oh baby

be_incendiary @ 2009-03-14T17:22:00

2009-03-14T21:23:08Z

"what? do the other boys not hold you jayna?"

be_incendiary @ 2008-11-05T16:43:00

2008-11-05T21:44:23Z

waking up depressed gives me panic attacks nearly impossible to shake.

be_incendiary @ 2008-10-21T10:57:00

2008-10-21T15:21:50Z

The first time that I tried on overalls was the single most liberating moment of my life. In the Kingdom, girls and women alike were supposed to wear dresses and long skirts with shoulders, chest, and midriff covered at all times. Needless to say, pants were forbidden. Overalls had the familiar security of a jumper, (a skirt with fabric extended at the top on both sides and hooked together with straps that went over another dress or long shirt) and the taboo FUCKYOU of jeans. Not just any jeans though, boy jeans. I was ecstatic. I was in the fourth grade.

I was the new girl. The strange new girl from New Hampshire, who was a Pastor's daugher, and carried around an orange lizard in a tin recipe box. It was a newt, but I was too polite to point it out. The transition was easy. Ha! Overalls saw me through though---> I was the only kid who wore them and they inspired awe. Sometimes when I was feeling snazzy I would put a giant masterlock on one of the belt loops. Surprisingly, this caught on (much to my dismay.)

In the 6th grade I wore an Ecuadorian poncho to school. That did not go over so smoothly. The same could be said for when I dressed up as Harry Potter for a book report and got called a cross dresser by Jared Clemenzi. These are defining moments in any child's life.

When I discovered books I realized I didn't have to care about being cool. With books you can feel anyway that you want to feel- you can be the protagonist, antagonist, magical, down to earth, factual, pathologically insane, shy, loud, deviant, saintly-anything! or anyone. That was the year I stopped using my bedframe. I was too cold at night so I had my matresses near the heater that ran along the outside wall of my room. It was chilly but when the heat came on I could stick my feet in the gap between the matress and wall and be in heaven. I would only eat tuna fish from the can, block cheese, and wheat thins. Nightsnack of Champions. I prepared a little platter, a feast in my mind, every night and munch as I read. Greedily. That winter during the 5th grade I mostly drank Tension Tamer, and Sleepytime Tea. Also that year my teacher, Mr. Skiba, told me I was snobby about being smart. "I needn't laud my intelligence, and talents above others," phhh who was lauding there Skeeb's?

Anyway, I'm back on over-alls. I'm still the only one that I know. When I finish my sling shot it will go in my back pocket and maybe I'll slap on a masterlock for posterity's sake.

I'm also back on books. Now I don't care if I'm cool anymore because with books- I can be anyone that I want to be! or anything. I'm liberated.

i see that i must do it all myself

2008-10-17T15:39:33Z

I don't love nature the way that you do, (I can't)
but I can see and feel it through you-
and I wish and pray through your honest open mouth while you laugh in downpours
that God could help me accept the GRACE
that you breathe, intoxicated with-
You are a God
send
and a mouthful so fluid that I always bite my tongue.
This is a love letter to myself
through a strangers eyes.
Eyes I can never see through but
can feel and wish and pray through
for a version of myself
worth fighting for.

be_incendiary @ 2008-10-17T09:11:00

2008-10-17T13:11:50Z

CONSUME.
BE SILENT.
DIE.

be_incendiary @ 2008-10-08T10:15:00

2008-10-08T14:15:07Z

Samuel:

this isn't about love, it's about pumpkins

be_incendiary @ 2008-08-11T10:50:00

2008-08-11T14:56:02Z

the tighter i try to grasp the larger you expand
and you're out of reach
out of touch
out of focus
out of this world
refusing to breathe, refusing to acknowledge me, refusing to see
not everything lacks purity.
not everything lacks purity.

honesty:

2008-08-04T23:09:41Z

maybe if you had the slightest interest in hearing it.

I Get Out

2008-07-27T04:33:37Z

"Get in."

"What?"'

"Get in."

"I-."

"If you want to get out, you have to get in. I don't care either way, I'm not going to argue about it."

"Well I want to get out."

"So..."

He got in. The way things had been going he was surprised the walls had not collapsed down around them as they drove off. Everything had been disintegrating lately and he spent most of his time trying to pick hallucinations, like lint, from reality. He was starting to wonder if there was a reality anymore.

"Where are you going?" he asked, though the answer did not really matter at this point.

"We're just going Owen, just to go, just to be gone."

"Lord knows we're gone enough as it is..."

"That's life man, you gotta buy the ticker, take the ride..."

When Drew started quoting Thompson he knew they were in for a long strange trip, and simultaneously he buckled his seatbelt.

The slate grey of the Academy disappeared behind them, melded into the gray hills, and diffused into the gray sky. It was the perfect setting for a coming of age novel, maybe he would write one, but he doubted he would have the energy. There used to be a time he would have begun furiously at the mere suggestion of a story. Now, though, each day sucked his passion right from his bone marrow. He used to be able to channel the creative flow in, and feel as alive as the brilliance of his surroundings-

"Owen."

"Wahh?" The whiplash from his return to consciousness jarred him.

"Spacin' already? We've hardly just begun my friend."

"Pull over soon so I can grab a pack of cigs, I'll throw some money in for gas if oyu want."

"The tanks practically full, just grab me a pack too, uhh parliaments."

"P-funks are gross man, I'll never understand." he shook his head.

"Each is just as bad as the next, never mind taste."

"Whatever." He pulled his last from a crumpled pack of Turkish Gold's and lit it.

It was true, he was distracted. How could he not be when all the lines on the road were converging at one point and darting about curiously. With each drag his eyes became narrower and more focussed. As far as he could tell nicotene was the only thing grounding him. When Drew had found him earlier he had been wandering again. It had come down to that a lot lately, that crawling desire to stretch himself out over the earth and feel its weight upon him, under him. Lying on his stomach on the stone wall of the school no longer pacified this. He was heading towards to the woods to find a more worthy precipice to dangle from, but the idea of actually getting out was far more appealing.

"Drew I'm sick of this."

"Sicka what?"

"Sick of all this: Sick of school, sick of people, sick of routine...this whole place is routine."

"That whole place is routine, man, we got out"

"Yeah but for how long? We can't keep driving forever."

"It dosn't mean that we have to turn around."

He shrugged. That much was true, and for now he would have to be content with it. It was tiring, being sour company, a cynical smile crept over the tight line that had replaced his expressions lately. Lack of expression is succumbing to the machine, he thought: I will not become a robot.

The wheels made a crunchy turning noise into the parking lot of Skip's General Store. Skip has been killing him slowly for years now, selling him cigarettes since he was fourteen. Now it was legal and he wished like hell that he could throw his ID in someones face, but he supposed he was in no position to complain. His feet made that crunchy turning noise when he jumped onto the ground and skidded from the abrupt collision. It figured that his balance would start going along with his vision. Even when he closed his eyes the lines were always swirling. He had woken at 2am the previous night and as he downed some OJ with his eyes closed he could see the fractals forming in the fluid entering him. Reality, realit-

"Can I help you?"

"Whoa, shit Skip, sorry." He shook his head, he had to stop existing soley in his mind. "Can I get a pack of parliaments, and a pack of Turkgolds?"

"Sure thing, son. You been gettin' enough sleep lately?"

"Too much...and uhh can I get some dip?" The idea of spitting seemed appealing, though he had never tried the stuff.

"Dip boy? Fine let's just make it ten even okay?"

"Shore-thang." Adept fingers peeled bills from a pocket wad. He sighed.

He put two fingers full in his lip and wished his gums bled more so that it could flow more directly into him. He made that slurping noise that made women squirm, and revelled in its repulsiveness. He spat, and begged his consciousness to expell the anger mounting inside him aswell.

"Bitch."

"Say what now buddy?"

"She's going to prom with Reeve, I was gonna ask her."

"Yeah you were going to, you talked about how you were going to for weeks now, but you didn't you didn't get out, and you didn't ask her."

"But dude."

"No Owen. I don't even want to hear it. She's an attractive girl, you knew that, and you knew you weren't the only one who wanted to ask her, you knew Reeve specifically wanted to ask her, and you couldn't stop diddling yourself long enough to grow a set and ask her."

"Wow." He couldn't help but grin. "That's the realest things I've heard all day."

"Damn straight."

"Well I don't think I'm going to go anyway."

"Aww baby, don't sulk."

"Shut it." he spat the rest of his lip out the window. "That's disgusting."

"Were you just dipping? That is disgusting."

Owen tossed the pack of parliaments onto Drew's lap, unraveled the cellophane from his own and lit one up.

"Shut it and smoke your precious P-funks."

"Getting touchy eh? You must really like her."

"I don't want to talk about it. Okay?"

"Well then," Drew puffed out his chest and sparked his own cigarette. "We'll have no more of it then lad."

Drew's british accent never got old.

"Jolly good Drew, thankya kindly."

"So do you want to go set things on fire in the freight yard?"

"Not especially."

"Strip club? Eh eh?"

"Nahhh."

"No fire, and no skin? Well I guess I won't bring it up again, but Goddamn Owen."

"Dude I can't get a grip." He almost wanted to sob but shoved it back down quick. "I think I'm really losing it."

"That's heavy."

"It's all heavy, it's all too fucking heavy." This was when the fibers binding his chest began to rip apart. "It's all heavy and no one wants to face it. Let me out."

"Calm down."

"Just pull over and let me out, I don't want to calm down, I want to embrace how heavy all this really is." His voice was frantic.

"All what is?"

"Weren't you listening at all?" His face was inflamed and he knew he was taking an improperly harsh and large tone. "All of this Drew, all of it, me, the melding, her, the abstract, addictions, utopia, hell, all these layers of hell, the weight, the weight of the world and the eternity of waiting for the world to make sense."

"How much do you have on you?"

"Weed or money?" he laughed, it was a senseless laugh, a passionate laugh, and it scared him. "I've got plenty."

"I can't hold you captive." He looked concerned. "Call me before you sleep, and..."

"I'll buzz ya, don't worry." He laughed again. "But I probably won't sleep."

"Ofcourse not." Drew shook his head. "Keep on keepin' on bro," and that was that. Drew was gone as abrupt and random as he came.

Owen pulled the cigarette butt from his lips and replaced it with a joint. Now all he needed was a tree, from there he could simultaneously scope the landscape and relax in its embrace. Things were heavy. He could not get out, but he found a tree and climbed as far as limbs would allow. Fire, he smiled and inhaled watching the end of his craft cherry. Fire, earth, air, he smelled the breeze; it was flaunting infinity.

Now where to begin? First he let himself fall down, as heavy as ever down onto himself and let it settle. Every wrong decision, every insecurity, every single thought he spawned was contrary to society and his mind was overweight. Maybe that is why he could not stop hallucinating, or attuning himself to the intricacies of actuality, or maybe it was the drugs. He took another hit. From his perch he could see the clock tower of the Academy. It was probably dinner time, he would probably get demerits for missing out on dish duty, but he was not going back. Not now, there was still weight to be dealt with.

Maybe it was because of the melding that he could not bring himself to make eye contact with her, or get up the courage to tell her any of his true mind. Maybe, or maybe her eyes were too sincere, too intense. Maybe Drew was right and he was just a coward.

She was fluid in the worst way, the way that made her the hardest to grasp. Her body was fractal upon fractal, and imbibing with vital life energy. Being near it infused his soul with that force and in those moments he was weightless. And her smile? Forget about it. The problem was - he couldn't.

Tossing the roach he let out yet another sigh, stretched, and lit another Turkish Gold. All of his addictions accumulated into a few motions. Thinking about her, weed, cigarettes, and stretching, while in a tree. The addictions were really what got to him at times like these. On one hand they helped him remain human. This is because machines are not designed so weak, but on the other hand it was just a miserable self reflection on lack of self control.

Sort of like how he uncontrollably spoke in metaphors these days, and let his body carry him through the motions of routine. Earlier at Skip's was not the first time he was been in completely different places physically and mentally. It was really kind of frightening. It was not spacing out, it was a complete departure.
Part of the addictions, and the metaphors, was creating this idealistic world in which he could alternately exist. That is why things had jarred him so hard recently, things that has already happened in his universe did not always coincide with reality, Reality might as well be hell, it might as well be infinite riddles.

He wished he could make eye contact, just once bear the scope and depth of it. She had said that she did not trust people who did not make eye contact. He had told her that that was probably a good idea, and that he would work on it. Truth be told he had not gone near her since that day. He was afraid his eyes would not be able to preform. They were strained and blinked compulsively at the very though. Eye stamina, gotta work on that, he mused.

He readjusted his weight and leaned back letting his legs support him as he swung. The world was not that much different upside down. He catapulted back up and began to climb down. Whether or not he was going to sleep he needed to gather kindling for a fire. There was no way he was going back, not tonight, hopefully never.

be_incendiary @ 2008-05-31T23:14:00

2008-06-01T03:18:15Z

i'm so listless and strained...
i sit around when i am by myself reading poetry until i find one that fits my mood just so that i know i'm not alone. it dosn't really ever help, it is just a better worded scenario to explain why i am feeling down - and when it comes down to it in the end: it never really makes too much sense

it is just a pretty sound for sadness.

post to be_incendiary?

2008-05-08T13:08:44Z

take these words & bones & bre
ak them
down to pivotal form,
in fracture

the powder you breathe, dusting your lungs
in the skeletal truth
of your inhibitions
he said
she said...

be_incendiary @ 2008-04-13T15:17:00

2008-04-13T19:18:21Z

and today
was a day
just like any
other ;)

rhymes

2008-04-08T15:30:56Z

Little Miss Muffet, just eating her curds and whey, sitting on her tuffet; when that mean old spider came and scared her, right? That's damn right that spider came and sat down beside her, that rascist and blood thirsty little girl had it coming.

Just earlier that morning Jebediah Spindle had come home from the weaving factory only to find Little Miss Muffet standing over the remains of his life's work. His fine silk hung from the corner of her tiny little mouth, her eyes glistening from the thrill of the hunt and intoxicated with destruction.

"Yes," she cooed, holding up a jar containing his family to her greedy little face. "These will do nicely for my snack later. Nothing compliments curds and whey like LIVE SPIDERS seething with FEAR."

Jebediah stopped in his lack of tracks, for her is a spider and certainly leaves no imprint on the ground behind him. This is not to say that spiders leave no imprint at all, his family was his world and they had forever left their mark on his life. He could not let things end this way.

For years the human/spider battle had been raging, or rather the ruthless genocide of his kind. It was not as if they tried to be frightening, it was not as if they chose to have eight legs instead of two or four...and yet his people were stomped on, captured, fumigated, or the unthinkable: eaten alive.

Miss Muffet could not get away with this. Oh no, Jebediah had a plan. If she wanted to play dirty he was not going to hesitate in retaliation. With precision he shot a spindle of the strongest quality out and trailed along behind on the hem of her dress. After all, there was a reason he got the name Spindle.

He was dragged along for what seemed like an eternity, all the while being subjected to hearing the shrieks of his loved ones all the while being helpless to pacify them. His anger mounted inside him, all it would take was one good shot at her neck and she would be done for. He, however, kept his pincers to himself for the time being. What sort of revenge would it be if she knew not where it came from? No, he wanted to instill the same fear in her that she instilled in his own flesh and blood...or...whatever spiders have.

Finally she ceased the funeral procession and broke into a spirited version of Guns & Roses "Live and Let Die," whilst she readied her tuffet for the sitting.

Fiend. Heartless devil woman. Jebediah fumed, but still his time he bided.

She settled down and licked her lips with a lust for her midday snack. Then, her moment of triumph, with nimble little fingers she slowly unscrewed the lid of the jar, poised to empty its contents onto her curds and whey -

Then, then he struck. He slowly descended from a tree branch he has climbed during her preparation. He could see the panic in her eyes, and mouth so ready to be filled with a delicacy instead become full with a scream. She dropped her meal fixings and prepared to run. He then launched for her neck and bit with the passion she had intended to use on his family.

She dropped dead.

Ofcourse the history books changed this, villianized Jebediah, stripped him of his name and good intention. It is just affirmation of the fact that history is nothing but a fable agreed upon.

face down

2008-04-07T18:50:38Z

she goes to therapy on broadway
discusses the world's end in belmont
& rests her soul the way that emerson taught thoreau:
face down in the dirt.

oh yes, your body in an arch
and its beautiful contents can never
overflow
even though i'd love to collect and patch you over

every time that you have a feeling, you are alive.
her inspiration, conspired against her innocence.

echo

2008-04-07T18:45:28Z

in hopes of meteor showers
and the escape of trials errors
stumbling, stupid, crying for a protector
fall, fall again
fall, fall again
the uncouth prop in guise as a savior
pulled the wool soundly
and ran away when your back was turned, so
blindly--
fall, fall again
shooting stars have never
so mislead, so
fall, fall again

be_incendiary @ 2007-07-27T12:52:00

2007-07-27T16:54:00Z

two
what do your dreams en-tale?

on the concrete
slabs of iodine dimensions
two shooting stars and
all dreams approach consummation
the reprieve and taste of salvation
looms as i dilate
to birth and alien nation.

dont go

2007-07-15T15:17:15Z

stay pure
let your innocence cascade
this is no charade
stay pure

with your hands upon my curves
and your mouth upon my words
responding

conversation, pure elation which i crave

the flowering of skepticism is only just the beginning

2007-05-19T18:06:15Z

you are a detail lost in static
a frequency out of position
with a history of pure hearsay
and mismatched eyes

suitably their creations
are fluid and well defined
etched in plastic, filled with aerosol
your theiving hands
have captured my imagination

be_incendiary @ 2007-05-05T10:19:00

2007-05-05T14:25:06Z

it's hard to concentrate on anything. i lack motivation until it strikes in full force. everything i do is a compulsive storm and i can't stop until its done, and when i'm close i half shudder with exitement and half cry because i have no idea how long it will be until i'm passionate about something again. at those moments it seems as though it will never happen again. it is heart breaking.

this sense of immediacy makes me frantic and wild to the point of hysterics. i have no way to regulate or control these erratic feelings that dominate me. being enslaved to such whims, and violently trying to thwart them with my apathy has finally taken a toll.

i have no appetite
i am dizzy
i am depressed
but i'm always amazed by the magic
in the world
i am nauseous
my head aches
this is my life.

femme fatale

2007-04-25T10:55:40Z

I am skilled in the art of
explination
in heart-breaking letter form,
when I make you ache
I hope that my intonation scalds you beyond your ability to fathom.
Ruin you, I will
from the inside out.

I will make no mistake,
hesitate,
so that you can equate
the reprieve with your saving
and the return with fate's error
in placing my wiles in your good graces.

I am skilled in the art of
persuasion.
I will turn my cheek
and extend my hand out, wanting
and I will be fulfilled.
I will not be denied.

I am skilled in the art of heart evasion,
what you cannot hold.

be_incendiary @ 2007-04-23T14:48:00

2007-04-23T18:48:24Z

i am so faacking gangstah.

r yew pashion at?

2007-04-23T00:41:48Z

Passion. Passion is a word I thought I always understood right up until the moment that I actually did. There were always things I liked or aspired towards, but when I fell short of my goals, or succeeded it was neither devastating or fulfilling.

It seems in todays society that people are "passionate" about what they are supposed to be passionate about: school, sports, money, sex, and ultimately achieving The American Dream. This is exactly what inhibited me from finding , or rather, persuing things that I am genuinely passionate about.

First I was passionate about directly revolting against those ideas and organizations that had kept me feeling empty for so long. It wasn't the best approach, but it was essential to break away in order to realize or re-realize what interested me.

I can't say that I have figured out exactly how it is going to play into my future, but so far I have established this: I am passionate about language, the way words flow into each other, the way that they sound. I will not pretend that I always care for their meanings because so often words fall short of an adequite description. I am passionate about the woods, spending time climbing trees and playing in the dirt. Without nature I never would have found anything close to a sense of satisfaction in life. I am passionate about the delicate art of human interaction, and equaly fascinated.

These are the things that drive me, among many others including the haunting vibrations that music can send pulsing through bodies and souls. Without these passions I would be following the predetermined path so many have as their default. Without these passions I would still be living for other an not myself.

In the words of one of my favorite writers:

"Any path but your own, is that of fate."
-Henry David Thoreau.

be_incendiary @ 2007-04-21T02:54:00

2007-04-21T06:54:50Z

thank god it's fatal, i'm not sure you're fatal but...
they say i've been glowing.

be_incendiary @ 2007-04-19T15:34:00

2007-04-19T19:39:21Z

you got me crazy
mixed up
hooked on nicotene
constantly high high
low

i smile too sweet
i moan to loud
you said i love you, maybe
i said that people hardly ever actually mean it.

when i actually start talking
you say it's heavy
i don't want to weigh you down
it's hard enough to
stay bouyant
as it were/is.

i keep playing roulette
and making the scars on my legs symmetrical
to mimic order in the chaos that spreading them
indulges

i could be your favorite person
if you'd give me the time.

be_incendiary @ 2007-04-13T08:08:00

2007-04-13T12:12:25Z

happy happy
joy joy
happy happy
joy joy
happy happy happy happy
joy joy joy!

it's log it's log
it's big log
it's big it's heavy it's wood
it's log it's log
it's better than bad, it's good!