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[03 Sep 2009|01:27pm] |
Dear Liverjournal,
You are being replaced with www.hellohallelujah.wordpress.com. But please don't take it personally.
Erin
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[26 Feb 2009|10:14pm] |
Oh livejournal,
you silly, dirty, thing, you.
Erin
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[12 Jul 2008|06:09pm] |
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I had a dream that I was bleeding from my forehead. I took my scissors and cut my way through the walls of my room. I continued to cut through the yard and up my neighbors house till I was on the roof. I cleared my eyes, and did not believe in an end. My scissors were larger then and I took the air, and I cut a path through the sky above the aeroplanes. The trail of my blood hung closely behind and whenever I brushed myself against the clouds they assured me to never mind. I went further up until I was near the black of the air, where everything smelled of ozone and my blood became thinner, more anxious to bleed. In the distance, I saw a spot of inky fabric that sang to me, all notes sung at once, and I cut my way towards it. The singing became unbearable the nearer I became, but I held on to the scissors and made my hands cut, snip, cut. It was only a small square of fabric, but when I applied it to my forehead, the bleeding stop and I began to sing all notes at once.
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[10 Jul 2008|10:53pm] |
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of all the thoughts that come out of the blue, especially when you're sad, it is perhaps the one that supposes you should dress like a child and annoy your friends with happiness that becomes most alarming.
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[12 Jun 2008|02:19pm] |
hello darling,
I am never quite as happy as i was during that time when I could be illuminated inside the shadows cast by all the black birds lined up along the gutter of your house. Here they really are statues and they always have their little beaks open for a kiss that would only be uncomfortable. They look the same at every angle, and they never soften up. I wouldn't say, however, that I too have harden the ridges of my mouth--God knows the other patients complain about it often because, after all, they only know complaint. You know, darling, that I could bite them if i wanted to and say "but it is only a kiss!" and they would never know the difference. I suppose that should make me weepy and leak all over their heads like the rain would do. I have seen it daily enough, one woman sobbing in the hair of another, and I always think my god, they must believe they are living clouds! And then I remember to hum that song you used to sing about the true blue sky.
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[13 May 2008|12:52am] |
A fellow came up to me.
He held a dead black bee
in his hand, he offered it to me.
If I look sweet to him, he said
Imagine all those bees,
black with death
for the love of your ease;
your Sunday morning dress
cut just above your knees.
I told him he shouldn't mourn
the death of a bee who cares
little for love, for dress,
or for my knees--
there's honey in my hair, sir.
oh, I've got honey in my hair.
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[22 Apr 2008|12:26pm] |
-go to forest park tomorrow, transfer credits
-see counselor on thursday, figure out schedule
-take math placement.
-look up colleges.
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[15 Mar 2008|06:36pm] |
dear journal,
I have calmed down, even if you were not aware that I was worked up. Worked up or down, it doesn't matter because you are never in control of any situation other than your own. And while I am not alone, being a small cog in the damn mystery, i am not you, regretfully; thankfully.
Margaret Atwood will tell you best:
you fit into me
like a hook into an eye.
A fish hook,
an open eye.
and this is the whole of everything.
Erin
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[12 Mar 2008|07:36am] |
welcome, then, to the den of lions;
beasts, bears, and monsters alike.
No common sense could thrive here,
where we might say:
Don't do That because it, in no way,
pours light into the world.
It is really rather like wool;
Uncomfortable, invading, altogether wrong.
Its sleeping with your sister's desperation
when the lights are on,
and everyone in the room gets it.
She's got a density about herself,
They both do-
Blind because blind is armour worn to bed.
Its easier, after all, to appease the trick;
round the couch, front and back again.
I get it; we get it,
all in the room.
But it's still a gross and mean taboo.
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[11 Mar 2008|03:05am] |
dear journal,
i am drunk, drunk, drunk, and I have sunk, sunk, sunk the bleach water stone.
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[05 Mar 2008|01:22pm] |
I really cannot seem to get over being myself while still remaining a muddle of mystery. really, i can't.
Erin.
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[29 Feb 2008|01:56am] |
hello journal,
lately i feel like bending the wire between the insane and the uncanny illuminations. But maybe I just want to be footloose and fancy free. after all, who knows what a deck of cards could possibly want?
No, we have never been successful orators. That is why its important to be so statuesque. In any case, I am having a ripping good time.
Erin
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[18 Feb 2008|11:41pm] |
journal,
I am prepared, once again, to brighten my arrows.
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[06 Feb 2008|11:02pm] |
All my blessings come as you do;
Bound to the waists of other women.
Were it not frowned upon to meddle
In the affairs of others, I would untie
all the darling little things that we have
Coming to us.
Lift your hair
from your throat,
Let it bleed the air
of every note,
for we are only muzzled.
And you will never know that I have hid
my dresses in the closet. I let them
beat the dust from last years winter
to become the word--the ribbon--
that might bear your mouth a sweeter one
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[05 Feb 2008|01:37pm] |
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In fact, it's not sad at all.
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[04 Feb 2008|02:02pm] |
journal!
my heart is sinking a little, this is the saddest story! Soggy, soggy hearts cohersed into the stink pits. If my mother never knew how to make it go away, how will you, you, you?
but it's not really such a sad story as I may have led you to believe, it's only about convergence and how feeling two things at once can lead you to believe in your own madness. We've got arrows, and no prey, and this too, is madness.
well, you know how it is.
Erin
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[03 Feb 2008|11:55pm] |
hullo,
I'm still trying to become those things that most feel like me-- Like pictures of other people doing other things, immersed in unfailing otherness. You see, of course, where this goes. From there I become another picture, but of the ocean caught in an unseasonably green hue. There is no reason for me to be so green except to be lonely and absolutely content. There, and some people thought those two couldn't exist together. How terrible.
I never know what I want you to hear because my mind believes in the vision more than the drafting of. Everything is always completed, don't you know? Words muddle it up, and words influence perception every day of my life. after all, If for nine years I have possessed a goodly apple that is rotten at the core and discover its rottenness only in nine years and six months less four days, isn't it true to say that for nine years I possessed a goodly apple?
yes?
Erin
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[24 Jan 2008|12:34pm] |
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tell me why, sir, out of all the tables available, do you have to sit next to me?
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[24 Jan 2008|12:05am] |
Dear journal,
For the next week, I'm down and out financially. And while I might be a little less worldly than George Orwell, I am gaining a good mouthful of dirt. and well, I don't care.
Till next time,
Erin
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[22 Jan 2008|12:57pm] |
My life has become an mole hill,
at which the birds have come to drop of their young.
Together we babble and rake the earth for crumbs,
and build, as craftsmen,
the disadvantage of feet and wings and gills.
The city we love is wooden--
wood carries itself to rot and rot can stay.
Together we drivel and stain the gold that fades
and never, as worms,
trust the dead to rise for those who have risen.
But all must swell to value,
For which the past is marked by precious little.
Together we mumble and want the wooden pyre,
and watch, as marksmen,
the fire that aims to arch the backs of few.
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alice_quit_you's journal