers. The bane of all reality and sent here from the alien demon government monsters to steadily turn me from marginally functional to, say...on the streets babbling to myself about Monchhichi or McDonald's mostly soy burgers and how good they are and would they be considered vegetarian and could I eat one and still say I was a vegetarian and would I want to because I would likely get diarrhea and would it be worth the ring of fire and could I use a McDonald's restroom in that case because even though I was a street person at that point I would very much be a paying customer and they couldn't send the alien demon government monster cops to take me and make me one of them and read my thoughts and send me out to recruit other unsuspecting marginally sane people to merge in to the likes of them.


(update: the computer is still being slow and STILL making me want to put a used catheter in a nice person's mouth. Furthermore it makes me not want to spell check. So, if there are spelling issues, you can blame the internet, or my computer. Or satan, which spell check wanted me to capitalize. They also wanted me to call boys Tarts. I'm not making shit up.)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I have a headache. I have TMJ and tongue thrust. It's been gray and rainy. I am likely living with the consequences of chocolate and beer. I have allergies. I have a virus. I feel totally disconnected from my family. Two of my parents bicker and it's depressing. My mom has mental illness and has always had financial problems. My dad is stubborn. I have to hurry and get a passport. My name is "baby girl" and that presents a problem. My friends are pretty much always dealing with their own hardships. I don't have companionship most of the time. My stereo is broken. I need to do laundry but can't seem to. I need more socks and underwear. I can't find the make-up I bought to replace the make-up that was stolen from my car after the window was smashed out. My car is leaking. I had a terribly uncomfortable conversation with the guy that slowly and steadily has been breaking my heart for over four months. I am probably ovulating. It's my only day off and there's too much pressure to spend it doing important things. I work at 7:30 in the morning at my minimum wage job where I make VERY few tips for lots of work and plenty of crustomer shittiness. I can't look decent at work, because everything gets ruined. Most of my clothes don't fit me anyway. I have WAY too much school reading to do. It's too hard to be happy, it takes too much work. Like reiki, yoga, meditation, pure diet, vitamins, positive thinking, exercise, honesty but not complete honesty, and avoiding substances. SO much fear, pressure, physical pain, disappointment, confusion, emptiness, etc. And then I go directly to feeling defensive, because I have shame for being bummed.

NNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!

No more thinking!!! No more analysis. No more mulling or figgerin' or dialoguing.

OOOMMMMM...

And yet I feel so lonely. Must talk to someone.

Do I Even Know How to Use This Thing?

This could be great. I started blogging and wanted feedback, but never really got much and the whole thing was so unsatisfying. But I've been having all these thoughts lately and when I talk to people they want to talk back at me. Solve my problems, fix me, dismiss or minimize. Give me some fucking trite, invalidating, or HIGHLY personalized perspective and play like God, wrapping up my feelings and experiences into neat packages so they can feel better about my being in discomfort. Well, here I am. At the keyboard, remembering the beauty of the black hole blog. By now everyone has stopped checking for updates I'm sure and I can just floooooow. Perfect. It's raining today and I decided not to pick up a work shift, even though I need the money to support a newly acquired Aveda habit. So basically I paid $50 to do nothing today. Like a cover charge at the door of my apartment. Still I could use a week of this at least. There is SO much nothing that I need to do. I think shopping might feel good. I've been out of the shopping practice for years. Then threw myself back into consuming and had to take a break. I know everything I purchase is exploitive and I already have more than I need. Let's see....is there anything really crucial to spill? Mostly I journal a lot, so it isn't that my thoughts aren't getting out of me. They are. I am just THAT self centered and absorbed. I have THAT many thoughts and feelings in a given hour. I need to journal in a notebook, journal on-line, talk, pray, take pills, meditate, just to expel the rapid fire observations, opinions, perceptions, theories, conclusions, confusions, delusions, pressures, and contradictions. Being me is complex. I'm not a fucking rotten turd, I realize I'm not brilliant, but I fucking think a lot and get all stimulated by simple happenings. Whatever. I don't have to defend myself, because it's my blog and no one is listening and I don't care. I'm working on self acceptance. Well, I don't know if I'm working on it, but it's a theme. Today the theme is Focus on School Work. It's true that if I want something in my life I need to practice that. That is to say, if I want happiness than practice happiness, or do things that bring happiness. If I want love, patience, energy, confidence, etc. So if I want to focus on my school work (which we all know I abso-fucking-lutely totally don't) then I need to practice it. Not wait for God to miraculously make me interested in my studies like Glenda. But rather show some fucking willingness. But I think I'm going to the mall instead. Mira got a kickin' zip-up hoody there and it's raining and I NEED long sleeves. Then I can hit a support group meeting and maybe dinner. Share my insanity with others. That's fun. And then MAYBE pick up a school book tonight, when I'm home. But I doubt it. I'm not claiming to be a victim. I know it's a procrastination of my making. I wonder though if it's the subjects, or the way in which I'm taught? Or if I'm just too self absorbed to give a fuck about what other people think, and I just want to think my own thoughts and think about what I think and how I think about that? Drinking water is important. And breathing. Breathing is really important.

Unsolicited

You were going to call me tonight.
When you were done having dinner with "“friends"”.

What if I wasn'’t taking a bath this evening?
Straightening up my place,
practicing piano,
buying an Edie Brickell song from itunes?

All the while thinking about school reading;
and You.

What if I was adoring another man?
Playing with his balls?

Would that bother you?

I know you could do better.
That isn't the point.

So could I.

I went to your home uninvited.
Your best friend answered my drunken knock.
Door locked.

I couldn't really focus on the lawn adornment.
Pepper plants, bicycle, clothesline, kayak...

Table made by your own affectionate hands.

So I just looked up.
The haze passing by the near-full moon was possibly
the best moment of the evening.

I tried to call first.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.
BEEP!

I wonder if I stand real still
if I stand a chance?

I don't know if anyone is still out there, but I guess it's pretty much inconsequential. Things have been steadily improving. Financially, internally, with work, with Him ("Him" being the sexy man, not the large, proverbial "Him" in the sky, though that relationship is likely improving as well). I am taking to calling him The Miracle, instead of The Mirage. As he still calls and comes by after all my awkward neediness. It's progress. I'm sure it would be super cool to write about something other than me, my life, my thoughts, my feelings, my experiences, my opinions, my perspective, my obsessions, my interests, my loved ones, etc. But I don't really see that happening any time soon. Maybe that is something I could challenge myself with? Step away from the Carrie. Most topics seem trite/cliche'/discussed already, so why not just super indulge in self? Good rationale? In some pathetic moment of desperation, (that's my excuse for being lame, what's yours?) I signed up for dating related internet "advice". Mostly it just served to utterly confuse and shame me. Well, still does. It's all set up as though I'm the J Lo character in a high budget movie who has access to 7 single men with different Ken doll personas, and I need to be selective about which plastic mound I mount. Not taking into consideration the nuances of my unique personality and desires. Nor the reality of the affect that moods, past hurts, addictions, mental illness, physical disease, finacial hardships, personality disorders, familial strife, and not being J Lo have on my 3 dimensional relationships. Still I can appreciate what they're trying to do. Capitalize on women's insecurities. It's a noble pursuit that is guaranteed fiscal gain, so if nothing else I honor their shrewd business skills. If I can keep from purchasing an ebook and just stick to the self flagellating free emails, then I win.

Why My Life Sucks ~by Carrie

My life sucks because I'm a spoiled American (like I already told you) and I think I need something, when in fact, I have everything I need. I am safe and fed. But nooooo, I want romantic love. Which is a lot like wanting a space ship to land in my living room with all the disney characters in it, and all the aliens and disney characters to prance around my house and make Grateful Dead music and bake fresh bread in my oven. And then leave me $2900 for a shit kickin' time in my pad. That is the equivalent of what I want. Only a little more realistic. And that makes me want to cry. So I'll see you in another week. Or something.

Ummmm

Yeah. So I don't really have any solidified thoughts. And so that is why I don't type shit on my blog. But whatever. "Why should I? Solidify, and make me real, so you can see me?" (~Sheryl Crow) Lots going on in my head, cuz that's how I live, yo. Thinkin'. And it don't stop. There seems to be a list of things that grows exponentially, it buds and multiplies itself. One errand leads to another. Projects blend, conversations lead to more conversations. My ass itches. What was an excruciating sunburn has "progressed" into antagonizing torment. Whatever, it's fucking always something. This summer alone was the foot injury, the stomach flu, and 3 sunburns. Don't give me that, "Why don't you put on sunscreen?" lip either. That's not up for discussion. I will be discussing how slow I am to technological advancements and procuring them in my life. I put in an order for caller ID this week. See? And I STILL don't have a cell phone, but need one every...OH, HOUR ON THE HOUR!! So...the rules and regulations of life are really hindering me.

Do: exercise, drink water, meditate, smile, tip well.

Don't: drink alcohol or caffeine, watch t.v., bask in the sun, or demand things of males, even if they are reasonable things that they would enjoy, and they often claim to want themselves.

It's all too much. The pay off isn't even walking on water. For me it's like, not wanting to kill yerself and shit. I mean that's kind of a mellow dramatic exaduration, but not really. If I play by most of the social rules I have some how acquired along life's breezey, zippidy do dah way, then I get what? The man? The glizt and glam? The nice T and A? Approval? Realistically I get some moments that aren't saturated with shame. And that's about it. I am not even guaranteed to live longer or laugh more. I don't know what I'm talking about. I'm done.

Surly

You flash your smile
make me wanna' flash somethin' pretty
we were waitin' on a miracle
we were both pushin' thirty
you surround yourself with smoke, good music, Marley fans, and other girlies
left alone my heart gets surly

You place your hand upon my skin
my mind begins to wonderin' "Is somethin' happenin'?"
How could I do this to myself again?
Is there no end?

We're friends
just friends

When I inhaled as you exhaled sweet air
when my lips hovered, did you want 'em there?
And when your voice goes in my ear
you know what I want and where

But we're friends
just friends

Maybe if your eyes didn't look like the river running through my life
maybe if your sent didn't get me thinkin' so indecent
and ooh, your sound
if I didn't need you around

We could be friends
just friends
good friends

Uh uh you go, titillating all my senses
I told you baby, I was sensitive
now we've got up our defenses
when we meet again

Will we be friends?
just friends
good friends
more than friends?

I don't know. You tell me. Zaadz...

I DON'T CARE!!!!

Today fucking sucky suck sucked. And I don't care. If you think I am a whiney bitchy brat then that is for you to think and me to be. Things have been looking up, but today was a set back. At least that's what I want to think. I have a 9th degree sun burn on my ass and it makes me vulnerable in too many ways. I have been trapped in a pattern of addiction for so long, and it feels heavy and taxing. I don't want to listen to myself, so I'm shutting up.

Sat. Sun. Mon. Tues.

So many days pass, and I think I'm not interesting enough to write anything, so I don't. I've been busy. Busy obsessing, I suppose. I likely just don't manage time well, because I think of all these things I could do, or "should" do, and am clearly not doing them. Like blogging. Like putting the letter to my mother in the mail. Like putting letters in the mail to my friend who was wrongfully sentenced to life in prison; and is fighting for his freedom for the 2 or 3rd year now.

It's a sunny day and I was drug out of my house by a friend from C.C. to the Mad river. Which brings me to the song that Devin wrote called "Carrie U." In which he says, "Carrie there is beauty like the Mad river underneath your skin, and I am grateful for your invitation in". To which I said, "Is there no beauty above my skin?" Aren't I a spoiled brat? Someone wrote this most amazing, touching, gorgeous song about me, and I hear, "Carrie you are inadequate".

Anyway, next I will address the Jenns. So many Jenns, and I want to thank them all. Thanks to Jenns for commenting. For listening, caring, being strong women, dragging me to the river, inviting me to OR, telling me I'm doing a good job, wanting what's best for me, being loyal, kind, loving, honest. Jenns are fab.

Work is improving, but I'm spoiled there too. It's nice to have an income. Super nice. It's also really easy for me to be sucked into consumerism. Wanting bigger, newer, prettier, softer, shinier, more.

Interactions with Marc the Mirage are possibly improving as well, but it's definitely easy to want more there.

In conclusion, I am spoiled. Which we already knew, as it is directly stated in the "about me" section of this blog. I didn't set out to restate that proclamation, but there it is.

Carrie Starr yo.

WHY?

I spent the whole day
worshiping the sun
because god
was like a serrated knife
in my rib cage

nobody needs to know
of the damage all that
curiosity did
to my ability to reason

neither does anyone need to take a stab at it

the only thing goin' down
on these steamy,
evening colored streets
is the blazing hot topic of
"Who did this to me?
And why?"