Intuitional Inclincations

Insomnia buzzing like a swarm of honeybees,
prolonging- the melodic sweetness of sleep,
we speak dinosaur conversation over meager cups of steeping tea-
hold out bear claws where our little pinkies should be-
extended for the sake of grace or some attractive proximity-
to the ideals of our mother's, cookie bake cryptography.
As we link them with one another, I slip under sheet-
I am gold, I am rose, I am melted Jellybean,
I am summer, I am lover, I am your enrapture in a sea,
I am salt, I am halt, I am-just let live and let be-
And fitted together in the tiniest fragment of bone,
I was Huxley, I was Camus, but now I am just home.
And if it be for a moment, just one fleeting minute alone,
I would savor it no less-

fingertips smelling of tangerine peel,
it would be gone,
it would be gone,

But I would still know it had been real.

I forget to tell you that

that I love you!
I was just thinking that very thing.
My poor friends and family, extended friends and art lovers alike- have been either missing me or holding on for dear life in the crazy hectic adventure that has been my recent activity.

With just getting back from DC, and several trips planned in the near future- I sometimes get so busy that I forget- even when I see you or talk to you- or drop a little hello by your myspace page- to tell you how magnificent you are.

I forget to tell you, that as much as I perplex you, you inspire me to.
I forget to tell you, that as much as you value my characteristically disrythmic dancing- I dance because you make me happy.Sometimes, I ourightly twitch an eye in glee.
I forget to tell you- that you are equally innately talented as I could ever aspire to become.
I forget to remind you that sometimes I think about how grand life is and I boil it all down to moments like when I met you, and you met me... And how we are all just tiny fucking specks-

But being a speck with you gives us shared purpose, life, and a moment in all of the greater span of time and existence.

I forget to tell you, that I like being a speck. And I like being an apple-

And I like that we weren't always good, but I am glad that we were close when we fell from that tree.


And I forget to tell you-

but then I remember.




-Amanda Elaine

A Year Ago Today

I wrote this. (06/08/08)
It's about death- as a transitory phrase, rather than a definitive statement.







"And I say, partridge to the pear tree-

Let your fight out against me,

Let's be inconsistent,

And let's do, struggle,

Die in flight, inside my chest.

Stay there, suspended in the space behind my ribs,

for I fear the moment that I cannot have you,

Even symbiotically.

(This is to say,the memory of you lives on inside of me.)


And hollow.

That is how I am embodied by you.

The sensation of floating in eppervescent nothingness,
And I am dizzy in some fantastic way

Center to the orbit of some magnificent thing;

Light,

And night,

And motor engines restrained underneath the caps of a thousand jet planes.

Roaring, a great symphony of escape,

Sounding like the snoring of your sleeping,

Sounding like the pillowcase crushing like little starched clouds beneath the weight of my lead head.

Sounding like the break of a wave into packed sand beneath my feet,

The sea of dreams- oh how bewitching- it's ebony and navy undulations.


And here,

I sink, and I- myself- am forgotten.

I- ourselves- get linked in the outreaching of our swimming fingers,

But perchance a dream, is my great awakening.




You are the sensation before rain,

The hot smell of vapors dancing with the moisture off the concrete.

You are the feeling of being sixteen,

Of being new and frightened by the world,

But brave, braced, and unfathomably apt to love.

You are waxy lined notebook paper,

Folded pocket creases,

And lines I will read a million more times before the day I exist no more.



What is death, anyhow,

I say with a smile, unfitting of my understanding,

or misunderstanding of the befallen ears which speak a different dialect than I.

What is death?, I say out loud now,

With a smirk, a laugh,

A translation lost in the static of my generation.

A wild reflection crept behind the surface of my eye-


What is death, darling-

But the turning of a page?


And in due time,

It will be turned.

I fear not what lay beyond it,

For I know it is you.

I fear not what I will learn in the absence of my acquired knowing,

Because, at peace, we will be.


Tired wings and acoustic melodies,

Strung up on some distant favor,

Dangling by and by,

Drunk on the lucidity of our childhood prayers.

Images and their meanings

In Sickness and In Wealth
Ben Stood staring into the mirror hanging from his closet door.
This was just another day Ben would push together his double life into the skins of a single man,
Just another day spent tightening up the seams, perhaps not so different from the last.
He slipped into his attitude like a coma, and slid on a white linen shirt from his closet that he couldn't remember buying.
He strapped on his black leather wrist watch, and stared, tired, at the pile of books he would never read past the prologue.
He needed refuge, safety, embrace, and feeling, but unknowing the outcome of those risks, he settled instead on coffee.
Ben stood in the doorway, ready to leave, and looked at his wife Susan like it was for the first, or perhaps last time, and like yesterday, he could not decide.
Again, Ben tried to love his wife, and when he couldn't,
He closed the door.









1 The Lovers
We coveted our consistency and found toxicity in any and all that could harm it.
We stopped growing.
We were paranoid of the free spirited. We were suspicious of the creative.
We stopped seeing.
We abided by our inner-office regulations and weekly television programming.
We stopped searching.
We were empowered by our social connectability and felt all but invincible in areas of strong cellular telephone reception.
Collectively we had made somewhat a religion of our habits.
We were united by our incapability to feel with our hearts.
We disconnected with traditions, values, and conversations-
We stopped kissing with our hands.
We were short sighted by our individual views on life.
And then at once,
You were no longer my lover, but my backup drive-
Storage for the pieces of the history of us,
Files and feelings that had no place in-between penchants and productivity reports.

Let us make room for a reconnection to the love close to us. Stand –in, get out of the Stand-by.






2 Paulina Reverence
Paulina Reverence was an admirable woman,
but then she got knocked up by Uncle Sam.
Paulina was an adventurer,
but then she got locked up by Big Brother and the C.I.Am.
Paulina was an athlete, a hurdler extraordinaire-
Cocked up, jumping constitutional lines both here and there.
But then she galloped through freedom too excitedly,
Drew attention from the eyes of the Normalcy Supremacy-
They locked her in suburbia and buried her in tax-
Now she is a Patriot- if anyone asks.









3 Girls are full of hot air.
I have no valid feelings, I’m just cute.
I will bake you cookies if you tell me who to be.
Baby, I understand that you cheat, I’m not displeased.
I know you’ve got gelatin in place of your knees.
I know you store jealousy where your morals should be,
I know you’re real tired from that big corporate retreat-
And don’t worry about my birthday, I’ll have another next year,
I will stay twenty five so I’m still half your age-
Don’t concern yourself with it, love-
How was YOUR day?
It’s fine that you stay– but if you’ve got better to do,
When you go, Let me lay on your floor- so you don’t dirty your shoes.





4 Wheels and Watts
“ It is therefore quite common to find Nirvana described as a trance condition in which all sense of the separate forms and objects of the universe has vanished, to be replaced by a state of “infinite consciousness” into which the individual becomes absorbed even though his physical body may continue to live on. If he ever returns out of this trance condition it remains always in the back of his mind; the things around him seen like the insubstantial shadows of a dream, for:
Life, like a dome of many-colored glass, stains the white radiance of eternity until death tramples it to fragments…”-Alan Watts






Reflection Internal
No where in the world will I find what you see in me.

Sanity?

[22:30] FearlessFemme87: One day I wrote this creepy little poem. I dont know where it went but I can sort of remember it
[22:30] SmirkingRev3nge: please tell me
[22:31] FearlessFemme87: I said something like "Today while I was brushing my teeth, it occured to me that I may be going insane. Unable to clearly distinguish sanity from insanity-with it all seeming kind of relative and translucent to the eye- and without the time to deeply consider the opinions of other's before my ceral sank into the soggy abiss of the breakfast bowl, I shrugged my shoulders slightly and instead rinsed my mouth."
[22:32] FearlessFemme87: Then I went on to talk about sanity as being a very rigid definition of a very elastic word. Sanity, including things like corporate penchant plans and infidelity counselers.
[22:33] FearlessFemme87: and insanity- well insanity was just a bare foot rammed into a heavy shoe. On the outside it seemed a little unbeffitting, but on the inside- it walked it's own path just fine.