Let’s make up something. Makeup. Kay’s story of getting made up at a birthday party. Merle Norman. Mary Kay. Cosmetics.
Cosmetics.
Cosmetics.
Comedone.
Comecontin.
Coumade.
Comrade.
Tag Archives: friendship
I will let you know my niche and you will visit
impressed by all my lone wolf contemplation
Her friend Rafael. I don’t have a dog, there are no stories of him anymore.
There’s no commotion. I have a half-page left. I take whatever happens, but do I even have to say that? Stomachache. I want connection, with Chamunda, stomach-body. I want my ugly greedy demons that befriended me. I want to stop, I want to read a book. I feel saliva in my mouth. I hear the air conditioning alive in these tall ceilings. I hear the heater ticking. Robin out there looking at the Wetland sign.
Nothing left to say to you. This is how it feels—a ragged stomach-hole. Some kind of pressure. Some bit of proud that he’s so uncommon. Some bit of fear. Some bit of panic, that I just want all of this to go away and that (my friend), detachment. Hard-hearted. Fuck. Jesus Fuck.
Tiresome. Tiresome culturally. Advice is grating sandpaper. Would rather taunt the shy mink. Or is that tempt? Would rather tempt the shy mink into my clutches, offering morsels. Would rather miss my family, friends, than see them. Illusions. Going to move.
How much of me wants to quit.
Wants to quit. Wants to quit.
Wants to quit socializing, the word is far too long and Latinate. I want someone in my home though, my treasure, treasured friend, I want a gleaming golden friend who’s fascinating.
I want to live in Oregon.
(Associations)
Who are your friends?
Who are your relatives?
Why can’t there be original artwork on this Starbucks’ walls?
Why is suburban life so oriented toward the dead?
Her face made up like a cadaver.
Someone needs to go out and buy thread. I feel the coils of my brain relaxing sometimes Sam’s presence just fosters such reaction, such aversion—I am not coping with it very well, or Stephen Batchelor’s pompous question How would I live my life if I acknowledged I was going to die and Dudley did die February 6. Let’s have some rice and stir-fried vegetables for dinner, except there is no rice, no tofu, and a minimum of greens. Ginger, Yes. Food is still a friend of mine. Last night, at pompous vegetarian Ahimsa fuck I can’t get over Eli’s bicycle and how impossible it is to fix this—how little I really want to talk to anybody
Why struggle with this at all? I am insecure with anything that requires any level of resolve.
I can work a Program, show up, practice feebly on and off—I can read and write and work on software engineering. Fitness is not part of my routine. I’d let Sam work on his truck, the house, the computer, I’d let anyone do anything. There is very little I can figure out.
Holding Separate—here is where we are reckless holding ourself Separate—because there is a lack of dharma friends.
K—Starbucks and her husband—Burger King.
march 14, 2007
Unashamed evaluation. Here in Starbucks, tears behind my eyes unreasonable. Feel pressure to make phone calls—Kristin, Lorna, Margaret, and I don’t want to do it. Feel the competition of Stamford, everyone is out. Feel a freaky drama starting in the house, so tied down, so unhappy, so oppressed, so much by what who knows the lack of private time, the restriction on my inner life my meditation my suffering over inability to recharge? Yes, I am an aging Ipod mini battery so
Thirsty and so suffering—it’s been coming up for hours, weeks, and months—I put it down (PUT IT DOWN) you see and there it is again this vagueness this unease the only solution that I want
Luckily no tears—K stopped by to say hi—my friend—oh well.
A need to relax the mind, heal the interaction. She is a poet. He is dressed in second-hand clothes. She resists friendship, the contaminant of it. He is studying in the hot, in the cold. She is working on images not words. He is dreaming of the garden. She is assembling her questions into a marble monument, he is handling rotten fruit and leaves.