9.30a

http://likelippincott.blogspot.com/2010/09/920.html

I found it on my clothes today. I killed it. I was justified; it was invading my space after I clearly told it that I didn't like it, and I would only tolerate it if I didn't have to think of it if it stayed in its own space and I stayed in mine.

My opinion was clearly outlined. Why do I feel like a murderer?

When you write about something as having an identity, do you make it more of a thing? Are we defined by our definition?

9.29b

I slip down a slope of sex. I don't desist drug use. I roll right past the road for righteousness. I slide past a stop sign and stay in sin. All I am is alliteration and any affectations to asking assistance are axed.

Or at least that's the way I write my poems.

-the ghost of e. e. cummings

9.29a

I am 10 posts behind or something. For a week I just looked at my blog and went "whaaaaat? no." So here I am.

"Lip flipped the trip stick. Frog slogged through dog bogs. Rocket stocked the pocket locket."
Lorraine abstained from sane.

9.28b

I'm still three steps away from the edge of the cliff but my heart feels like it's about to beat out of my chest. Two. I'm slowly reconsidering the life choices that led to this point. Processing how in the name of all that is holy did I end up here, now, doing this? One. My knees lock, and a cold tremble rips through my arms and legs. All of my bad decisions and ridiculous habits have led me to this one terrible moment in time.

Well, there's nothing for it--

Swan dive.

9.28

Sorry, I kinda dropped off the edge of the earth there. I really didn't want to write for some time. So I didn't. But that's not the point of this exercise, is it?

He licked the outside edge of the cone and swirled away all of the juicy bits. Good. Maybe he should take a bite from the center? No, not yet. Just wait and maybe he won't have to. Oops and a lick again faster now. Good. If this cone wasn't so troublesome, the icecream would stay in it better. It has this v-shaped slot and lick again or it will come pouring out the slot directs the icrecreammelt to a single spot and basically says "This is your one chance for deliverance. Run as fast as you can." Lick. Pause.

He looks at his brother's cone which is 3/4 gone already. He shouldn't have.

His cone drips onto his shirt. Mom won't be pleased.

Fudge ripple.

9.22

On 9.23. Oh, well.

I scrape the inside of the pot and hold it over my head to let the last bits slowly roll down the inside edge and hover on the lip, waiting to fall. My tongue reaches up, slowly, to lick the soup off. I set the pot down to stare at it, my stomach still scraping a hole in itself.

I turn to the next item on the menu: an old, shriveled apple that I found a month ago and have been saving for a special occasion. I crunch into it, savoring the tang and the chew of it. It is the worst thing I have ever tasted. I laugh and take another bite.

Today is my birthday.

9.21

I'm not in a creative mood. I won't, therefore, write more than one. Sorries.

I never look at myself the same way again. Too many saggy areas, too few jagged peaks, too slim, fat, hairless, or hairy. Too tall, short, thin, and wide.

Screw you, gang showers. Screw you.

9.20

I'm terribly far behind. ALSO I want sleep tonight.

We have an intruder. Unwanted, unwelcomed, uncaring, he just keeps coming back. Slowly, I've come to hate him. I would hit him, squash him against a wall and crush him under my foot if I could. He is singularly annoying because he always runs away right before I blow up and end him.

He usually comes in and just stares at me with unblinking eyes, as if to say: "I've got eight legs and 180 degrees of peripheral vision. I dare you to sneak up on me."

I wonder if he is alone.

9.15

I technically started this before midnight.

haiku are valid

expressions of poetry

and three sentences

Thank you and goodnight.

9.14

A shock to all the women of the world: men see that. That thing that you do with your hair? That little toss to the side over your shoulder? We saw that. The drumming of your fingers on your arm? Caught that too. The extra sashay in your step today? We can't stop looking.

The problem is that we don't understand what we see and it all gets filtered out as irrelevant.

Congratulations: you confuse us.

9.13

I'm afraid I had some reading to do today so I didn't finish that until AFTER midnight so I'm pulling my "day ends when I desire" trick.

I love to explore empty spaces where no one is.

Basements

Churches

Houses

Barns

Emptiness is coated with a thin layer of alone that swishes up around me and sucks at my shoes. It slows me down.

The further I get into a lonely place the slower I go. Doorknobs are a reverent thought: is it locked? Or can I proceed? I have to stifle a sneeze to preserve the still. I have to walk softly to prevent my clumsy footfall's ruin of pristine silence.

When at last I am surrounded by locked doors, dead ends, knick-knacks and forgotten boxes, I stop and smile.

When you have found the place that no one will go, somehow, you become Conquistador.

9.12c

I feel selfish when I ask for things but I know I won't get them otherwise.

And sometimes people want me to ask because they want to know some way to show that they care.

So if I ask for things you aren't willing to give, am I being a bad person?

I'm still trying to figure it out. In the meantime:

I tried to stab her but I just couldn't. She was right there and I hated her so much and she wasn't even looking and I was wearing gloves and I had somebody else's knife and nobody knew where we were and it's not like anyone would even suspect me for killing her but for some reason I couldn't.

Maybe subconsciously, owning a poodle wasn't proper justification for murder.

9.12b

I feel like an idiot most of the time

I fall down

and break things

hurt

scare

insult people

I can't find

the right way

to make you love me

9.12a

I am 4 posts behind, and due to my inability to write a "d" post, I will not catch up today.

I'm chewing my food but I can't really taste it anymore. People apparently have the ability to focus completely on one single object, but I never put much thought into that until just now when I found myself doing it. So I dragged myself away from my mind and into my subconscious and started me some meta-cognition. I had been focused on food and I remember thinking about how the little crunchy bits were the best and then all of a sudden I know I wasn't focusing on my food anymore. So I think that was about when she walked into the room all slow-like and gauzy and not with a little sway in her self like a snake or a hunting cat but not quite like either and a little more of both so she became more than herself and drew my eye and held it and it was not like I could look away. I kept staring at her, mouth still moving I guess because by the time she walked past me I don't remember having any more food in my mouth but that could be because my jaw dropped and all the food slid out crunchy or no. So I guess I do remember what happened but it was like it happened to somebody else, that's all I'm saying. That focus was powerful strange though. I think I have heard people use the term single-minded but that ain't quite it, it's more like you have your whole mind all the time but just now you're using it all to focus on this one thing.

Well I know for me I was focused on that gentle curve up from down below to up above, like if you see a tree that gets all bent over in some wind or maybe the path a cat takes as its jumping or maybe a snake as it speeds after its prey or maybe when a hawk falls out of the sky after something else and then somehow pulls out and it makes such a graceful careening arc and you just wish you could fly so that then she would notice me here with my crunchy bits and my sadness that she's gone.

9.8

Why do we constantly re-imagine old stories? Is it our urge to create something from our past that speaks to us now? Or are we just trying to breathe new life into aged relics?

Or are we just being pretentious little cusses, taking something that has stood the test of time and "fixing" it?

Gilgamesh spun and faced the attackers. "COME FACE ME, COWARDS!" he roared. "I AM HALF GOD AND ALL FURY, COME TO REIGN OVER YOUR LAND." The cowardly Phonecian general rounded his troops around the outcrop to flank the master fighter. "I AM ZERO PERCENT FEAR, BY THE WAY. I WILL SLICE THROUGH YOUR TROOPS LIKE A BUTCHER SLICES THROUGH MEAT!"

Christ turned to his disciples. "Rock on, man. Keep the spirit with you at all times, and you will make it to the other side of Galilee. Keep your pick hand strong."

Richard rounded quickly, charging at John. "You have destroyed any honor this family may have had. You have squandered our respect and wealth, and left me to rot in a German prison."

John backed up rapidly, tripping over a rug and sprawling on the ground.

"You will pay for your treachery. Lock him in the tower!"

"Aragorn, why are you turning your back to me?"

"I . . . I have something to tell you. I'm pregnant."

"You're a . . ."

"Say it."

"Vampire!"

p.s.

fan fiction should die,

except for My Immortal, which is unintentionally hilarious, and also surprisingly nsfw.

p.p.s

I selectively took the caramel from my pocket. And then….. I began frenching Draco sexily.

9.7b

At what point do you cross over from being enemies to being friends?

Where's the line between joy and sorrow?

How do you know when you love somebody?

9.7

Snap Judgements

The Japanese are better than toy cars,

but I liked cars better as a kid.

North Dakota is better than (most of) Texas.

Lumberjacks are better than business meetings.

Snowboarding is better than MTV.

Waterfalls are better than nachos.

NASA is better than prairies.

ComicCon is better than a spelling bee.

Velociraptors are better than a bestselling novel.

Bill Gates is better than electric shavers.

Towels are better than silicone.

Bungalow is better than relative,

but diphtheria is better than both.

"It's wrong!" says she.

"It's an opinion. It literally CANNOT be wrong," say I.

She still hasn't responded.

9.5a

I missed the fourth. I opened the website, commented on things, and then left.

I never could understand her. She never jumped on things randomly. She never rolled down hills. She never tore long strips out of her napkins. She never threw her food on the floor. She never beat her head with sticks. She always listened to the voices and never screamed back.

She was crazy, which is why it surprised him that she took him to the hospital.

9.3b

I like hair. I like when it's flyaway and wild, when it's silky and tamed, when it's dark and sleek, when it's bright and sassy, and when it's right in between. I like hair that curves down in cascades, that streaks past the shoulders, that bobs at the ear, that frizzes, that puffs, that isn't afraid of what it is.

I don't like lies.

I don't like blondes with dark eyebrows

or highlights

or dyes

or straight-headed curls

or curled up straights

or hairs pushed and prodded that

pull and that yearn

or beg of their head

to

"Let me be me."

Phoney Nickle

9.3a

I meant to write another yesterday but never got around to it.

I woke up this morning with a heat headache. I rolled out of bed and checked the air conditioner. It was off. I got so angry I wanted to throw up.

I think I'll call in sick today.

9.2a

The Wizard slowly stepped out of his limousine, chocolate sprinkles tinkling silently on the lush carpet. "I am here to collect your princess," said he to the empty room. "The foremost warrior in your realm, mighty and impervious to moral befuddlement, Gerald, did implore me to take her in exchange for a declaration of peace."

A servant streaked through carrying a rump roast.

"AHEM" the Wizard announced. He slammed the door so hard that the chauffeur jumped in his seat, grinding more sprinkles into his slacks. "I SAID I AM HERE FOR THE PRINCESS BUT OBVIOUSLY YOU PEOPLE DON'T HAVE ANY RESPECT FOR OLD AGE."

A servant wheeled a vat of chicken grease across the antechamber.

"I say, you there!"

The servant slowed, turned, shivered, and threw himself into the vat.

I poked my head around the corner where I was hiding. Francis skittered across the floor.

"THERE YOU ARE" the Wizard screamyelled.

"You're missing your nupitals" I said, hair blowing back from the force of the Wizard's halitosis.

"YOU MUST GIVE ME THE PRINCESS OR say what again?"

"You are eleven hours late for your own wedding."

"I MUST HAVE why am I yelling FORGOTTEN TO ACCOUNT FOR THE FACT THAT DWARVES DO NOT KEEP ACCURATE TIME."

I ushered the wizard into the cathedral. He nodded gravely to the right side but coldly rebuffed the left. He dragged the princess off the podium and outside.

"Where are we going?" she squealed.

"TO THE CANDYCANE FOREST wow my voice gets loud SO THAT I CAN THEN TEACH YOU THE MEANING OF 'HIGH FRUCTOSE!'" yelled he.

That day was the last time I ever saw the Wizard.

Francis grew up and became the prime minister.

I grew up and became something that sounds far less impressive.