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Vanessa [userpic]

(no subject)

May 15th, 2008 (01:20 am)

twenty albums I would take with me if I were to spend the rest of my life in isolation on a mountaintop


Diary - Sunny Day Real Estate
Surfer Rosa - Pixies
Louder Than Bombs - The Smiths
Frogstomp - Silverchair
Live Through This - Hole
The Bends - Radiohead
Abby Road - The Beatles
In Utero - Nirvana
The Doors - The Doors
Gypsy Punks Underdog World Strike - Gogol Bordello
In the Aeroplane Over the Sea - Neutral Milk Hotel
Californication - Red Hot Chili Peppers
Legend - Bob Marley
Pinkerton - Weezer
Melon Collie and the Infinite Sadness - The Smashing Pumpkins
Gutterflower - Goo Goo Dolls
Relationship of Command - At the Drive In
Greatest Hits - Bob Dylan
Viva Emptiness - Katatonia
Pod - The Breeders


I'm not saying any of it's the greatest music ever, by far. It's just music that I can, and have, listened to over and over and over again. They are in random order because there's no way I could choose further.

Vanessa [userpic]

Gatsby and a Shelter

May 15th, 2008 (12:53 am)
Tags:

Your overcoat -
stark and black
separates our skin.

The snow is falling.
Your camera lens,
dangling from your neck,
catches the flakes.
I look, and long.

Newsprint stains our hands.
For once, our palms could be identical.

Street lamps fog with cold.
We half-trot slippery sidewalks
teasing, racing to the stairs.

Keys.
One for the door,
one around your neck,
one around mine.

My heart palpitates
at the sudden heat.

Coffee, you say.
You are stronger than me -
you don't need the cream.

Vanessa [userpic]

Good Luck On Your Surgery

May 5th, 2008 (12:42 pm)

I had written a poem of the same name several years ago, and it wasn't really what I wanted it to be about. This is.

What I had meant to say was
While you coughed up blood
While your cells fought and lost
While you lay in acceptance

It was not
Hello
or
Did you hear the news
or
Of my newfound friends

It was not
I love you
or
I am sorry
or
I miss you

What I had meant to say
While your weight slipped away
While you furrowed in pain
While you hallucinated I am sure

Was goodbye, goodnight.

Vanessa [userpic]

Relapse.

April 7th, 2008 (12:44 am)

You send me a letter.

My head could explode with everything I know. I can't stand the feeling of any hands on my skin. I can't imagine why I am worth even the postage.

I dreamed us older, worse than we were. Birdwatching, cloudy mornings, too many cigarettes. Education has brought me nothing and you shave your head and lie to me. I dream you in linen closets and laundry rooms and being held down. I woke up with the ashes leaden in my stomach, wishing I didn't exist. It doesn't go away.

Vanessa [userpic]

Artificial Intelligence

April 7th, 2008 (12:38 am)

Same old person I always secretly write about, but I guess it could also be about the movie of the same title, which really affected me, especially the ending, even though Steven Spielberg directed it and it makes me think of Dawson.

The affinity of
her name
to drowning
is uncanny.

Lights promised
what I could not contemplate -
something real, alive.

Unconditional
and mechanical
I waited in the cold ocean
but she never returned to me.

Vanessa [userpic]

(no subject)

April 6th, 2008 (11:37 pm)

So, this is just some silly thing I wrote that may or may not have happened.

The title is from Bob Dylan's song "Blowin' in the Wind."

Before She Sleeps in the Sand

I wait outside for you on the wooden steps as the porch lights click on. It seems like I have been waiting a long time for you. Until this moment I wasn't aware of how long I have been existing, how long you have been out of my grasp.


The rug is blue. Your hair smells like cigarette smoke and more. Your nose is running. You spill some grape juice on me. You are shaking, but not for me. I love you. The chance won't come again.


We sit like the Buddha close together on the couch. We listen to Bob Dylan, and I love you. You laugh at my two am speechlessness and I love you. You remember the spider on the wall and I love you.


I am aware that we are still not exactly what we need. Maybe no one is ever able to fit like that. Two infuriating jigsaw pieces that look like they should click but don't quite is the best we can ever get. It doesn't matter anymore. Everything inside is quelled by tomorrow's inevitable repetition.


We retreat to the sheets where my clumsy thoughts have finally become a part of your skin.


I got what I wanted from you.

Vanessa [userpic]

Glass

February 20th, 2008 (09:03 am)


Just an unpolished rant.


I can’t stand being at home; I’d rather live under the Liberty Bell in the middle of November and put myself on display to the children passing by as I brushed my teeth. At your house everything gets put on display; we’re never alone while we are on your couch and yet your hands manage to get everywhere. Come on, you say, and I know what you want, it’s only been two months and I’m already tired of it, my hand is tired of it, I’m wiping semen off of my stomach but this is a pattern, I like to conform, and you are so simple but I know you’d never hit me, and you’d probably stop if I really wanted to you. You’d probably stop, but I’d never ask you to. At my house the door doesn’t lock because my mother’s boyfriend is always drunk and always mad, usually at me, takes away my bedroom door and then gives it back, puts locks on our kitchen cabinets and tells my mother she has no friends. Everything is always on display because my door doesn’t lock and I will freely tell everyone that my door doesn’t lock because my mom’s boyfriend is a drunk and when he steals my money my mom just tells me to hide it better. I am so tired of being nineteen; I am tired of being young; I am tired of being old. I hate part-time restaurant jobs; I hate community college - so much cheaper in the long run! - I just want to be a writer. I’d rather be a painter and a printer and a singer and a dancer but we can’t have it all; I’d rather be homeless in Philadelphia under the Liberty Bell in the middle of February on Valentine’s Day in 2016.

Vanessa [userpic]

After Hours (revised)

February 20th, 2008 (08:56 am)

I revamped and combined some poems and prose to recreate this. I think it's a lot fuller now.

After Hours

i.

if I could look through this mirror
and see myself as you
I know it would be as blue
and perfect as I imagine

ii.
however;
I do so like the sound of your own laughter.
It reminds me that you are alive.
I as much like the white curve of your spine in the night;
the thunderous rhythm of your heart-beat.
It reminds me that we are separate.

iii.
so it is fitting that the love of my life
should exist only in a different universe

a separate city
is unbearable
for the space of three hours
severely alters my perception

but a thousand light years of dust
could bring us full circle
a thousand years
wipes away all traces
of age lines and scars

so that our bodies will be alike
when we finally entwine

Vanessa [userpic]

How We Quit the Forest

February 5th, 2008 (11:22 am)

Long time, no post. I guess this can be a continuance (wow, I had no clue that was actually a word) to the last poem I posted in here.

After my attack, I lay gutted alongside the twisted roots of the tree. The dirt absorbed my fluids, and I felt the ground grow damp in sympathy. What of my siblings? I feel that all of the strings have been severed. Different colors assigned to different threads; these were auras in my mind. Blue for you, green for you, black for you, red for pain, red for pain, red for pain, but there was nothing now.

I knew I needed to find you, but the energy that had once connected us seemed to have disappeared under the cruel hands of men. I picked myself up and bade the tree farewell. It, stagnant and in agony too, remained immobile.

Moving forward, I carefully maneuvered myself through the dead grass and the bodies of the woodland creatures. If I didn’t look too closely, I could pretend the skin of snakes was just as that - merely another coat being shed. The smell of gasoline and fire was the strongest - the only - sense I had left. The sun, so bright, was playing a cruel joke as it shone down on the charred branches and razed earth. I know it is too late. In my mind, I am sorry. In my body, I am no longer anything.

Vanessa [userpic]

The Moon and Gasoline

November 26th, 2007 (05:43 pm)

The light filters green through
broken bottles in the landfill.
She was gathering memories of
bodies between the inseams of
her dress. I was alone too, the
product of several different
entities and everyone I knew,
man-eating tigers forced to
consume salt water and lead.
The trees too were shedding,
chemical leaves falling onto
creatures with shivering pale
legs. We cannot carry them all.
We cannot carry anything at all.

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