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whoa · there
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 shiny boletes!  pretty "flowers"  a baby yellow amanita  power up!  a Destroying Angel! |
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get get get out of my head. i even ran from you in my dream last night but every field i crossed had a perfect farm house with you in it. i tried to warn your new girl but she laughed and tied me to the banister to watch you have a new, good life. i screamed and struggled. i woke up tangled in sheets, terrified, face all wet from fitful tears. it really puts a dent in my morning. |
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i have covered myself in city filth. i have forced its wet smell under my nails, just to dig a hole for you. a place to rest in the warm crumbly muffin dirt, so far down that the streets sound like distant rain, so far into the dark that you can smell ocean water. i will not let you live but there is no reason to suffer. (a very wealthy-looking forty-something woman stands from her first-class seat, grips her carry-on like a rein, frowns severely. she picks up the staticky airplane pillow, fluffs it, straightens the paper case, and sets it back on the seat at an attractive angle. looks away, still frowning) |
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if you've got your leg in a snare, twist and pull until your limb lies as naked as a paw, until the skin pulls back like a cuff, until the bones let go of each other, until you have to turn and set your teeth on yourself, because the others will come bearing yoke and gun and beaks and keep you half-dead in a cage for eternity (it should have been easy to cut off a phantom limb, but it held firm with a strength that my body has never known, diaphanous fingers clinging to what i walked past. i lowered the knife to rend the offending limb from my body but each cut drew blood in my mouth and i felt its barbed roots flex in my viscera. spitting horribly, i resigned to heal, slowly, while the wicked arm mended instantly and took up clawing the back of my neck at random) |
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having a Miller a 11 am listening to Styx and missing my valley home is no way to go through life, son. wait nevermind this is awesome |
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my partner rises around me like a tide. he is wearing the spine of his former body around his shoulders. he is cold and heartless like me. i cut my arms off and grow new ones like starfish arms. they are as rough as packed sand. with them i can wrap him in my deathgrip and breath him in with my millions of lungs. the rain begins clapping tiny hands on the green green water. oh jesus your wolf emerges from the water coughing sick and so so sorry, great wet head bent to its sore paws, a whimper when can i be happy again? |
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class finishes tomorrow, then on to state registration board exams, then i'm applying to every hospital in driving radius. i'm in scrubs most days. i wear ugly white shoes. i couldn't be more pleased with life. |
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the scientific method, unfortunately, can't disprove a lot of theories. it seems the crazier it is, the more people fervently insist that science can't prove that it doesn't happen. which leads to people like Herschel. Herschel is orthodox. Herschel believes he must work off karmic debt because he sold a pair of his shoes to a goy. Herschel is a homeopath that believes that water imbued with the energy of flower petals (not soaked in them, mind you...simply placed next to them) can cure diseases. Herschel believes that he is clairvoyant and can absorb people's thoughts. this is all harmless, but extremely annoying, and makes me baffled as to why he is in an expensive class for people who wish to work in allopathic medicine. Herschel also constantly interrupts class. Before speaking, he mumbles hebrew prayers and says that he must channel the wisdom before he can speak. He then tells the entire class that raw food diets can cure AIDS. He proclaims that bipolar and clinically depressed people are merely being affected by the negative spiritual stamp applied to them by doctors. He claims that diabetes is evidence that the ten commandments are strict instructions from God. He pauses the class for almost ten minutes each time he speaks. He calls the teacher confused. He claims that he was diagnosed with schizophrenia (surprise, surprise) but that he actually is telepathic. When he's not interrupting class, he talks to himself. And yet, because of the shortage of healthcare workers, because perfectly sane people would rather be cashiers, Herschel will probably immediately go to work with other people's lives in his hands. moral: if anyone is out of a job, please, PLEASE go into healthcare, so I don't have to work with any Herschels. |
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dear higher power, thank you for dropping a ton of free, fertile soil into my welcoming hands. i may not be your favorite, but you seem to really like plants. yours truly,
conniver and would-be topsoil thief |
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 The lake. The ash haze. No ashfall yet.   the yellow space, the green room, the blue room, and the awesome geometry  Dad  Mom |
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mom wants to talk about Jade. she moves rapidly between blaming herself and blaming dad. she's full of sadness and anger. the now-silent house neither argues nor comforts; the brightest star has left the rooms with their drafts and the grey and beige tones of the paint. the new house has newly painted walls the color of Jade's beautiful smile. dad says i'm handling this in a very mature way and starts to cry. he wants to talk about grandpa. he understands what i'm actually feeling, i think. it's for the best. it's good that he didn't suffer. he had a long, full life. it is pale bullshit comfort. we wrap the body in blankets and nice clothes as if to keep them warm, when we are the ones who are freezing, slowly, drowning. i just wish they would stop calling. |
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He was the best part of me. He was my reason to live. Without him, I'm not even sure I have a heart, but something is feeling a lot of pain. |
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codeine has me seeing bunnies everywh...WHAT THE HELL IS THAT |
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the last one of the wicked crows flew away from the nest. i had tended to them so carefully, starving myself to feed them. they sat on my shoulders and barked other birds away. so when the last one spread his coal wings and took off into the sunset, i pondered tearing the nest apart. but no. i shred my clothes and pull out my hair to line the fragile basket. nothing gold can stay. the crow cackles "i'll be back." |
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so my dad always has this theory that christmas trees will somehow be $10 if you get them a few days before the holiday. instead, he discovered that they are actually out of trees, everywhere. the whole state. now the normal Alaskan thing to do is bring ye chainsaw into the woods and cut down some ugly lopsided Charlie Brown thing, but my mom decreed that woods flora is a Trojan horse of dormant brainsucking bloodmites just waiting for a warm household of victims. So I decided to give them a present. I drove around scrounging up leftover branches from the places that used to sell proper trees and spent the better part of today drilling holes in a few pieces of firewood. The glorious result:
 and now in greater detail, with red arrows pointing to massive FAIL: 
the logs don't exactly sit flat on top of each other, so i shoved a few chopsticks and some newspaper in the gap.
the whole heavy monstrosity is twined to the window toggle. also, for detail, some holes i bored but didn't fill, and the ridiculous amount of leanage. and yes, i only put branches on one side.
not pictured: the fact that the logs are held together inside by woodbor bits. I just drilled a peg hole in one log and bored the bit as far down into the other as it would go, and stuck them together. it's a trainwreck, but my parents love it. and now, a picture of Jade in a gingerbread house (which he has claimed, and pulled most of the candies off of) 
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"get closer, he wants to smell your breath," says the alpaca farmer. my breath smells like chocolate. Prince moves in and snuffles deep near my face. his breath smells like a fresh bag of cut grass. I'm entranced in his dark, long-lashed eyes, too enchanted to stop him from pressing his lips to mine and sticking his thick tongue right into my mouth. did i just french kiss a llama? i think i did. Prince nudges me with his head, pushing me uphill towards the warmly lit barn.
"I think he wants you to meet the ladies," says the farmer.
The ladies prick their ears in my direction. Prince is standing behind me, like a teacher introducing the new kid. Coquette, a grey dappled old girl, trots over to me and i put my head down while she sniffs the top of my head. Prince headbutts me towards the throng of females in the barn. I sit in the middle of them and they settle down around me in a nurturing circle. they're all unbelievably soft. Hallelujah lets me rest my head on her coffee-colored fluff. I'm not the only interspecies initiate; near my feet, a barred rock hen sleeps sprawled out on the back of Lacy's snow white fur. Prince is sitting by the entry, his long neck taut and alert. Lacy lays her neck across my legs, resting her huge head on my chest. I'm in a living, breathing bed made of the finest fiber. |
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achieve your healthy sex weight! wash away your sins! replace them with perfume! sex hurts because you have: herpes/endometriosis/vulvodynia/vaginiti s/pelvic congestion/wtf centipedes/you are frigid whore/he's bumping your ovary/ ur doin it rong IF YOU EAT ANYTHING YOU WILL DIE ALONE |
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tarmacbetweenus's journal
