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Feline Sugarpacket

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(We were born to fuck shit up, we drink our juice from broken cups.) [14 Dec 2010|05:10pm]
The records of my life have been spotty, technicolor and full of holes lately. My head is bouncing here and there and everywhere in between. I drive back and forth across the country and try so hard to find a place to call my home but the wanderer in me is having trouble taking off his shoes. I don't know where the best place to stop and rest my head is - here or the final destination? How many more times will I have to put all my things in boxes and leave in the next six months? Will I ever find a reasonable legal way of making an income? Where did all these pieces of my soul come from? Where did the shreds I'm used to pushing around go? Who what where when why how? So many questions and so little time with so much intense laser lightshow changing scenery flashing before my eyes and disappearing behind me under these tired feet. And one moment I'm dying and the next I'm 800 miles away and my good friend is dying and the next these other good friends are carrying my jello brain away in this tiny Cabrio and now we're all confused and trying to sort the reality out. Oh me, oh my.

trax
Beam me up.

[21 Nov 2010|05:32am]
I am where the wild things are.
Beam me up.

This is a list of things I need do: [20 Oct 2010|11:12am]
Clean my house, wash my brain, get into more shenanigans (and less "situations"), be more adorable, learn when to bite my tongue, re-learn how to speak directly and coherently, remember it is my responsibility to say NO and I am allowed to say NO whenever the fuck I want, do more puzzles, drink more coffee, go new places, climb more trees, listen to more Animal Collective, get the psychedelic swag back, wake up earlier, read more books, stop putting holes in walls with my head, stop surrounding myself with metaphysical vampires (aka: know your enemies, remember how to feel out good friends), stop taking the title of that Elliott Smith song "A Distorted Reality is Now a Necessity to be Free" to heart (YOU DON'T EVEN LIKE THE FUCKING SONG!), walk down to the lake at least every other day while I'm still in Chicago (because I live two blocks away from this bitch), start putting my things back in boxes, find more things you can get rid of in the process, drink water regularly, spend time in the sunlight, make a pile of leaves and jump in it, go to a pumpkin patch (and try like hell to find one with a hayride), carve pumpkins (with friends?), go to a haunted house, go to my old home town and play on the train tracks I played on when I was a kid, go on a walk in the forest preserve my dad practically raised me in, print t-shirts, show my best friend everything I've learned when she comes to visit, rock the living fuck out of my remaining gigs here, and have one hell of a road trip with her back to Pennsylvania.

when night turns into day again
1 cryptic space message // Beam me up.

[24 Sep 2010|03:12pm]
I had a dream last night that ended like this: I was watching my friend's three month old baby and it kept shrinking every time I looked at it or touched it, but it needed attention and I couldn't ignore it. I kept trying to console it - what's wrong, what's wrong? - and it would just scream and get smaller and more shriveled. Someone came into the room while this was happening and I tried to hide it, I didn't want to explain what the fuck was going on, or deal with the idea it was happening. We talked about mundane crap with weird edges and the whole time every piece of tissue behind my face was screaming "JUST GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME I NEED TO FIX THIS" but I was so compelled to hold my composure to an extent and not let this person in on the real issues at all. When they finally left I turned around and the baby was very shrivelled, the size of my hand and had crawled under a couch cushion and somehow lost its clothes and diaper in the process; it started shitting there, semi under the couch cushion and it looked like mint chocolate ripple ice cream but the room smelled worse than death. As it came out the baby's stomach caved in and the rest of it's body followed and what was left was a pile of terribly reeking excrement that was about the size of my hand (like the baby had been) and a baby no larger than a finger puppet all dried out, looking like a tiny, semi-baby shaped, scorched thin tortilla chip. I was a completely panicked mess, here I was with someone's new baby that they loved and cherished and suddenly it undergoes some intense voodoo transformation and vanishes, not even leaving a body for her parents to grieve over? I couldn't handle the pressure, I couldn't imagine giving her parents this tiny chip skin and a pile of mint chocolate chip looking poo in a Tupperware saying "This is all that's left of her, I don't know what happened - " No not at all. I crumpled up the hard shrivelled skin in my hand and sprinkled it into the corner of the couch cushion and left town. I didn't know what else to do.

Is this a metaphor for my inner child, or just fucking weird?
2 cryptic space messages // Beam me up.

(and all the color drained out of the frame) [29 Aug 2010|02:26pm]
I barely saw any fire flies and I didn't get to pick a single black raspberry. I sit on my back porch day in and day out staring out at the boxed off patch of sky from a plastic lawn chair wondering what I'm doing (I.E. what am I doing wrong, what am I not doing) - yet maybe I am doing it right. Then again the other question comes: what the hell am I even doing? I've been sick for a week now, and brutal cold looks like it is morphing into gritty throat infection. I've got no health insurance and I'm nervous about seeking medical attention. I've got a follow up interview at Blockbuster tomorrow at noon and my tonsils are big red pitted golf balls looming in my throat with little white splotches. They called me on Wednesday and I'm afraid it'll look bad if I'm still sick on Monday. Keeping me inside on these last sunny days, fever keeping me in cold sweats for the last bits of heat. Instead I review my past incessantly looking for my lost magic - my lost sense of language, my lost candid honesty (more real and less "brutal" sounding), my lost interest in life, my lost fire and compassion. Maybe if I re-learn myself and can imitate it well enough it will come back some day. You know, fake it till you make it? I hope I still get to play on the train tracks and go mini golfing and go to the forest preserve. Fall is coming soon and I yearn for dead leaves that resemble this whole city going up in flames and the crisp smell of smoke and the first edges of dry cold coming into the air. I'll go to a pumpkin patch and a haunted house and drink tons of apple cider in my sweaters and lay in piles of leaves - since I've missed out on most of my summer dreams in favor of bars and other human drudgery, I cannot let myself slip any further into this bullshit. I'm sick of this droning and following. I wish I'd never learned to "go with the flow". Sure it made me more sociable and more of a "person" but god am I so miserable now. I don't even know how to ask people to leave anymore (that used to be my biggest strongpoint).

Oh me, oh my. When will you learn, little kitten?

(I was determined in Chicago but dug my feet into my knees.)
Beam me up.

reflections and projections/text collage vol. II [11 Aug 2010|06:33pm]
"Maybe it is not wickedness, after all, that they want. Maybe it is only the elimination of the poisons in the body, the consequences of it all. "

From a thin and damp Chicago evening in August: I ran in high company but I'm not free, I know I am bound here in captivity. Behind the calm of his silver mask, the skeletal alien clung and watched - but everything here calls for solitude. I have grafted this fragile life - the thirst, the venom of the peacock in the cage - like a sad shooting star. She turns the volume on the radio up and hums along with the song for a minute and I'm thinking I should turn my hungers. It's a grainy film of black and white, flickery silver film no matter how she tries to cover a little more/I have tried to improve my life, I have fought (is something the matter?). I must have been on Europa for at least 1,000 years (the earth in tiny whirls) and you hate everyone/well that's not true I just hate all these obnoxious, extroverted pseudo bohemian art school... The next morning (my brain) was still open and seemed to be forming a nice crust. I moved up to the sidewalk and cut across to the alley and as soon as they were out there's somebody calling "who's we?" We both turned and stared down the alley. Nothing. I felt very old, very soft and moved out into the ice water. Before the sea of disasters, noon explodes in the darkness of its strength; break off in someone's laughter, you can tell right there that it's like climbing into the prize ring: you should feel you owed them something or you shouldn't be in there. but it all unravels in such a timely/untimely fashion: peeling away all these layers of my subconscious just like mountains of patterned paper and every little electric moment adds up to way more than all your super-mondo-video-game-player-3000X with the convertible top and turquoise velor custom nameplating deluxe. With eyes that are really petals and see all the innate humor in this - radios buzz about credit card debt and then goes straight to hybrid cars. It comes to me in fragments - broken glass and big black chunks - but there will never be a time more opportune to stop all this Do you get how I feel? Do you identify in some way or are you rejecting me? because I go down these roads quietly too often. Yet she just stands in one place, staring up at the TV's, maybe using two fingers to pinch the skin under her jaw, pull it tight, and let go. All this old, black ooze keeps leaking out while purring in sleep repeating reels with an aura of doom. (What does that even mean?) He has been abandoned many times, left to die in cold city alleys, in hot noon vacant lots, pottery shards, nettles, crumbled mud walls. And although days pass slow now, he has cried for help in vain many times, and my ghost still bangs on the rooftop. It's really intense... it's great... but why'd we have to run the whole way?, well you know, the right time to leave is the minute that you think about it... And I hope that someone gives me a job. And I hope that I have more good days than bad days. That I learn to say this glass is half full, it is not half empty. And to hell with my half full glass - I want a FULL full glass, I want it overflowing. And I want to feel joy like I did that one summer day for ten minutes right before I decided life was horrible and I went crazy. I want to recapture the feeling of liking to be alive. She could stop it, but what if she did?

"Is it heavy thinking without liver trouble they want? Tobacco art without lung cancer? Marijuana without garbage? Do they want to sow seeds without reaping its harvest? It does not work that way -- no more than apples can be plucked from grasshoppers, or grapes bottled from thistles."
Beam me up.

(drink the poison from a cup of gold) [12 Jun 2010|01:57am]
All the trouble aside, I





and the birthday party wasn't half bad either.
1 cryptic space message // Beam me up.

Writer's Block: Mystery meat [29 May 2010|11:14pm]
What is the most disgusting food you have ever eaten? What made it so gross?




If you can even call this a food (although, it states pretty clearly on the label that it as at least posing as food), this was by far the most disgusting thing I've ever put in my mouth. Which, if you know me, this is a pretty high bar of disgusting. As to what made it so gross? The ingredients kind of speak for themselves: Mechanically Separated Chicken, Beef Tripe, Partially Defatted Cooked Beef Fatty Tissue, Beef Hearts, Water, Partially Defatted Cooked Pork Fatty Tissue, Salt. Less than 2 percent: Mustard, Natural Flavorings, Dried Garlic, Dextrose, Sodium Erythorbate, Sodium Nitrite - all blended into a nice, runny paste.
2 cryptic space messages // Beam me up.

(she awoke, with a jerk, what had they done?) [13 May 2010|09:43pm]

FUCK YEAH! Oh, no, no no, FUCK NO.
8 cryptic space messages // Beam me up.

[29 Apr 2010|06:39pm]
record store employee

well the sun shone so brightly
on my back for that ten minute
cigarette breakintime
_______and out in the suburbs they
_______say I'd make a great professional
_______taping paper to plastic but
____this check still won't feed me;
on the way home
the radio drooled
to pins of water
coming straight from
the sun that wrapped
this tired face
and the wind shook all the
foliage in town so exquisitely
______but in the mail there's just more
______Comcast ads,
______traffic tickets,
______and a Clipper Magazine.
Beam me up.

look at me, my feathers drag, this harp plays out of tune [21 Apr 2010|03:56pm]



And, I float from one thing to another constantly, feeling jumbled and somewhat erroneous. Sometimes my head is broken and full of cataracts, slow electronic signals and too many clouds but others it is crystal clear too clear at a moment's notice and I am flying down the train tracks at great speed once again. The weather acts subtle and fucked up, pouring sunny weird windy overcast day with the lights all too bright. I'm coughing and it's sticky and my bones whine from under my flesh that they're tired. Fuck, man, you're always tired. You'd think getting rid of the worms would have been pretty energetically uplifting, but I am still almost sick and completely sapped all the time. I just try to ignore it now. I keep my head up as best I can these days, trudging through all the layers of wet tissue paper between me and real life. I feel cocooned and desensitized. I used to get so worked up about all this shit but I don't have the energy most of the time anymore. And god, I used to get so fucking lonely, but these days I'm actually really digging having no one around.

I don't see much going on for me in the outside world. I want to hide under a heavy work schedule and a pile of paper. I get nervous when people come too close to me again. (Which, by the way, thanks a-fucking-gain, man, I just started to get over that).

and a poem for the road on a recent annoying occurrenceCollapse )

But for the most part, I'm doing better than ever, I guess. Sometimes I just wish there was so much more in so many departments and maybe a little less in others.
1 cryptic space message // Beam me up.

[19 Feb 2010|02:41pm]
I go back to Pennsylvania, in four days now...



...at least this time I am armed to the teeth.
7 cryptic space messages // Beam me up.

[27 Dec 2009|01:12pm]


just because you're hallucinating doesn't mean it's not really there.
5 cryptic space messages // Beam me up.

[09 Nov 2009|12:24am]
slowly shedding layers of my vacant, nonplussed carcass. Life has been notably less painful (despite being entirely less delicious) since I found out about the peanut/almond allergy. Brain still races fast, too fast for me to keep up with. Whole moments of my being just vanish because I am already miles away by the time I have to come back and deal with the fucked up way I tied my shoes, or the fact I left my laptop on the trunk of my car and drove away (somehow A: not remembering leaving it there in the first place and B: not losing it in transit from my parents house in Berkeley to my own house in Oakland). Can't place events in my head, memory perforated with big, blank gaps. Today I watched my refrigerator slip into a pinhole of space time in some fucked up conical blip, looked away, blinked twice, looked back and it was there but a single piece of paper had fallen off.

I haven't used real drugs in long time. What gives?

...probably time to start drinking coffee again at least...
4 cryptic space messages // Beam me up.

somewhat uncertain/text collage, self portriat [20 Sep 2009|12:45pm]
"Snake Destiny pointed to Tina as God's personal name. By using her name in earnest Vegetable Sacrifice, I felt I could really draw the last bit of smoke from the bong."

The wreckage of the workship was still rolling downhill; he'd been blinded once before and I always used to say, listen to me - butterfly - there's only so much wine you can drink in one life but it will never be enough to save you from the bottom of your glass. Then the tree is on the horizon; everyone is getting very thirsty and very dessicated and it's hard to believe you'll ever be dead. Message bursts from archaic Mars streamed in and he rose suddenly, unsteadily staring out into the fire, oblivious to everything except one terrible thought: last night my window opened in the cold summer breeze and from the dark forest a white dog stared in at me, but I do suppose I'm having trouble with my inner/outer metaphysical appropriations lately. You know so much more than I ever could - you cannot see them or smell them or touch them, but they are all around you. It's the family curse: charming loner, idealist, dark mind, big heart, earthy, resilient, resourceful, unorthodox, overall disappointed in humanity and it's demise. This sounds very simple and straightforward, and it is. But it is not all that simple. In all reality it looks more like a Disney movie every day. You're like me, you know - I am anxious and it soothes me to express myself here, it's like whispering to oneself and listening at the same time. i grew up in a world where you only opened your mouth to insult some body (once, generations ago, embodied, he had breathed an alien air, walked an alien road; until his brain was chosen to undertake the incredible galactic rift). You say you want to know me but, it's dark in the past and my future's a mystery. I feel like I am beginning but I'm too old for more; running together and somehow uncertain. The opiate wore off by night and she began to walk normally. In my fashion, I have loved you. I guess you just prefer suffocating gloom. And now, Some Thoughts on the Subject of Keeping Giant Serpents. "turn up the house glow globes...we need to welcome our visitors!" no life seemed hidden beneath the snow but he cleared his mind, tried again, and produced a full concentration of inner sound. So, I took my choice and I raised the fifth of vodka and drank it straight.Suddenly the bathroom was like the inside of a huge defective woofer. Heinous vibrations, overwhelming sound. That little scarlet waist-coat belongs to Cock Robin! And she ironed it and put it to one side... "you son of a bitch," I said and looked sideways, rugged as a bear and slicker'n a weasel. "Why did you insist on bringing wrath down upon yourself?" well, in all honesty, I don't rightly know these days, sergeant. The house has no windows or doors, we all enter and exit as one. We stand on the threshold to always. forever is ever Undone. Or at least I used to think so. These days I take women to either the boxing matches or to the racetrack; we'll watch the military boats sail off over black waters. He was not exactly a master of romance, that Thomas Titmouse. and I forget now if you know this but at Earth Headquarters, they tied up the clothes in bundles and found out we were all insane in one way or another. They normally took me out for walks somewhere, because a big cat lives not by snoozing while alone; he needs exercise in a psychological as well as a physical way. But in all honesty I'm never quite lonesome when I'm by myself. Look to the sky; when you come around my eyes go blank. And - the proper ending for any story about people it seems to me, since life is now a polymer in which the earth is wrapped so tightly, should be the same abbreviation, which I now write large because I feel like it, which is this one: ETC.

"Here was someone powerful, spaced out, who cared about me, and who was stoned, always sticking to what is high. Truly I had found someone whose authority was deserved."

3 cryptic space messages // Beam me up.

[29 Aug 2009|02:25am]
"Every time you get a headache, you reach for some aspirin, only to realize that someone destroyed it. That's just how things are going for you right now... it's hard to eat, hard to sleep, hard to not have a headache."



so many worms are coming out of me : \
4 cryptic space messages // Beam me up.

[09 Aug 2009|12:17pm]
o, I am going home again until the eighteenth.



dreaming of thunderstorms and warm nights.
1 cryptic space message // Beam me up.

(made an exit on some calm shit) [30 Jun 2009|12:45am]
And from what I understand now, the moment I finally removed my claws from the back of your ghost, the color filtered into my face again. O, surely, I am wrought with plenty of problems - yet - no one thing I face at a time these days is more oppressive than your blank face and distracted, hollow accounts of life. Now comes the eye opening and the homecoming and a whole new set of exciting foreign things that come my way to wrestle with. But you are no longer my end all; I am finally seeing it all.
Beam me up.

(jump out of your living grave.) [10 May 2009|07:47pm]
Ate a light bulb at work today and the sun was shining right into my bones. The feeling of association (on an entirely unromantic level) with another human being who truly recognizes your life and your brain for exactly what it is under all the shit and has things to teach you is transcendental. Watching the insects clamor over the light through my window to the tune of my recent upswing in self rediscovery.
4 cryptic space messages // Beam me up.

Writer's Block: Wardrobe Malfunction [06 May 2009|08:37am]
Broken zippers, split seams, straps that come untied at the most embarrassing moment possible—what's your most memorable experience with an unexpected wardrobe malfunction?


The time uncle Mike's wang fell out at the family picnic. I guess that doesn't count because I wasn't there, but it is the most memorable because it's become family lore since. I guess the time AnnMarye's pants broke when she was drunk at the horse show and she stumbled around until they were around her ankles and she knocked the porta-potty over trying to get into it.

I don't think I have any personal experiences of note.
Beam me up.

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