A Birth of Old.

Hero Complex: Resurrect, Restore, Repeat.

2011-11-10T14:39:00.003-07:00

I made you a hero.
And then I walked away.

I asked for perfection-
Unending connection
with boundless horizon.
You give, and then I steal away.

I make an impression.
Reflect your affection
with glad adoration.
Let in, and then I drift away.

I am pride.
I am vanity.
I am seduction.

I am jealous,
and needy.
Possession.

Resurrect.
Restore.
Play ocean to your shore,
And make mistakes I've made before.
Create a hero and then walk away.

Story time.

2011-11-01T18:47:00.002-06:00

Let me tell you my story.
Let me read you your past.

I used to lie in bed praying for that future unknown.
You -still ambiguous,
character to complete.

And I used to see you in strangers and familiars-
read you into other people words.
Every verse and chorus rang of you
or tried desperately not to./

Lately life has been forcefully reminding me of the importance of story -
That we speak ours individually,
and that we rewrite ours collectively when we hear the incongruences.
So, may we build our stage to act on.
And may we be a kind audience.
And may our witness bring fruitful interpretation, correction, and reconciliation

Go out into your heart.

2011-09-23T09:59:00.001-06:00

You are not surprised at the force of the storm—
you have seen it growing.
The trees flee. Their flight
sets the boulevards streaming. And you know:
he whom they flee is the one
you move toward. All your senses
sing him, as you stand at the window.

The weeks stood still in summer.
The trees' blood rose. Now you feel
it wants to sink back
into the source of everything. You thought
you could trust that power
when you plucked the fruit;
now it becomes a riddle again,
and you again a stranger.

Summer was like your house: you knew
where each thing stood.
Now you must go out into your heart
as onto a vast plain. Now
the immense loneliness begins.

The days go numb, the wind
sucks the world from your senses like withered
leaves.

Through the empty branches the sky remains.
It is what you have.
Be earth now, and evensong.
Be the ground lying under that sky.
Be modest now, like a thing
ripened until it is real,
so that he who began it all
can feel you when he reaches for you.

-Rilke

Misplaced.

2011-06-08T11:16:00.000-06:00

None praise more effortlessly than children –waving their disproportionate bodies to unheard rhythms.
Somehow I am less able to contain my jealousy than my exuberance,
Instead of joining their dance, I weep.

Easy she goes.

2011-04-30T09:49:00.003-06:00

May the lame inherit my legs.

I am a traveller once more.
It's a small path:
no symmetry in the trees,
no arbours like their fathers wanted.
I've the abrasions characteristic of trespassers-
Limbs gnarled and uprooted.
But it's one, two, one, two.
And I trail on./

For real:

Lately I have been dreaming,
rousing mid-cycle.
I wake feeling that I've seen something I shouldn't -some one else's story.
Groggy, I try to resist.
No one likes an eavesdropper.

But still, I hurry back to catch the ending.

Ocean II

2011-01-10T14:52:00.001-07:00

You are Ocean, and I have not found your end.
I hesitate even to declare that I have found your beginning.
You change, and change not.
I am small, and finite at your edge.

So, go on now. Show me how it’s done:
Make your islands,
Carve your inlets.

Sure, let me plant my pillars in you.
Let me dance above you, wallowing in pride-
With surety, I’ll soon forget to be marveled by you at all.

But every once in a while,
When I take the time to sit beside you and contemplate all of my understanding
Please, rear your conquered head –hurl me into the deep.
And remind me,
You are Ocean, and I have not found your end.

Perpetual Motion Machine

2010-11-19T11:56:00.001-07:00

Focused.
Like someone went and positioned my frame at 6 degrees past perpendicular,
and my bipedal body is pedaling on, full steam ahead–
one foot frantically after another.

---

Of Anticipation:

The squirrels are fat.
And yet, still frenzied.

Days.

2010-11-15T10:39:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I wish I could just write about my days: what I'm thinking, doing, feeling.
But I don't know how.

Or rather, I do know how -I practice all of the time.
But then I think to myself, "How presumptuous."

And thus, I cannot justify my desires to tell all.
And so I don't.
Or I do,
And wish I hadn't.

Confession

2010-11-05T14:33:00.004-06:00

I have a confession to make:

The man I married has held a legitimate monopoly over my heart for longer than I'm comfortable admitting.
It's true.

T.

2010-09-09T21:09:00.002-06:00

Dear Toronto,

You are seductively and insufferably large.
I am only a portion of the collection of mire in the tread of your autumn-anticipated boot.
You move smartly, swiftly.
I cling fast, firm-
Waiting for the same train as you.

Your earnest Newest,
Krista

Thirsty.

2010-08-17T12:07:00.003-06:00

Green eyes,
Drink up chlorophyll.
Leave trails of yellowed footprints behind me.

Wanderer.

2010-08-09T09:11:00.003-06:00

Am I blamed for my forgetfulness?

Is it mine, or is it yours?
That voice inside me, questing.

You know, I can go a long way from here.
I can go beyond far.
And yet, I linger somewhere closer to close,
but still not quite there,
in fear of indictment.

So, remind me again.
What have I forgotten?

Right.

2010-08-05T08:14:00.004-06:00

You said, "Everything sounds right."
I say, "Everything sounds beautiful."
I get to see you tonight,
and wake up to your smile.

You said, "Everything sounds right,"
and it made me more in love with you.
And I think that we just might
Watch this grow awhile.

-Sarah Harmer

Direction

2010-06-19T21:51:00.005-06:00

Sometimes she leaves me wanting.
I grow restless.
I grow lost.

So, let loose your direction in me.
Give this squinty-eyed, leather-footed pilgrim a magnet.

A Confession.

2010-05-28T07:38:00.003-06:00

Dear Blog Master,

We blog because we know you're watching.

Sincerely,
Blogging Community

New.

2010-05-13T11:51:00.001-06:00

Hello, my name is Krista Wilson.

Tomorrow is May 8th.

2010-05-07T07:50:00.002-06:00

How life turns around us and takes us in.

Tomorrow I will become a married woman.

Slow.

2010-04-06T20:27:00.004-06:00

May I take delight in that which is before me.
May the routine and menial bring satisfaction.
May I desire and pursue, as I once made habit of.
May the clumsy chains of disheartenment be loosed,
and may the fence of inertia be felled that I may roam again.

Fullness.

2010-02-24T11:51:00.007-07:00

Like mountain tops:
Undraped rock
Spilling seed and waste
Onto the plains.

Like fog:
Crawling waters
Kissing sky and earth
In swift embrace.

Like secrets:
Crafty escapists
Leaking through the sieves
Held fast in vain.

I desire.

DayLight.

2010-02-23T20:24:00.003-07:00

Today I bought DayLight.
He will be my new best friend.
We're really going places.

Pine.

2010-01-30T19:14:00.005-07:00

I have a small cabin in the woods.
I go there to escape it all.

But the trees, they smell like you./

Give me Darkness,
that I may dream.

Give me Shadow that surrounds,
that there be nothing.

The foot of crowd,
The hollow of crowns.
Anchors,
Corners,
Treasures.
The under-earth,
The before-birth.
Closed eyes,
Closed fists,

O, give me Darkness.

Darkness, that I may see.

Not Friends.

2010-01-17T19:09:00.001-07:00

When Time does not obey
I scorn him.
When he spits back seconds in place of days
I cry.

Waiting.

2009-12-01T17:27:00.004-07:00

At times I am sure of it within me.

But it stills,
And waits for its own certainty.
And knows itself apart from me.
Even as I surround it,
Even as it remains dependent.

It leaves me powerless.

Voiceless.

2009-11-27T16:05:00.006-07:00

"Your hands: less dirt doesn't mean they're clean." -Sunparlour Players/

Smooth your feathers.
Contain your wings.
Quiet the shouting ones.

Making the world habitable.
Ironing out the surface.

What is it in the air you cannot still?
I taste it:
The damp soil in that brisk wind
The ever-pressing
The present-tense
The Pressure's presence,
Declaring on your behalf.

My Windows.

2009-11-06T22:59:00.007-07:00

Early morning
After dawn:
The windows dry
The bedroom cold.

I clear dust from the panes
Rouse my plants, and rouse my spirits.
Feed the living, mourn the dead.

Early evening
After dusk:
The windows fogged
The bathroom cooling.

I clear water from the panes
Calm my fears, and calm my tangles.
Drink in slumber, wait in dream.

To Lack.

2009-11-04T10:49:00.001-07:00

I would write you into the world
That she may discover you
as I have.

But no multitude of words
from fingers, or lips
Could satisfy.

Reinventing: Take Two.

2009-11-02T10:08:00.002-07:00

I am the moon.
I am a flower.
I am the earth.

I wax, I wane.
I bloom.
I need rebirth.

Summer Ship.

2009-10-27T11:12:00.008-06:00

We were sailors-
Everyday sailing:
Wistful, and watching for the wind.

We were choirs-
Everyday singing:
"Hallelus," and, "Hallelujahs."
Still wistful, and watching for the wind.

There was longing in our legs and lungs,
Hopeful dreams of new life begun,
Anticipation of what's told to come,
Once wind makes sails and mouths her home.

But we're waning, and found still waiting on motion.
Muttering with our dirty, sailor mouths,
"Move me, Ocean."
Joining the joyous, heartfelt or not,
Humming along with the chorous as they sing it out-

"Leave worries on shore, Hallelujah.
Let sorrow no more, Hallelu.
Make stronger my sea legs, Hallelujah.
Make fuller my lungs, Hallelu."

Alarm.

2009-10-24T01:00:00.004-06:00

I've been ignoring myself lately;
been waiting for some kind of Drastic to sound the alarms.

There is much to be discovered.
Kindness waits in her lair;
Gentleness in the nest we made.

Sorrow and Joy await,
My ancestries, my sisters, my children,
Sorrow and Joy find me.

The Trees.

2009-10-20T18:24:00.004-06:00

May all the good things last.

Love.

2009-10-14T13:04:00.003-06:00

"I'm going to marry myself to the whole wide world and never make her cry."

Speaking of marriage:
Steven Wilson and I are engaged.

Celebrate life.

Small.

2009-10-07T12:46:00.003-06:00

I am a small girl:
There are contradictions inside of me.
There are dichotomies as parts of me.
Academia is most tricky, tricky, tricky.

I am a small girl; it is a big world:
I sometimes feel lost,
sometimes feel found,
sometimes convinced,
sometimes fenced.
But mostly I know that I am movable, malleable, (yet) constant,
and concerned with all of the
above.

I love the zoo.

2009-09-27T22:59:00.004-06:00

Today the sun was shining and Autumn was boasting his might.

Today was free day.
I went to the zoo with my friends.
I laughed, and laughed.
I was filled with glee.
Because I love the animals.
And I love the people watching the animals.

A tiger pounced on the glass where I was standing,
and the monkeys sat on precarious branches all curled up.
Sea lions are beautiful,
and porcupines are much bigger than expected.
Storks bring babies, but pelicans seem more suited to the job.
I don't really like birds. They are creepy.
Especially owls. The owls gave me goosebumps. They are scaryscaryscary.
Lucy moped, because that's what she does lately.
I don't feel sad for her though -enough people feel sad for her already.

I love the zoo.

Brave Parts.

2009-09-13T17:34:00.005-06:00

I've been lacking the organic;
been found leaning on electrics whose ultility I've questioned in the past.

Let me rest in your safest corners-
in the backs of your knees, and in the crooks of your elbows;
where two of the walls meet in the quietest annex of your house.
And there I'll learn all of my brave parts-
all of my usefulness.

One of the Great Ones.

2009-08-05T23:09:00.003-06:00

I cannot now remember whether she was naked or clothed. If she were naked, then it must have been the almost visible penumbra of her courtesy and joy which produces in my memory the illusion of a great and shining train that followed her across the happy grass. If she were clothed, then the illusion of nakedness is doubtless due to the clarity with which her inmost spirit shone through the clothes. For clothes in that country are not a disguise: the spiritual body lives along each thread and turns them into living organs. A robe or a crown is there as much one of the wearer's features as a lip or an eye.
But I have forgotten. And only partly do I remember the unbearable beauty of her face.

'Is it?... is it?' I whispered to my guide.

'Not at all,' said he. It's someone ye'll never have heard of...'

'She seems to be... well, a person of particular importance?'

'Aye. She is one of the great ones. Ye have heard that fame in this country and fame on Earth are two quite different things.'

'And who are these young men and women on each her side?'

'They are her sons and daughters.'

'She must have had a very large family, Sir.'

'Every young man or boy that met her became her son -even if it was only the boy that brought the meat to her back door. Every girl that met her was her daughter.'

'Isn't that a bit hard on their own parents?'

'No. There are those that steal other people's children. But her motherhood was of a different kind. Those on whom it fell went back to their natural parents living them more. Few men looked on her without becoming , in a certain fashion, her lovers. But it was the kind of love that made them not less true, but truer, to their own wives.'

'And how... but hullo! What are all of these animals?... why, I can't count them.'

'They are her beasts. Every beast and bird that came near her had its place in her love. In her they became themselves. And now the abundance of life she has in Christ from the Father flows over into them.'

I looked ay my teacher in amazement.

'Yes,' he said. 'It is like when you throw a stone into a pool, and the concentric waves spread out further and further. Who knows where it will end? Redeemed humanity is still young, it has hardly come to its full strength. But already there is joy enough in the little finger of a great saint such as yonder lady to wake all the dead things of the universe into life.'

C.S. Lewis -The Great Divorce

Today, and for the next days coming:

2009-04-18T14:07:00.005-06:00

The world shines, and I am slow.
The world shines slowly,
and I -the one behind it, screaming-
find its lightness abrasive and rude.

Undo your acts-
You weight that draws us each down.
Let your laws be loose and lenient upon us.
Spin gently,
consistently.

Explain yourself,
For I am slow./

We find ourselves weak, and in everyone else's arms.
I am responsible.

And Every Man A Liar.

2009-04-15T10:37:00.002-06:00

What if some did not have faith? Will their lack of faith nullify God's faithfulness? Not at all!
Let God be true, and every man a liar.
As it is written:

"So that you may be proved right when you speak and prevail when you judge."

It does not, therefore, depend on man's desire or effort,
but on God's mercy./

(Pieces of Romans)

Jokester

2009-04-01T12:41:00.003-06:00

People expect stoic behaviour from me-
They think I am a serious being.
Even my boyfriend is surprised when I try to make jokes.

That's why I attempted to April-fool my little sister this morning.
My little sister is the most gullible-
(And that's why I chose her.)

I thought I was very clever,

But she found me out.

Familial Times.

2009-03-30T12:42:00.004-06:00

The Black-Capped Chickadees are home, Mother.
I can hear them singing in the morning, Father.

O, they continue falling.

2009-03-22T11:38:00.006-06:00

In deep nights I dig for you like treasure.
For all I have seen
that clutters the surface of my world
is poor and paltry substitute
for the beauty of you
that has not happened yet....

My hands are bloody from digging.
I lift them, hold them open in the wind,
so they can branch like a tree.

Reaching, these hands would pull you out of the sky
as if you had shattered there,
dashed yourself to pieces in some wild impatience.

What is this I feel falling now,
falling on this parched earth,
softly,
like a spring rain?
-Rilke

This land, my sister
This land, captive and possessor
This land, owner and owned
This land, my neighbour

Your legs -my roots
Your arms -my limbs
We remain together
We wait together
We thirst together.

O, we are covered in water and still dry like Indian Summer.

Mid-March Fall of the Angels.

2009-03-17T10:32:00.003-06:00

It was snowing again-
I was held up by gunpoint asked to resign my belief in the heavenly beings.
But it was snowing again-
And I couldn't.

There must, there must, there must be a Definitive.

Early March Fall of the Angels.

2009-03-07T09:05:00.003-07:00

What kind of celebration is this?

Which hosts of heaven abort their children so carelessly,
forgetting to teach them to fly?
O, you winged creatures of the crueler, finer qualities,
Climb back inside your father's womb.
Climb in and hide from our wolves and their appetites.

Winter.

2009-02-24T08:20:00.002-07:00

Winter is a neatly fastened blouse on
the woman I desire.

White

2009-02-18T15:04:00.002-07:00

Today Sun is white:

His light lines with white
his shadow that still shows the white
that his reflection beckons back with all of his white words

"Where is the darkness now?"

Griffin Sins.

2009-02-10T18:57:00.004-07:00

Yesterday, whilst making attempts to study and not fall into a deep slumber due to the lack of sleep and proper nutrient intake I receive as a struggling student, I was confronted with a small group of sinners.

Now, usually I'm not one to make rash judgments on perfect (or in this case, not-so-perfect,) strangers, but they certainly were wearing their sin on display for everyone to see.

I looked up as the herd of chattering girls walked by, and three of the four of them wore T-shirts with the label "Proud Griffin" across the shoulders. Even more peculiar than the fact that they were all displaying their deadly-sin with little shame, (I thought perhaps they were all a part of a school support group -the first step away from sin is usually confession, after all,) was the fact that all three of them struggled with Pride. It seems to me that usually the various forms of sin are more equally distributed among a group. If one struggles with Pride, then perhaps another is dealing with Greed, and another Gluttony. Where were the Lustful Griffins? The Envious Griffins? Surely we can't be a school entirely devoid of all sin but Pride.

I thought of encouraging the girls to reach out and to find a group with vices different than their own, (obviously we wouldn't want to be accidentally encouraging one another's offenses,) but luckily I quickly realized that perhaps it wasn't my place to make such a bold suggestion.

Still, I've been keeping my eyes open ever since this strange encounter, hoping to be encouraged by more honest students making an attempt towards Goodness.
And, of course, I've started making my very own "Slothful Griffin" T.

We are all born a few times.

2009-02-07T19:14:00.010-07:00

Once of women, hopefully mothers.
Once as children, innocent wonderers.

Once as youth-
Confused, but mostly willing.

Once into Adulthood.
Once more into Adulthood.
One last time into Adulthood.
We take our time grasping onto any understanding of possible births as full-figured beings.

Once into Senility,
Reluctant and proud.

I'm sure there are several, less noticeable births among the Aged,
but most of us are terrible at caring about numbers by then.

Lastly, into Death.
We are born into Death,
and Death is born into us.

And I suppose that sounds like an ending...

Story-Time.

2009-01-18T18:35:00.003-07:00

O, great Reader,
Tell me my story.

I'm ready to be patient
ready to sit nicely
ready to keep my filthy hands to myself.

Paradise.

2009-01-10T18:53:00.002-07:00

The Voice of God is heard in Paradise:

"What was vile has become precious. What is now precious was never vile.
I have always known the vile as precious: for what is vile I know not at all.

"What was cruel has become merciful. What is now merciful was never cruel.
I have always overshadowed Jonas with my mercy, and cruelty I know not at all.
Have you had sight of Me, Jonas My child?
Mercy within mercy within mercy.
I have forgiven the universe without end, because I have never known sin.

"What was poor has become infinite. What is infinite was never poor.
I have always known poverty as infinite: riches I love not at all.
Prisons within prisons within prisons.
Do not lay up for yourselves ecstasies upon earth, where time and space corrupt,
where the minutes break in and steal.
No more lay hold on time, Jonas, My son, lest the rivers bear you away.

"What was fragile has become powerful. I loved what was most frail.
I looked upon what was nothing. I touched what was without substance,
and within what was not, I am."

-Thomas Merton

Now it is time to meet you, God.

Hide and Seek.

2009-01-08T08:16:00.003-07:00

I pray that while we ask for Peace, we also seek Peace- seek Peace believing He may be found./

If He hides, He hides with grace,
knowing that even the visible corner of his cloak from behind the sofa could set our fragile minds aflame./

Pass me not, O silent Artist.

2009-01-02T13:22:00.003-07:00

I love you, gentlest of Ways,
who ripened us as we wrestled with you.

you, the great homesickness we could never shake off,
you, the forest that always surrounded us,

you, the song we sang in every silence,
you dark net threading through us,

You began yourself so greatly
on the day when you began us-
and we have so ripened in your sunlight,
spreading far and firmly planted-
that now in all people, angels, madonnas,
you can decide: the work is done.

Let your hand rest on the rim of Heaven now
and mutely bear the darkness we bring over you.

I, 25 Rilke's Book of Hours

"Pass me not, O gentle Savior,
Hear my humble cry;
While on others Thou art calling,
Do not pass me by.

Let me at a throne of mercy
Find a sweet relief;
Kneeling there in deep contrition,
Help my unbelief."

Ocean.

2008-12-23T13:32:00.004-07:00

Ocean knows me like she knows her monsters:
Testing me, tasting me.
Nothing is secret.

I try to make scarce- try to float and find my own knowing.
Try to still, try to cease.
But there she is, more present than I could ever be absent:
tonguing
lapping
surrounding
boasting-
"Nothing is secret."

Joy.

2008-12-15T15:16:00.003-07:00

And on that day an exodus of hurt will leak from hearts of the masses, and collectively we shall meet Joy.

Shalom.

2008-12-11T22:25:00.004-07:00

This week I prepare a way for the coming Peace; I seek Jehovah Shalom.

I confess that I am prone to wander-
But He has fixed a covering of Grace over me:
And it is not the magnitude of my doubt,
nor the purest portion of my faith that seals my heart.

O, what Peace./

Hope II

2008-12-03T22:24:00.002-07:00

"We feel small and weak, but we are gathered together to signify the power of God who transforms death into life. That is our hope, that God is doing the impossible: changing death into life inside of each of us, and that perhaps, through our community, each one of us can be agents in the world of this transforming of brokenness into wholeness, and of death into life."
Jean Vanier

There's something inside of me that makes me believe in the power of togetherness.

Hope.

2008-12-01T23:20:00.004-07:00

"And we, who are pregnant with anticipation,
Feel hope rising up within us."

There's a newness in each page and it matches my heart.
There's a newness in my heart and it matches this city.
-It's a fire and it burns ever brightly.
We're purging our lives.
We're shedding our skin.
Soon I will be bare.
Soon I shall stand in a blanket of silence, a silence of sleep -
And I shall wake on the other side with a rested soul, and grounded roots.
And I will bleed my sap and birth my buds with great life stored up within me.
This is a good sort of thing, a magical sort of thing.

Keep the pages turning./

And, O, how everything seems to melt away.
And how the streams of debris run straight to you.

Again. And again.

Drink this Water.

2008-11-28T02:25:00.002-07:00

Come, all you who are thirsty,
come to the waters;
and you who have no money,
come, buy and eat!
Isaiah 55

With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation.
Isaiah 12

Thirsty, thirsty children -want no more.

Don't Eat Those Berries.

2008-11-20T23:03:00.002-07:00

Mountain-ash-red is love before it sours-
Bleeding all over the earth, over the sidewalk, over my shoes.

Old Parchment, New Ink.

2008-11-14T12:46:00.009-07:00

I

Oh Lord, I am your quill.
Feathered arms and sharpened, sticky, ink-feet.
I move not on my own-
I draw and am drawn by your hand.

Make yourself known, you beast above.
Push me, pull me.
Move me.
Leave your smudges trailing behind me-
Indistinct characters formed by deformed instruments.

II

How many hands do you have, God?
How many quills can you work?

III

Blot us out-
blot us into your darkness.

Picture, picture:
A parchment Earth,
Blackening with story.

Picture, picture:
A disappearing Earth,
Written into glory.

Greedy.

2008-11-03T14:04:00.007-07:00

I want to run away:
To start anew
To be alone and not be lonely
To have immediate and great virtue that I can call my own.

I want a man to take my hand:
To call me his wife
To build with me a home
To give me seed and plant my garden of children.

I want a direction I can take:
A passion I can make grow
Wisdom, and glory, and admiration.
And I want it all in the middle of a community that I can call "home".

I want to quit waiting.

I want to hear your voice calling me "child".
I want to feel your hand wildly moving me about.
I want your breath on my neck, and your heart in my ear.
I want you nearer.

Raw.

2008-11-03T00:28:00.001-07:00

When I was young,
impressionable,
and raw,

I was much more capable of tolerating myself.

In Preparation:

2008-10-26T23:12:00.003-06:00

In preparation to fly:

One look.
Edges and endings.
Deep breath.

One look.
Endless beginnings.
Deep breath.

Hands clasped:
Like lovers,
Like commitment,
United to take lift./

In preparation to lie:

Essential oils behind my ears.
Linens and lace and skin.
Simple lines, simple minds.
Calm-ity over calamity,
right?/

In preparation to die:

Hands laid over chest.
A skilled art:
To look casual, comfortable, usual.

Favourite clothes.
Favourite underwear.
Simplest eyes, cleanest skin.

In a field so green it knows nothing but envy.
Under a sky darkened with steel clouds-
Foreshadowing the magnitude of events that's sure to follow.

Darkness and Deepness

2008-10-23T17:37:00.003-06:00

Oh God:
You Mystery of mysteries
You Secret of secrets
You Darkness and Deepness
why are you hiding?

I find You creeping through my window with the dawn,
see You lingering on the ledge,
I reach to let loose the latch, and find only your ash -You Fire that purges clean.

I watch You walk towards me in afternoon light,
witness your simple motion consume the surrounding,
I wait for you to arrive, and am met only with your mist -You Water that quenches drought.

I observe your rising with the moon,
anticipate your additional light,
I stay my eyes in your direction, and find a cloud, your mask -You Wind that moves earth and sky (and me).

Where are you hiding now?
Oh God, where can I find you now?/

"What will you do, God, when I die?" Rilke

Chlorophyll.

2008-10-18T23:28:00.004-06:00

There is a tree who still burns brightly; as green as June, as green as May.
In the midst of his neighbour's October garb he clings to a cloak that's heavy with naked Oak's envy; rich with a Willow's lust.
I visit him often -daily now, as the last of his kin weep the remains of their tattered costumes to an already frostbit earth.
As I sit by his knees, (all knocked and notched with lover's promises,) I wonder aloud (if not to him, than to myself,)
"Who's allowed you to remain so modest? Who's given you the right to retain your pride?"

"I call Him 'Lord'. The One you call 'Maker'."

"But Fairness!" I scream.

"Our answers are thin," he said, through the thickest of leaves, "I won't waste my time weeping 'Why?!' I shall deep root, and I shall stretch tall. I will cling fast to the face of my Father; (to the grace of my Father,) to the place where my Father said 'Be born and die.'"

What patience.
What obedience.
What trust.
What hope.

Reach! you chlorophylled leaves.
Want! you roots in soil.

I would like for my love to be known.

2008-10-10T13:22:00.005-06:00

I walk believing, (audaciously believing,) that the air I move affects you.
And I do it, (boldly do it,) with such vivacity that cannot be ignored.
Kick at the leaves.
Sway -this way, that way. Your way.

I pray believing, (presumptuously believing,) that the air I move affects you.
And I do it, (confidently do it,) with such vigour that cannot be ignored.
Fall to my knees.
Sway -this way, that way. Your way./

All of the flowers, every action
All of the smiles, every expression
I look, but I see
No recognition
No recollection in your eyes.

And I think to myself:
What if I could kiss you?

Mist.

2008-10-06T01:04:00.001-06:00

Rilke's Book of Hours

We must not portray you in king's robes,
You drifting mist that brought forth the morning.

Once again from the old paintboxes
we take the same gold for scepter and crown
that has disguised you through the ages.

Piously we produce our images of you
'till they stand around you like a thousand walls.
And when our hearts would simply open,
our fervent hands hide you.

I Wake Up Cold.

2008-10-06T00:40:00.005-06:00

Redemption.

Here stand I, in the midst of a light so thick it drowns.
Covered in soot- made barely visible.
And yet, here stand I:
BlackBlackSilhouette, in a light so thick it drowns.

There is no place to cast a shadow./

I wake up cold.

And you:
You are colder.
You are thinner than I remember,
thinner than I pictured.

I wake up cold.

And you:
You are colder.
You are clearer than I remember,
More precise than I pictured.
And more absent, too.

Fair-skinned Girls.

2008-10-02T10:25:00.002-06:00

Just say, "Today," and she may look your way -and lead you home./

Fair-skinned girls, awake, and kiss this glory-day.
Fair-skinned girls, arise; yours the Sun's kind graces make.

Show traces for the foreigners
Of your goodly features loaned
Praise them, their gentle faces wound
As Time unwinds your own.

Fair-skinned girls, unmask, and curse your timely stay.
Fair-skinned girls, let down -there's favour here to take.

Sing! you dogs of darkness.
Sing! hidden beasts, with cheer.
Make loud your hallelujahs,
Let known your Maker here.

Still Life.

2008-09-21T21:35:00.002-06:00

Baby, don't worry 'cause now I got your back.
And every time you feel like crying, I'm gonna try and make you laugh.
And if I can't, if it just hurts too bad, then we will wait for it to pass,
And I will keep you company through those days so long and black.
And we'll just keep working on the problem we know we'll never solve,
of Love's uneven remainder, our lives are fractions of a whole.

But if the world could remain within a frame like a painting on a wall,
then I think we would see the beauty then, we would stand staring in awe,
At our still lives posed like a bowl of oranges,
like a story told by the fault lines and the soil.
-Conor Oberst

Autumn's here, and I'm making peace with the fallen leaves.

This winter will be different, Dear.
For I am full of wonder, and ready to begin.

Reinventing.

2008-09-17T21:57:00.005-06:00

There are times when my soul forgets how to shake./

I am a house.
There is life within me.

My floor creaks,
and the walls are thin.
My doors squeak,
and the lights are dim.

But there is life within me./

I am the moon.
I am a flower.
I am the earth.

I wax, I wane.
I bloom.
I need rebirth./

My Pilgrim Life.

2008-06-03T11:28:00.002-06:00

The Book of Pilgrimage (of Rilke's Book of Hours)
II, 15

All who seek you
Test you
And those who find you
Bind you to image and gesture.

I would rather sense you.
As the earth senses you.
In my ripening
Ripens
What you are.

I need from you no tricks
To prove you exist.
Time, I know,
Is other than you.

No miracles, please.
Just let your laws
Become clearer
From generation and generation.
-Rainer Marie Rilke

I feel you in my heart, and I don't even know you.

2008-01-09T13:06:00.000-07:00

Miracles are happening inside of me.

I lay awake in the night, staring at my eyelids -watching life pulse through them.
"Hey Mister, I don't need your glasses, I can see just fine."

I lay awake in the night, feeling my lungs fill -observing the exhale.
"Hey Mister, I don't need more oxygen, I can breathe just fine."

I lay awake in the night, notticing my limbs bend -calculating angles.
"Hey Mister, I don't need robotics, I can move just fine."

I can do just fine.

Slow Motion.

2007-10-09T23:45:00.000-06:00

My heart beat.
My blood flow.
The limbs I have.
The cells I grow.
Their intricate plan.
Their purposeful show.
All of the ways they work.
All of the moves they know.

Ridiculous Poetry Game -By: Alanna, Krista, and Wei-erh. (A.K.A. Krista's Iowan Therapy Session.)

2007-10-04T12:00:00.000-06:00

Synergistic, or What Makes a Thought Worth Thinking?

I'll turn my thoughts
around a wheel
Each frazzled thread
pulled and straightened
wound 'till round
a formed cord
of fragile certainty.
And though the winding
seems so tedious
ever turning back to end
my wound cord
strongly woven
never breaks as it bends.

Vulgarity, or Where Did the Good Go?

That awful taste still lingers in my mouth
I've learned my lesson hence
Suds and bubbles slowly driftign south
I have my recompence.
And all for a small and trifling word
No essence did it taint.
Yet, when slipped from my mouth and t'was heard
My gosh! My mom did faint!
I didn't mean it, I swear, I swear!
But I was out of luck.
Soap in my mouth, alas I must bear
And all for saying ----.

Capitulation, or Can We Learn Enough From Our Parents to Do Better Than They Did?

Out of the fire came ashes
Out of the ashes -man
Out of the man -small thought machines
In their gears, the thought, "I can."
But man-made things wear out and die
Parent's themes pervade their lives.
They think re-used thoughts, and tell re-used lies.
They learn the world through weary eyes.
They're useful things, those damned machines, but in the cubboard lay
The ones who made their tattered seams
Tossed their ideas away.

Osteoporosis, or Would Mona Lisa's Smile Have Worked on Someone Else's Face?

I've always known my wife faired well in other people's shoes.
Almost as though she could rebuild herself as often as she'd choose.
In song, her voice took on new shapes -to give the artist credit.
Her face, it seemed would shine, or gleam -as portraits one might stare at.
She always moved, as water flows -like actors in the Broadway shows.
The clothes she wore, picked carefully -like models in the magazines.
The words she chose, God only knows -were from her favourite books to read.

My wife, to me -a fabrication.
Her life, it seemed -a collaberation.
But lying now, in hospital bed
Her mind near sleep, her bones near dead
Those people inside my wife are gone.
There are no more quiet smiles, no more lively songs.
And only now have I discovered
How much of my wife has been left uncovered.
Less acts.
More facts.
And a wife I hardly knew.

Pickle, or When Does the Beginning Fade Into the End?

Oh, what a pickle.
I don't know where to begin.
My brain is mixed and muddled
My heart without chagrin.
I was once inspired
To write with such great poise,
But as time moves onward
My mind makes no noise.
Oh, what silly things
Are floating in my head.
To formulate a well thought word
Won't happen before I'm dead.
So, I'll big you all goodnight
As I fade away.
This fatigue overwhelms me
We'll speak another day.

You Would Love Me If:

2007-09-21T00:33:00.000-06:00

This was going to be a post about a woman named Maggie.
I was going to use her to discretly display all of my blatant short-comings.
I was going to show you exactly why you aren't in love with me, and exactly what makes you stare in disgust.
And then I was going to explain myself; I would have been bare, and raw, and I would have hid nothing from you at all.
But I would have been writing about "Maggie."
And you probably would have read all of those flowery words as they pertain to Maggie, and none of them as they relate to me.

I ask you to.
And you so politely follow my lead.

This really was going to be a post about "Maggie,"
but she was too shy.

"Maggie" began as a Magpie.
.Everything.means.something.means.something.elsE.

"Damn'it," or, "Thank You For This Day."

2007-07-07T22:49:00.000-06:00

Lover, I broke your door.
What did you want it for?
Now splintered and pattern-free,
It resembles that part of me,
With those tanlines and symmetry,
That you looked on repeatedly,
In your quest to find more -for that girl you adore.
Lover, I broke your door.

The pieces stayed where they fell.
Evenly on your shelves,
They took their place by themselves,
Each pile its own separate "Hell".
And that letter you wrote to me, describing our atrophy,
Well, they made that the centrepiece,
'Swear it had little to do with me.
I merely broke down your door.

Continue.

2007-06-28T00:22:00.000-06:00

You've forgotten quite quickly how to enunciate my name.

Everything is secret.
Everything is hidden.
Everything is neatly tucked away; folded and re-folded -a very ambitious pasttime.
Categorize, Darling,
label, and sort -until you know every corner of this closet.
I am so very unsatisfied with clutter.
Know me./

Taste,
and smell...
-some loud sort of noise you've left...

Our Children Will Remember to Recycle. (I'm re-usable.)

2007-06-13T00:13:00.000-06:00

A Wish For You. (I Wish For You.)
Something large enough to hold.
Something small enough to grasp.
ThoughtsandactionS.
Innocent.Innocent.Innocence./

We are bones, and dreams, and chemical things,
between walls, and sheets, and loud-coloured seams.
Wearers, Lovers, Framers...Chemists, Plot-twists, Cast-kits.

I am counting the wrinkles in all of my knuckles -wondering which ones were worthwhile and who's wishing me to 'wearout' anyways.
I am Red -"Wild and quick tempered," they say, "Quite able to enable good conversational fables in quaint living-room places of the domineering, high-class/rich-ass races."
Same body, on the other hand -across the damned and untraceable, ruled "quite distasteful," man's chest, breast and well-tested lengthy armspan -You are staring at fingers, (both centre and others,) determining which one is best for each lover.
(How comedic.)
You are Gold, and you have been, since I can remember -or at least since I've known you, (three years come September).
Everyone knows that "gold" is just another word for "growing out/going out of style," (I suppose it's either that, or "novelty.") Neither are really descriptive, or worth calling "faulty." You can take your pick.

Your'e a telegram with: the punctuation all, wrong?
I'm a telephone and this, my Receiver's song.
We're crying outloud, dying-out proud, and melodiously, sub-consciously humming along, but it's meaningless now... and we've readily begun to forget how very difficult we can make Distance look with all of that new-fangled technology circulating about.
It's futile, they're fertile and we're left standing on trial.
(How Pointless.)
They're housing most brand new, grand news; We're simplifying F-blues.
We're mourning the deaths of 48 cent stamps and kerosene lamps.

We are bones.
We are dreams.
We are chemical things.
We are counting, and staring, and quite content with not caring.
You are Gold and I am Red.
We shared growing old and we'll share being dead.
I can't promise to keep secrets.
You can't act like you might need it.

We fit together: perfected patterns and symmetric seams.
We are bones and we are dreams.
And most importantly, we are chemical.

Until it so desires... "Repetition makes an impression."

2007-06-03T23:31:00.000-06:00

A love song, a song of songs.
Forgotten treasure.
"See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come..."

(S.O.S.TwoSevenPlus)/

I am most pleased with Earth-life when I am reminded that I thrive during my commitment to simultaneous motion with the large amount of Life around me.
It continues, and I am called to do the same. Oh, I cannot have achieved all that earns such a glorious task.
What an all-encompassing gift to hold on to.

Everything is so big.
I have new things inside of me.
Everything is so full.
I have fanciful thoughts inside of me.

What is this birth?
I am a mother.

The Well.

2007-05-29T22:14:00.000-06:00

"I'm not doing this! I can't. Seriously, Nathan, I'm tired. I'm tired of the dirt under my nails. I'm tired of this ridiculous digging. I'm tired of that smirk on your face. Do you really think this is funny?"
"Dig, Kate."

More sun, more silence, more sorry-ass work, and little to show for it, little satisfaction in the "end". Those days the Wind rarely stirred quick enough to feel, and He certainly stopped moving strong enough to hear ages ago -perhaps when Kate was a child and she still understood faith.
(Remember, her circumstance was everything. Present-tense is always so very real when you immerse yourself.)

"This hole isn't right. It never ends, and you know it... it's another one of your faulty designs, your lofty ideals... Oh, Nate! Come now, look at me.. can you still tell me that you believe? We've been slaves to this idea for so long now, and what have we to show for it? Early arthritis and sore backs, that is all! My throat is dry and my skin is cracking -your wife is wasting away at your command. What do you have to say for yourself?"
"Dig. I promise you, Kathryn, this will be over soon."
"'Dig, Kate.' 'I promise you, Kathryn' 'Trust me, Kay' I don't even know what "trust" is anymore. I'm losing hope and you are losing your wife. Do you honestly think that I'll..."

All hell continued to break loose until it was douced with reality.
Water is a very good remedy for most any panick, especially those engulfed in flames.

An Admiration of Spiritual Committment, or: Never Let the Tigers See Your Stitches.

2007-05-07T12:15:00.000-06:00

I want a golden thumb. (Like that boy who wears those gloves all of the time.)
He's seen pages wear white; they're gaining value by losing worth, but still his steady hand holds a proven humility. (I wonder "How?" as well.)
I want to see the back of the man in the corner office. (The one pushing the buttons and turning the wheels.)
He's made things bigger than my eyes can stretch, peripheral included, and I want my own Whole. (1:being in healthy, or sound condition. 2:a totality lacking no part, member, or element.)
I want a room of my own, and the spectacle that comes in prepared speeches and splinters. (Well, it's true, we all want parties. Why do you suppose we have weddings and wish-filled birthday celebrations?)
I want a song -every note in direct correlation to my soul.
Oh, and a dance too -every step mirroring my own.
I want this house to fall, and that water to rise,
I want the sun in my heart, and the shade in my eyes.
(Everything you've got.)
I want it.

Not to be scrutinized.
Not to be sold.
Mostly for my own golden-thumbed Midas, his greed, and the beauty behind it.
I'm dedicating this to the (not-so) potential father of two girls: (One, a famous spinster and the other, a prize.)
Your lust (Culturally always the 2nd) is in health.
Your truth will make you rich.
Thank you.

Nine.

2007-05-02T13:47:00.000-06:00

Doors -wooden and locked, bolted with shiny, new deadbolts.
Windows -little white frames, plastered in decals and streaks from the rain outside.
Clashing contradictions.
Closed openings./

There shall come a day when every one of us will admit that Light travels much faster than sounD.
Everytime that plaid-covered woodsman across the cove swings his ax it will be as though he shatters the heavens. And still, our unprotected friend will lay, (undignified and unrecognised,) in slivered pieces against the earth.
All glory to the Air we breath.
(No sacrifice is rightly accredited.)

Lean Off High Chairs.

2007-04-13T09:10:00.000-06:00

"The stone the builders rejected has become the capstone."

I am a building.
Tall and strong in the sun,
Small and feeble in your shadow.
My organs live their own lives, slowly affecting each other as their individual pulses echo and collide in my veins.
My white-washed skin is worth the attention, mostly devoted to gleaming in every light.

I have my own reasons.
Ima building./

Red shag sweater on a heavy-chested woman. Perfectly suited. Dress up, dress down -too many naked eyes, too many naked gems.
Offensive oils in Lavender and Lilac. Purple scents for purple noses, snobbery all around.
Scribbles on our dear Blackboard's replacement, and trailing artistic minds. We're all eager to meet the future, everyone except the sidewalk chalk.
Close proximates and sun laden shields: a perfect recipe for early afternoon meltdowns.
Making up is taking off. Making on is taking down.
We're marking black eyes and worn out lips all around.

Snobby purple headaches, red feathered lint, kilometres clocked in brainwaves and blank stares all around.

Today we learnt about sharing, and why sometimes it simply isn't appropriate./

Some Affected, Infected Noise

2007-04-02T12:43:00.000-06:00

You are:
All of the wrong words,
At all of the wrong times,
For all of the wrong reasons.

Love it while you can./

I encountered my very own Ian Thompson on the bus last night. He was an artist -not a writer, but even so, very intriquing. I desperately hope that his father encourages his work./

Everything is painted with you.
Everything is garbage.
Not to say that you are garbage, just to say that you don't belong here.

The equivlent of your secret measured in temperature:

2007-03-23T23:47:00.000-06:00

Young lovers on a city bus,
an incandescent's filament,
the sparks that fly around 'tween us,
my father's views of parliment./

I check the weather like you check your hair:
With consideration to the clothes I'll wear./

Oh, I suppose you have no idea that
it took me three tries.

"In human affairs of delicacy..."

2007-03-15T13:49:00.000-06:00

I'm letting Disaster alone for a time.
Perchance I'll return for Him someday, but my soul is far too alive to live in His air today.
My Heart is far too full to believe He has a place in Her today.
Yes, I will allow a certain kind of sorrowfull reminiscence on the woman I have lost, but she must lay -with a shallow pulse, on the bed of yesterday I have made for her.
I will dance in glory above her. I will walk in splendour around her.
She will receive my stare, with lust for more. She will call for my touch, but no longer will I lay next to her, no longer will I fuel her breathing with breath from my own lungs.
I'm letting Disaster alone for a time./

We had our beginnings:
Lustrous, in caves.
We had Creation:
It's lips parted for our remains.

We are unique.
We are old aged, and out of fashion.
We are antique.
We are of worth, and in collection.

We are in motion, and out of focus.
We are in sound, and out of range.
We are full and we are cracked.
We are in glory and considered strange.

We are their secrets.
We are their fables.
We gave birth to every syllable, death to every retired page.

You and I are in clear sound.
You and I are painted pure.
You and I are in full motion.
You and I have every cure.

We have no end.

This is my voice rising.

2007-02-28T13:21:00.000-07:00

"We have a problem with no solution, but to love, and to be loved."
"If you'll bring the poison, I'll bring the remedy."

I'm a clay bowl forgotten in the cold.
The robbery of my usefullness is pending on our neighbour, Frost.

What are beginnings, if not a means for their own end?

Gradual temperature raises from the inside out -body heat.
Where does all of the magic go?
Is anything safe now?
Who puts out the fires, and is that really what we want?

Why can no one answer my questions?
When will someone really try?

Yes, everything is connected here.
I might sound pathetic, but aictaitts iwtsswlfffsdmi.
mysjlmc, n, itinsotlom ahomh kismfa tmyn.

End.

I can't find a cure, but I can make it bearable.

2007-02-26T12:42:00.000-07:00

Waiting for a replay.
Let's not give ourselves time to think.

Edward sat on the edge of the bathtub: buttoning his shirt, pulling on his only pair of dress socks. He watched as his love -not his first, but most definately his last, added to her already beautiful face.
"Charlene, you don't need it, that make-up stuff..."
Charlene smiled to herself, not responding, not even turning her head to acknowledge his sincerity. She went on: finishing her eyes, her cheeks, and then she stopped to look at the tube of lipstick on the counter. It was a bold move to wear a red like that, not very many girls could pull it off without looking like a two dollar hooker.
Charlene wasn't at all like other girls, Edward knew it, Charlene knew it -though she wouldn't boast it.

Charlene could wear fire-truck red on her lips,
Charlene could turn the heads of strangers,
Charlene could make joy a tangible reality.

She left the lipstick on the counter, slipped on her black gown, stepped into her heels and flashed Edward a smile.

They drank fine wine, greeted old friends, and danced the night away.
Charlene was the envy of every woman in the room, and in his arms she made Edward the envy of every man.

She left the lipstick on the counter, and proved a point without it.

Test me.

2007-02-23T19:32:00.000-07:00

I thought I had forgotten how, but now I mostly believe that I just hadn't the opportunity.
The situation has yet to fully arise, but I understand that it's still very possible.

We used to be novelties.
You used to shine all over the place.
I used to watch your mind.
We used to steal each other's smiles.

I see everything.
My hearing's shot,
but I see everything.
I'm Oh-so-internalized.
Turn, you wheels in rust.
Wake, you brain in dust.
Please, kind stranger, old friend, give me room to change.

I like patterns. I delight in discovering them. I thrive off of hiding them. If you knew me well, you'd see them in most every word, every move, every look. Sometimes I'm silly, and sometmes I'm spilling secrets that I'd rather nobody knew. Apparently that's a contradiction. Watch me.
Catch me when I'm rational; I'm pretty intentional.

I'm doing an experiment.
This is Krista.

Animals Took Stars In Right Karma.

2007-02-20T21:44:00.000-07:00

A: Who stole my innocence?
E: What does it mean to be honest?
I: Where has all of my understanding gone?
O: When do we leave this cycle?
U: Why do we run away?

Y: How do I find you?

I don't think that I am boring.
I simply think that I am incapable of displaying myself.
#*$% .Do not dispute me. #*$%
Infact, I think my mind is gorgeous.
#*$% .Do not agree with me. #*$%

I think your mind is gorgeous too. If you want to reply to that, I'll take it.

I think your thoughts are endless, I think your pulsing makes you real.
I think your skin is flawless, I think your fingers let you feel.
I think your lips are yearning,
I think your ears are searching,
I think your hair is waiting,

I think your eyesight makes me dull.

Maybe I like that your eyesight makes me dull.
Maybe I like that your standing there, watching me, as I spill out on the floor.
And maybe I like that you seem completely unwrecked. I'm a bloody mess, and you're bored.

Who stole all of my words?

Seriously, don't do it.
But, if you find my secret here, I'd like to know about it.

Damned world, I've got no room for you.

2007-02-07T14:27:00.000-07:00

He's got a photographic memory;
But he's watching porn on the T.V.
Instead of reading books from history,
He's memorizing her body.

Oh, Gifted Child, where have you gone?
Been slain to Earth, for far too long.
Oh, Blessed Mind, where have you been?
Can I take back those things you've seen?
Oh, War of Flesh, have you no end?
Will you our death, tomorrow send?
You've lined our grounds,
With souls you've found,
And we are left to ask our pardon here;
Oh, I am caged to take rememberance here./

I fell asleep on the bathroom floor.

"It has gotten to my head...

2007-02-02T13:20:00.000-07:00

...permeates the path I tread."

"You are my sweetest downfall."

There's a double kick in my head.
There's a strong pulse in my chest.
I'm drawing hearts on fogged up windows.
I'm full of lovers struck by arrows.

Where is my hand-held mirror?
Where are my feathered wings?
Where is my sweet green tea?
I've lost all my pretty things.

I'm craving bleached teeth and strong mint mouthwash.
I've taken to ironing my skirts.
I'm collecting star-dust for my eyes.
But, Oh my bitter-sweet demise:
You're out tending to your plants.

Beautiful and bold;
You're watering your rose.
The April breeze seems cold.
But you claim, "I can't feel the blows."
Darling, I see every bruise.
From inside I'm missing you.
I've been folding all our towels.
And I'm scrubbing every tile.
The Earth's core heaves; it growls.
And you're ignoring every trial.

My dear Gardener, can't you turn your eye?
Oh Nature's lover, would you lend your mind?

You've so many distractions.
I've never been one of your flowers.
Look, Dear, see my collections?
There's your picture in every tower.

I'm a jealous fiend.
Leave your dirt,
Leave your spade,
Leave your bulbs,
Come play with me./

Come: You month of love,
You month of slush and sleet.

"Fevral'. Dostat' chernil i plakat'!
Pisat' o fevrale navzryd,
Poka grohochuschaya slyakot'
Vesnoyu chernoyu gorit.

February. Get ink, shed tears.
Write of it, sob your heart out, sing,
While torrential slush that roars
Burns in the blackness of the spring."

My heart is hungry.

2007-01-29T22:25:00.000-07:00

I found my soul in someone else's sweater.

I am growing myself secrets.
And piecing together the rest of my heart.

I don't sleep well.

Children say destructive things, there is no social norm.
Children are destructive.
They are channelled into terrorism.
Their homes are desructive.
Our media is destructive.
Our world is laced with poison...
We eat everything we see.
We devour everything we don't need.

I mostly want to smash things today.
And I want to glue them someplace new.

I have nothing beautiful for you.
I gave it all away last night.
I ate it myself.

I am mislead.

A retraction. (The past-tense of right must be wrote.)

2007-01-22T09:08:00.000-07:00

Oh, Crown of Creation,
You are my breath, and my bane.
My past and future are channelled through your existance.
I crave your attention, and I curse you at your back.

Take these empty lines -my apologies- and remember how little I've demanded of you.
Exceed and glorify. Indeed, exemplify.
Wear no mask. Wear every mask.
Make all space beautiful.

I shall praise your courage.
And we shall praise your strength./

Two days ago I was smoking in my mind and all I wanted was to delete every weighted word I had ever thought down.
Yesterday I was vivid and aware of most syllables.
Tomorrow I will hate that I admitted it.

I am indebted.
I owe you almost every creative title.
I would voice every loan and announce your significance, but I'm petty and in the mood for breaking all the rules.
Shadowing your thoughts means every day has questions.
You've had royalty and paupers all over your mind.
But there are plotlines and payrolls we need to rewind.

Out of every remark that you've censored so far, this one's my favourite;
"There is no glow, but I can make things shine.
There is no heat, but when you walk that line I feel warmer, higher, braver, wiser.

"Can you recall that point -while you're falling towards me- when, as a nation, I should choose my immortal amenity?
Good. Now try carefully to imagine what Truth you find could possibly devour it.
Revisit the fallout: I turned to my side, to give profile more aim, a wholistic retraction; oh, everything less.
To tease for a moment, or just to be cruel, I took away beauty and left you in mess.
Oh, don't be upset, don't be fooled by my movements, I meant it in quarrels to be by your hand,
but once you reached ninety, I couldn't resist it, I let loose and fully let lustre on stand.
While you're watching and falling, reaching -not touching, let me repeat what's already been mine,
I've got mirrors, believe it, I know what you're seeing,
There is no glow.
But in chaos like this, I make everything shine."

Thank you for calling, I needed the doorbell,
But Riches and Cardboard are warring for Fame./

There is an end to any sentence only because I adore th

Intellect is everywhere.
You are everywhere too.

This post is not.

2007-01-18T21:11:00.000-07:00

"I thought of you, where you'd gone, and the world spins madly on."

Parade my life so loudly. Wear my heart so brightly.
Nonono, I, I am not a cure. Can't I refuse to accept your title?
Quaint little haven have you, but I couldn't take a hiding there.
Oh, oh, my lovely light, you take awe and jubilee to a secret, simple level, and it brings me to my knees.

Re"interupt and be"late.
Gross.

I don't mean to be a source of fear and intimidation.

I feel like erasing most everything I have wrote in the past 4 months.
My own words are my largest source of insecurity.

I hear your mind.
It is so loud.
No one thinks kind thoughts anymore.

So, I relent to a world where you can't reach me.
Because these days, everything is scary.

Old Letterssssimgcrzyikabtytthmor

2007-01-15T20:32:00.000-07:00

The lies of your lovers. The love of our liars.
Oh, the lives of every liar's lover.
Meltmeltmelt me./

I found an old letter this morning; waterspots and torn creases. On its lines your messy penmanship scrawlled out just how amazing she was. I was jealous the first time I read it through, mostly because it reminded me of how amazing you once found me... but that was years ago, and we're so different now. I was young enough to pretend that I loved your ideas. I found it in me to rejoice,
"Oh, something new, something glorious, something vicarious."
I sat next to a boy last week. He was different than you, he was warm. We were smiling, I'm not sure why. It seemed simple;
He didn't make me nervous, and I couldn't trip his words.
Oh some things are new, less things are glorious, nothing is vicarious. I'll be living my own life now./

Talktalktalk, about your future success, and how you'll have my heart all in a mess.
I want to hear it.
You've been singing out of tune./

"If I don't come back, I mean if I get side tracked, it's only because I wanted to."

ComHo

2007-01-14T13:34:00.000-07:00

Communal Blog.
Link to your right.
Check it.
Love us.

K

Destruct?

2007-01-08T22:50:00.000-07:00

Demand. Destress. Dismiss.

A pupil exceeding; through all odds, defeating.
Seduced by a monster, a liar, a thief.
I would have your back, but I'm simply misleading...
And everything here is what makes my knees weak.

I have no desire to remind you of this:

Tangletangle, Our legsfingersbrains.
Scandalscandal, when OldWinter Rains.
Strange flu-like obsessions and twisted insides.
My being is amess.

I'm OhSoAwkward.
A small girl, the world is myplayground.
A fine heart, so sincere myintent.
PleaseListen.
My mind is awake, hummingthrivingcrashing.
I have a whole lot of words to say outloud.
But everything important is so quiet these days./

I feel like maybe sleep will cure me... I'll spend some time with the machines tomorrow. I'll spend some time on my mind tomorrow. Chisel out the unwanted. Throw away the rejects.
Repell.
Things that are alike.
Things that are unkind.
You don't want that.
Magnets?
Things that will collide.
Things that rule these times.
You don't want me./

Dear Joy,
I have a very happy place.
It's inviting you to stay.
The other choice is; walk away.
I'm so satisfied.
But I still don't know you..../

Take these words and run away with them.
ReceiveReward.
Celebrate.
I'm trying to thank you for I've become.

I feel little... or small.

2006-12-22T00:46:00.000-07:00

She had incredible social skills.
She brought light to our homes, poise to our tables, joy to our hearts.

Captivating, Addicting, the kind of girl that made everyone else feel good about themselves. She was hard to leave, hard to let go of.
She was a lovely girl.

It's really too bad that she never wrote me in her will. I would have appreciated being entitled to any of it: the smile, the laugh, the way she could hold your attention long after she left the room.
Oh she's long gone. And she took it all with her.
I not saying that we can no longer attain it, I'm only admitting that the best of everything was buried at her side.
Oh, we're such a sorry state.

I have a small cabin in the woods.
I go there to escape it all,

But the trees smell like you.

donedonedone with me, you are.

I'll plant myself,
Grow like your pine tree.
You'll cut me down,
And pretend to be surprized that it makes me sad.

I am embarassed.

Rotten Ones.

2006-12-18T00:21:00.000-07:00

Blessing in my heart, burden on my back.
Joynoise and Doubts.
I had a good day?

Dear Brain,
I am so very sick of your deceptions.
You've been cruel to me; lying and cheating.
You're such a tease; I thought we could be friends, I was all in.
But my darling thought-machine, you've been so abusive and I don't think that works for me.
I'm tired of lonliness. I'm tired of hurting.
Please, let's join arms.

They tell me to let you go,
You're "Nothing but a box of old unusables; memories that may or may not have ever occured."
I'm not so sure if you belong.
We have such differences with you being so logical, ripping apart my floorplans on account of practibility and future cost.
But I'd like you to know, I'm willing to work things out.
I refuse to be stepped on and dismissed, but I am ready to fight for this.
Unity, Dear, I know you long for it too.
So, onwards, their's a battle raging in our names.

All of my everything, I've already given it to you,
Yours always,
Heart.

Dear Heart,
I'd already have blown you to bits if I didn't know that it wouldn't turn out completly in my favour. (That's what some would call "rational", I thought I'd introduce you to it. Benefitial for you in this case, remember that.)
I need you to sustain a few things around here, but I'd feel more comfortable if you kept to my previously arranged, "profit only" proposal.

I know what you are expecting, but I will not apologize this time.
You're concerned with issues that are none of your business, I'd advise you just stay out of it.

Truly,
Brain.

I have a great deal of fears.
It's kind of ridiculous.
I am blessed with countless wonderful people,
Also kind of ridiculous and definately inexplicable.

Joy, as a biproduct of all of the times we had, have, and will have... for all of the times we never had, and for the ones which I am almost certain we never will.

Oh, little Earthchild, so cyclistic, so simplistic, so discusting.
I don't like living in you anymore.

Infidel, where's your faith in what's true, where's your trust in what's real?

2006-12-08T00:11:00.000-07:00

I lie in bed, close my eyes, but there is no deceiving my brain.
Good day, Life within me. I won't seek what you won't give.

Trial?
~
I danced in our kitchen.
You saw me, I know, I saw it too.
A smile, but it was out of your polite closet again,
nothing geunine.
I dared you to try on a real outfit for once, one that won't clash with your thoughts.
They are always clearest when you're distracted.

"Join me, Dear."
"I'm much too busy."
"Mmm?"
"...busy remembering."
"Ahh.."
"What we are, what this is, what anything means."
"That's a lot of talk.. come dance."
"Bodies moving seems so natural to a beat, what happens when the beat stops?"
"Hmm? Too much thinking, Darling, do. ( < That's a definite command.) The beast never stops."

There was never an island in our kitchen. You created one. Built it, with your own working hands, working mind.
Now we can walk around it, dig beneath it, jump on top it.
Mother was right about one thing, there's mac and cheese on the shelves.
And she's reigning my hands; chopping vegetables, serving vitamins...
She's so crazed and cautious, so disturbed.
"But we've got fidelity, Ma, (still tapping my toes,) we've got a life's list of wrongs that we're righting here tonight..."
~

^This wasn't it.^
Error?

I am doing so very well.
I have remembered how silly I can be.
And I how much I do love to laugh.
A season of joy, correct?
Everything in season.

I have a lot of fond memories inside of me, replaying and reminding.
I have so much to be thankful for, so much to look forward to, so little to fear, so little to weep and complain over.
I own, in the very best sense of the word, the world.
Good, good day, my Loves. A very good day.