{ I am tired still. }

this Life is hard work, I say. Thirsty and sleepy. not as it should be. I have been feeling very low. very unhealthy. very spiritually irresponsible. I hate feeling this way. things are difficult at the moment. and I am pining over hope. I have some, but my Thirst seems to be distracting me. but Thirst too, is good. so I shall sleep now. and Tomorrow is brand new Day, alongside the tender Mercies. Pray for me, if you do pray, and if the mood should strike.

{ Joe or Casey; the Dead man. }

a diabolical breath fill the lungs of this sorry sailor. a Man died today. another servant of our alcoholic mistress. there was a party on his behalf. his ship finally came in. his ship did sail. and now, he stands at the foot of God. pleading his case. like We all will.

I did not know this Man. but he was alive at the same time as myself. we may have met. I don't know. nor would he. but he is dead now. and for a while, I am still here, with the living, at his death party. I hope that when I die, there is just as much ham, in honor of me.

I have had three hundred death parties of my own, and for myself. each one spent alone. with a drink in my hand, ringing in the new age, the reinvention. after each one, drunk, I tell myself I am dead, and Tomorrow is the first of many Brighter Days. come morning, I wake to the same swollen eyes, still who I was, still who I am. still alive.

tonight, I drink to the old Man I didn't know. who I will probably never know, at least not here, amongst the living.

thank you for the ham.

{ mess. }

i'm a mess. very tired. probably hung over. because i'm an alcoholic. come on now megan. get it together. must find secret place to hide in. i have a stupid meeting at 9:15. but i really just want to crawl back in bed. or at least change out of the crazy clothes i am wearing. i'm sporting two very different and very intense patterns. this sucks. for no reason except than because i do. not making sense. been very self-deprecating as of late. feeling lost. need solitary adventure. and a sandwich. oh man. my body feels so acidic right now. heart burn.

{ wearing white to the wedding. }

today meant work. plans for the Great Reformation of myself. as i walked to the bar, in order to continue my long, unending farewell to whiskey, a man quickly past beside me, announcing, "passing on your left." as he continued up the sidewalk, he approached a large bush to his right. lackadaisically, he extended his right hand and gently brushed the outermost leaves with his fingertips. not thinking twice. just doing what delighted old men do.

in the bar i sat, and ordered a bourbon. it happened that this same man found the stool next to my own. slight in stature, and dressed like a man his age, baseball cap, short-sleeved, button-up orange plaid shirt, khaki's shorts, each one side too big, and sneakers, he sat and said, "you probably hate me..." in a slightly jovial manner.

+

you are a lamb. shepherded away.
betrothed to a will.
these days are meant for doing.
for seeing truth and speaking justice.
the world is filled with ravenous wolves.
i am a loyal servant.
a domesticated beast of peace.
the is the world and the wild.

raised by the saints
estranged myself and found family
with the wolves.
treacherous wolves they were!
now i remain beastly and seek
good in the world.

+

{ muddle. }

i've been ingesting a lot of visions lately. other people's vision. reading comic books and watching movies. and let me say, comics are like crack. i love art and poetry and literature and film, but none of these seems to stick to my brain like a good graphic novel. i want to read more/other comics, but require long pauses in between. to find myself again. i live in other people's worlds, and i live in my own made up one. i would like to come down from the clouds now, but it's a lot harder than it sounds. my brain is very muddled. as though all my senses are filtered. i woft through the mornings and afternoons. lately, i've become irrationally angry at times. life is funny. strange days are these. look up, lest we lose ourselves.

{ for the sake of civility. }

i have a really hard time getting involved with politics. i don't like them. in my experience, any discussion turns into argument. and people try to make other people feel stupid.

{ sometimes back to earth. }

wanna know what's exciting???

THIS:





it's so GREAT! i'm trying not to think about it. because it'll consume my thoughts. i just got home from camping. there's nothing quite like this unclean smell i am exuding right now. it pleases me. last night in fact, i was asked to read bedtime stories to a hoard of kids. i had some Bourbon in me, mind you, but i think it was just the right amount to help make the stories even more passionate. i actually told a story from Fables: 1001 nights, of why the big bad wolf is so big and bad. but about half way through i remembered that there was lots of gore and people eating, so i tried to clean it up a bit. eventually i just gave up.

oregon is a beautiful state. i'm happy to live here, and wish to take more advantage of it. i need to figure out transportation, in order to camp more. that's the only time i wish i had a car. for drives to the coast. mystery weekends. camping. i drove around on friday, just running errands, and let me tell you, at the end of it all i was grinding my teeth. you move so quickly through the world. there's no effort. not like on a bike, where you're working to get to where you need to go. and it makes you feel good. driving is only fun on long distances. so i think that's about enough driving to last me for the next six months.

i'm gonna go sit in the hot tub now, and read watchmen.

{ diarrhea city. }

it is true that i didn't think too much about the hot tub. i thought, "oh, that will be nice. to sit in the hot tub." but my brain didn't go much farther than that. but oh, gourd, i got home last night, put on my bathing suit, and soaked with a glass of wine, and let me tell you, it was phenomenal. honestly. so the new house is going well.

why do people where those spandex bike suits? i don't quite get it. maybe it's beyond me. because i understand their aerodynamic properties, they don't flap around or get caught on anything. but really, i mean, are they totally necessary? can someone please explain this to me? i'm sitting in the cafe and dudes are pulling up for lunch in this outfits that don't leave much to be imagination. why? maybe this is the future. maybe i am living in a futuristic age. and i don't even realize it...

my G.I. tract does not get along with lentils. not ever. diarrhea city, population: me. (i can't ever remember how to spell diarrhea. i always spell it diarriah. which is incorrect.)

ps. can someone send me a journal. i need a new one. and yes, there is always the promise of me writing a story about you. i can even make one up. a really adventurous one that you can read to your kids. ok. my mouth tastes like old coffee now. i'm becoming that teacher. the one who smells like poo, but it's really just horrendous coffee breath. sorry kids. now i have to go find a dresser. or something to put stuff on.

{ just like honey. }

this day seemed to spell disaster. but i think it will turn out okay. i ate oatmeal with brown sugar, and boy, let me tell ya, it hit the proverbial spot. now i'm drinking peppermint tea out of Vicki! Vicki! is my mug. i found her at goodwill, all white with black letters; she called out to me.

so this is day three of sobriety. it's going well. phase one is complete. now onto the next venture: food. by the time this is all said and done i'll be as clean and humble as a new born babe. free of alcohol, caffeine, gluten, nicotine, and just generally down to alkaline foods. steamed vegetables. raw fruit. sounds good, eh? i might also kick dairy. but i'm wondering about raw milk's potential. the hardest will be cigarettes, of course. that's why i'm saving them for last. anyway, it's time to abort this school and go find some coffee and a hiding place. it's a dreamy day, where i could fall asleep in memories.

{ eff this. }

i don't like parties. anymore, i really don't like drinking. but getting to that point where i can keep myself from drinking, well, that's a horse of a different colour. i need another adventure. i'm about to move into a nice place, with a fire pit, plum tree and hot tub. with my own private balcony. and the change will be oh so nice. but i need to go on some form of adventure. some trip needs to transpire. i need to make fellowship friends. not drink until you hate yourself friends. now i'm not saying that people i know and love now are like that. don't fret little ones. i'm just very bored of booze. i'm sick of writing about it all the time. i want to learn how to do things! like carpentry and auto mechanics and how to raise chickens. i want to make things out of trash. i want to be ever so peaceful. and look good in coveralls. harvest. and then move to spain. come on, self. let's getta move on.

{ i am hilarious. }

sometimes i think i'm really funny. hey, do you know what's exciting? fall. fall is exciting. it's my favourite season. maybe i'm just saying that because it's new and fresh, and exactly what i need. here's a bad dream i had once, taken from the archives of this very blog, from 2003:

Wow, worst dream ever... Last night I had this horrific dream. Where does my mind come up with this stuff. Dreams make me think that there are definitely demonic presences. Honestly. I woke up and I thought my heart was going to explode. My chest hurt so badly because it was beating so hard. Seriously folks. It took me about ten minutes to calm myself down to the point where I was normal. I was paralyzed. You know, when you have a terrible dream, and you cannot move, no matter how hard you try. This dream was really fucked up. And I felt a lot of badness in the room when I awoke. So I didn't move. I was all sweaty. It was scary. After about an hour, I'm supposing because I didn't even look at the clock, I turned on the light in my room, and just laid in bed for two more hours. There was something really big running around on the roof, too. Maybe not that big, but I'd say raccoon sized. I HATE bad dreams, I get them all the time. I just couldn't believe how fast my heart was racing. And the dream was really vivid. Nothing in the dream happened to me, but I was watching everything. And it was frightening. Very fucked up. The thing I remember the most was when the girl jumped into the car (she was stealing it...I just thought of that) the keys had a little rubber skull key chain. Weird, why was that in my dream, why so much detail. This is the dream: (This beginning part is in first person) I walk down the street and come across this building with odd, paper signs on the front window. It's a store, and I don't remember what the signs said. I go in, and the walls are mustard yellow, with an orange band following the wall. It's a vintage clothing store. Weird clothes everywhere. Not all vintage. Polka-dot shorts. The clothes are hung in weird places. They aren't at eye level, there at waist level. I'm looking around the store. The resister in the the middle of the room. In the far left corner there is a section of vintage dolls and stuffed animals, like Rainbow Bright and Strawberry Shortcake and characters from Sesame Street. Interesting store. Then I'm in the watching perspective (omnipresent? ... I don't know), outside the store. It is night time now, and some bad shit is going on, and I don't remember what it was, just a really bad, evil feeling came over me. The store looked deserted and gross. I'm looking across the street from the store ,now. Whatever it is that is bad is there. It is this folding blob, not a blob exactly, but it's this substance that's melting together. It is pure evil, I can tell, I can just feel it. It talks, and I don't know what it says, but the idea is that someone is cursed, and it's going to kill them. Now I'm watching this girl, she's blonde and very pretty. She goes into her apartment. There's a guy in the other room, and she knows the guy, but it isn't him, he's possessed or something by this evil thing. But not just possessed, he's, I guess, dead, and this creature is using his body. He was the cursed one, and now he's going to kill this girl. She's cursed now. The guy makes some remark about how they are going to have sex or something. For some reason I was waiting for him to say this. He sounds very fake and awkward. Then I'm watching this man. He's with a friend, standing at the bottom of the stair. I watch from above. They talk, they're both possessed. I find out he's possessed at this point, because his friends starts rubbing the front of his neck, and it's like he's overcome by this feeling. His head goes back, and the front of his neck begins to look like a spine. His neck gets really long, and finally he tells his friend to knock it of and whips his neck back into place. I think while I was watching this part I took on the roll of the blonde girl for just a moment. The next thing I see is this girl running. She's running as fast as she can because she found out about that guy. She's running through the grass at night, but she can't run fast because I'm dreaming, and I want her to run faster but she can't. She can only take these long strides. She finds out the guy is following her, and she's frantic. She runs past this cop, but he's cursed too, so he can't help her, he's going to die soon anyway. The man that's chasing her has lost all human form, and has become some sort of creature. The only way I can think to describe it is Werewolf, but it isn't one, It's a really fucked up wolf. it's hideous and disgusting. It's face is long and full of teeth. It's chasing this girl who's scared to death, she doesn't want to die. She reaches this car, it's a hatch-back old car. Like a short station wagon. It's tan both outside and in. The keys are in the ignition, they have a skull key chain, and she starts the car. She's frantic and clumsy, but she manages to do everything alright. At this point, the cop she past is at the passenger window pounding on the door, but it's locked, he's screaming. He's going to die. She pulls out, and tries to drive away. The monster has caught up to her now, and is running beside the car. It's shrieking. It's screaming, and I can't even begin to describe what it sounds like, the worst noise I have ever heard in my life. She's trying to drive away as fast as she can, but once again, I'm dreaming so she can't drive very fast. I want her to drive fast so badly. This wolf thing is still chasing her, she rams it with the side of her car, and pulls down a different road. She was on Main St before. She turns right, and then left. She's going really slow, and I want to cry. When she turns left the wolf is there, and she hits him and runs him over. She tries to accelerate, but she can't. The wolf is holding onto the bottom of the car and she can't drive away. She's gonna die. Then I woke up.

Yeah. I got an A in my computer class! Go me.

also, it should be said, that i am a terrible speller, but after editing this post, i realized, i was a horrific speller. i'm doing much better now...

{ old ironsides. }

lots of things are happening. here are some of them:

-school (as in the teachy kind)
-church (as in the learny kind)
-looking for home (fingers crossed, this seems to be going well)
-considering gallery (called "ironsides")
-fall is today (very exciting)
-still trying to not drink, but eat well (constant struggle)

but it's a lot of stuff. i've been working 60 hour weeks for two weeks now. not so fun. i think what's exciting about all this work is the underlying desire to see it all work out. and maybe it won't. but it is inspirational. i feel inspired. i'm gonna go drink some tea now.

{of love and hate.}

i just ate a lot of hot sauce. it was delicious. made me sweat under my eyes and on the upper lip. my mouth is on fire. oh hot sauce, you make me a fool. but when i get a taste of you, it seems i can't stop until i've absolutely debilitated myself with your strength. you make me vulnerable. how will this ever work? how can we succeed? every time i have you in my clutches, i'm like a drunkard. craving your spicy powers. devouring every last drop, while you char my innards. leaving me wallowing in miserable bowl movements for days. curse you and your flavour! the complexity of your finger licking goodness!! and the diversity of your many brands. this can't stand. you are destroying me. or am i destroying myself...

{fat lady.}

i'm pretty sure i'm a "fat lady". i don't really feel like one. i know i'm doughy. but when i look at pictures of myself i look enormous.
well... back to the drawing board...

{kid plague.}

the first week of school was murder. i've contracted what is now know (by me/to me} as "kid plague." which is the product of suddenly being around a hundred and fifty children all of the sudden. i might as well be eating germs like a big bowl of cereal. on a lighter note, i went to church today, and followed this with brunch prepared by the bee at his workjob. it was very satisfying. i like being the kind of girl who orders exorbitant amounts of food and eats it all. there's a bonnie prince billy line that goes "You wore no shoes and ate like a leopard" and i feel that line fits me quite well. eating is good. i like it. especially after lots of hard work on my body, like riding from ne 9th/rosa parks to se 52nd/division. anything that makes me thirst. it's a righteous thirst. now if only i can stop drinking... and find a new place to live. pray for me. i have a lot of work to do.

{the magic boring.}

the magic boring is what sage and i call the grocery store when we are on adventures through neverland. or through oz. or whatever land he is currently reading about. i haven't told anyone this yet, but, i'm dying. very very slowly. it won't be too long now. i am dying because i am so boring. the most boring person in the world, actually. i am so tired. and sick. the kids germs flocked to me this week, taking over my system. things are out of whack. i'm gradually figuring the rhythm of the day, things are coming together. i've pretty much worked at least ten hours every day this week. and i work tomorrow at the waffle box. and sundays contain childcare too. i don't really feel it until i sit and thing about it, like right now, so i won't think about it anymore. i may be boring, but whatever. i'll just be alone and boring. that way no one will really know just how boring i am, because there won't be anyone there to ask me what i do, or hang out with me, or call me on the phone, or stop over for a drink. god, i am ridiculous. something has to give, because my brain is in a different dimension right now. everything/one is out of their minds. i just want to cuddle.

{farewell, despereaux.}

today i found a baby mouse in the kitchen at school. he was trapped in a tub and looking very tired. i showed him to a teacher, who screamed and ran from the room. i had no idea people were so afraid of mice in real life. it always seemed like a cartoon thing.

i named him Despereaux, after the mouse of Tales, and after introducing him to many children, i set out to release him. for some time we walked around the school, then the block. i wasn't quite sure where to free him, what with so many houses around. finally i got tired of walking up and down streets with a huge, green tub filled with a mouse. and at a pleasant enough looking street corner, in front of a house that looked like it might already have mice, i turned him loose.

he slid from the bottom of the box slowly, and onto the sidewalk. where he sat, lazy eyed for some time. "be free!" i said, to which he waddled a bit and then laid down. after staring at him for a while, i helped him back into the tub with my shoe, and took him down to the church basement for a rest.

i gave him a handful of mulch chips, a blanket, half a string cheese, a baby carrot, and a quarter piece of pita bread. he didn't move for a while, just crouched facing the corner. eventually he made his way to the pita, placed a paw on the edge and started nibbling slowly. it was awesome to watch his little mouth.

Despereaux slept for a long time. it seemed he needed to rejuvenate after what i assume was a long stay in the green tub, and all the children fawning over him. when the end of the day arrived, i took him outside. he was running all over the box, obviously feeling revived. behind the church, in a nice green area, i tipped the box again. little Despereaux quickly made his way under the closest tiny shrub. "goodbye, Despereaux." i said, waving softly. he turned, as if to acknowledge my farewell, and scurried on into the unknown...

{one step forward, two steps back.}

i finished a journal last night. school started on wednesday. i still need an assistant, and it's murder trying to organize a room of fifteen kids who just got out of school alone, in addition to being in a gigantic auditorium, where each child is just losing themselves in that great amount of space. i'm hungry and weirded out about everything.

{calling quits.}

i have a lot of things to say, but don't really want to talk about it here. it's nothing i haven't said before. nothing i haven't felt before. maybe i haven't felt this exact way before, but pretty close. the basics are the same. i'm tired.
.

{another broken psalm.}

save me by the blossoms
by bike rides and clean laundry
the fresh fruits eaten by morning
the sweat of my brow.
and the sweet words of night.

pray for me. as a father.
as the farmer
sifting hands
through the parched soil of spirit
on the hottest days of the year
pressing taught and tanned
face and fingers
into the corroded earth within me.
your breath is mineral.
breathing out and into dirt
taking in malignancies

sleep there.

rest your head upon my heart.
hum unto its beatings.
and beneath everything
the folds of my thoughts
the darkest parts
cause the sweet sting of love
to infiltrate my dreamings.
lacing your hands with my nerves
squeezing through the sinew
and scratching at the pit of my stomach
where all the old blood lies

every rib is yours
that you could break
if you wanted.
flush through the arteries
be my true synapses

building a home
where the old stood

oh, i am reminded

constantly.
and made new by the sun.
.
.
.
i rode home on my bike. it was late afternoon. peering out at blinding sun. i am a woman weeping to the Lord. and hoping no one notices. that no residence happen to be looking out their kitchen windows as i pass, to see my face contorted. painful to the point where i speak aloud my longings. please, please, i pray, i am so alone. and it is fine. and it is good that i would have this time to become so reliant on a power not mine own. except sometimes, although rarely, it seems i can't function without the help of others, who also love You. i say oh, i want to speak of Your wonders. but there is no one to talk to. and i ride my bike home crying drinking whiskey.

where have all the friends gone? the ones that praise. i felt i tried to keep them, in my own ways, despite my follies. i felt that if they loved You, they should love me as well. and embrace me like a sister. that although i lacked so much, they were still called to love me for what it's worth. but they all went away. so i clung to the world and whatever seemed to care. i think about it now. i think about throwing jelly beans at apartment windows bearing brothers who could have leaned out and said, "come up! you are welcome here!" but no one ever did. they left me smoking cigarettes at the bottom of the stairs. was i wrong them. did i distort so much? i feel hurt, why does the world continue to hurt the few feelings i have left. i know there is a Greatness looking out for me, but while i am so separated, i wish i could rejoice with someone. and at moments like these, i want to cuddle with my mother, and have her tell me everything will be okay.

{force feeding sorrow.}

the world broke me
now i stow away,
rebuilt by divinity
bodies cast the shadows
blood on bed and blankets.
there are names to cry
with no response,
fingers without feeling.
a dog barks in the backyard
wanting to be fed
calling out to deaf ears.
the brass tacks of being.
this love can't find you.

once the soul took over spirit
and a sense of self was lost
to the caprices

called out, i came blindly
though the brightest light.
i am praying
to become unsegmented.

the contemplations have passed
and turned into involuntary hunger
for words and feeling.
this is where it takes me
to a hearty artificial grief
force feeding myself sorrow.
where could i be apart from here?
at home and happily longing
out a third story window
not in this false waiting.
feeling the ailing organs turning.
please, remember this emotion
remember this absence.
turning life to mush
thoughts to dust and dreaming
and selling yourself short.
don't go to the bar
on the weekdays
no. not ever.
not ever again.


everything can work out wonderfully. a few alterations. here and there. i'll be like clockwork. before you know it, i'll be golden. i'm half way there already. thank you for my life.

good days and good days! contentment within reach. it's funny how being on a schedule can clear your mind. my mornings are wonderful. things i'm happy for: life, bike, thermos, music, tea, tuna, water, sunshine, shannon, bedtime, my job, organic food, my get-home cigarette, dogs.

strange days strange days! spring makes people crazy for sure. and if they're already a bit nutty, then it's worse. i spent most of this glorious day inside, like a fool. but finally, around six pm or so, i made my way outside. day light savings time occurred last night, granting the sun more time to grace us. so i'm strolling down 21st, not sure what i'm doing, and in passing the grocery, happen upon an attractive white man on bike. blocks later, i see him again, crossing the street. he seems to be smiling, so in turn, i vaguely smile in his direction. since he's biking it, he reaches my corner before i reach his. and maybe i was in his way, and maybe he was trying to cross the street, but he was looking in my direction for some time, and i became flustered and blushing. so i looked at him and smiled very awkwardly, almost embarrassed. my body flushed, and i didn't know where my purpose lay. needing said agenda, i rushed to the park, to sit and work. not five minutes into my park venture, a seemingly drunken burly black man, with incredibly ashy hands, came to sit next to me asking for a cigarette. i presented him with one, and hoped he would leave, so that i could continue with my thoughts and newly found album of delight. he didn't, so i tried to ignore him via headphones. but people don't seem to understand that when one is equipped with headphones, it generally means they don't desire conversation. so i took them off and chatted. he then asked to listen to my music. how in the world!? after politely discarding my headphones, i lieu of personal interest, so what, a stranger might then enjoy their bounty, and simultaneously make me incredibly nervous, while haphazardly benefiting from their musical power!? outrageous and ridiculous, but oh well, i allowed him to partake in the glories of jamie lidell. shortly after this bothersome transition, a man approached me, some "british bloke" asking what i was doing, and offering to share drinks. he gave me his number, and told me to write about him, as this was the present endeavor to which i had adapted. his name was supposedly "nick" and his dog was called "buddy." i decided now was the time to get up to leave, my phone was ringing, and my company sucked. it turned out the burly black man's name was "tod," and he asked me for my number. i turned him down, as gently as i could, telling him i would be at the park again soon, and we could hang out then. so yeah. i'm horribly awkward with men, and don't usually enjoy talking to strangers. it has served me well from time to time, and great stories have been written on account of awkward interludes, but never often. not to mention, the men who approach me never interest me, because they are typically ever so blunt, or just drunk. and how can you be? i've never met you in my life, and i don't really believe in so-called "love at first sight." maybe that's because my romantic relationships have been cultivated through friendship. or maybe i'm just jaded. i think anyone who believes in such an occurrence is simply lucky. good for them. this city bears no shortage of crazies. and a boyfriend seems like a nice idea, but i would like to sort my own issues out, before taken on the load of another soul, which i would gladly do, if the correct circumstances permitted. it also seems the unattractive or crazy individuals talk to me because i'm not horribly attractive myself. i'm not "bad-looking" but i'm neither gorgeous. and i'm nice to boot. so that equation leads me to assume that i somehow strike these men as easy. also i just spilled my beer all over the place...

all the real men. unclothed and unworthy. shall we speak candidly then? oh God, i'm torn. don't tell them i said so, but i'm pining. i'm beginning to know where i am, but really. really really. this is fine. i'm the woman in the long, plaid coat. in the headphones. on the bike. with red lipstick. i say, see me! but what's the use. there will be a day. and i believe it's planned. i pray at night to stop fabricating, but it seems to bring me hope. and tomorrow is a new day. tomorrow does not belong to me. it was not made for me. like so many other things i've taken. i have great hopes! of touching. that which has been given unto me.

{with bee:}

everything is fine.

everything is funny.

yeah..

this is the day.
the daring dimensions
of seasonal subtlety.

we sing songs
and try to talk sense
in spite of
encroaching reason.

this is as well written as you make it
tongues tied to the whipping pole
for no reason, save the wanting
of such situational standards
they say

but the standards take time
to be canonized
and we won't wait
wait bated breath
for whet it's
worth.

life comes so fast at me
dreaming in the wake
pointing bloodied fingers at reality
days age and evaporate
simplified after date
a fluid motion
when it rains it pours
then sun was given to me today
as i was napping
slowing reaching, lazy eyed
like a stretching kitten
and the windows
there is a whole world out there
that night devours peacefully
where loneliness is just a thought
which passes if you let it.

i am a simple child
filled with hope.

sometimes love comes reeling
and i place it in my back pocket
sometimes the thought
of everything i've experienced
everything i've witnessed
the ones i've loved
the places i have sat, drank a beer, drove my car, walked those streets, dreamed in bed, laughed out loud, listened to and touched by those songs, became so still within this world, or grew so loud with love or any emotion, anything i have seen innocently, all these instances come flooding back to me. all at once. and i wonder if i'm wrong. in any capacity, about anything.

it all seemed so real. and it was. the redefinition of myself overwhelms.

i can remember being no older than seven, standing on the edge of a bathroom tub, so that i might see myself in the mirror. pretending to be a young man, a towel around my childlike waist, in the preparation of shaving a creamed face with the red plastic razor, bearing no real blade, but a painted silver strip. staring in the mirror at a still white face, and thinking over and over again, as though the remembrance were crucial, as if i didn't know it now i never would, that i exist.

expensive margarita

separating the wheat
from the chaff.
what makes sense
what is good.
the days i enjoy
that leak away
into heated drunkenness.
bad smells.
direct me towards the light
and everlasting.
having proof
showing worth.
there are steps forward
and the motions back.
onwards and upwards we say
and the day after merriment
i feel nothing
will ever be right again.
knowing the fallacies
reeling back
from my own disappointments
walking away.


all the cool kids

the ghost cars
careening up the street
towards what would be
their impending doom
were they not already ghosts.

my nails are done and shiny
my lips are red
as i'm waiting for the bus
to take me home
i've already left this party
before it even started.

you win, cool kids.
too much for me
and i don't desire the company.

that is to say,
you won't talk to me
and i don't know
anybody.

they come
jaunting up the street
towards what would be
their impending doom
were they not already cool kids.

kissing each other and keeping warm.

that stupid longing
it gets you.
tearing down
and breaking you to pieces
in moments like these.

so i go to bed
and try not to think about it.

so i get drunk
and try not to think about it.

so i stay home
and try not to think about it.


watch out face not mine. i'm dreaming in my wake of faces and firm hands. God help me as i hold my pen incorrectly. learning lessons daily. finding fault in every action. stupid shit. i'm an idiot, and need no one to tell me otherwise. as i drunkenly drop my scarf inn the toilet. as i drop my scarf in the toilet and try to dry it off with paper towels. thinking, well, at least sterility can comes from my body. at least my own piss is sterile.

i'm not right. my heart is in the pit of my stomach. my heart is under my dress. it's not right. boredom eats me out. my fingers tap-tap-tap on the keys, searching for futile information. as my mouth drinks. loosen me up. let me go. maundering. i'm not right. back in the day, i begged for my being. and love came easy in my own heart. it came easily to me. now i'll have a beer. now i'll talk. the sun comes out when i go inside. i say baby love me truly, or don't love me at all. the latter being best. for both parties.

ghosts in the head of my beer. drink them up quickly. they're possessive. that's how they get you. with the ghosts. in the beer. gulp gulp. beer on monday. beer on tuesday. i'm still here. waiting for myself to catch up. drowning out my desires with beer or music or dreamings. that's how they get you. everything's hard to quit once it brings you comfort. even God. the only thing that hasn't let me down. my best habit. reminding me constantly of all the bad ones. this world i'm in is a mess. the world, it sucks you dry. that's how they get you.


the writings of a dead man
born dead.

the rising sun
at the bar with my big hands
i tempted fate
and watched the world wither
like a prophet
sad tears grew in their eyes
when my parents made me
they were loving
and when the world took me
i started grieving
we write each other messages
on the telephone
the world sucks me in
and i am gonna die.
i am gonna die.


establish the work of our hands
hear my cry
with pockets full of sticks
thoughts filled with dreaming.

days are a dangerous reality
the ability to balance
a waking life feels hard to come by.
the blessing called sleep.

last night bore tremendous nightmares.
you were there.
an amalgamation of thoughts and prayers
of life and love. in that place
i was just as much your child
as when you were thirty-two.

today my fingers paw
at paper cups.
seeking warmth blindly
so similar to nightly gnawings.
anymore, i can't stay awake
long enough to wonder.

part of me hopes it happens soon. but it doesn't really matter. when the time is right. when i am right. i dream of it daily. i want to dance with you. butterflies in my tummy. i want the world to witness my joy. i want them to be jealous. not really. i just want the inability to quit smiling like a damn fool. giggling and silly. bathing in compassion. i can't stop believing this. it is my bedtime story. i desire it, as righteously as i can right now. i'm drinking to that hope. giving way to my dreamings.

oh man. this day is half way through. the first part, we will forget. my countenance was lackluster, not the best today. i apologize. to be stoic- not stoic, to be righteous. always. bearing grace and patience. oh God, long lost friend. the news. the fights. the basketball. oregon lotto. "i don't want to come here." is my feeling. the lost flock to the bar stools. most of the time. them or the dreamers like me. barely making it. barely getting by. i come in here to dream of deserts and wilderness. adirondacks. climbing and endless landscapes. am i close? am i getting there? oh God. i hope. because there's always breaking news. someone is always winning. someone always loses. the beauty resides in the spirit. in everything you do. focus. focus. focus.



when i get like this. alone, and recognizing it. i want to abort or execute. i want an absolute. preferable solitude. not this. a self-imposed alone. instead, a place where no one could contact me, even if they truly wanted to. and couldn't contact anyone, even if i wanted to. an all new life. i like this one. i am very blessed, but that idea of absolute loneliness enthralls me. it would either kill. or enlighten.

you learn something from everyone you meet. radiohead on the radio. reckoner. all my dreams. my thoughts. my ideas. personally intense. this is what i have. all in the making. the excitement exhausting. so many good things. as rich as a kingdom. to see the earth.

i went black in the city
all my motions and mannerisms
were shadow.
no one saw me.

i have a never-ending fantasy. everyday it comes to me. i have abandonment issues. and my skin is especially sensitive today. i am hungover. but not in the typical sense. my hangovers are true emotion. i am a fool for many reasons. the prospects of manliness are alluring. i lived the first eight years of my life on Prospect Street. North, to be exact. an encouraging notion. a hopeful thought. but spiders have typically tried to shack up in my bedroom. so i am wary. i usually squash them. eventually. only after they poison me.

+

can i just say, can i just say, that the strange man sitting behind me, writing in his large yellow pad book, with blue ink, is ROCKING in his chair and it's about to drive me bat-shit insane. he creaks in such a way, it makes me sick to my stomach. please stop old man. do us all a favour.

to be continued...
.
.
.

{the meaning of wolves.}

take to spirit kindly, beasts
the trees call to us the same
our refuge is God-given.

the wilderness in which spirit has been lost
for many years, it bleeds out an empty wound within
and spirit was anointed
gathered
up in arms
and placed beside myself.
no adjustment comes with ease.
there are apparitions among these stoney fields
would love to see a spirit vanquished
at human alters
and likely lap the blood from beneath.
they have done this to me.
on the nightly at times
when blood was all the vapors seemed to bear.
but confusions are a bore
this gift was never meant to be so complex
the heart will ache
but only as much as is allowed.

breath wishes to shed its humanity
the way it drinks. and eats smoke.
any delusion of grandeur
and simply be a breeze
through out the earth.
before, all i had managed
was the long exhale
that shepards into sleeping.

the wolves found spirit there
sometimes, great in size
in cherry blossom gardens
they kept watch through tall grasses
and the foxtails
napping beside me in the sun.

but there are other blackened wolves
with skin pulled tight
along thin bone they bark and rave
guided by wicked phantoms wishing harm

even in wake
spirit met many attempted wolves
clever and boastful.
they cannot seek the soil as we do.
dead and in the dirt
i will grow into efflorescence
the land will lift me up.
and the poor and angry wolves
falter in the fields.
so sorry and seeking what can't be found.


there were no victims. if you are going to play this game, you should have known ahead of time that only the solid survive. you are only as weak as you allow. the trick is, no one can manage on their own strength. and there is a Greater Power.

i go through my days feeling more and more detached from just about everything going on. sometimes i don't even see or hear what's happening around me. i don't even feel its presence. upon noticing it, i am apathetically disgusted. when people call me on the phone, i switch to a more amiable self. but have grown tired of this alteration. in spirit, i am completely separated from the world, and rarely do i wish to join into its fancies. there have been times of course, in which i wish to present myself as "put together." wearing clothes and looking sharp. but these episodes are short lived. very rarely do i wish to speak with anyone. because it seems the vast majority have squelched their souls to such a degree that they only manifest themselves as talking meat. i know the spirit resides. but no one wants to speak of such things. and were i to do so, the notion of arrogance might be delivered. or stupidity.

in the heat and cold of these days i prefer my silences. allowing eyes to sweep the awesome vegetation, and devour the wonders provided by dirt. to smell my own scent and sleep in the sun with a belly full of fruit. my heart is not hard, maybe selective, but it seems inappropriate of me to be so. compassion and empathy are altruistic treasures. forever i have radiated these splendors like the stars at night, and remain in such a state. but this is a lonely epoch. not at all in the mournful ways, just silent. and finding comport in a living God. and seeking direction.

the hope living within me is infinite and infallible. my desires are prepared of holy stone. or carved from a righteous wood. but i am not the honer of these sacraments. although my wish is to perfect them. down to the art of living. wrapping them in peace and justice. touched delicately by the wrought hands of divinity. i sing along with patience, and bask in her simple pleasantries. my resting pillow is the hand of God. and my dreams befall the descendants of Boaz. plucking at my heart strings, like an all too distant harp.

friend, i will meet you in the woods. in the forest, where all is quiet, and still.
.
.
.

{potter wasp.}

scariest thing ever.

{huh?}

batman is best. oh gourd. it sure is good.

i need some time alone kids. my head is full. as is my stomach. i think i'm mostly tired and dehydrated. it's hard to keep up the health plan i've been on since coming home. i hadn't been drinking for a while. or eating anything but fruit. now i'm drinking and eating lots of chicken. i feel exhausted. emotionally and physically. and mostly just altogether strange about everything. i love my family a whole lot. that is about the only thing i know for sure. and i hope i do enough for them. tomorrow i'm going to paint a cabin. now i'm going to eat some chicken. and go to bed.

{think about life.}

have i mentioned lately that i love portland? because i do.

i just got home. in ohio. at my folks house. my grama got sick, so i came home to take care of her for a few weeks. i was really excited to get here. still am. i flew all day. down to atlanta, up to detroit. but coming home is always emotionally tumultuous and discouraging. the person you have become is somehow slighted by the person you were all through growing up. until you left. and made a new self. these city streets cause me to regress as an individual. it is truly exhausting and false.

i love my family. they are who i came to be with. to give my heart to. i will call ohio "home" until i die. but right now, i'm really in love with portland, and i miss it. i miss my bike. but i think this break will be nice. i can go back west with a new sense of commitment to a city i enjoy. i needed this.

{stuff and things.}

thinking about space.

ice cream for breakfast.

some kitty.

i just watched be kind rewind. and that film is totally sweet. i suppose i can understand why no one really mentioned much about it after it came out. i mean, heaven forbid michel gondry direct a major production that's not some seemingly intense by means of good writing love story that every girl and boy all over the usa feels connected to, like it's totally a story about their relationship with their boy/girlfriend. be kind rewind was amazing. and i think there was a lot of creative camera work involved. long take single shot stuff like the lucas with the lid off video from 1994 which looks like this:



why am i telling you this?!? i don't know... but i will talk to you about this later!!! okay! stop asking me. i'm rambling, like a, rambley thing, that rambles. right now i'm so full of pizza i don't know what to do. i drank two whiskeys on an empty stomach around 6 o'clock. it's now midnight thirty. and i am sober, as i have been for some time, but man. i'm SO thirsty, but there's no room in my belly for water, and that pizza was so salty... if someone were to stab me in the gut right now, God forbid, it would be like one of those nature shows, where they cut open the shark and all kinds of license plates and mufflers and lawn chairs. they'd say, "looks like this one's been around the block." whatever that means, and i wouldn't even be able to ask, or defend myself, because i'd be dead and split open on the deck of some barge. or hanging from some hook... i need to stop talking about this, because i'm house sitting, and already remotely freaked out as it is. i wish i could call someone to hang out with me. hey someone, i'd say. come hang out with me. ok! they'd say. and we'd watch the never-ending story. or ed wood. or alice in wonderland. i already watched eagle vs shark. it stinks. just like i thought it would. disappointed. alright. i just realized why i feel so terrible, apart from the reasons prior mentioned. it's because i'm exhausted. sleep before i start to worry about zombie attacks. this house would leave me defenseless against their postmortem super strength... but only if they were 28 days later zombies. but EVEn if they were night of the living dead zombies, i'd still pretty much be screwed. no escape for little megan. just me and these cats. and they don't look like fighters.

{also this.}

i've never seen footloose. but i saw both of these scenes within a few weeks of one another. and they made me laugh a lot. and i like to laugh, turns out.





the fall strikes me as stupid. and the movie kind of blows too, but the dance is great.

{bowie.}

so this made me happy. in addition to the fact that i already love david bowie.







you get the idea. it's hilarious!!!

i don't remember where i was, probably in cleveland working at the coffee shop, where we often spat on and on about music and crazy music desert island scenarios and ridiculously minute facts about bands and really that was all we talked about, music, which was totally great and i miss it, (because from what i can tell, most people i work with/know in general presently, with the exception of my boss, listen to horrible music all the time.) but someone, when asked whether or not they would have david bowie's babies, responded with a resounding "no." i thought it was crazy talk. i would totally have his kids. and i don't typically say that outright. ICE CREAM TRUCK!!!

{ oscar wilde. }

i didn't edit this post. so it's all garbled. but this story made me cry when i read it to a four year old. it's very well written. i love it.


She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses,' cried the young Student; 'but in all my garden there is no red rose.'
From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered.
'No red rose in all my garden!' he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. 'Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched.'
'Here at last is a true lover,' said the Nightingale. 'Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his lace like pale Ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow.'
'The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night,' murmured the young Student, 'and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break.'
'Here indeed is the true lover,' said the Nightingale. 'What I sing of he suffers: what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the market-place. it may not be purchased of the merchants, 'or can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.'
'The musicians will sit in their gallery,' said the young Student, 'and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her;' and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept.
< 2 >

'Why is he weeping?' asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air.
'Why, indeed?' said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam.
'Why, indeed?' whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice.
'He is weeping for a red rose,' said the Nightingale.
'For a red rose!' they cried; 'how very ridiculous!' and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.
But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student's sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.
Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.
In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it, she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.
'Give me a red rose,' she cried, 'and I will sing you my sweetest song.'
But the Tree shook its head.
'My roses are white,' it answered; 'as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want.'
So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial.
'Give me a red rose,' she cried, 'and I will sing you my sweetest song.'
But the Tree shook its head.
'My roses are yellow,' it answered; 'as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student's window, and perhaps he will give you what you want.'
So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student's window.
'Give me a red rose,' she cried, 'and I will sing you my sweetest song.'
But the Tree shook its head.
'My roses are red,' it answered, 'as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year.'
< 3 >

'One red rose is all I want,' cried the Nightingale, 'only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?'
'There is a way,' answered the Tree; 'but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you.'
'Tell it to me,' said the Nightingale, 'I am not afraid.'
'If you want a red rose,' said the Tree, 'you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's-blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine.'
'Death is a great price to pay for a red rose,' cried the Nightingale, 'and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?'
So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.
The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.
'Be happy,' cried the Nightingale, 'be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame-coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense.'
The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books.
< 4 >

But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.
'Sing me one last song,' he whispered; 'I shall feel very lonely when you are gone.'
So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.
When she had finished her song the Student got lip, and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.
'She has form,' he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove - 'that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good.' And he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep.
And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.
She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the topmost spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Yale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river - pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree.
But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. 'Press closer, little Nightingale,' cried the Tree, 'or the Day will come before the rose is finished.'
< 5 >

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.
And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose's heart remained white, for only a Nightingale's heart's-blood can crimson the heart of a rose.
And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. 'Press closer, little Nightingale,' cried the Tree, 'or the Day will come before the rose is finished.'
So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.
And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart.
But the Nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.
Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.
'Look, look!' cried the Tree, 'the rose is finished now;' but the Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.
And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.
'Why, what a wonderful piece of luck! he cried; 'here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name;' and he leaned down and plucked it.
< 6 >

Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor's house with the rose in his hand.
The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.
'You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose,' cried the Student. Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you.'
But the girl frowned.
'I am afraid it will not go with my dress,' she answered; 'and, besides, the Chamberlain's nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers.'
'Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful,' said the Student angrily; and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter, and a cart-wheel went over it.
'Ungrateful!' said the girl. 'I tell you what, you are very rude; and, after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I don't believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain's nephew has;' and she got up from her chair and went into the house.
'What a silly thing Love is,' said the Student as he walked away. 'It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics.'
So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.