and if i should leave you

When I cough, sometimes I cover my mouth. 

Sometimes when I cough, something peculiar will force it's way out of my mouth and onto my hand. 

I look at this part of me that has traveled to another part of me, and I feel sad for it. 

I am sad for myself. 

Sometimes, I'm just not ready to let go. 

PS

When your heart is chasing, but only to an end, learn to hold your ground. 

Post Script, a gentle 'Fuck You' will always work. 

nowhere man

i'm so out of touch with me that i cut myself shaving today. 

Then, (being out of other means for a first aid kit) 

i folded a paper towel i found and placed atop this bloody mess 

with removable tape, no less. 

i'd prefer to shed all of this skin and 

become new, 

but boy, 

does 

it 

hurt 

to try

Dear so and so

.

When you are writing a letter to someone, by way of keyboard, be sure not to typo. Because the receiver, who may be me, may be offended by "Dead Sharon".

toothbrush can't lose

I am not very good at playing defense.

I do a fine job kicking the ball into your goal, 

for getting passed you is easy.

but I'd never want to hold you back from kicking your ball into mine, see I'm no good at competitive game playing. 

I'm not going to jump in front of my goal, 

or even stretch an arm out to pretend like I'd try.

If you can get your ball into my goal, well, then you win. 

I feel weightless & effortless tossing the ball between my feet.

I seem to win without trying. 

You're there, performing every trick in the book, trying to defend your goal, 

but there it is again, another victory mine. 

a variable lover

There has been a distance between myself lately.
It's measurement is metaphysical; it rings of vibrations too deep to hear.My moons are many, their light permits days, which in turn are nights.
I haven't felt hungry for some time, instead I feel weak.
A weakness so familiar it must be deja vu.
Weakness, and its maddening improbable humor!
A large percentage of me has not cleansed itself of the filth it's lived in for too long.
I only want to learn about things which interest me. No longer do I feel the desires to swim with the sharks.
I'm missing pieces all over;
a woman who can knot, I should be able to hold it together.
These manic states frighten me less and less. They come to me like an old yellow school bus, and I greet them with childhood memories.
There I was, once- a child. The distance between me & me there is far beyond truly grasping.
And so I lie here, another night gone by, another wall studied too long.
Now when he speaks to me, for he thinks I should learn his interests, I will rather remember this wall and the yellow school bus,
yet I will be too weak to tell him how little his interests feed me.

Schubert: Moment Musicaux #6

stronger than never ever before

I want to learn to hunger for patience and to be patient with hunger

docked, or...

kinship is the only ship to sail into affinity.

real genius

Today, for a second there, I truly thought I made up the word humanity.
It was a play on "humidity". 
It's definition: Thick with Humans.

on living on

A few years ago, I called a suicide hotline for teens.

The guy who answered said he couldn't help me, because he only helped teens. 

He did say he would take my number and call me back with information on someone else I could call.

I never heard from him. 

What did the caveman say?

Without communicating, there is no communication.
And without Beaver, there is no Sharon.
Today, I spent time with one of my most favorite people in my world. And if solipsism is an idea good enough for a true definition, then it's definition is righteous within me. My own world is encompassed by better ideas, than those traveling through the mad ethers of "this" world.
If I could travel anywhere, it wouldn't be on an airplane, it'd be astrally into the minds of my other beings. If I could spend a day with the wit of Beaver the hands of Jesse, the dreams of Pooboy, the goodness & kindness of Scott and the all of Amanda, well then I'd be perfect human. Perhaps I've achieved this in learning from such lovely mentors already. I don't know if that is for me to decide, or for "you" to decide. Or for me to  just let whatever is out there believe.
Regardless, I'd like it all to end, as stated by Vonnegut (that cynical fuck), "Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt".

history repeats itself

and so do i
and so do i

dear pooboy (summer solstice)

The summer solstice was shit without you. 
I saw my hands in my dream last night. 
I remember, because there were two handsome men trying to decide if the waters below were too shallow for them to jump from as high as they were, perched like little street birds atop a tall tree in a hurricane. They were scared, but I was calm. I was sleeping.  I was dreaming of these men. I was dreaming of these men facing their fears, when suddenly i realized I was there with them. I looked then at my hands, which were gripping so tightly this edge of a rock, while my feet dangled.  Suddenly, I was no longer calm, but certainly able to focus on the strengths I needed in order to not fall. 

Alas, as it always is, I never remember what happened next.  Did i fall? I'm not sure.  If I did, were the waters deep?  Again, my recollection trails instead back to another part of the dream, where perhaps I was partaking in a ride with these men in a convertible.  I think they were some sort of spies. 

If only such lucid moments of clarity would hold true in my waking life.  If only the external pressure I feel from this world were controlled by the mere fact that I remembered to look at my hands!  The guilt in the care not taken to look after my self would be swept up like a dog hairs, shed on summer ridden floors. Thrown away like there is no other option. 

Why is it then when I start to take control, I then begin to compete with me?  With myself?  

You know what I mean, carrying that tree and all. I mean it, I'm about ready to carry my own tree. 

Albeit a metaphor at best- it's time for me to seek my cave. Have you?  Were you there yet?  Cold and alone like we all desire to be? What sort of jerk has a friend like you and desires to be cold and alone?  How selfish of me!  But, no, you taught me this trick and I love you for it.  You taught me how to bring you to the cave with me, and that's how I know you are here now. 

Do you like me new sheets?

Kidding, of course. 

I miss you madly, and I will, sadly, not see you in July.  I do hope to see you soon.  I can smell you from here, wherever you are. 

Cut something with a knife for me, but not your rope. 

as always,

toothbrush

Dear Pooboy

I awoke thinking of you again. I slept on the beach at Big Sur last night. I went there late, feeling rather sensual.  I just needed to feel the cold sand in my toes, as they say. It was just windy enough that my dress kept flying in the air. I sat down, to not embarrass the animals with my bloomers. Then I laid down for only a moment, before falling asleep, for I barely remember finishing my thought about my opinion of the moon's reflection upon the deep waters. What I wanted to think was how perfect it seemed. I'd never seen a real reflection look so perfect. I've never been one for reflections anyway, though you know I prefer my shadow. 

When I woke up, I could hear your voice in the waves. I quickly remembered the one and only true argument we ever had. I believe it was about lack of cable tv for those living in poverty in the summers, and our opinions on how this could make way for more violence in the ghettos. There we were, consuming something like romaine smoothies or udon noodles (which I bet you had made), our bowls placed on your wood-carved table, and our eyes burning each other, not blinking just once. Too cool ourselves off, I think we both began crying. I don't recall our resolution, but I did notice we simply made a problem for ourselves, something uncommon for either of us. 

This most likely occurred to me for that very reason. I can't help but make problems for myself as of late. I have began to fear things I never would have before. I am getting old, brother, I am growing in ways I can not understand. I mean, I just noticed that my father's hair has turned grey. I asked him how long it's been, and he replied, "maybe 6 years or so". Do you know what happened 6 years ago, brother, do you?  Six years "or so" ago, my father's only daughter left him to travel 2,500 miles away to the heat of the desert, where she lived poorly for that entire year. Once, when he came to try and pull me from the cacti, I let him get as far as about 200 miles east of Albuquerque, before telling him to go on without me. 

The following year, my angel left me, and guidance has never seemed so crucial since. 

It's just like I am blind, or I just can't escape my own thoughts. When you can't escape your own thoughts, you simply can't really join reality either. 

Today is a day of great decision making, and these decisions are going to be made on my own!

I wish I could tell you about it, but I'm uncertain you have much reception where you are. Your father announced your next adventure in Wyoming. He showed a picture of a sign in the park, explaining how to avoid bears. I just imagined you sitting with one, sharing food, but I believe the point was just that he is proud, yet worries as well. I guess that is the consensus. I still know your strengths, though. I understand that if something were to happen to you, that it would be no accident at all, but rather just the end of your rope, for lack of a better phrase!  Oh my, that was uncanny. 

I think about you so much. I promised to bring and tackle the watermelon this year, if the annual trip still takes place. 

I can't tell if I miss you or if you're here. 

Anyway, be safe.

as always, 

toothbrush

Tucson, 2007

thus far, its beauty has conquered its demonic ideas of living.

all of the universe's love to you

All summer long the mountains were still.

But they're moving again.

Reaching out and welcoming me again.

i Bienvenidos !

They like me again.

But now I want the ocean to wave me in

And carry me to France.

Bienvenue !

Ever try snowboarding on the middle of the street?

Yesterday, my two younger brothers and I went sledding at the Golf Course near my folks house. It was pretty brutal. The snow was still coming down really hard, and it was too deep on the ground. We packed out a little path, on which we kept going down again and again.
After a while, my brother, Steve, recommended we just go down the hill on Manoa Road, which is normally a pretty busy Road that intersects with the one my folks live on.
So, between snow plows and brave drivers, we went sledding, though incredibly slowly (by default), down this hill again and again. Laying, sitting, and standing!

dear pooboy

i was just laying in bed thinking about all of the poison seeping out of all of the pores of all of the people in this world.  about the venom that spits from our mouths and poisons us, making us hallucinate and speak in tongues.  finding myself guilty of this, just by simple thought of it, i found myself feeling closer to my brothers and sisters.
just then, the front door of the house opened and immediately slammed shut as footsteps hurried up the staircase below me.  two bodies.  one seemed to carry on toward the kitchen, while the other grew closer to the door of the bedroom i was in.  i was laying next to the window with three heavy blankets atop me; even though they felt light.  the body stopped at the door and sniffed all around it as if it were hunting me.  
...it was john.
he opened the door and his face and head were exposed, while everything else was bundled to battle the great outdoors.  
he was a werewolf.
"what happened to you?", i asked him.
"i'm not sure", he replied.
it didn't seem to phase us that this had happened to him, as not much hasn't happed, and we were very awere of this.
the room was now lit from the street light and that from the distant bathroom, two rooms down the hall from the room i was in.
john came in and sat down.  he didn't say anything and he didn't even look at me.  he was just a werewolf on a chair in the room with me.  
i took my eyes off of him and stared at the ceiling.  i pretended i was jesse.  i felt full of comfort from the werewolf, and he appeared full too, for he stood up and walked out of the room.
i was there alone with my thoughts again, which i now pretended were jesse's thoughts instead.

feeling randy

Every time I read something that takes place in a school, I either picture my high school, or any school I’ve seen in a movie. Mostly, that school is the one from a movie. 
Every time I close my eyes, I picture someone else walking along the streets, looking at them from a different perspective than my own. 
And every time I can’t think of something to write, I just write what I’m thinking.

Day Ditty

Sometimes it's like i'm afraid to go anywhere at all, for there's a small chance I may have to give up somewhere unfamiliar. What if it's me at the grocery store? I'm suddenly overwhelmed by a particular feeling, and my body shuts itself down? There I am in the produce section laying on the floor, but not bothering anyone, and with no one bothering me. Perhaps if a small child were to pass me by, he'd think it strange, but he isn't fully formed enough to understand life's weary desperations. It's unfortunate his idea of me, this measly little shit. He'll remember it- fishnet tights covering the weakened knees of a woman whose age he will never know, or remember anyway, lying on the floor of the damn grocery store. He won't even wonder why, because he won't even know how to do that much. I'll remember him for being the only human contact I had, and love him for looking into my eyes. All of the elderly women in the grocery store just in full agreement, I suppose, that someone had to do it; a dream they'd all wished they'd fulfilled. Hasn't every woman, at some point or another, given herself too fully to something else? Hasn't she lost the control of her life, and the identity of who she "is"? To really be able to just give up sometimes.. flying quickly past the moans of hysteria, and landing right on the floor of your local produce section. It's beautiful in its sincerity, but in the same way I don't know what more to write, because I'd never know how to retrieve myself from this in reality. So instead, I'm a ditty, and I carry on. Endlessly..

on a bus, picture this:

Every time I am close enough to someone else,

I either want to kill them,

or kiss them.

Today on a bus,

I was tempted to shout this,

or shout anything at all.

Oh, but to be shouting on a bus,

whoa, is me!