Auto-Capgras

It’s midnight on the Internet

I’m trying to decide whether or not to reblog

A portrait of Rick Santorum made completely out of gay porn.

Tonight is rainy, and full of deadlines.

So much is unsettled and Huey P. Lewis is sitting

in a chair in the middle of a dark theater housed within the walls of my cranium.

He is telling me about feeding children.

Feeding children threatens the FBI.

And how can you infiltrate a community you were born into?

Can you infiltrate your own identity?

How can I manage to feel like an imposter to my own life?

I have Capgras syndrome TOWARDS MYSELF!

Paranoia speaks:

Something is not right here.

Something does not belong.

Paranoia speaks:

I am not right and I do not belong!

The evidence stacks up:

Where do I get off

Pretending to be successful and organized and hardworking and happy?!

Where do I get off

Going to a respectable women’s liberal arts college and joyfully learning something?!

Where do I get off

Getting pregnant at age fourteen and getting sent to reform school and not turning out to be an abject failure?!

I have not earned this!

This is not my life!

I am a washed up, wanna-be poet, rebelling for the sake of rebelling.

I am a nomadic alternative rage machine!

My life has gone through puberty without taking my mental altimeter with it.

A Room With a View

He doesn’t know how to love

An intergalactic portal sounds the way my laptop does

When I sit in front of it for hours doing nothing

Except wasting precious time and

Watching a room with a view.

I don’t know how to love

Hands that smell like cupcakes and bleach that

Causes a dryness so porous that they provide evidence

For wherever they should not have been.

If we knew how to love

Would we be doing whatever it is we are doing?

We are doing life, or some semblance thereof

And we are doing each other, occasionally.

I legitimize our arguments by

Labeling them as learning experiences

That shape . . .

Something.

If there is a secret box in my head full

Of things I do not tell you, it would only be sensible

That you would know before I do. I have not noticed

A box yet but I will let you know when

I do.

Internet. 2 AM.

What kind of person keeps that many tabs open on their browser

A lazy person

A mac person

No more questions

No more requests

Facts come from knowledge comes from experiencing

It hurts a bit

To know exactly what will fail but

Not when

Occasionally the tabs cause the browser to crash and

They all reload themselves

Some for the first time in months

There are uncooked braised short ribs

Web comics

Thinkgeek and facebook

They wait for attention

Everyone waits for attention

Late night scavenger hunts

For items thrown away years ago

Bad fanfiction that does little else than

Stab a person’s inner grammar instructor

In the spleen

It gets lonely here waiting

I am not depressed.

Occasionally it worms its way in between the pulses of a migraine

White hot pain lightheaded floating and sinking into my chair too heavy to move how do you describe this AAAAUGGGGGHHHHH.

Stuck. It feels stuck.

No forward no backward and I do not want to be in between

No end, either.

Lulls

Droughts

Happiness comes in droughts

Peace comes in droughts

When is it not parched and cracked and drained of an engorging agent.

Salvation is only found in soaking oneself. 

good night

These nights keep me up

All cold wind and crickets

Wanting to be somewhere else

Not wanting to put on the pants required to get there

I tried calling comfort

After another sleep cut short

The line rang a few times

A raccoon disturbed the stones underneath my window

Almost distracting me from the canned voice demanding I leave some reason

for disturbing it this late

Sorry

I didn’t realize

But I was feeling anxious

Good night

Togetherness

"We try so hard in our lives to keep control over our body, and control over individual selves, that the idea of just having everybody in a big pile is kind of strangely appealing," 

through cloudy eyes

reflections of light pick up

nothing

ears that suffered

constant assault

at the hands of urbanization

cease to translate vibrations into cognition

a tired heart

lays relaxed and empty

right hand touching left leg touching genitals touching ears touching noses touching upper shoulder touching clean bone touching oozing intestines touching

togetherness

I wish I were as cold as stone

I wish I were cold as stone

That my mind would not decay along with my grey matter

That the feeling of you holding me

Could not permeate my blood-brain barrier

I wish that over time I would dissolve into grains of sand

Waves beating over and over

Taking a tiny piece of me every time

Until nothing is left whole

Not even the sound of you breathing in your sleep