I sincerely believe all these drugs are having a deleterious effect on me – the Ativan in particular. Something clouds my memory, my faculties. Since they are anti-anxiety drugs, they seem to impede my judgment as well. I say things that I ought not to say; my filters do not operate as they should. Nothing else, though, helps me to sleep. Without them, especially at times like now of very great worry and trepidation, I am up every two hours. Sometimes I am anyway, but the pills keep me just groggy enough to get me back to some disturbed half-sleep.

Today, they made me think that I was a week ahead and that I had to read at the poetry project tonight instead of next Friday night. So after returning home, feeding the cats, taking half an Ativan, and lying on the floor with my legs up trying to settle my sacrum and my worried mind I got myself up and dressed and made my way through this weirdly balmy full moon night to the east village. Oh what a horrible place it is on weekend nights the women (girls) teetering about on fuck me shoes and looking stupid all the boozhee revelers drunk and seeming aimless. Of course I am aimless too, and on pills, but not drunk, and I’m wandering through these hordes of people feeling so rootless and disconnected I wonder if I should die. I wonder if he would be happy if I were to die, since that would solve all of our immediate (i.e. temporary) and grossly exaggerated problems. But I think killing oneself is both rude and difficult. I guess. If I were to take all the pills I have accrued at once, what would happen? I have ambien, Valium, klonopin, remeron, I don’t know, what else, all kinds of pharma… but probably they would just make me barf and I am vomitophobic and besides too smart, pretty, and considerate to wipe myself out. You know, this isn’t ideation, exactly, but it sort of is one step away from it. I would never forgive myself if I killed myself. That is dark humor: get it?


Next morning. No hot water. It’s torture. I’m doing the prairie thing and heating up big pots of water to put in the bath. This is actually life-affirming, so if you were worried by the previous paragraph, please don’t be, unless you feel moved to go out and do something fun with me to remind me how various and delightful this world is. I am trying to write a clever intro for Abby while not watching the pots in order that they will boil. The wind blusters outside. Everything is temporary! I wanted to go to a yoga class this morning but needed hot water, so no yoga, just dance later and then poetry later. I love what someone told me recently, that people will let you down but writing will not. There is always this. I am such a little social molecule, I need to bounce off other molecules, I should have married someone else, although I’m not sure who, when I was much younger, and had many children, only in order to have that unit, that connectedness… but that was neither my desire nor my destiny it seems. I plunge my face into Dante’s white belly, wrap my arms around him, his purr is the most exquisite succor. I like people, too, but they seem so damaged, and guarded, and complex… and so… cruel.

It is cruelly, bitterly ironic that in order to read the powerful, feminist volume that is A Megaphone, I must touch its cover drawing, done by my husband who has told unto power unimaginably horrific lies about me.

I Want to Stretch My Vagina

Am I insane because people
don’t want to understand me?

this quiz will tell you wether
or not your insane. and please

be onest in this quiz. well actualy
i dont care so whatever. i love

the smell of mathboys farts theyre
so fuckin juicy…am i insane? I like

pain – am I insane? I feel happy
when I am in physical pain. I feel

alive and not just numb. I like
getting really ill with colds

or broken ribs etc. Am I insane
or did it take me too long to realize

that ” waiting for the sunset ”
is the exact same song as ” me

and jesus dont talk anymore ”
I want to stretch my vagina –

am I insane? Am I insane
for wanting to fall asleep,

never wake up? (And no,
this is not a suicide question)

I don’t think you’re insane.
I think sleep is awesome


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If I were O’HARA, you’d be my DUNE BUGGY
If I were POUND, you’d be my MEGALOMANIA
If I were DANTE, you’d be my EXILE
If I were PLATH, you’d be my OVEN
If I were APPOLLINAIRE, you’d be my WWI
If I were BRAINARD, you’d be my PNEUMONIA
If I were WILDE, you’d be my GAOL
If I were WELCH, you’d be my SOUTHWEST
If I were KEATS, you’d be my CONSUMPTION
If I were SHELLEY, you’d be my BOAT
If I were SPICER you’d be my VOCABULARY

People Suck

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Why do people suck balls?
People suck balls because they
enjoy it and they tast good!
Unauthorized duplication is a sin.
Mean People Suck Tablatures, Chords,
Tabs. Theologically, people suck at being
human the way God intends humans to be.
Beer and Drugs Make People Suck Creative
Writing. Unique people suck skins.
People Suck as interpreted by a scar in the sky.
At this point in my life, thumbsucking
is to me what valium is to others.  
So when I say that white people suck, I
only mean that they suck to paint because
of their difficulty. I am 39.  I am an avid
thumb sucker.  I have thought about
how life would be if I lost my thumb.  
I would be miserable.  I find great comfort
in my thumb.   Many people suck designs
on Pet Bowls for Dogs & Cats. People suck
or maybe im just being overly sensitive…

go directly to jail

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I was making tuna fish sandwiches for my kids one afternoon when two undercover cops came to my door saying I will put you in jail if what you bought from me is played on a gizmo I don’t approve of and I will put you in jail If you write another wack ass poem.
[I thought to myself, keep under control]  
Send an ‘indecent’ text, go to jail
[keep in check] 
Understand climate, go to jail.
[Keep your temper keep your cool] 
We all have to go to jail now.
[keep from exhaling or expelling; “hold your breath”]
It’s like being thrown in jail for life simply for being born. A crocodile was thrown in jail over an obscene fashion statement. A South African was thrown in Jail for trying to breed with an Albino Clownfish. Last night I was thrown in jail just for murdering a mosquito!
Still… there’s Glamour in the Slammer
and plenty of time to consider such questions as
Why does the Passive-Aggressive play a victim role?

Why are passive-aggressives relationship obstructionists?

Why do passive aggressive men withhold sex to punish their wives?

Isn’t passive aggressive behavior a form of abuse?
The idea of babies living the first months of their lives behind bars is sad to contemplate, not to mention Puppies Behind Bars, or the hiccup girl sentenced to life with hiccups.
One reason I started this blog was to practice restraint. It is noble to practice restraint, but my tongue is nearly bleeding. After all, if those animal cops came to my door I could only be arrested for giving her too many cat toys and treats.
I’ll leave The Cake Of Finality with you to allow you practice restraint. Don’t eat it. 
He walked out, largely. 
ooh eee ooh, oooh eee ooooh