Saturday, January 31, 2009

gute nacht

I think it left off when someone forgot something, like a hot pocket in the microwave or a wallet in a restaurant. Perhaps you just went out for a smoke.

napalm death

 I love love love love love love love love love love his baby croaks.

crackers break

I met a woman long ago
Her hair the black that black can go
Are you a teacher of the heart

Soft she answered no

I met a girl across the sea
Her hair the gold that gold can be
Are you a teacher of the heart

Yes, but not for thee

I met a man who lost his mind
In some lost place I had to find
Follow me the wise man said

But he walked behind

I walked into a hospital
Where none was sick and none was well
When at night the nurses left
I could not walk at all

Morning came and then came noon
Dinner time a scalpel blade
Lay beside my silver spoon
Some girls wander by mistake
Into the mess that scalpels make
Are you the teachers of my heart

We teach old hearts to break

One morning I woke up alone
The hospital and the nurses gone
Have I carved enough my Lord

Child, you are a bone

I ate and ate and ate
No I did not miss a plate, well
How much do these suppers cost

We'll take it out in hate

I spent my hatred everyplace
On every work on every face
Someone gave me wishes
And I wished for an embrace

Several girls embraced me, then
I was embraced by men
Is my passion perfect

No, do it once again

I was handsome I was strong
I knew the words of every song
Did my singing please you

No, the words you sang were wrong

Who is it whom I address
Who takes down what I confess
Are you the teachers of my heart

We teach old hearts to rest

Oh teachers are my lessons done
I cannot do another one
They laughed and laughed and said 
well child

Are your lessons done

Are your lessons done

Are your lessons done

Leonard Cohen

Friday, January 30, 2009

make your own damn sammich!

Most of the time I like this city much better when I shut my eyes.  
Sometimes I miss being the girl that all the boys want to fuck, the life of the something, hitting you in the face with my hair, hair everywhere, 40 oz., pocket fulla nothing, backyard geysers, churches, and greasy mexican foooooood.


The next time I see you, I want you to be invisible.  It wasn't even about you.  You were like a train, a quiet train that arrives in the middle of the night.  I didn't even hear you because I'm a heavy sleeper.  

My whole life so far has been like stomping on eggshells.

Thursday, January 29, 2009

salad egg

This was the first memorable thing about fall.  I think it had cheese inside.  Or maybe chocolate.