Three strikes, are called a "turkey."

Canada may not be such a bad idea.

Approx. two people in the universe really get me.
(It's not a prize, more of an ox for your cart.)
Two people who I don't consistently fuck things up with.
(I'm inside out girl, don't condemn me for letting my vital organs lay about)
I'm thinking it would be nice for those numbers to grow.
(A resolution?)
But I can't seem to get things right.
(And will he or she help you? Can't know if they are an arms length away.)
I can't manage to not be dissappointed. Or dissapoint.
(okay maybe it's more than two, but not much!)


blah blah gurgle. Home is making me feel helpless.

I'm far too stubborn to admit that I'm a loner just yet.

Resolutions are coming up. I don't care if they are cheesy, I like them.
Gee the year ahead will be wild. But I hope I get a little more sleep in 07'.
I've been reading too much philosophy lately. It makes my writing/thoughts dry and slightly flustered. I'll stop it straight-away!

I miss the idea of missing you, which I will no doubt give up for the new year. We are light years away from what I would call normalcy. But like the moon I vaguely believe in your light. Normalcy is you and I: pawing, clawing, and polite. Don't play dumb, and I won't try to understand.

"If that don't do, then I'll try something new"

Same As It Ever Was

Break is happenin. Reading a lot. TVing a bit. Writing, not as much as I like.
Still not getting enough sleep. I miss plotting my world out on this ol' thing. I've got lots of scribbled pages, but I'll spare you all. A few thoughts. Broken like the union.

My house, the heat sounds like the groaning pits of hell.
But my fingertips and toes are still cold. What gives?

Talked about leagues,"making out," and relationships. Leagues I say? How presumptious.
Apparently I date people consistently "beneath" my league.
I say I say HEY relationships are confining, and I don't really "date" per se.
We are all too young. People in relationships just nod their heads and people out of them nod their heads the other way. All think I'm ridiculous. Eventually I might believe them, but I just want everyone to be warm and fuzzy.

For now I won't prescribe to this league bull-shit. I do what I want. Though tomorrow what I want will be completely different than what I WANTed.

Trump called Rosie O'donnell fat and ugly.

Went to church with the family. Currently in religious limbo. Remembered days when I felt close to God. No one shoved it down my throat. It was so pure and perfect. Where did that girl go? Where did that God go? Mom and daughter giggled at church. I mean, their was smoke and stadium light tricks. Hip/Edgy. "Mary was pregnant with the spirit," I liked that. Mom leans over, clears throat, "Where's the guy in leather pants?" I smiled and fanned away some smoke, "And the mullet?" Giggle fit mid-service. Sometimes we get each other.

When nobody is home, I pop in my mom's old tape. Lying on my back I close my eyes and groove to the tunes. Great Standards. This woman died in a plane crash. She got it though, and even had male back-up singers. She lives on in my tone-deaf belting. It feels good like the age of twelve.

I need a haircut.

Papi took the time to go to six different stores for the one thing I was looking for. I doth protest, but he's dedicated. I love him something fierce and that's the least of the reasons why. But I see he's tired, and all I want to do is provide relief.

A faithful reader told me I don't use enough commas. True story. Apologies.

Two books down X to go. Television is mostly awful. I am mostly happy, but missing the chaos of college life (sssh don't tell). I might be a little crazy. Heh.

I am thankful for melting pots. Shit shaped me yo.

The Sunshine State

I've taken to staying up late. Disturbingly late. Reading scribbling my thoughts writing my stories and recording my box-car criticism. During these times my hair grows millimeters. My face doesn't change but the soft spot between my belly button and my heart becomes a little bit womanly. The spongey stuff takes on a completely different shape, something no one else can see. But the way I curl my toes out of nervousness will always stay the same. Child like, along with my too loud laughter. Sometimes I feel like a revolutionary on fire, and sometimes I just get sad. Turn on sad music. I'm thankful for that genteel poet, and the fact that I have two breasts and a vagina. He can sing out my sadness like no one else. Tremendous advantage. Can't turn on that t.v. I'm just waiting for me to get mad. I wonder if people can tell when I'm trying to act like I don't care. I'm tired of watching movies about dystopia and people with terminal illnesses. Life is real scary right now. I've got one more letter that bares my insides that will never be sent. I felt closer to you than you ever could have known. Watch out. One day all this honesty might break out of the binding and come find you. And I know you have a heavy heart I can feel it in your hurried keystrokes and your lack of brush strokes. At one point I hated you so much I wished you couldn't eek out a single stroke for your entire life. I'm not mad or even sad anymore. I would have you paint a mural along my spine. I know what un-returned affection looks like. It's pink cheeks and pretty pictures. Stolen kisses under darkened stairways. Smiling through dates with suburban hacks. But I'll always utter that four-letter word under my breath. I'm certainly not the way you left me, and that's how I intend to be. All inked you wouldn't recognize my landscapes or my aerial views. I would probably call if I still had your number. Worried that no one else in the entire universe will give me that gut punch feeling. Always shoving not enough or far too much. Evaluating every step of some process with no objective. I'd listen if you told me not to worry.

and I always thought I'd be the one leaving.
I heard in Winnetka, California they understand the weight of human hearts.
but I wouldn't go. pale and sickly looks good on you.
Don't go. Don't go. Cool your horses, he says. And then I thought man you should go. get out. change that lethargic life view. get pink and rosy. miss me. or don't. but come back a changed man. Someone who appreciates little things and big alike. maybe you already do. unlike you, I won't claim to know you. so go get on. leave her and me. or maybe she's coming with, that's good too. I suppose.

I do say Hoss, It's already too damn hard to belong to someone who's gone.

And I'm sorry for writing this, you, it's all grime and muck. The dilapidated farmhouse. You know who this is now you know you know. He don't know. He don't care. The historical preservation society. You'll understand because you're working for the same committees on the other side of town. Don't be mad just let some time pass. One month. You're steadfast winning me over. These things take time. It's all about time. Someone said that, me.

Anyway folks ...
I can't get enough of this man. Or Youtube for that manner. Love it.

Jens Lekman

I get to go home tomorrow! My other home. Wahooooo. I get to see new baby (curly red hair, precious). I get to see sisters and brother. Mamda and Pops. Fresh air and nature.
These are all my textbooks for next semester ...
9780811214483
9780943373560
9780486298979
9780811214544
9780520242951
9781574232080
9780520055957
9780393312041
9780446394000
9780553277470
9781567510607
9780375700996
9781594865671
9780761944362
9780787982799
9780536972040
9789990031553
Ha ha ew.

I probably won't update at home. Curse of the dial-up. No technological patience. So miss me hard for two weeks. Wait for nextyear'sstunningconclusion.

(remember last year on New Year's at the Cedar Mansion. The kid hopped up on Uppers, yelling "Where's MY June Carter Cash?" In his friend (a Topher Grace look-alike), I thought that I met my soul-mate. I don't mind admitting when I was desperately wrong. After a few weeks he said I have no idea what color your eyes are ... I think I hit him. It doesn't matter he said, but Bono does!? Besides Cash and The Band he had awful music taste and his mouth tasted even worse. I asked ex-lover the color of my eyes: What are they then? Without a beat he said, "Green, darker around the edges, with little flecks of gold around the pupils." He always knew how to piss me off.)

WhenIsaiddon'tgoI meantdon'tgoandthenIsaidyoushouldgo, well don't go.

Cheers!

Nobody Stops You Because Nobody Cares

Wake Time: 10:27 a.m. for a very brief conversation with crazy land-lady promptly fell back asleep. Don't blame me my bed is so comfortable, ask the Anarchist.
Official Wake Time: 12:12 p.m.
I'm shooting for at least 9:00 a.m. tomorrow.

Last night was filled with awkward advances and alcohol thinned blood.
Got to love company get togethers.

This one got so excited about night crawlers.
He furrowed his brow and tried to recite a poem for me.
He couldn’t remember.
Through his drunkenness I could still detect his boyish charms.
The nervous checking of the time. The smiling.
Even though I had moved on, he still made me nervous and receptive of
those charms. I was sad when he left, but happy that he was charming
enough to run first.

And then that one.
He called me a red head and then
wrapped his arms around me drunkenly and tight.
Put his face too close to mine.
I wriggled out. Drank more.
Told them not to feed him anymore booze.
I heard him calling my name from beneath the spiral staircase.
I sat thumbing through old records. A loner on my own accord.

That one too. An authority figure. Go figure.
Wrapped his wounds tight, because the medic was passed out in the hall.
Works too much, parties too hard.
Worried about his deep gashes, offered to stitch em up.
Joke.
Tenderly cleansed. Blood all over me. Get me this and this, stat.
Wrap wrap wincing is okay. Stop drinking.
Saved the hand.

I was sad about sad things.
Lonely about lonely things.
fell asleep to sad lonely music.

Woke up and all I wanted was breakfast. Not sad. Not lonely.
worse
Complacent.

But my day took a swift turn towards the bright, the passionate, and the worth-while.

HE had written back. My future sat in his lap, he chose to unfold it like an accordion, and perhaps add some strong notes, maybe an angelic bridge. Is she brilliant? He asked Wiseone. The circulation of not only my work, but my very being is scary. The kind of scary that motivates you to get organized and try harder than you’ve ever tried in your life. What have you got in mind? Let’s meet for coffee. Usually don’t do this for those I haven’t taught or met. He’s chosen to make an exception. An exception for the Last Unicorn? Why their may be hope for me after all. Oh my word.

I think the smell and taste of nutmeg is quite possibly the most comforting smell in the world.

Closely followed by:

My big sister’s laundry
Best friend’s cat Simba
BenGay
Mom’s Zucchini Bread
Swimming Pools
Ex-Lover's Hair after shower
and Blistex Lip Medex

ladies and gentleman … I wish every month had a calendar with chocolates to mark the days. Amen.

Curious of Many Things but too Lazy to Move

Wake Time: 11:17 a.m.
I wonder
Will I always feel so very awkward in my own skin? Can I jump out of it, and into someone elses?

A nice moment:
I just sat in my window, eating an apple, and watching the sunset. It was pretty. I didn't feel awkward.

Now, I feel very pensive. Good friend wants me to put together a reading list for her ... Joy. Did I ever post on this ol' thing that I absolutely despise money? I do. No I don't. I do think it's a precious commodity, but so much hoopla and time wasting is tied to it. I can be poor, but I want everyone else to be poor with me! ha ha. A little selfish, but I like company. I began writing a new story, due in two days. We'll see how that goes. Nearly done with Winesburg and the Fitzgerald.

The other night I went to a party and ran into a lovely pair I adore. They went to my very first reading at the gallery. We hadn't seen each other since.

Girl: Hey what happend at the reading we were like trying to talk to you, and you just said thanks turned your head and started talking to someone else? I was like wow, Last Unicorn being a bitch weird?
Last Unicorn: Are you kidding me? I was so glad you guys were there. I was just so fucking nervous about the whole thing. I really didn't mean to be a bitch, I just didn't know how to handle all those people. I'm sorry I completely freaked out. I love you!
Girl: Yeah we thought it was weird. It made us so sad.
Last Unicorn: Aww no. I'm so sorry. Gee, sucks that I came off like that. I was really glad to see you there.

and gee gee gee how often do I come off as a royal bitch when I get nervous?
I get nervous a lot.

Tomorrow my sister will be having her baby. I wish I could be there for it. When I come home in a week their will be a brand new living non-canine addition to my family. I'm a real sugar-shack for babies. Precious. Still name-less though. I'm going to call my sister right now.

Le Sigh

Is everything about who you know?

A Wise Peacock

Wake Time: 12:32 p.m.

What happend to psychedelic transcendentalism?

I don't want to go to work today. Winesburg Ohio is coming along quite nicely.
I love reading early criticism on the book. Scandal!

Watched a documentary today. Vietnam = fucking terrifying.

Why aren't people getting more pissed about fighting in a war that is devoid of patriotism and a tangible enemy? Hell we aren't even supplied with an intangible enemy.
No one believes the terrorism bullshit anymore anyway.

Or maybe they do.

Weather Man

Today I woke at the ripe time of 5:45. Folks that is p.m. as in went to bed at night woke up at night. I've never slept this late in my life. I can't decide if it's utterly depressing or wonderfully restful! Apparently it is about 50 degrees out? Or so the weather man tells me. Absolutely bizarre. When I woke this morning I realized something ... my blog needs more pictures and or delightful links. So here we are:


This video is really nice. A Springsteen cover. The ONLY Springsteen I care for covered by Paul Baribeau and Ginger Alford. It makes me feel real excited. It makes me think of warm weather.

If I have to work in an office will it always feel like winter? I'm getting scared about big future.

I also realized I want to establish (before I leave) a stronger writing community at the University. The need, the want, and even the space is available. Since Dalkey and unit for contemp. lit was shoved out everyone seems a bit down in the dumps. Well I will gladly lift it, or try my best. I will provide cheap wine and black coffee. Who is excited? I know I am.

Here is a bit of writing I did the other day when absolutely fed up with everyone pulling me in one hundred thousand directions:

a tiny self-destructive thread winds through me. sometimes it catches a little too much light, and it blinds everyone around me. like I said, sometimes I’m too wild for me. but is it all a matter of guilt?
I won’t pretend to understand it or you or anything.
the changing of the hours the passing of the minutes.
the changing feelings I have for you. or you and you two.
I just won’t be honest about the color of my blood pumper. Green or purple maybe black with a little blue or a crimson red shade that would make you blush like the Thomas Jefferson impersonator when you poke him in the liberty bell.
this girl could use a little sin. this girls got too much sin. this girl could use a little gin.

nah.

It’s me I’m not being honest with, so don’t take it personal. and if you asked me what’s the weather I wouldn’t tell you for fear of you knowing that I’m terrified of the warmth just as much as the cold. Oh stop worrying about me. like I said I just won’t care too much or too little. or too big or small and I won’t miss out on much, because I think those pictures of lovers plastered all over is tacky. like the little liberty bells. someone had to fashion that crack, and it didn’t mean anything to them. it only made them bitter towards capitalism and the growing gap between the poor and the poor who have credit cards. I can say this stuff cause I don't care about anything else, and I know what blushing looks like when you hold it in.

(I'll probably be too lazy to insert pictures ever again) ha ha.

Notes from the Underground

I think my neighborhood is going through a commercial gentrification process. It makes me fearful for the tiny shops which I love like first cousins. Semester is finally over, and all the preceding drama wrapped within it (I hope) is running off as well. I didn't realize how exhausted I was, until I took a moment to sit back and think. I'm nervous for next semester a nearly doubled course load. Exhausts me even to think about it Blech. Oh well. One glorious month of underwear dancing, book reading, baking, and movie watching! REVIVAL!

Went to the library today here is my lofty winter break reading list:

• Sherwood Anderson: Winesburg Ohio
• James Joyce: Ulysses (Connecticut, I will finally be able to join in on the conversations!)
• F. Scott Fitzgerald: On Writing
• Jeneatte Winterson: The Passion (again! because, it's short and I adore it)
• Richard Lantham: Revising Prose (because I must)
• Fyodor Dostoevsky: The Idiot
• Richard Brautigan: Trout Fishing in America, In Watermelon Sugar, and The Pill Versus the Springhill Mine Disaster (favorite book of time, everytime I read it I discover a new feeling it gives me, thank you Wiseone!)
• Alison Stine: Lot of My Sister (Finally)

Ex-lover is up to his old tricks. Not upset these days, how bizaare. I think I'm finally immune. What do I do with that? I hope it doesn't mean I have to start taking all this stuff seriously. Not forgetful, just immune. I would be so much less if i forgot. A showcase of how much someone could not care about another. Oh well. I still think the kid's got spunk. Too bad it's chock full of I'm too good for you and you and you too. What a waste.

Last night was perfect for so many reasons. Girls night (how surprising) with the future feminists of the world. Intellectual, strong, beautiful, and pretty fucking hilarious.
My night ended with warm blankets and an open window.
Constantly surprised by the heartless Anarchist. Probably not so heartless. Tender looks, near-sober holds, and magnolias. Deep tangled sleep leaves me warm and dreamy. A delightful crick in my neck. BUT. Self-preservation is of utmost importance. Another reason I'm glad for a month long break. Nightshade is a far safer perennial.

After I went to the library I played soccer with Hippy it was glorious, this weather is the kicks. Har har! We've patched our problems and may be able to salvage a beautiful relationship. Inside girl makes best with Outside boy. Two worlds are brought together!
By the way, I totally schooled him in futbol!

Tomorrow holiday officially starts. My posts will become more frequent and possibly less interesting. Joy. Eat Sleep Write Read and so on ta da, tra la! I intend to get it, while the gettins good.

"The history of my life is the history of the struggle between an overwhelming urge to write and a combination of circumstances bent on keeping me from it."

F. Scott Fitzgerald

Itching

That last post was quite macabre and cryptic.
I'm not so very sure I do cryptic very well. Or macabre.

Finals are almost over I have exactly two and one half hours ahead of me.

Well, and one scary ind. study email to compose (my future?).

After that mmmm. Poetry slam, two pints of Red Stripe, and some shaved legs.

I can't wait for semester to be done, done.

Center of Gravity (or) How to feel more alive than the corpses.

Easy, don’t care about anything too much or too little.

Harder said than done. Like a dropped stone in a clear pond. Watch it sink sunk to the bottom. I feel like I’m disappointing right now. You, best friend, daddy, anarchist, good friend, ex-lover, hippy, and on the list goes until I just push everyone out and go walk amongst the clouds in a big skyscraper. In instances like this I understand on again off again’s sadness at being the proverbial apple of his papa’s eyes. It’s hard to be pulled it’s a rock to have people depend on you or your reactions your emotions when you don’t even know how to catch your own not even with a fly net and fat bait.

You'll never know all the awful things I'm thinking (all giggled out) post pass away
your languid thoughts
mine are quick firing
sure fire miss, till I’m all skin and bones.
won't change the color of my lungs or the distance between your bed and mine.
Fine fine fine
I’m not, and you won’t ever understand the bond between your pants and mine.
Crazy you said once, for loving you once.
Twice till it felt like nothing at all.
Third time it was all straight fingers and late nights
Not true, will you feel better?
Or nothing at all.

That boy with the bright eyes and mountainous six pack rushed at me. Like we were old friends. Talk of knitting, talk of crochet flasks, and the contents. Hippy looked on disapprovingly and I was fraught with over stimulation. Finally the truth. He said I was there I was there, you reading was amazing intense raw. Raw? I cocked my frostbitten ears to the left. Raw Raw you, your writing it made people uncomfortable. In the good way. I really enjoyed that uncomfortable feeling.

My wisdom teeth are coming through and they hurt. A hurt I’m not accustomed too.

My bed is covered in you. The spot where you laid wafts stale cigarettes. Surprise comfort. I find your hair in my hair, and wonder when I’ll get to do that again. Glad that so many things are tied to this terrible mark on my neck, because I would run the opposite direction if it was an open highway. Scared terrified of anything resembling continuity. Don’t box me in, but keep me close. Because you help to make the most out of winter.

I don’t want to not yell out and be young and free I don’t want to disappoint me and that disappoints you confused and tired but still smiling I'll try not to remember you and me.

still

neigbortron says man, you're so damn happy when you talk about him. like wiseone and ultimate frisbee, even if he lost or got right hit in the head with his own boomerang shot he'd still be goof faced grinning. yeah I said (dreamily) even if I get right hit in the head with my own boomerang shot I'd still be goof faced grinning, it's funny like that.

If I survive till Wednesday. I'm sure none of this will matter.

Not sure if people actually change.

She Could Not Save You and The Science of Sleep

Excalibur

Mere hours ago walking, cold and alone, from the library I took flight. I flew over brittle winter canopies, in between gonging church bells, and finally onto the roof of my circa 1830's apartment. I put my heart and soul into a snow angel. It was perfect, and the cold couldn't touch me. I wasn't worried about where I'd get my next fix or high from. I hopped up in elation and yelled FUCK. My lungs were warmed by the next ten minutes that hadn't played out. We spoke of all that mattered love, heartache, art, sex and highbrow tom foolery. I felt like hopping into the future and winking back at the past.

tonight you're on my mind so, so. So, you never know.


by the way world,
I have the best damn best friend in the entire solar system.
How's that for poetic?

what's new what's new what's new what's new?

Didn't get much sleep last night, stayed up late talking to ghosts. After a weekend like I had, I desperately needed the sleep.

I made my sorries and they were as sincere as possible.
But this weekend helped to remind me how poetic tangled legs could be. I'm mostly sure that it didn't matter to whom those body parts belonged, but I can't help but appreciate the tenderness of a stroked scar. The isatiable urge that surprises even me, well I'm pretty sure it has been quelled before it lays dormant for a deep winter. Or is it like a fiery furnace, just getting heated up? For everyone's sake I hope it's the former.

Some sorries are still in order, but I just can't manage the words or the sincerity.

This semester one of my college textbooks told me this: Irony is the subtlest manifestation of story pleasure. It's so true.

I have so much to do this week and all I want to do is sleep and dream.

I don't know what he's trying to do or what he wants, whatever it is I'll take it.

As long as it's not heartburn. I don't have the time nor the health insurance for that ...

My momma tells me not to get my hopes up about anyone. Ever.

When I say let loose, I really mean it.

I'm a Jerk.
Can't wait to move to the city with best friend.
cartoons
crafts
talks
video games
food
music
movies
more crafts
more food
sleep.

That's all I need.

Light Years Baby

Best friend was completely right. Snow is kind of special. I bah hum-bugged the cold and snow praying that the sixty degree weather in late November would hold. I really hate being cold. I prefer balmy high heat indexes to freezing lungs. And I hate wet feet. This morning, December 1st I wake up to at least three inches (possible exaggeration), and a snow day. University never cancels school. Everything’s shut down, health center student center library all of it! Of course work wasn’t cancelled, but it sure was fun. Christmas music on, we excitedly answered the phone, “Oh, so sorry (not really), no deliveries today! A trillion sandwich makers with nothing to do, talk talk talk! Okay, I bundle up good and the snow isn’t so bad. I’m in the spirit.

Drink Drunk last night with five boys. My breasts and vagina felt like the size of Texas. First of the night, I decided not to drink. Last of the night I was smashed faced giggling. Left when I could no longer stand the testosterone in the room. It consumed the oxygen and my lungs got so tired. When I got home I was happy that I wasn’t a boy, but glad they existed. Especially the ones with coy smiles. Instead of sleeping I wrote. Interesting:

drunken post a concerted effort. too tired for all this bull shit.
my tired smile is frumpy. frumpin. hmmmm. wont be too old for htis.
ima big shot a little huge girl.lounge girl.girl next door. no not that door.
too small for my big ol shoes. and on and on and on till someobdy loses the back door keys and I can't tell you what time it is on the moon or inn korea.
shit I should leave ya. leave leaves fall winter. cold dark. cuddly. No NOtme. couldn't be unlovable uncuddleable except for the three. doesn't include you no not you. choose your choice its the pickers way out your loss but mine is greater too great great that manifesto we once lived by is down dirty decayed and full of ONmentionable secrets too. oh well pro sports are an abomination. everything should be a pick up game. eh eh eh? pure fun. Im no good for anyone.

I kinda like it. In a drunken rant sort of way. By the way the “pro sports are an abomination” is completely lifted from Professor McSteamy. That’s 1/70 of a reason I am smitten with him. Anyway, this weekend should be fun, and I’m looking forward to it. Next week will be ridiculous. Must write screenplay, but when will I find the time? Ach. I could be doing it now, I suppose. We all know the last unicorn is a last minute kind of gal.

Last night in my drunken sleep, I finally dreamed. It went something like this … The Beach Boys Christmas song was playing in the background, and I saw him from a distance. As he got closer and closer I realized I couldn’t remember his name. I knew it was him, but I just didn’t know what to call him. He stood in front of me waiting. I just looked on perturbed, searching my memory bank. I really couldn’t believe he was really standing there. Thinking him a spirit, I tried to slice my hand through his mid-section. It didn’t work. Finally after dredging up the awkward and old feelings he opened his angelic hipster mouth. Incredulous and even toned he said to me, “Last Unicorn, I cannot believe you don’t even remember my name.“ I shrieked at him, “It’s your fault! It’s your damn fault.” He kept staring at me. Staring at me with his eyes. Barely there pupils intense as the deepest shade of night. He raised his arm as if to grab at me and turned away, my shriek became a whisper, “Why won’t you just leave me alone?” “But I did,” he said, “and you forgot my name. If you really cared you wouldn’t have forgotten.” Once again the shriek rose in me fanning out from my groin. I watched it rise up until my mouth was forced open, “Let me go back to where I came from. Please just disappear.” When I said this his eyes looked pained and vulnerable, but his facial expression never changed. Exactly like I imagined he looked when I called him a spoiled brat.

My knees began to buckle and he grabbed me two hands on my arms. Pulled me up until we were eye level he said, “Your arms so small they are Midwestern and pale. Your gold flecks are brighter than I remember.” Knowing it would be the last time I ever spoke with him I maintained eye contact, “Ex-lover you didn’t have to lie. Go back to citygirl. She’s not a ghost like you, but I know you invented her. Maintained by a false high, and a disproportionate lack of distance. Everything you wanted doesn’t come that easy. She’s a liar and a thief.” A note of recognition flashed in his eyes, and the corner of his mouth turned up in that subtle and sorry way it does. He let go of my arms. Where his hands were, a warm spot burned through and through. I tried pushing him away, but we both knew that I didn’t have to. He turned around, slowly, glancing with a furrowed brow. I knew he was waiting for me to call out profess my love shriek or cry. I wanted to do all of those things, but I knew it would all come out a garbled mess. I wanted to turn around and run as far away as I could, but I stood stuck firmly rooted in the floor. He looked on once more stepped towards me, thought again, turned around and silently left. No trace of him remained. I stood motionless listening to the lonely sounds of the Beach Boys echo groovy tidings off the walls of an empty room.

Rarely do I remember a dream in it’s entirety. If they are all like that, I rather not remember them. Oh well. I feel like I’ve done my best to move on, but something about this time of year dredges up those old timey feelings in the deep down honest part of my sub-conscious. Why is it that I can’t stop thinking about him? Does he ever once in his busy little urban week think of me? He pops up behind my knees, in everything I write, and even in my morning cereal. I’m not unhappy, quite the opposite. Busy, and looking towards a bright future. All that remains is ghost images, but even the vapors get me high. Oh well. I really want him out of my dreams, and I do think this new girl is a joke. But of course I do. Ha ha. Actually I just really don’t like the fact that we have nothing to do with one another’s lives anymore. I really miss his stories, and his Brian Wilson voice. I want to tell him how exciting this new life is for me. Anyway I never got to thank him for driving to the middle of nowhere during hockey playoffs.

Still excited about the newer stuff, and was charged to write something by December 20. An interesting gal from R.I. theme: Robot Sex. I will draw from my darling Minnesota source for ideas. That should be fun. Much like this weekend. I think the weight of my anti-socialism (ha ha) throughout the semester has crashed down upon me. Apparently I’ve been missed and that’s always a great feeling. So this weekend is chockfull o’ soirees and late night trysts. Oh la la. The weather is invigorating and I think I look handsome with a red nose!

The Last Unicorn Lets Lose, no more dreams. I’m frightful for Monday, but that seems like it’s light years away. Light Years Away.