Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in transient's LiveJournal:

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Thursday, January 10th, 2008
2:40 am	I can't sleep. Sometimes when I can't sleep I reread the entries on my live journal. Funny that I don't even write in grammatically correct sentences on this thing. Most of the time. It makes me sound like I'm twelve. I love rereading old entries and seeing what I was thinking/writing about at whatever given time. Uhhh..... I hate sleeplessness. I also hate how neurotic I have been lately. Totally batty. REALLY batty. I think my medication isn't working. Current Music: Feist. You know, I really only like two or three of her songs. (Comment on this)
Sunday, December 30th, 2007
9:29 pm	I am hanging out with my friend Nick right now, and we searched for my favorite poets on you tube. And the Velvet Underground. We also watched a generous amount of Britney Spears footage. Its so sad! Britney's a cokehead! What happened?!?!? At first I thought the whole downward spiral thing was funny. Well really mostly only how she shaved her head. But now that I think about it, its just really depressing. Britney was so cool was I was in fourth grade! The coolest! I was a girl scout, and me and all of my little girl scout friends used to dance around to her at our troop meetings. I was almost going to see her with my friend, and then the show sold out. I was really really sad about it. I remember. I bet her ex-husband got her into coke. She used to be such a good dancer. That sound "Toxic" is the shit. I also really like her new single. How depressing. Current Music: britney spears (Comment on this)
Tuesday, December 18th, 2007
12:17 pm	I found out that I got a 97 on my philosophy final. Fuck yesss. I hate the idea of people reading my poetry. I am very self-conscious about it. I have been trying to make this whole journal private over the last few days and it is getting really annoying, because this stupid website won't privatize the whole journal at once; I have to go back and make every single fucking entry private. I think there are 80 entries. I have been writing again though. For some reason I made this entry public. Current Mood: hotter than an eldery man Current Music: midnight vultures (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, August 7th, 2006
10:51 pm	Some people, they wear their unhappiness like it’s their head. Like some eyed necessity. Or a mouthed balloon of crude oil, Conviction talks: Says This is the important thing. To be held high, watchman. Dear me, I am that girl. It comes on like a poor play I must sit out till the interminable ending Maturating In my chest, I grow moss Its as if I’m a royal nurse, or I’m suckling some prophet. Or is she a listing ship? Together we cannot remember the flooding, but she alone can. When she reigned like resurfaced drowned man from feigned laughter and unmouthed, From white teethed rucus She emerged like a lie, lithe The thousand arms Stealthily, assuredly When she constricts me, My eyes turn a mute My senses squander I surrender my colors She sucks my white offerings I fall from time. Yes, my babe is a witch, A pickpocket. She haunts the soirées and the amusements and the beggars beds too, She steals to the crackle in footstep The toll and toil Of the sickly sun But we hear the buildings unfoil we are invincible. We steal the heat from the rifts between Sentences, and spin absence on its axis. we slip through eyelids, floorboards And make brothy nest of sleeper’s blood We are one and the same. she has my looks. Look twice, listen. in oxygen We watch you dance the song of the fixed motions. I am electricity I hold the pendulum You are a slow compass. Fossils, faces, I set dauntless paces what wrings the weather? What wrings the hemlock? What rots on wrist’s Watch watch for tomarrow only comes To travel under passerby Open thine eye Windy city You have a bad blood You walk like a yo-yo Through the L time metals and in the heat pours to set notions Cells mend to organs, amenity, shell of time is a drowning ocean Water unto water, solvent of a poor crowd awaiting absent trains through subway stations windy city you have a bad blood you walk like a yo-yo. I am your current. this is the hurdy-gurdy the boxed houses, the botoxed smiles listen closely: you can hear her pulse in the grappling of an alarm clock her hiss in the shuffle of joyless deportment. Current Music: the ramones (Comment on this)
Friday, July 21st, 2006
10:40 pm	The sky grows fur and ambles unto unsure awakenings like a drunken jesus. The sides-streets clang for missed presence and cats careen forth in the empty alleyways which grow heat wailing for missed mornings The earth clangs, weeps. sleep where memories steep ‘pon dewey bedroom pillows Queen Mab pirouettes on sweaty countenances and learns ladies to bear the night scathes us Saves us into stars Grows scars Passes us passively Like silent witches On rooves with no Pig’s blood I lie listlessly. On the better nights I do not dream of the absent others, and the distant men I know sauntering like quick sparrows that mill through bedroom windows and into eardrums No, I dream of strange lands where we walk wakelessly and pick up pieces of past lives wearing ghostly tempos and horrid voices. One night I met Jerry Garcia And on the best nights I die a bloody death and I am reborn at afternoon’s break Magenta and green they soar there tear like Numb teeth into impotent knights who have no swords just wands and damsels it ides time to vine crosses supine meadows of curved dreamers where it bides time to butterflies baskets thickets, spines the soul. Current Mood: pineapple juice! Current Music: air (3 Comments |Comment on this)
8:33 pm	"rim job pussy fuck" that's what someone traced into the dust of my car while i was at a thai place. ummmm...."rim job pussy-fuck"....guess that's what he wanted to do to me. i love getting weirded out by men i don't know. i'm excited about my paycheck... i can buy books! i bought a jim carrol book today. and i looked into richard brautigan and decided that i want some of his stuff too. (wink, wink. thanks for the tip.) i'm going to go read and write now. i haven't been posting my writing and i edited the last poem on this baby so i will change that. i'm glad i learned how to edit stuff. because i didn't really understand it when i first started writing, and i allways have alot of differant ideas of how i should say the same thing that- well its kind of overwhelming sometimes, when you have like an infinate number of versions of the same peice of writing. but i guess that is what is so cool about it. i sort of relish in editing stuff. its fun. i want to make friends that live here that write. i guess that's why i'm self-concious about it. because i don't really know anyone else that does. makes me feel like a strange woman. but i guess it doesn't matter. note to self: go see a move with james dean in it. Current Mood: i just ate a good meal. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, July 19th, 2006
11:48 pm	does anyone actually like anything they write? i am so self-concious of this journal. not so much of other people reading it, but its more me being critical of/uncomfortable with my writing. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Sunday, July 16th, 2006
8:50 pm	my yester is yellow, throth. yonder when I loitered lawn and wove diadems of the burb blade my haunter you were a hollow inhabiter thorn of green and notched in numb calculations (a voiceless voice) song-monger, I thought you played house in the ploy of your promise, with jesus, mary, joseph playing house Now I am shelf. See my landscape. I simper saline Brothy breed, I am your sightless bastard And I amble in side-streets and alleyways I am your arch-back invalid Graceless, disaligned, I kneel. Next to rats, vermin Rank, blind, I heel. Under and over death dens, Into the pottage and peels of cities I reel Into the rends of an imagined histories i ride a wracked wheel where the ground is an insipid seal deeper deeper into into earth's stye you drive me driver I reel where I wrack where your wheels wrend me I grow shell, lye I reel where your ground teethes On my crooked knees, My soil bloods, breathes I cling to imagined arsons. your buoyant sun, reeling: the pestilence of today miens my morrow, marrow it reels turns to flies in the unreigning undertow i peel and amend my crimes What’s that? a dense absence, presence. It scurries like orphan. It drinks my wounds. It ticks It tocks With idle conversation And drawl of line. This morning is a malediction. I am awake, I thank you for that. (There is an area unyielding to seeds. There is a land saved from stories. There is a place impotent to fires.) You catch me. I waver like stillborn fish, then turn moon hooked string, hang limp into a neutral upward into that horrible reeling into tapered air you reel me, boned and skinned you steal me, near the boring sun to sinnerless grievance I am sealed you suck away my sins, father you reeled me I hang like an incompetent star (the dull endings, the poor motions the walks on water.) This an end to it. This is an awful beginning. This is an old wive’s tale. This is where the two halves ellipse. You were wrong. It was not worth the promise. “I am that I am.” A dog’s head, a deep voice. I look on you. You had a familiar face. You are bitter, I understand. There is too much to say and poor story to unwanted children. Current Mood: !alexandra is here! Current Music: cat power (1 Comment |Comment on this)
8:39 pm	me vs. god you are a mute for the cock-eared dogs and I am your waning woman, with the witch hair and disenchantments I am your dilly-dally doldrum drum, drum drumming along, dumbly in jelly-fish skirts I am parasoling my way to your eventual perfect paternity. I am warm bud I am stemmed rib bead my flesh onto triple-stranded pegasuses you’ve have none breasts or semblance only sky-skin moss-mouth, gaseous pores our iconoclastic conceptions and loose legacies. I’m supple, eighteen, hip-shaker frocked and lipsticked take me to the market, God I’m your world’s currency. but we both have a uterus, curved like bustles or babies only yours is visible yours is the universe yours is man and war And creation And seasons And starvation And chess, and all of that you are that you are, star bastard-maker bomber-breeder. world-kneader, leader. and when I read your lyricism I knew that word is a skin I can’t pronounce but younger, I would carve mouths into my skin. I wanted to make like your scripture-scribers your child, your kin. plant me immaculate farmer, I’ll breed you many sons make me mary, let’s begin. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, July 13th, 2006
9:49 pm	i'm not going to school untill january now. my mom keeps trying to make me feel guilty about it and she acts like i am never going to go to college...(?)....i am an idiot. i fucked up so much. but i think i went crazy when i was a junior in hs. i couldn't sleep or eat much or hold conversations. i decided that i want to get fabric markers at my work and draw a creepy-looking inner-anatomy onto a shirt. i was inspired by alex's porcupine-boy and weird animalistic humans that she drew on her skirt. what a great idea. i also decided to get a second job. i sort of want to work in a nursery. i think it would be cool if i could learn alot of plant names. then i could relate them to my writing. where are all of the dank dudes? Current Music: radiohead (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, July 9th, 2006
2:16 am	today i listened to david bowie, wrote, bought a dress and leggings, watched about six episodes of the ali g show with patrick and ate a gross amount of candy. silly, but relaxing. it's official. ali g and david bowie are the sexiest dudes ever. i'm typing from my family's computer, and i've found pictures of alexandra and patrick from a long time ago and pictures where i look really sad but attractive. i'm too tired to post them right now though. i will post them tommarow because i want this little journal right here to be visually stimulating. "tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time..." ahhhhhhhhhhhh..... that speech makes me sink. tomarrow is such a beautiful word. to morrow. to morrow. the night falls under trap doors to morrow the morning where the sky begets a sun (Comment on this)
1:58 am	catscradle we are caught between tenses. your words are hieroglyphics, you had lapsed time with tounge tasted my mute mouth in the shade of a season of ressurection, but I was lost in the translation of your earnest resurgence. memory is a current. sitting in this room time elapses like a wake from a reverie and you are steeping my skin again you are a tide mending time, welding horizons. word is a skin I cannot pronounce. we make slient speak gazing through this rift of space into each other the walls shake turn tryst with the ebb and flow of your breath, the metrenome of our silent resounding. your eyes are a sonnet. I think fondly on the way the sun had set them the day you sifted through me and dug the sedimentary sentences from the folds of my skin. I have found the lost language laying placid rest in the flesh of your mouth. I want to innervate you untie your tongue make poetry. Current Music: i wish i could listen to music now. (Comment on this)
Saturday, July 1st, 2006
12:19 am	spring is the season of resurgence when jesus push the daisies the sun sets hereyen this suit-case-world, and i wonder why growing children trample flowers. (Comment on this)
Friday, June 30th, 2006
8:42 pm	paul is buggin' me 'cause i've lost my pot. (he said he's "dying.") its in the closet somewhere. when i was at the bookstore today, i sensed a presence behind me. i was in the poetry section because i wanted to verify one of the bukowski quotes that i had put in my poem earlier. thinking someone had set their eyes downside my dress (a 60's beauty), and concious of myself, i turned around. some dude was looking for kipling. i told him to look at a coney island of the mind, the book that made me realize i like poetry. he said, before he finished "Christ Came Down": "I went to Brown. I think all that post-modernism stuff is bullshit. They try too hard. I've read five lines and I already know what this poem is about." "I went to Brown".... he came off as condescending. and pretentious. it made me feel anxious. i love that book. i saw alexandra today. i missed her when she was at simon's rock..... well, at least someone dropped out of high school to go to college. Current Music: david byrne (5 Comments |Comment on this)
8:28 pm	Margaret Somogvary pi is a straight line. my mother’s mother drew augury onto palms, rending line to divination: “you will live long life and have many husbands.” but she had a haunted head, threw knives at my brother. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
8:22 pm	with the children away suburbia, where the trees are severed spaces for lawns, saplings. In the stagnant space, my eyes fall flatly on the front of your head and I remember when your face had skewed my sense of direction, setting suns to the east, sowing my smooth muscle to solvent. There is too much monotone. It foments in the high ceilings, once a forum for echoes. Outside, the insipid air, I notice that the leaves have wilted. (they swallowed the rice.) The onset of fall, and we are like the landscape. A monotone, poor chorus. (when you yell at me I know) “maybe we should fix the vents.” (you just want to) liven the air. (7 Comments |Comment on this)
8:21 pm	One of Bukowski's women I loved you like a lion loves a Christian. your muse, I knew you like no other from our graceless love dance, that brutish ballet, beer breath, and the impatient character of your selfish love-making. watching over your shoulder, you were clever, but rarely brilliant. 30 poems out of every 400 or so. but I knew you were a poet. (my body, your pages:) "blue beads and bone" Current Music: phillip glass (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, June 28th, 2006
8:03 pm	eve i remember when you bore me. surfacing from your skeleton like a limb or an afterthought, disease or vestige human, helpmate bride bone (god had grown bored). paradise with you was a quiet. sowing soils, we appropriated four senses cultivating the language to the sod. the new-naming: man and woman our novel monogamy was a knowing of no naught, no words wore over me as we held each other. you were a comfortable silence. (but there were nights when your arms would unravel, and shivering and sheath less- i slipped from solipsism some slithering specimen) (,my own shameful monogamy: a tingling neath my navel- unnamed and unmattered muddled our matrimony.) when satan spoke, certain were my suppositions (the seven gods the ceaseless senses) sin is succulent. i wanted to taste a fiction. shut the story, live and let learn to bear (2 Comments |Comment on this)
6:21 pm	are all the mother fuckers ready for the father fuckers? !peaches is comming! i sort of want to rock a fake beard at the concert. do you think i would look sexy with facial hair? yo you gots more bush on yo tush than i gots around my mush..... gushy gushy gush don't tell me to shush Current Music: "OH BONDAGE! UP YOUR'S!!!!!!!!" (Comment on this)
1:04 pm	we lay like this: due west procession through the sky-streets a parade of creeping conviction that kneads your eye color, soft like our idle tongues. this quiet is a sieve for honesty, i think, as i weave euphemisms into your hair, still waiting for the photosynethesis the serration of silence. Current Music: i can hear paul through the floorboards. (Comment on this)