Monday, December 31, 2007

Speak Softer Please, I Can't Hear You

dismemberment arouses
the thought of it

Saturday, December 29, 2007

Quiet As Death

twice in one week
i have been referred to
as emotionally cold
twice this month
i've been referred to
as manipulative
once someone told me
they were tired of
managing me and my
one man said that
i humiliate myself publicly
and need self respect
another man said i was
because of my taste in movies
one man tells me he loves me
and another says he
did love me and
always will but
not as much as her

all i can think of
is that i want you all
to be quiet
very quiet
quiet as death
so i can think about
without your cries
and wails and fits
of interpretation

the most comforting thing
anyone has ever said
in regard to me
was that i
am just a person
living my life
but he was
a bastard

Something My Father Just Said To Me

he stood at the top of the stairs
talking with his mouth full
"i think depression is fine
i wish people would stop trying to cure it"
he popped another fancy chocolate
in his mouth
and walked downstairs

Being Alone Is Nicer

“I don’t know why I behave like a child around you,” he said, after he pinched me.

“You are a man-child,” I said.

He nodded very seriously. Brian reached across the table and took hold of my cell phone. He began to scroll through the pictures on it. I hadn’t looked at any of them in over a month.

“You look so cute in all of these pictures. You look much cuter than the pictures you put on the internet. Why don’t you use these pictures on the internet?”

“Because they were taken special for someone.”

“This guy?”

He held the phone to me. On the display screen was photo he had taken for me months ago, with his hair mussed up and his face half buried in a pillow. I pushed the cell phone away from my face.

“I don’t want to see that.”

I felt the lump in my throat begin to throb. My eyes welled a little bit.

“What’s up kiddo?”

“Sorry, I think I’m pre-menstrual. I’ve been crying at the drop of a hat all day today. You know how I get.”

Brian reached one arm across the table and pet my arm while he continued to scroll through the pictures. He remarked a few more times how cute I looked. He held my elbow and I felt vulnerable. It felt good to feel vulnerable.

“Who is this cat? There are like, 200 pictures of him.”

I began to cry.


“Don’t be. I like you when you’re sad. You look the best when you are teary.”


“So what happened? Did you date him?”

“No. I dunno. It’s all so typical now. My friends teased me for being so sad about it. I met him on the internet. He came to visit me. I liked him more than he did me. He left and stopped calling. I became too emotional and he became annoyed and spiteful. Now there is not really much else to talk about.”

“Why are you crying?”


“Don’t be.”

He squeezed my elbow and reached up and pet my head. Brian continued to play with my hair while he scrolled through my pictures.

“Whoa. You should delete these naked pictures dude.”

“I know.”

“But you want people to see them.”


“You’ve got great tits.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re my little buddy. I love you.”

“I love you too Brian.”

He was still playing with my hair.

“The things you’ve been saying all night make more sense now. I get it. It’s good to see what sparked these recent feelings. They seemed a little fake before. Now I get it.”

“Yeah. Being alone is nicer.”

“I love you.”


“Remember when I knocked your ice cream cone on the ground last summer?”

He started to cackle manically. It was frightening. I sniffled the snot back into my nose and laughed.

“You’re an asshole.”

“You’re adorable.”

“Fuck you. Die.”

“I’m glad we are friends.”

I crossed my arms and turned away. Brian reached across the table and shoved his finger up my nose. He then wiped his finger across my face.

Tuesday, December 25, 2007


I got to thinking.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

A Love Worth Dying For By Means Of An Olive

the affair was a tiring one for abigale
her darling
the umpa lumpa
was seen making love
to elvira in the bathroom
cocaine was seeping from the
cracks in the walls
and abigale was in a state
of great despair
in a fit of rage
abigale made love
to the plush rabbits
two of them
at once
on the dinner table
and there was a mishap
abigale choked
on an olive
abigale was so frightfully tired
that rather than remove the olive
she decided
it was better to choke
and end a miserable existence
than watch her darling umpa lumpa
make love to another whore
like elvira

Enormous Pale Legs

the young boy had enormous pale legs. there he sat with his heels pursed and his knees spread comfortably far. the rest of his physique slumped slovenly forward over a hard cover young adults novel. his face was soft, covered with a smattering of freckles. when she rose from her seat he looked up at her with his head still down and she was not entirely sure if she wanted to kiss him or if she wished that he were her son.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Sallow Yellow Posters

there is a gym i pass
when i go home
outside there are
posters of famous boxers
the posters are all
and sallow

sometimes i can see inside
the men
are glistening
and strong
they stumble about
mouths open
they have been boxing
for a while
and need a rest
i bet their muscles are

the posters outside
they look tired to me
like they also need
a rest

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

White Collar Hell

i was so caught up
in synching
non-native audio
with video at work
that i did not notice
that everyone with keys
to the building left
and now i'm stranded
and no one will answer their phone
so i am still at my desk
but i am smoking
and drinking beer
which is not that much
than home
but less comfortable
and too bright
with no cats around
to hiss at me when
i pull their tails
and i'm pretty sure
that the giant metal box
we call a server
which always hums
a disturbing note
is giving me cancer
while i sit

Monday, December 17, 2007


i don't fucking know, man.

just go.

it will be prettier soon.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Piss Stained Trousers

when i got on the train
i went to the very first
car because
there is a small window
where you can see
straight forward
and it gives you the
slightest feeling of
and it makes you feel
quite small and
when you watch the
walls of the subway
move past you
and if you unfocus
your eyes
it looks as if
you and the train
are stationary
and the walls are
flying past you
rapidly so
and really i suppose
it is just nice
to have something to look at
other than
the man who just got
on the train with
a beer and a cheap
who just pissed on himself
and cries softly
before he smashes
his empty beer bottle
and the baby not far
from him
and you
begins to wail


conn tomas o'brien thinks i'm a drug addict.

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Friday, December 14, 2007

Red Wine And Vanilla Ice Cream

i went to a bar alone
after visiting with my

i ordered red wine
and began to panic
when i looked at the
to decide what
i wanted to eat

i ordered vanilla ice cream
and the man behind the bar
i said to him
"i'm not good at making decisions"

the girl behind the bar
looked directly in my eyes
when she spoke to me
and i had a hard time
because she was so lovely
to look at

she said
"that's a nice sound"
and giggled when she
popped the cork on a bottle
of wine
for me
and we giggled together

i don't know why
i am solely attracted
to women who look
a little like me

as it turns out
i greatly enjoy
the taste of
red wine and
vanilla ice cream

Wednesday, December 12, 2007


Although sickness has overtaken me, I have been productive as fuck.


Broken Birds: Love Children & The Key To Martyrdom



These are the titles of two upcoming chapbooks I'll be producing. Eric Carlson, a long time friend of mine, has agreed to do the illustrations for Broken Birds. We went to art school together and I met him on my first day of school many many moons ago in foundation figure drawing; he stood directly across from me with his easel and I would often appear in his drawings with my breasts greatly embellished, and he in mine, looking rather like a werewolf. We have been friends in the years since. He is incredibly talented and I do certainly adore him.

Speaking of adoration, the lovely and wonderful Daniel Bailey and I are working on upcoming Drunk.

E Frank and I are brewing monstrous ideas for a tentative multimedia gallery show in NYC. It will likely included things such as: french music, the smashing of things, and murder murder murder. I <3 E Frank!

My senior thesis film, Call Me Lovely has finally began to see the light of day again. In the next few months it will be making the festival circuit. Keep your eyes peeled.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Freelancers Get Cancer Too!

Fuck yes. A walk out. Union or no union, mah entertainment industry peeps is fuckin' shit up with tha man all over the place this year. I think I'm going to skip out on work at 3 and join 'em. Anyone working freelance in New York should get off their tails and swarm MT to tha V!

read more here and here.

oh and this seems like it was pretty fucking rad too.

Sunday, December 09, 2007

We Love You Very Much

“Have you even moved?” she asked.

I was sitting in the red chair with the tall velvet back at the kitchen table. In front of me was an empty glass with dried wine at the bottom, a glass of water, half drank, a pack of camel lights, a notebook, a laptop, a cell phone, matches, a coffee cup with dried coffee stains in it, a stack of books, a hair brush, an empty plate with salsa remnants on it, and three bobby pins. I looked at all of these things while I thought about her question.

“A little,” I said.
“What is a little?” she said.
“I mean, not really, no,” I said.
“It’s been two days,” she said.
“I know,” I said.

That was the first time I thought about my weekend. It was Sunday night.

“I’m worried about your mental constitution,” she said.
“What does that even mean?” I asked.
“What kind of person is content to spend their only two days off sitting in one place. I don’t think that is very healthy,” she said.
“What should I be doing?” I asked.
“Go on a date,” she said.
“I don’t want to,” I said.
“Go out with friends,” she said.
“I don’t want to,” I said.
“Go for a walk, go shopping,” she said.
“I don’t want to, I don’t want to,” I said.

She put her cold hand on my forehead, very tenderly. She grimaced, and stared at me, with her hand there. Then she crouched to her knees and was eye level with me. She took off her hat and held my cheeks in her still cold hands. She looked like she was going to cry.

“Are you happy?” she asked.
“No. Are you?” I replied.
“We love you very much,” she said.
“Who is we?” I said.
“You look tired,” she said.
“I’m not tired,” I said.

She brushed my hair out of my eyes. I smiled just a little bit. My roommate went into the bathroom and fixed her hair. She put on pink lipstick, and practiced smiling.

“Where are you going?” I asked.
“On a date,” she said.
“With Ryan?” I asked.
“No, Matt,” she answered.

I stood up. I looked at the chair, then sat back in it.

“Will you go down on me?” I asked.
“That is not appropriate,” she said.
“You’ve done it before,” I said.
“It’s not appropriate right now,” she said.
“I wish you wouldn’t leave,” I said.
“We love you very much,” she said.
“I know,” I said.

My roommate put on her coat and left.

I Fucking Hate You

I had a nightmare about you last night. You and your ugly face and your reedy voice and your socially retarded mannerisms. You, yes you. You filled my mouth with foreign objects and held it shut, saying ‘shhhhhh’, all the while. Then you lied on the ground and begged, you begged me to piss on you. I pissed on you and you moaned. I choked on a paper clip and when I spit out all the objects in my mouth, sickly orange blood came pouring with them. The blood splattered your piss-covered face. When I woke up I felt more repulsive than the one time I had a dream that I had sex with my father.

Saturday, December 08, 2007

Three Poems About One Ex Boyfriend

You Know Nothing About Love, Darling

it was halloween
and i drank too much champagne
we had just started dating

i fell in a mosh pit
and got my face stepped on
i was wearing leopard pants
and a vest that said man eater

i wanted to bike home
but you would not let me
i was so very angry at you
for making me walk

i kept falling
and saying mean things to you
you patiently
and tenderly
held me up while we walked

i sat on the pavement
of a very busy street
at two am
while you watched
and i lit a cigarette

i started screaming for no reason
at you
about love
and how you knew nothing of it
then i wept there
on the street

you said
“baby, come on now
we need to go home or you’ll
catch a cold”
because i always catch colds

you lifted me up by the armpits
and we walked home
my roommate said to you
“what’s wrong with her”
you said
“she’s mad cause i wouldn’t let her
in that condition”

and we went to bed
and had sex all night
i said “i love you”
and you said nothing back
in the morning i pretended not to remember
that part

A Raving Mad Woman

maple trees
don’t make me think of canada
now i imagine you
being a teenager
staring at the tree
thinking about kerouac

for nine months
you let me
scream at you
and hit you
and fall asleep on your belly
while you watched t.v.

i acted insane
and read your emails
there were so many
you should have hit me
you could have
but you didn’t

the saddest thing
was running away from you
because love makes me
absolutely irate
and i came to new york
to be away
from you
because you were far too
patient with me

Oh My Baby, My Darling

hello my baby
you are goliath
you know?
i am no david
oh my baby baby
i am
more like
little missy mary magdalene
a motherly whore
baby baby oh baby
my baby
i dont want to fight anymore
i would rather
you fucking drop dead
go on now baby
just die
thats better

you are an asshole
i love you baby

Red Blooded Nationalist

I hate Karaoke. I am very tone deaf. And don't like to be stared at. Before last week, I had never been peer pressured into it. However, I love the Star Spangled Banner. In yesteryear, when I worked in a warehouse in Minnesota, my coworkers and I were serious little nationalists. We often belted the national anthem and chanted a little call and response that goes like this:








(followed by riotous screaming)

You might think this is tacky, if you never worked in a sweltering warehouse for 8 hours a day, making $8.50 an hour, lifting on average of three hundred pounds of shit a day. In those conditions, one must be proud of something . . .

Anyways, here is the video my asshole friend, Rachel, took of my first Karaoke experience, followed by a poem I sent my friend Daniel when I woke up at 4am, bewildered as to how I got home.



Friday, December 07, 2007

Salon Night

We Sing by Kendra Grant Malone & Ellen Frances idontlikeit

Ellen hosted an art party. It was so very nice. We made a one of a kind chapbook *NOT FOR SALE*, but you can gaze at the digitized pages of it and wonder what the little teenie tiny words say.

As always, she has more to say about it than me.

Koalas Are Weak

this fucking gem was found on the bookslut blog this morning.

i think the little guy that wrote this spectacular essay can teach a lesson the the hoards of bloggers wrapped up in trendy apathy.

real apathy comes from the heart. its brutal and stirs in the souls of 8th graders across america.

Thursday, December 06, 2007

Three Hundred Dollar Coat

when i stepped outside this morning
it was so cold
my eyes began to water

i walked down the sidewalk
in my three hundred dollar coat
and i felt absurd
because my rent doesn’t cost
that much more

when my father came to visit
i took him shopping in soho
to find a coat for heidi
my father loves heidi
she has a beautiful toothy smile

he saw the three hundred dollar coat
and touched the fur collar
and smiled
when i tried it on
he grabbed my hand and spun me
“a vision” he said
and i knew
it did look nice
and i bought the three hundred dollar coat on credit

now i worry
that i look like i have
too much money
and that i might get mugged
because i wasted my money on
a good looking three hundred dollar coat

when they mug me
they will open my purse
and find
a notebook
ninety-nine cent red lipstick
three books of poetry
one book of short stories
and a book called
a vindication of the rights of woman
some weird japanese candies
a pack of camel lights, half gone
with one flipped upside down
for luck
a dented cell phone
a pair of chopsticks i stole from a fancy restaurant
and a tampon

someone should tell all the muggers
to not bother with my purse
tell them they should just take
my three hundred dollar coat
and sell it
and make money
and feed their babies

but i wont be the one to tell them
i think i look nice
in my three hundred dollar coat

Wednesday, December 05, 2007

i don't like candy

i am incredibly dizzy
i have
problems with my blood
bad blood
as they say

low glycemic index
i am generally feeble bodied

sometimes after sex
i convulse and shake
or faint
the same happens
when i run up stairs too fast
i do both of these things

my coworker just told me
he was going to kill me
he said
“i kill you”
when i handed him a drawing
and i thought
that sounds nice

when i cry
its usually because my
blood sugar
has dropped much too low
so i eat white bread
or candy
and feel better quickly

i don’t like candy
at all

people look upset when i tell them that

Tuesday, December 04, 2007

i bought a drawing for 75 cents and will spend the rest of my life feeling not quite guilty enough about the way i smiled at the man who drew it

bruce was in the same coffee shop as me
every night
he drew things
i was there
because my husband worked there
every night

"wanna see an angel?"
he would ask the patrons
he would show them the drawings
of angels being spanked
and beaten
and rhinos in the corner

you could talk him down to the price of a refill
bruce was a gentle man
i watched bruce
he grimaced often

i worried about bruce

one day, bruce was kicked out
and not allowed back
for a long time

all the while
noticed bruce was gone

bruce was old
with liver spots
and wrinkles
that were at once
charming and terrifying

when bruce came back
we were all once
content with being
annoyed with him

Monday, December 03, 2007

when a ship hits an iceberg you have two choices; flee to the life raft or let the icy oceans take you with them

i just took 10mg of valium
im sitting at my kitchen table
waiting to feel a bit softer
my roomate is a painter
she favors the hues of sunsets
so our appartment is mostly red and pink
it is easy to look at
i might be incapable of holding a grudge
i want to stay angry at you
but i cant
i suppose i dont have the heart for it
i just poured another glass of wine
my last lover wont call again
he stopped calling
he was so very beautiful
but i dont care so much
because he was not so nice
and wouldnt stop talking about himself
tonight it feels so very nice to hunt alone
i might be very drunk and stoned right now
i think i am writing this because i have no one i want to talk to at this very moment

Sunday, December 02, 2007

my friend is a little tiny madwoman who does not clean her apartment and wont stop apologizing to me for various thing i don't care about

we watch french movies
and smoke cigarettes
she tells me about her strife
as though she has never told anyone before me
and we talk about lies
this morning at brunch we talked about her lover and her eyes welled up
and i thought
she was the most beautiful i had ever seen her
at that moment
she was once a ballerina
the sadest ballenrina
and i like to think about that little ballerina
in her tutu
and i dont ever want her to stop suffering
because i love her that way