Rant #21

1.) Like a lip cracked

and the tongue's urge to burn it

2.) I can hear the color in my room, 

it's like the moments after a baby has just been soothed

from crying.

3.) Looking at porn on Instagram just isn't the same.

Rant #20

it's quiet serious what you can reveal once you drop the robe,

peeling back, shoulder once, shoulder twice

i'm always in the middle of redecorating 

which was once shamed by the possessive
the frenzy, the doctors

and the pathetically resentful

but i've licked it up since then

i've shed skin - twice - since then

i've listened to that hygrades album through and through

and i've realized, i'm a creator, i'm an artist, an innovator

i am small but relevant, i am illuminated,

imperative 

my mind stays in my books:

feminization of our breath(s)

my back wet from the bath:

elevating my darkness(es)

my fingers deep in my aesthetic:

slurpin on that lady(z) nectar

Rant #19

"I know them other guys, they been talking bout the way I do what I do

They heard I was good, they wanna see if it's true

They know you're the one I wanna give it to

I can see you want me too

Now, it's me and you"

.

Rant #18

The Story of a Blueberry Hater & Her 11 Nicotine-less Days

2016.

Rant #17

carry on 

fear

Rant #16

when i'm at my worst

i write

hospital words

Rant #15

feminist boot camp took the backseat 

lady nectar's rants, too drenched to stand 

linear equations and socio-economic ethics on halt

spitting instead of waiting on tables

full stop

a world view can still be absent of yourself and the ones around you

so i'm glad before you were gone i

cranked neck to snort and breathed in a side eye view of you two

your sprayed tangents, feral smells, you were connected, flawless

in darkness, in depth - one scratch wouldn't suffice

rip

"hey, these look like birds, don't they?" ---lights trashcan on fire---

Rant #14

The Seattle Exposure Project is about dismantling the infrastructure of shame that we are socialized to build for ourselves and other women when our bodies don't meet sex-centric, outlandish criteria of "perfection".  It is about the idea that the body is a tool we use to further our intellectual, creative and spiritual capabilities. And above all, Seattle Exposure Project is about exposing our true bodies, self acceptance, and openness to love & life. 

www.seattleexposureproject.org

Rant #13

pre-lunch touch ups

It was sort of candid, yet flawless how she did it. The strides, awkward. The meat of her thighs, in disagreement. But it was all very subtle, wasn't it? The stark white of the dessert was kind to her, then.

Rant #12

things only flamingos can dig

"I am giving up all lubricants - socially, that is - I guess I always knew that creation could be isolating, somewhere I knew that. At first it was lonely, but now, a friend invites me out, and I imagine myself putting on my face, taking it off again, just to put it right back on again, and --- I am just scared and tired. How many times can your image speak for you before your tongue swells too large and you choke and die?"

She was always asking questions like that. Her brow stern and eyes wide. What the fuck I was supposed to tell her? Could I answer a question with a question? And why was she asking me? I had been clinging to the same jean jacket since highschool, and I wasn't about to put my PBR down to take it off.

Rant #11

At the Carnival with Dad: 98'

One night at the carnival I got scared but I saw God and I felt better
I climbed up to the very, very top, I won a fish there, a tiny fish
There was a lot of anger at the bottom, underneath the ring toss, it hid, so I slid
I went up the ladder and I was scared, Jesus wouldn't say shit cause he knew better
The end, the end, the the the the, the end.

There is no sky in the black land.

Rant #10

[]

ATOM: (noun)

1. Physics. The smallest component of an element having the chemical properties of the element, consisting of a nucleus containing combinations of neutrons and protons and one or more electrons bound to the nucleus by electrical attraction; the number of protons determines the identity of the element. An atom with one of the electrons replaced by some other particle:

muonic atom; kaonic atom.

2. Energy. This component as the source of nuclear energy.

3. A hypothetical particle of matter so minute as to admit of no division.

4. Anything extremely small; a minute quantity.

[[[5]]] The building blocks of everything.

Rant #9

tiny tea cups, tiny, tiny chairs

A cloth this vulnerable is shared only with skin of my own, or the lip of a bottle, transcendent and sideways, feverish and hurried, each time I glimpsed backwards you were all still there, and not just you, but the words between us, an advancing garbage heap, fuming and suffocating. I was stalked. I was cornered by abandonment. The typical abundance of thrusted miles did not ameliorate but stop to wake, each and every one of you. The final adversary was uncovered and approached the day before the new year. A fine old friend, she was, but within this distance, political hearsay spoke for us and she quickly defended her stance. My sword has never been anything but flimsy, a premeditated barrier, just for the seconds before the handshake, the hug, the unconditionalness that seems to be so fragile. I slept in the shape of a six for two hours, and upon waking, drove one thousand miles away; I was finally able to grasp the tenderness of their "concrete" declarations as no fault of mine, and perhaps not of theirs, but as an underlining fear that's fed to them through tap water, television screens and smoke. 2015 has been absent of you, and just about any - bodies, but 23 flowers wilt before me along side 46 colors of paint and 100 warm lights. I have created more. I have laughed more. I can speak again. Leaving feeling left behind, behind. I could never congratulate you on your engagement with the patriarchy, but perhaps on your clever tee shirt, and immense smile. I could spit on that playlist, or killer set. I could, but I wont. This is not a confession of forgiveness, nor is it a plea for it. The lot of you know you were excused before I was even provoked. This is a notice of immunity of myself. No shame, no more.

Rant #8

I have sat down to write, well, rather, laid flat on my tummy, elbows propped out like a tv. stand, supporting a malnourished, meatless neck & skull. I have set out to write when I guess I should be doing yoga, or browning the unders of my legs, or getting my nails done with Lauryn on Sunset. Some Hollywood bullshit. I have been here for one week and one day. Many people have attempted to craft time into something tangible, something a little less weary than the daunting significance behind the antithesis of being able to remember something decades past so absolutely you could swear it happened just seconds ago, and then not being able to cite, for the fuck in you, what you ate for breakfast last Monday. My last couple years in the Pacific Northwest were invigorating, breath-taking, intoxicating, and ultimately, and most importantly, illuminating. Perspective is the light and it wormed it's opinionated, yet irrefutably correct posterior into even the dankest of cracks. But, more on that later, red oil is calling.

Rant #7

I can't stay awake.
Between the gorilla sucking the condom off my lover's hand; the hierarchy battle between them.

-- next --

It hadn't occurred to me yet that there would be a day that I was sitting on the pot, desperately sending messages to the bucket of my groin, to the left slightly, and up a bit from there, to send it, to send them down. Desperately. Did I mention that already? The desperateness of this unholy attempt? To force something out of it's unwilling sock of comfort. I sat there thinking the longer I spend in here, the longer I am away from my phone, checking, and my phone, checking, checking, me. The sock of discomfort. I thought that I would arrive to left over messages of regret, sorrow and what's left, but instead, to 2:04 am (no messages).

Rant #6

On the face of a brick I search the minuscule maps
tethering each chip and indentation to my failed recognition
it's hard to see it, but once in a while, the pollen sleezes it's way in
and a mother is no different than the cocksucker on aurora

What is there to say about fitness?
Tiny trucks of tiny frozen hamburgers.

What is there to say about the times you weren't there?
Tiny trucks of tiny frozen hamburglers.

There's only so many inches between you, and the place that I left you
but those inches have their own limbs, and get up and dance every moment they can
"we're going to die young" screeches air waves between the tea shelves,
this is one of those dancing times

Eric is a regular here. His body is thin, almost frail until you notice it's just skin, muscle, and bone. Toned from the sun and sleeping in the park. Eric collects stuffed animals. Eric saw a raccoon last night, two big ones and a baby. But you want to know the weird thing? The baby one didn't look like a raccoon, he can't be sure what it was. It was cute, but the body didn't look like a raccoon at all. Eh he eh.

Chocolate Jesus

Rant #5

The first wash of June, the first steps since
ear buds sank soundly in, Phoenix and kids
the concrete, "It smells like the day Peary died"
                                    these
Simple every-things that can't quite
cross the bold - dividing lines
of the shaded, pastel quadrilaterals,
that hush
us
and our days/(daze)

Yet, I am just (a) woman
one,
of many

Rant #4

In the lake, on that floaty. In the bedroom, on the rub. In the main space, on the couch. In the corner, behind the trees. In the truck, through the cigarette smoke.

Rant #3

Let it sit
still, yet born
here,
where the mother's breach(es) reach on
wine colored broach, roach, seeds
of foggy afternoons,
of shaved hands,
of trust
of the trailor
and the soft spot between the mountains
she misses for it's simplicity
and the tri-plex she loathes for it's electric bills


the ringing of cowhide
the monotone pleas shield
the ghastly taught placenta
attaching itself to each nail
hardwood, faint

butter, grass, red and white plaid
butter, grass, red and white plaid

her uterus, the placenta, the two moments
butter,
father's mastache, the placenta, the stove uterus
grass,
13 inches, 7lbs, still, yet, born
red and white

to be continued...

Rant #2

On the shady, sweet smelling side of Hollywood I held the hand of doll, it was there that I thought about the bus rides I’d have alone with many strangers. The bus comes to my stop every immaculate day to swoop up the hungry, and take them to their tables and television sets. I don’t often sit, so I, more times than not, light one cigarette more and watch it stagger up, huff in it’s pause and fall out of view. It’s not that I am not a part of the humanity, or lack thereof, on the bus, it’s that I’d rather see it from a far than __________ the undeniable ___________  that awaits them.

No Great Shakes