love letters and eraser fights

I collect ridiculous items, both tangibly and imaginarily ("imaginarily" belongs to my collection of useful made-up words). This morning around 8:49 I began a mental list of eraser shapes I would make if I were an eraser manufacturer or a rubber mechanic for Archie McPhee's. 

top 2 eraser ideas

(actually they were the only 2 I had before I got distracted)

a no. 2 pencil, authentically sized, shaped and colored, already sharpened

a chinese take-out box with white grains of rice-sized erasers

otherwise, in other words, speaking of exacerbated explorers

Marian is back, after a two-month distraction to someplace I wasn't invited. This time the weather has changed and she hasn't exploded into a million calico pieces yet. Instead, she is sitting curbside on an empty road because no one drives on the pavement in this city. Round water babies slide down her green umbrella, aging with gravity and dying in silent crystal firework splashes all around the rubber soles of her shoes as if they had been stars of silent films. (partial excerpt of a partial paragraph)

I wrote the last chapter before I had the beginning...and this is more or less somewhere in the middleish...so the glimmer train submission department will have to wait just a little longer for Marian to be bundled into their mailbox, courtesy of the U.S. Postal service.

chapter of fascinations

water bodies, especially ones with crashing waves that wish

 they were dragons and wolves and scream with magical starvation

 until i am coerced into martyrdom and leave soaking wet. 

case in point: camping on the Northwest coastline of Scotland.

beach storms in Lincoln City, when Nell can't sleep 

and the ocean tries to spit her body onto shore

but she can't stop diving for the shipwreck she doesn't want to find. 

mcrae ghosts and secrets and quirks and the intricacies of the general insanity 

my clan is adept at theatrically flaunting

pistols

revolvers

cowboys

bedtime stories: bartleby the scrivener

graveyard haikus

lithography in the dark:

i would like to haunt something.

maliciously.

(poltergeist)

this word was made for me

my head:
it's that scene from Pride and Prejudice (the new one) where they are dancing and everyone else just disappears, only in this version the room is soaked with red, and taciturn and sociable have become synonymous.

stubborn:

–adjective

1.	unreasonably obstinate; obstinately unmoving: a stubborn child.

2.	fixed or set in purpose or opinion; resolute: a stubborn opponent of foreign aid.

3.	obstinately maintained, as a course of action: a stubborn resistance.

4.	difficult to manage or suppress: a stubborn horse; a stubborn pain.

5.	hard, tough, or stiff, as stone or wood; difficult to shape or work.

---

[Origin: 1350–1400; ME stiborn(e), styborne, stuborn < ?]

—Related forms

stub·born·ly, adverb

stub·born·ness, noun



As in: "She stubbornly refuses to participate in this farce out of turn--and it has been his turn for quite some time."

As in: "Her stubbornness will not prove an asset."

i discovered treasure

underwater reclining

Portland, Oregon

I forgot to bring a camera so here are some adventure images courtesy of google



the best place in the world





saturday morning

this guy was there, right next to the fountain





"we are dropping off the 3 musketeers"

i have a twin and johnny is 21 now--and we were left unattended in the alphabet district. We asked a girl in a vintage shop on 21st:
"do you know any good bars?"
"no, i don't drink around here."
10 minutes later she was hitting up happy hour ($4 martinis) at Virgo and Pisces.





classic mcrae






end of awake? possibly not. I've been drawing robots and writing about umbrellas for the last three hours, and now it sounds like a thunderstorm outside and inside. CocoRosie keeps my eyes open in a good way and Portland is a good place for girls who ride purple street bikes so I'll be moving next week.

this is what the moon looks like right now



Alcott in the 100s:
"josie, what do you want for your birthday?"
"a puppy"
"ok. what kind?"

you need to stop speed dialing

i want a face stamp

and an elephant.

new writings: a guy who blows himself up with fireworks on a balcony. based on a true story. no joke, a few more nights of insomnia and it will be ready for print.

new (best) news: I might not have to go back to pullman.I'm writing in small small text so I don't get too excited in case it doesn't come true.

also

rock candy
soap boxes
xylophones
vibraphones
francophones
any phones but real phones

last
you can officially call me flaky; i'm no good at returning phone calls or emails
but i like snail mail, and i have nice handwriting.

staring awkward red

I SAW U

all the time.

next time

who does smile then

plus second title: blake is a spanish cowboy

i'm moving.

moderate agnostic

Can I just make this a picture post? Yes.

grandma/larry


my new toys: boss rc-2 loop station and tuning pedals.


list of experiments and corrected grammatical issues:

i hate talking on the phone and learning pinochle should be mandatory in elementary school.
i like talking about mixers and microphones and synthesizers like this one:


i would make a stellar secret agent.

rebel in a campfire cookout

I want to go back to this please:

we dance when

Flies buzz louder than organ notes
drawn from a honeycomb of strings and pedals
at the place where your fingers begin to bleed
milk and seeds, dropping roots between ivory keys.

Buttercup buds fall in heavy hail piles until the field
we stand in can hardly keep from dropping down,
plummeting to the core, an even fall
with a bowling ball hanging from each corner.

When wicker chairs come down from the attic
and our bagpipe bones drop down with rhythmic squeals
we’ll remember a steep climb, heat searing our holding hands
as we left hell fires that held no warmth.

quarter note shaped holes in the wall

innocent syllable riddle (bye bye beautiful)

…is a pair of sunglasses perched on a steep nose

covering sixteen freckles that you can’t see anyway,

since it is already midnight.

…is a traffic cone triplet, born in a hand clap

on an abandoned road framed by snipers hiding in window frames.

…is a sea of unpacked gravel bodies waiting for weight

to push their edges into each other

the way your hipbone peaks bruise mine.

…is a pair of eyes shining flashlight beams into mine

shattering black pupils until the pieces are permanently missing.

…is a tumble dryer under the hood, spinning into sparks

with outstretched arms and ecstatic child cries.

…is a glass pane that didn’t shatter, but became a polka-dot landscape,

a Pollack painting in red splatters and air-shaped nighttime holes.

…is a silence painted on a dead end road.

some stuff I have been confused about or have thought about lately:

-where did the "create an event" button on Facebook go? I have an event! I want to create it! I can't find the button...
-How does Morrissey still look good?
-Phil Collins, in general.
-is knitting an instinct that lays dormant until after menopause? I feel like every woman over 50 I see is knitting.
-would I clone myself?

good vs. not so good:

-boondock saints vs. homework
-green vs. blue
-animal collective vs. the ants in my kitchen
-scooters vs. minivans
-the lady skipping around the track today vs. the idiots who walk in the runners lanes.

just not good at all:
-insects
-dancing a hoedown ashley simpson style
-creepers and creepy dancers and just freak dancing in general
-procrastination.