The Coldest of Armchairs

Who knew this would be it? Reliving a similar and universal experience with the wrong crew on the daily? Everyone is walking on the top but not getting down or proceeding north, just a sad twirl that everyone is witnessing. It's a deep heart ache that makes your insides turn and questions every motive. How to make a sharp right turn, how to organize the damage and deal accordingly. This isn't what I wanted. This isn't it. This is something else. You seem ok, steady, even; and I am disappearing. I've seen the untouchables wade through catastrophe like water through open space but you're not that either. No, you're something else entirely. It doesn't encompass you the way it does me; I don't think you see any better than me though. Not through those sad eyes Not through this plain picture Not through these impermeable measures. I tire of walking the same " ." It seems endless and predictable resolve seems far. When has it ever not? Closed off, legless reindeer, door slamming silent agendas and top notch avoidance quotas are being met everyday with more fervor than the previous time. Tough to take, tough to keep up with, tough to choose The slap that never comes, a harsh "come to" a call to subconscious arms that commits only psychic warfare and wins without waking you, while I m not fading half as fast as I would like. This time tomorrow will be more of the same Same answer will be hanging in the air like a broken wind chime you can't bring yourself to discard and you will be too, slowly doling out fictitious spoonfuls of "contentment" while we both lye waiting. Waiting for the........

Going on 5.

I can't breathe. Every breath is a miracle that it comes to fruition. I can't see in front of me but I know there's a drop It's every bone being carved into unsedated every movement unpredictable and spinal tap after spinal tap all gathered under a starless sky once there were so many vacancies, now there are none. Now, you are decisive Now, you have a voice Now, you stand up Resilience has become my character defect and the thing resentments are clothed in. I have been here the whole time I have been here the whole time I have been here the whole time Loving a phantom Loving you in spite of Loving you anyway There are few safe moments for me with you but I love you anyway. There are words that I would have exchanged for a fractured jaw in 6 places in their place than hear them from you I love you anyway. There are actions not taken that I would have traded for a year of silence I love you anyway. There are faults left unclaimed that I would have gladly taken to watch peace take place in your eyes You handed me a razor. I've taken number after number for the other side and this is the grand moment in a stairwell alone that I would welcome another chance. Opportunist at best. I see you I see you caught I see me drowning in an endless blanket of past possibilities and too much experience. I see you drowning in the same blanket; different accompaniments; less experience, too much self inflicted notions of exactness and only drops of love. I understand. I can't breathe I can't see My chest has scooped itself back in it's cavity, for now. I promise, by the next frost, I'll do better by an untouchable spirit that wants to let go. A quaking Aspen will guide my way back to the place with one light Back to the place where she is Back to the place you fear so much. I'll be the one covered in snow you'll see the one with a broken finger, only on the right and a cedar heart. I m waiting waiting here at the mouth I'll always be waiting until you tell me not to.

The Process of Dying.

It's a slow long lethargic good bye that makes the hair on your arm stand up. A coming together of everything in the world you've ever feared. You must take the stairs now, no other option. Elevators are a lofty after thought. The wringing in and out of your intestines that shows up on your face in the ever present "How are you?" Feeling like the bottom is dropping from every moment, not knowing how difficult the next breath will be, a seething darkness that abides so close that there is no chance of shaking it. Maybe. Maybe you would have been better off going comatose. Maybe the hollow point should have bore out more than just your vein, maybe......just maybe. Making the silence numb is not a possibility. It clamors about in self defeating cyclone of what if's, what about's and every scream, every yell that has been not heard for what it was, the fear of you not being loved. On a cellular level, it all combusts on a nuclear level, Area 666 kind of shit. I meant it, I meant that I committed to long haul, I meant it every step of the way. Perhaps you don't. You don't. You haven't. A mirror un-adhered to, is an excruciating thing to have to walk by everyday, so I understand but it does not negate the fact that I drown every minute of every day with an ache that only a Christian could pray away, and I am not so hope evades me, as it should be. What if one day I wake up one day and it's ok? What a tragedy. Stage 4 feels immanent. This is a drowning with an audience and an empty grave that is being filled with all of the unsaid and disabled actions that could have made this paragraph non existent. Slowly being dismembered by an unseen force but seeing it all the time makes for dog days amplified. Hard times baby, hard times.

FUCK OFF "TAT" INQUIRERS.

Jesus Fucking Christ. I understand that summers' a here, practically anyhow and that I have made certain decsions in life, mainly to become heavilty tattooed and I am well prepared to deal with a fair amount of horse shit regarding that, be that as it may, I am not up for grabs to be touched in Home Depots, nor am I down for seeing your small and sad little diddy your bestie help you string together. My advice would be to piss off, far far away. I am upon the ve of a very long class at said moment and will be dashing shortly, like the next 35 seconds and just wanted to throw up a bit before I have to sit here for 4 hours. XOXO

Saving Simon.

Fundraising Ideas

This is Simon and he is a rescue that will have a forever home here in NJ if transport can be arranged. Please donate to help this happen for Simon. One of the best feelings that I have had the pleasure of knowing are that of the joy of saving an animal that otherwise would have had no chance at a happy, healthy or stress free existence. Too often people acquire animals for the wrong reasons and end up abandoning them once they have not met their unrealistic expectations or aren't working on their time. This does not have to be the case for this little guy. Please help Simon to reach his forever home so he never needs to know anything other than that throughout his life. Thanks you.

Puppy Mills Torture Thousands of Dogs Every Year! by Andrew A. December 21, 2009 11:54 pm Every year, thousands of dogs are the product of large-scale breeding operations known as puppy mills. The operations run across the country and dogs are locked in small wire cages with minimal human contact or veterinary care. As Christmas approaches, there is always a temptation to give the most lovable gift of all, a puppy. We’ve all seen the image of a Christmas puppy popping its head out of a stocking in television commercials. Now I don’t want to get into the logistics of whether or not a puppy makes a good Christmas gift — I trust you all to make that decision on your own. What I do want to talk about is where that new puppy is coming from. Buying a puppy is a big purchase and most people have a few options: pet stores/puppy mills or animal rescue shelters. While it may be easy to swing by the pet store on your way home from work, your purchase could be supporting puppy mills — an industry that tortures thousands of dogs annually. Buyer beware: even licensed puppy mills can operate with minimal standards. In fact, by law, puppy mills can own more than 1,000 dogs, keep them in small wire changes for life and breed them as often as possible. Not much of a life for man’s best friend! The truth of the matter is that the vast majority of the puppies bred at mills go straight to the pet stores, and year after year, puppies suffer for the sole purpose of turning a profit for the puppy mill and pet store owners. Puppies are not products and it is important to make sure you know where your puppy is coming from before you buy. The only way to free these animals from the misery of the horrid puppy mills is to eliminate the demand. With the highest percentage of puppies purchased during the holidays, it is important to take action to fight puppy mills by pledging to adopt from a shelter or rescue group instead of buying a puppy from a pet store. Together we can work to create a day where there are no more homeless pets — adopt, don’t shop.

MOMA NYC James Rosenquist: F-111 January 25–July 30, 2012 Fourth floor

It comes in the dark in the form of a winter tree leaning too far maybe to the right.. but since it's not hovering over your house, you make like it's ok, just another night where the moon in massive and your worries are rested.. it isn't my problem

it's been so long, who knows how people react in these narrow sad situations.. maybe in the form of a sacrificial emotion letting that knows no boundaries and we will both be stuck between your fate and a doorway leading to another conclusion that you made up years ago. but I do adore you and the way you wear that hat

I remember the last time you tipped more than that onto a cargo ship of responsibility hoping it would receive the correct play but as I recall, it came in the form of a summons. I know you can scream louder, but it doesn't make your remarks any more tolerable or tangible. Maybe you'll float, maybe you'll freeze, maybe you'll stay in the cabin that that winter tree is leaning on hard and maybe I'll remember you fondly

but probably not.

Put the Needle Down.

I woke up and realized that I had never really been; that all of that rhetoric in my dreams possibly warranted a bit more consideration than the re telling of said dream/s over a cup of black tea and a still sleepy unresponsive but trying very hard to appear other wise spouse, (poor Matt.) To get on with it... I am in a black ocean in a desolate room, from the waist up, I have nothing on and cannot feel or see anything from the waist down that is in the water, of myself anyhow; what I do see are hundreds of levels of water, various light and depths that would not correlate with nature but house millions of "ghosts/things/creatures". When I say this, I mean everything from the 2 aborted children I may have had to odd marine life, to things I refused to eat as a child, to faint apparitions of my Mother. (No wait, mother, she doesn't get capitalized, EVER.)

I am feeling nothing and everything. A wolf swims out to me, my wolf; my white wolf that has replaced my white rabbit in reoccurring dreams I had in the past for years. He has made an appearance in the last hand full of dreams I have had in the past few months and I almost determine that I am in one from his presence alone. He is effortless; he slides underneath my arm and begins to lead me away from the middle of this room ocean to a long hall way, what must be my foot grazes a tiger shark as the wolf pulls me away. Down the hallway we float, with endless door options, my wolf looks at me and I open the door we are in front of. My Dad is in the room holding a glowing blue sphere. He looks illuminated from the inside. My Dad looks up and smiles, and places the sphere in my hands and disappears. I am now clothed in this blue glow, the sphere turns to hypodermic needles, I drop it, and they float to a corner of the room that is darkened. There is a form, but I cannot make it out. The needles seem to be hovering and waiting their turn. I hear a slight exhale; I look at my wolf and his eyes are filled with Aslam like knowing and I move forward a bit. It's my Mom, the real one. She is becoming smaller every time a needle goes in to her skin. She looks like a deflated moss covered kick ball with thousands of needles protruding from every where. The needles from the sphere wait in turn to puncture her, but instead of her usual MO with needles, these are delivering nothing but taking away. She won't look at me. She seems to be in an inhumanely amount of pain and is bleeding profusely, silently crying and appears to have been this way for a long time. She endures this as if she was meant to, and rightfully so. She seems to embrace every biblical female horror with an Argento twist. I feel nothing. At least that's what I want to exude, but to no avail, I m silently crying. I am feeling something other than what I have had on reserve for her and I feel as though I am betraying myself. My wolf nudges me to her, looks up at me and without thinking, I put my hand out as to receive change at a store and the sphere of needles hover above my hand and then dissipate. Debra, stigmata, broken Type we'll never know is healing. All of her wounds, past and recently inflicted are healing, she never looks up but I know she wants too, or maybe I just hope that she does.Her blood is seeping back into her body, the bruises are going away, she is being invisibly stitched up, she is changing. I am filled with the notion that she never wanted to be what she was but drowned in the easiness of it and would have been what she was suppose to have been to be if she were capable. Before I can touch her, my wolf pushes against my legs and we head toward the door. There is a static wind at the doorway and as I disappear into it, my wolf bites the doorknob to my mom's room and pulls it shut. I know what this is and cannot believe that it is here. I never thought it would arrive. Ever. I can breathe in a way I never thought possible. However fleeting it may be, it was here for a moment and that will always equate to better than never for me.