inside a pineapple

2013-09-27T00:11:00.001-07:00

inspirational4lyfe. Nina Hagen was /the/ punk goddess for me when i was young. (along w/ Siouxsie Sioux) like you really can't tell me ***nothing*** about her glory. bow.

scorpio sting

2013-09-26T23:59:00.000-07:00

frame me, oh, to where sadism -
its figurine breaths me, and ruins be recipes
of perfection risen to

what smells like (at first glance) lust,
pulls closer to moisten vengeance of mine.
and you,
have white sheets that have yet to stain.
not made small enough to run
simple against your grain -
fetch your chipper tongue to last
in me until i finish
past the bed,
onto the floor.

in midnight burning
glory
this gloating body curves
coyly.
but i -
unlike those before, can eat your half attempt
at life
to bits.

to my precious, once i gave you all my weakness

2013-09-25T23:04:00.002-07:00

sink into boudoirs, in the comfort of bodies' desecration,
as deep as temptation, and your gun has its hands around my words. for now, a hush.
but it will only take sunrise to fetch me,
flame the raven of manic to sing its
banshee lullaby.

you can burn my lungs at your disposal, but i have
the body to make you full, and take to empty. your ego dripping around my fingers
like the sweet kiss of your apologies, linger
this on your lips -
no more masochist eyes bow to
your holy. as easily as i gave you power to
destroy me

love will take me. make me
on reveries i breathe for.

his list of women imprinted on my chest - not full enough
for meals. i'm made up of no woman in your ideal.
i lay him on my grandest treasure.
me.
take a look at what you polish off to!

ravage of time has created slits in our
promises. a look of oil, you are spilling
to finale.
to pirouette on lies? none can save us this time.

updates to use.

2013-09-19T20:54:00.000-07:00

moving usually triggers terrible anxiety in me. this time not so much. sure, i hate packing boxes. and lifting? i weight 115 like you might as well strap me to death okay.
but, i recently went purging through messes of clutter accumulated because 'shit happens' and now i'm feeling lighter and this makes moving much easier because i only have what i absolutely need/want. back in 2012 i did a fabulous job of creating boundaries. i filtered what goes in, what comes out, and what stays as essentials.

i got hooked up with the realness and i'm moving out to a 1 bedroom soon.
step 1: smooth excitement followed by hell yes i'll actually have a bigger place. s/o to studios but when you have the opportunity to upgrade without breaking the bank uhm do so.
step 2: get my decorating together. i have watched too many interior design shows to /not/ put out something fierce with my budget. there's this amazing furniture boutique by the waterfront and i swear it calls out to me every time i walk past it. most of the prices in there are a bit wild, but i have found some great pieces that i can afford so holla @ the future. i just have to get through my obsessive hurdle of having everything fit into perfection. occasionally i go through this maddening spell of confusion where i don't know where anything should go & i start to cry because my curtains don't match my rug & shit flies up the handle. but i feel my anxiety has been kept under control in the last few months so i'm sure this time i can actually have fun & explore and really put out a home that screams my identity.
step 3: actually enjoy the fact that i'll have a bedroom. aka a sanctuary aka i'm gonna make it as peaceful and relaxing as ever. i want to walk into this room and feel as though it's hugging me from all the pollution on the outside. i want it to have clean lines and pretty smells. simplicity is the key here. i grew up with a cluttered bedroom. (my fault tbh) i did everything in my bedroom. slept, cooked @ times, did homework, watched movies. it was my go to room for everything & it was just overwhelming. no more of that.
step 4: life is happening. in a good way. for once. that's nice. celebrate with champagne. i'm literally okay with things right now. like today was kind of bad (cause hello mood swings) but i didn't dwell on it & i just took it easy with some tea. that's my goal for the upcoming year. take. it. easy.

k. shout - out to good feels & all ^^^^

In the daylight it's not the same.

2013-09-16T11:30:00.000-07:00

#1 Outsider at a dinner party
demonstrate for me, your old, cold, bitter
on the platter - heart wrappings. i soak
up stories from social gatherings,
those which claim to mend the clowns
who keep the faith of love.
pound for pound, and costs are deadly.
gin soaked lips reek heavy, with
skin painted oak.
the tired mouths of women scorned.

and i - entertainer in the middle
circling prey. the chatter of crows
poison in my ear - is this what defeat
looks like. have i fallen deep into widows'
dark. blast words of regret to fuel
a better day?

their mask is my hatred,
their lies are my truth,
someone hands me a drink for torn
seams in my heart. oh good!
it's not the gun i asked for,
but it'll do.

#2 Cocaine September
White angel with a burn.
Heaven, you look a promise to kill.

Flower seeds of wisdom on the bed.
Spread, crevices inside form December -
Snow is light and winter is calling. The dead
Of the city will awaken the blood stream.

Happiness is a piece of puzzle I cut into
Powder.
Body is the present I give to gamble.
Death, fear is just the beginning. I've past that
Sweet aphrodisiac. Now onto survival.

There is a white night to my pupils' delight.
Erotic to the senses, a coat of ice
Stops my blinking. There I pause.

What truth in these corners I find-
Icicles gently ripping apart,
Obstructing my breathing.

Heaven.

#3 The complicated dazzle
One swift tug,
And the plunge of yearning -
Hurdles you could not control -

You do not stand tall to
End the harm.
Not within a mind breeding
Bacteria in your own

Sign your love over, but you will never
Idolize nihilism. Not you, with a spill across
The ocean and the fetish to scold
Through electricity. Flesh in fire, tongue
As blades.

You, too much a power for
Nature, will never quite be the silence you
Wish to sleep with.

and so i paid

2013-09-09T07:00:00.000-07:00

melted body at its finest
purity as presents on your
last bed.

sacrifice leash of lovers -
regained wishful
another breath.

injection of submission to
the highest bidder. feed your
heart the monster it seeks

rain on sandpaper
i taste
his skin to be

flash into fantasme
of dreams i hoped
to never blink

panacea for his inequalities
beside. curved appetite, i turn away
from his.

never could be as vicious as
the last asphyxiations. the past has
no place for mine to grieve

empty frames - too late to be.
the future is where
freedom lives

charming september :::

2013-09-08T01:12:00.000-07:00

September and i are easing towards one another with lightness and determination. i'm coming into my own. in terms of what i want my future to look like and who i want dazzling along side with me is outlined clearer. i proclaimed early in October of 2012 that i was no longer satisfied with half efforts. half loves, half friends, half jobs. inconsistencies that allow half types to wander in my life and take selfishly. roughly 12 months later here i am ... still struggling, but getting to a defined place. it takes effort of strength to turn thoughts into reality. even more so for those of us battling forces beyond our control. my disposition is more intellectual than ever. i am painfully sharp and will not hesitate to initiate an impact. good or bad.

yes, hello. is the past calling? oh, well, issues I've dealt in isolation with are now in the open and getting their voices heard. and everyone has heard it. chances are, you know where you stand with me, and this should be a blessing for you. i'm as concrete now as i was many, many years ago. and those years proved to be worthy of happy flashbacks. i have applied the needed tenderness, assertiveness, introspection, and mental health (as far as i'm capable) to get to where i am currently, and now i'm waiting for October - when i'll really charge up.

issues clung to me like the ragged clothing I've kept for sentiments. but the guilt is over. overstayed its welcome, purpose, and weight. the purge is finished.

on top of everything i just got back from Barcelona and Moscow, where i had the best time of my life. literally. if everything were to end tomorrow i would be okay. i got to sleep next to Catalan tongues. i danced with Russian strangers, and i visited my grandmother's grave. i am full. i detached from the old and suddenly my being was free. i felt no holds to my regular negativity.

my trip to Russia was necessary for my well being. i saw treasures, trash and harshness of people i grow admiration for everyday. i saw myself as a child. and realized my memories are deceitful, as they don't paint the picture of what life would be like now, as an adult, and aware of truth. i spent my days polishing on the language, eating piroshky (while good, could never match up to my mom's) and feeding the homeless. i got into a fight with Russian cops (who really are about as threatening as squirrels,) almost broke into the Lubianka, and danced at the cheesiest euro trash discotheque ever. also s/o to Barcelona for being obsessed with David Guetta.

i didn't go to one museum while i was in Barcelona. the streets are so beautiful it really is art in itself. and the food! let us bless the tapas. i didn't get to see a football game because it didn't fit into my time schedule, but the barca spirit through the streets is enchanting. i spend so much time devoted to my favorite soccer team in the states, keeping it mostly to myself, and here i was IN THE CITY OF BARCA FANATICS and it felt amazing. my best friend and i stayed at a modest hotel, though we were hardly indoors for long. most of our time was spent walking, sitting with pigeons, and starring off into the water. tourist vibes give me the irks, though it's kind of hard /not/ to break out your camera almost every other minute. ^^^

as much as i appreciated the happy go lucky atmosphere of Barcelona where it really was near impossible to feel down. there was always a comforting negativity in Russia that you just can't get anywhere else. and to a Russian --- that's priceless to be honest.

you can't take the tough out of a girl. the streets of Moscow will never abandon my demeanor. it's who i am. the amount of pleasure i experienced elbowing people on the subway as i made my way stomping on heels and being mindless as fuck. TRY IT. it's rude to foreigners, but we don't give a mind. and for all the big talk new yorkers do about being 'in your face' --- you really haven't seen much til a babushka is throwing shade at your entire existence.

now that i'm back home, nothing is the same old. i feel relaxed, and inspired. i'm not sure why. it won't last, i know. it's the leftover traveler scent. but i'll savior it for now

rigorous showdown

2013-08-27T21:34:00.000-07:00

My dear, we've seen the script and its selfish attraction. I am for taking, and you want it to part.

Liquefying every thought, this is a challenge within me to

Keep your flowers in bloom for another battle. No guard

Of mine will come down willingly.

A rigorous assignment, you are the light

In this bloodshed I courtesy before. I haven’t fallen to my knees,

This showdown is to my senses what candle wax is to

Your skin.

Give me a clock, I have to elaborate further.

This simplicity is torture for theories I’ve tested on all the refined. So

What eye fury will you play for me today. How bewildered you are

That I’ve come around again, with artillery sharp on my glances

And to your cautious smile

Believe me, you will love me

Even more.

How sweet I find you tucked under

Blankets, water spills, leaking through the mattress.

I idolize; you’re irate. This moment is my fever

Of passion and rage.

The greatest form of love is to rid

You of tranquility.

<>

2013-08-21T02:22:00.005-07:00

but can i get a raincheck . . .

from life

2013-08-18T01:07:00.002-07:00

quick to turn into sunrise. clean slate, sun's fire
holds high.

but my night, (not in armor) never far, never
too soon. never forgotten, ending,
never, no matter how hard
the sun shines.

wow.uhm.hipster goth or nah

2013-08-18T01:00:00.000-07:00

still stuck

2013-08-18T00:47:00.002-07:00

he's capable of terribly dark things, but what do i need it. i have my own.
and i wonder what the stars taste like after a loss of
self.
still vigorous amour to my dreams?

(thursday's horoscope : scorpio) also how i've felt the last 2 weeks

2013-08-13T18:26:00.000-07:00

Easily irritated

During this time you probably feel hurt, offended or ignored and therefore you have withdrawn into yourself, and do not allow anyone to get really close to you. At the same time, though, deep down you want to participate, enjoy life, love and be loved. Nevertheless, you should not expect too much of yourself in this respect. You probably need seclusion or a withdrawal to get over everything. In that case you should not bury yourself in your pain as that will not make things better. You will possibly find that the behavior of the other person was unintentional, and that your present situation mainly mirrors your own sensitivity.

Astro.com

the perks of writing

2013-08-05T22:54:00.000-07:00

in the last ... year or so I've been working on several writing projects. ones that are group related for the public library, as well as projects that involve getting my own publications out. some of my friends have been asking how it feels to share my work on a bigger scale and honestly, that questioned stuck. i usually smile and say "it's pretty awesome" but the more i think about it, the more i realize how cathartic, and nerve wracking it all is. the fact that i'm putting myself out to strangers who may not understand the intricate workings of my off mentality makes me hesitant .... i've never envied anyone in the creative spotlight to be honest.

however - in a positive light -

it's really helped me reexamine the way i convey my thoughts to the public. the words i use, and the messages i get across have more power than i give credit to at times. my writing has always been about survival. as incoherent and erratic as it can be, that's more of a statement into my inner workings. i am incoherent and erratic at times. the harder i'm falling, the tougher it is for me to share with the outside world knowing that more often than not i will be critiqued. i was never concerned with turning my poems or stories into universal messages easily taken in by the masses. in fact, many years ago the mere thought turned me off.

i didn't start writing regularly until i was 15. by then i was going through what everyone assumed be 'teen angst' - though it's clear to me today i was already shaking hands with my illness.
writing was the only thing that kept me afloat. i had a hard time voicing myself to anyone, so i figured i would voice myself TO myself. i lacked restraint (and still do) so often i would go off on tangents that hardly amounted to coherence. to this day my process hardly makes sense to an outsider. i run through my thoughts with no red lights.

my method consists of going. going. gone. i write hazily, and then i edit. sometimes it's exhausting having to go through and deconstruct the drunkenness of your own babbles. and other times it's invigorating because amidst all of it you've created a gem. it's taken me a long time to articulate myself in a way that might be more relate-able and understandable to the general public. i still battle with it. but the perk of being more accessible is rewarding in itself. there's always a sister, or a brother who will find a friend in your creation. they will find comfort and support. they might just find a voice that resonates with their troubles and their emotional/mental/physical fragility (or what have you).

it is hard to work with a survival method when you're no longer the only audience it is intended for. i am trying to be more user friendly while keeping true to my style. i don't want to lose my original voice and the (sometimes misunderstood) depth. but these recent writing projects have helped me to step out of the self and become more approachable.

some /things/ happened

2013-08-03T18:06:00.001-07:00

first things' first: i made a dish. not just any dish. a traditional Russian Olivier salad. this is big as i don't make anything. especially not traditional OR Russian. bless. my mother would be so proud of me right now. she's tried so many times to get me to cook in an effort to 'wife' me up to potential men. #truestory.
i actually enjoy cooking when there's no one around me to pin point my flaws because, a girl's still learning and needs some patience.

found this totally "vintage" piece of art i made in 2006 when i was 18. i don't know what it's supposed to be, but slaps of paint on paper sounds and looks legit so yay for colors.

bought a jacket yesterday. the print confuses / intrigues me. it's 2 sizes bigger than what i normally go for, but my skinny body can make it work. over-sized tops is my forte. but just check out the happenings here. ..... it's like a map or drawings of every day life .... and the gulf of mexico? okay.

2013-07-31T00:05:00.001-07:00

encounter

2013-07-30T00:08:00.000-07:00

lay me on champagne splashes,
to temptation i bow with seeds of
sins. eat to pleasure off -
is it your skin, unzipping its red gown
for poetry.
parched vocabulary, nothing to take from me, i already
left behind stories on your dresser.

delicate layer of icebergs
on the edge of my heart. i slither to
depths for your throne.

letter to my future love

2013-07-27T02:08:00.001-07:00

how much of me is ever enough.
has my mother dressed me ready for
offering. she carries me like a burden of last hope at aisle.

a bride not quite the shade to fit into white

i grow restless in mold, but i would rather
deteriorate than
give myself willingly to just any

green ivy eyes, mine - i imagine to quench a roaring sky,
instead they blow with chestnut light, and limbs of lovers burn.
roots take to scissors and each strand latches to the back,
we say our parting goodbye. my voice, it cracks. what am i leaving behind. ..

from knives
to spin delicate design, marks on my skin drip with every step - these veins like travelers guides -
and left behind are bruises i dangle to show off like charms.
he who loves me will love parts with the same intense
hate i hold for my own

to my dear,
what will be left for you to fasten to.
take my adventure loosely by the hand,
not tight enough to break, not a soft
compromise. we will build homes from lucid dreams.
once a heart cold, i will learn to wear softer
tones.
will you run amok past corridors? with me, watch me,
where the mirror mocks. smash myself in repetition,
until there's glass small enough to cut through
years to last.
and i might fold to tears in the
middle of a song, with a mood on empty, no feel with a whip
to crush your sanity.
there is no predictability to loving whole.
i barely belong to logic, but a strong root
won't have to hold me hostage.

i wonder, how much will i bury in my suitcase,

take your loves pleasure to my assorted lies, do not bow
at my sins, their silhouettes of ghosts on standby. how much of me can you carry without
forgiveness. what's real today might abandon, but i will bend enough to mend it
on my knees to let our love grow
its strongest.

my pride has never been a quite type, but something of a simmer will be enough to

nurture.

he who loves me will bless his roots towards me. and i know beyond the self is where life ignites.

2013-07-26T22:22:00.003-07:00

hi. i'm fabulous, even when my hair is dirty. ok.bye.

saturday night reflections

2013-07-20T22:12:00.001-07:00

am i an over-sized pendant hanging from greedy hands and tasteless worshipers.
those who smother, and wait for instant satisfaction.
i am, a gold finish rusting at the edges.

the placidity of living hardens dull.
roaring sky grabs hold by the arms and gently places me back where i sleep.
peacefully.
gluttony of 'what if's' and 'maybe's' -
now it's quiet back on the right side of rationality.

the purge

2013-07-17T01:00:00.003-07:00

rush through recycled bags on a
trip from winter minds.
my words through an epileptic
ride, we ran home on the
verge of splinters, as i had
every edition of the dictionary
sprawled on its back.
flip the script -
pages wired on
tiles, in the bathroom i lay
careful of my lips to
kiss minefields.
look, my body is perfectly dressed
for a flashback
into you.
and i, like a bulimic, have battles
to clean up after the night.
heave the stock of verses
into grim plots.
wipe from plates dirty
of stains with evidence
on sight.
calculate the timing
immaculate, the way my pale
veins marvel mimicking of flower stems as i
purge into overlapping lines -
like no room elsewhere
will ever be found.

ravaging, antique fingers sensuous
on lenses through opal.
shelves stocked erotic - with books
ripped into pleasure. i
accumulate wreckage from the day
and feed.
piles of information to swallow, piles
of visions to donate back.
all the years on the clock
strike dehydration. each stain of hours has
kept me afloat. too long a poem to count each hope.
and bodies of work
in volumes of nutrients in free flow,
blood flow, white cells to regenerate the
mind from its own war.

i am the rubble of
my own. the makeup
of years, it's not the be all end all,
because i have years to make
the end fall
to my satisfaction.
where the last remains
stay quiet. and not one
will know of its story finale.

2013-07-16T01:02:00.000-07:00

my hair when it's wet stays deceiving. not quiet red, not quite red violet. pink on my scalp and YES my neck is that pale. thank you.

off to church again

2013-07-16T00:27:00.000-07:00

in the sky with diamonds,
oh, sweet cherry lover, come around
the corner of my curves, words for a nectar
taste.
run your luscious down the drain

i'm on my knees again.
god:
can you read this?
spent my last dollar on the man
i'm now chiseling for a living room display.
obsession is the gunpowder -
stains of my womanliness in his head,
nails to this desire, through my fingers
to his bed.

try to tell me this isn't what fire
tastes like.

hospital welcome

2013-07-15T04:53:00.000-07:00

static seizes. wind sweeps a low hum of ants to crawl electric.
shock on cotton sheets wraps its steady hold. choke hold on
physique. frail outline, there's a future lifeline dripping into me. IV
grips the veins like a scorned lover.
i should know.

kissed scissors to my veins, my last chance to a
moon awakening. but they wouldn't let me feast
on myself.
so it reeks to be - love as my grave, the way of
endings that awaits.
as I've screamed reckless, high on organs,
and no one's yet to free. stirring again, midnight throughout
the days holds its body against me.
light bulbs chirp - flashing rebellion to
answer gracefully.

nesting dolls reminiscent, parts of me, from me, and the nurse polishes ready.
oh! her eyelids close hesitant. too watchful, fearful to lose.
i'm poised to distance the body, and
this fury - (churning my mind to dimming familiarity)
inhales on my remains loyally.

nourishes of survival with its tyrant entry, screams too loud to awake.
coarsening through my pipes in the same manner illness occupies,
boastful, arrogant with hell to raise. it tastes a menace. does she beast with
her life the way she forges into mine.
to depravity now i toast!. what breath will give in the hours.
one of will.
one to lies?
i come to my Mars with indecisive eyes. does the morning speak
with confections. how can i straighten my body of its shackles.
hope leaves its taste -
analysis of me, my own, and battles
i cannot slip.

Pluto dammed into rebirth.
Persephone to his throne, to its cage in the underworld, on erotic beds
i come to, be as free as death i once thought of.
and what form to chose from? i take my own.

ego!
sometimes, i celebrate the self.
sometimes, i razor through bone.
your vitamin for fools! (i am its servant daily.)
on behalf of your iron fist, hope wraps itself in velvet.
i found it. written on the back of my spine.

yes for aural pleasure

2013-07-15T01:30:00.000-07:00

Mazzy Star || Wasted

((this song is everything to me.

i need wine and good cuddles

and cats around me because this song

is perfection and it fits.))

After I stuck my hands

Into your ground

And pulled out somebody else's son

I felt a little unfortunate

A little mistake

I felt like I'd been wasted

All day long

After I bent myself to my knees

And raised my hands up

Right above my head

I felt a little

A little bright patch

I felt like I'd been wasted

All day long

After I took my eyes

From the west

And brought myself back

To my place

I felt a little light for a while

A little light stone

I felt like I'd been wasted

All day long