wish you were here

I have nothing exciting to say. I’m looking at a business license form. Woo.

Um. Not sure what else to say. Thank you? (That’s not enough. I’ll think of something. I swear.)

By the way, Sean’s a keeper. You’ll have to hang to find out more of what I mean. Just for a reference, he’s probably the 3rd person to ever comment on my Key to Hell that I wear occasionally being actually from Sandman.

And the funny thing was, I was just thinking of reposting this picture today or tomorrow:

That’s Neil and myself, circa 2002. I really would love to see him soon. It’s always when I feel like I’m at the end of my rope when he comes around, but alas.

I just wanted to repost that to remind myself of what I’m really, actually, doing. Writing.

Love you too. I mean that. But we need to start saying it out loud finally. We’ll figure it out.

I’ve been in a really shitty mindset for the past week, so I’m taking a hibernation break this weekend: no answering the phone, no going on Trillian, no answering emails or text messages. Not even replying to any comments made on any journals.

This isn’t the first time I’ve done this, so don’t be afraid that something’s really that wrong. I just don’t want to be a shitty person with friends around. I’ll ruin the party.

The house is very quiet now, except for the wind outside.

Meredith and I were talking about how she doesn’t want to turn into that kind of friend who disappears now that she’s dating someone. Yeah, I wish I had that problem. And I don’t want to feel slightly angry at people who are.

I’m just sick of thinking about it, of talking about it, of it being in my mind all the time. I just want to have something happen that’s good for me, out of the blue, that’s something I don’t have to think about or analyze or wonder Why Me, or really feel like I really will spend the rest of my life utterly alone, even with caring people around me.

Which might explain why this came out over the past couple of days.

A Name

I want to find out who you are
just so I can write you a love poem
the you never has a name
just a you the poet tries to get to
and if ther world wasn’t so small
my fear wouldn’t be claustrophobia
it wouldn’t be waiting to feel
like I could loosen my arms to love
’cause all anyone ever has is a smile
that only your pet sees
and if I could curl up next to you
just to know breath coming through
that’s what I’d do
’cause I’d rather know
you’re coming home to see me
than be locked in a room
writing this right now
a girl with a space of her own
and I wanna be a girl
I wanna be Jesse’s Girl
I wanna be your girl
the one that all those words
make sense for
when the really annoying bits
are really just funny
’cause hating someone is hard
when they aren’t living
a life in generalities
I wanna be hope
just so you can know
what that feels like for once
a surprise every time
and when you aren’t there
I can have hope for myself
I wanna tell the truth
even when I can’t tell it
to read your eyes
even when I can’t spell it
or spill my heart out
just because I know you’re staring
this life is hard
and I need a hand in helping
to knead it
taste life and eat it
’cause it’s been too long
since a good kiss came my way
but it’d be nice
just to have your lips on my wrist
instead of the carpal tunnel
that flares up writing poems to a lover
I’m still waiting for
breakbeats underneath the skin
a foundation for a song in the key of life
and I wanna love you
like the word you had never been placed
next to the word love before
like you’d never been placed
next to love before
the long road of loneliness finally ending
with that one look
from across a crowded room
and ignoring the sadness
and ignoring the sunburn
that pain leaves on our bodies
a you
with a name
finally found on accident
making sense of lives
that defy logic
’cause I feel like my heart is so big
it’ll explode in my chest
before anyone can examine its parts
and if you happen I can just quicken
instead of quickly questioning
what’s really the problem
and not loving myself for the solution
my body is a map waiting to be drawn
and known
and rediscovered
each beauty mark the capital of a city
named after you
or us
or the entire universe
at the center of it all is the heart
ready for the transmission:
your name next to mine
lucid and beautiful

Okay, so I’m going to be going to the Poet’s Corner at the West Las Vegas Arts Center tonight, but it’s not on the literary calendar anymore and Keith doesn’t have a website. Bueller?

But part of me just wants to stay home and cook.

And I should, while I’m thinking about it, plug the Shade Tree benefit that Andy Hall and I (amongst other great poets like Harry Fagel and Rodney Lee) are going to be featuring at on Tuesday at the Coffee Bean. It starts at 6 and goes ’til 10. I’m probably the last poet going on, around 9:15 or so, but you should go for the whole thing, see some local poets you don’t normally see, and bring some stuff for the women’s shelter. I’m going to try and do the whole set memorized, so I have a couple of things to get into my head before then.

And Meredith’s at the Iowa on Thursday, but I’ll plug that when it gets closer.

And also the Young Poets night at the Iowa next month, but that can wait too. The funny thing about that was Mark was telling me about it before the tour, and he said, “I want to have a 25 and under night.” And I said, “Well, that leaves me out, ’cause I’m turning 26 in a couple of weeks.” So he made it 26ish and under.

I’m giving my liver a break for awhile, so if you see me drinking Coke for the next couple of weeks, don’t be offended, I just don’t feel like it. And please don’t buy me a beer to get me involved, I won’t drink it.

I say Monday we grub at Roberto’s after the limerick blow out.

The beginning of my evening last night was funny. I swung by Game Stop to pick up a couple of used games, and got hit on. I was wearing my Echo & the Bunnymen shirt that says WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO WITH YOUR LIFE? emblazoned on the front, so of course the duo behind the counter have to say something: one gay kid, my age I found out, and a straight kid who, incidentally, looked a little bit like my homie Mikey. Gay Kid says: “Waiting for Brad Pitt to walk through that door to tell me he dumped that skinny bitch.” Straight Kid says: “Well, going to UNLV double majoring in English…” and rest just kind of tapers off as I grab my bag of games and leave.

Why do I always get hit on by gay guys? Am I really just that fine line between butch and fabulous that makes me just omnisexual? The fuck, mate?

Girls who buy video games like Tekken 4 and Return of the King just get to nerds, don’t they. It always reminds me of that episode standing in line for a drink during a break at the LOTR Trilogy screening, when the guy in front of me turned around to comment on my “I (heart) Nerds” shirt: “If more girls wore that shirt, we’d all be getting laid.”

Amen, brother. Amen.

Man, I really miss Copioh. Tonight would be a perfect night to just sit in a recliner and read and write all night.

Hell yeah.

I’m on dodgeball.com. You should be, too.

You know you couldn’t help but laugh.

(from spizzazz via Gabba, one of my favorite mp3 blogs.)

I keep having visions of writing a really long relevant post, but alas, no.

I made cookies today. Oatmeal ones. They’re small and good. If you come to the performance workshop tomorrow, you’ll get a couple. I’m not saying that to bribe, I really want people to take the cookies because I had to make them before the ingredients went bad and I don’t want the temptation anymore. The recipe was a thank-you gift from Jackie and Miles’s wedding. They gave me a jar with the dry ingredients, with the recipe on how to make the cookies tied to it. I actually followed the recipe correctly. For once.

Actually, I’ve been doing that quite a bit lately, which scares me a little because I’ve never really been good at cooking before and suddenly I’m badass at it. Okay, not really badass, but at least able enough. Watching Food Network makes me feel like I can make anything. Except for that French chocolate guy. Inept.

My brother’s going to Pittsburgh next month for my Aunt Judy and Uncle Bobby’s 60th birthdays. Bobby used to be a regional VP for Roy Rogers, then was a city councilman, then after 2 unsuccessful tries at mayor, started working for the Governor’s office. He’s a typical Irish-Catholic Democrat. He and my Aunt Judy live in her childhood home. One of their sons is a Catholic Priest. Judy’s side of the family is partly Orthodox Jewish. Their youngest, Corey, is in college at Duquesne, and could possibly follow in his dad’s footsteps. Their oldest, Heidi, battles against a society still bent on not acknowledging her mixed-race family.

Before Dad passed, I used to go to Pittsburgh every year, some years on Bobby’s boat ride, his fundraiser for his various political outings. It’s part societal bash, part political boot-licking, part family reunion. The one thing I can count on is my Aunt Hum, a former nun and now 100 percent civilian, getting half in the bag on beer. Oh family is fun.

I haven’t been to Pittsburgh in about 2 years. I really wanted to go this year, but with all the traveling I’ve been doing I just can’t. I need to be at home for awhile, as much as I don’t like it.

My brother’s going to surprise my aunt and uncle. When my uncle was here in June, he was mulling whether or not he should run for mayor again, and had asked my honest opinion on it. I told him if the city’s going bankrupt and after 2 tries people know who you are, the third time could be the charm.

If he gets elected, he will literally know everyone in Pittsburgh. He pretty much knows everybody as it is. The cost of celebrity, I suppose.

And I found my Dad’s obit on the Post-Gazette website. They spelled Mom’s name wrong. It’s Noreen. (But if you’ve been to the bar, you know that already.)

It’s been nice to sleep and eat right for once.

I thought about writing an entry yesterday, considering the date, but I’ve written anything about that day that I could have, and I’ve seen the scar in New York’s sky for myself already. The only time I saw the towers in my real life was in the summer of 2001, flying into Newark from a small charter plane coming back from Pittsburgh. But, really, for me, September 11th reminds me of when my father started his many walks down hospital halls.

So. Now that it’s over. I can concentrate on the now, and friends, and the family that’s still here, especially my cute-ass nephews:

Yeah. Hard to believe my brother helped produce them, but you know.

Yes, workshop at the house. I will be sending emails.

Man, I’m really tired. Cheers just isn’t as, well, Cheers-like when Abercrombie & Fitch kids show up.

Patience.

Wearing.

Thin.