I hate unbent knees. unbent knees are the ugliest piece of human.

it feels very strange to read the writings, or look at the paintings, or hear the music of a dead person, to me, because it feels as though it is being created right as I am reading or seeing or hearing it, even if it's for the thousandth time, and nothing can be created by a dead person, so they mustn't really be dead. however it also feels very strange to read the writings, look at the paintings or hear the music of a person who is still alive, and is far away in another country, sleeping or eating chinese food, or at the theatre or the beach or kissing their mother goodbye.

I need to learn Latin just so I can read Ovid minus the ghastly translations: But when good Saturn, banish'd from above, Was driv'n to Hell, the world was under Jove.

i'm in a shoebox-shaped room lit by TV fuzz
green walls (dinted, scarred, peeling)
wooden floor (cigarette burns and unidentifiable stains)
red couch (sagging, smells like semen and bile)
6 ex-bourbon bottle candleholders (crumbling wax and spiderspit)
the air is secondhand smoke and dust motes (mites?)

my insides are scraped purple raw (no more, please no more!)
my mouth has been stretched as far as it will go (now limp and dragging, gagging)
i've peeled my fingers to the bone (hoping they were keys)

my eyes are filled with sugar and teeth
and vodka, because I forget everything bad and add exclamations to all my words and would embrace every passerby
(everything is 8octaves higher, 8seconds faster, 8degrees hotter)

throw stones all over the place lest they be thrown first at you!

reading the diary of a girl with a broken back hasn't made me feel any better.
I conceive every day!
when I am sad it feels like my heart is shivering. or maybe my lungs. something in my chest really shivers. i'm not being poetic. I HAVE A SAD, SHIVERING THING IN ME. I can only mention it because I am not presently sad.

you can spend money and life
money and life

money is an improved life
if you could buy life I wonder which would be more valuable
not that money exists without life

one life, a million lives
ph. nothing could take up more space than a million lives, or one

I think I need a second moon to pull me into line

I think I have overdo(s/z)ed on a boy, and now he follows me everywhere and I dreamt he left me. it makes me feel starving and I don't like it.
i'll drink the water. I apologise for my last entry.

I write this poem on public toilet stallwalls where-ever I go
(but in only pencil, because I am a thought-full graffiti-er):
smile smile smile smile
smile smile smile
smile smile smile smile smile smile smile
now I think every time I do, I will take a picture
and keep a collection of public toilet stallwall poems.

heart string tied hearts
they always kissed with their heart in their mouth, no wait
it was on their lips,
instead of their sleeves

in the Charlotte's Web animated movie, when Charlotte tells Wilbur "i'm languishing to tell you the truth,"
she says it like she doesn't know what it means, and with the wrong accents.
I picked that up when I was seven, because I ran off to look up "languishing," thinking, from the way she said it, it meant she had some horrendous secret to tell.

and I must be a small r romantic, for I found Jo's marriage to Mr Bhaer quite unsatisfactory. she should have remained alone forever, only to fall for Laurie decades too late, and pour her secret sorrow into a million brilliant and celebrated novels.

why is "the smell" on my interests list? what smell?
doused in alcohol, crimson and magenta, burnt mouth, grazed knees, whatever.