cucumberkimchi

spent way too much money.
moshed a pit of ducks and geese.
one looked like freddy kruger.

what's this? you wanna fight me with fists? is that what this look is? because -oh, pardon. it seems i've taken my pants off. Half of me is sure you're trying to fight me, but the other half has succumbed to what it interprets as a possible vampire glamouring. this is all very embarrassing and confusing. it would probably be best if i just pulled my pants up and sobbed in my car for a few minutes. I'll have a moxie. That's always cheers me up.

they made a statue of us. and put it on a mountain top. the tourists come and stare at us. they blow bubbles with their gum.take photographs for fun. have fun. theyll name a city after us. and later say its all our fault. then they'll give us a talking-to. cause theyve got years of experience. were living in a den of theives. rummaging for answers in the pages. its contagous. we wear our scarves just like a noose. but not because we want eternal sleep.  our parts are slightly used. new ones are slave labor you can keep. they made a statue of us. the tourist s come and stare at us. the sculptor's marble sends his regards. our noses have begun to rust.

theres a love affair in this building
the kind of love affair that
every respectable building must keep as a legend

slowly festering through an inoocent "by the way"
have you heard-
he was perfect except for the fact that he was an engineer.

mothers prefer doctors and lawyers.

yet despite this imperfection he was
clean looking and respectable looking
and you'll never find a mother who doesn't appreciate a natural man

so he grew healthy aloe vera plants by the window
healthy teeth in his mouth.
healthy hair on his head.

he grew healthy wavy brown hair on his head.

the kind
the kind that babies always go for
with

sticky

little

fingers

watching all the insects march along
seem to know just right where they belong
smears of face reflecting in the chrome
hiding in the crowd im all alone
no ones heard a single word ive said
they don't sound as good outside my head
the past is here to stay
i've become a million miles away

why do you get all the love in the world?

all the jagged edges dissappear
covers all the brighter when your near
the stars are all a fire in the sky
some times i get so lonely i could.....

why do you get all the love in the world?



-trent reznor

Im so fucking tired of organizations telling us me make "enough" money when we apply for help. goddamn it i don't understand. were not dirt poor or illegal aliens so it seems no one can help us  its funny how two single fat women who don't feel like fucking working can fake sick and sit on their asses and use their food stamps to buy frozen white castle burgers and pepsi and fucking chips and lie to the food stamp people about not having a new job which makes plenty of money to support two fat selfish assholes and their smoking habits and their stupid tabloid magazines while me and my husband look for quarters around the house to buy bread for fucking peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for our two children. our heating bill is out of control because our kids need to stay warm but no we can fuck off because according to them we are rich assholes who dont need any help. i know we just barely make it, and these days we are just lucky to have an income, but with all of these people receiving help around us when they dont have any kids and live in a one bedroom apartment  and buy every fucking new dvd that comes out and eats subway every day. meanwhile when we dont use the government and pay our own health insurance so we dont have to take our kids to free clinic or use medicaid docs that dont give a shit about them even tho its expensive as hell but worth it for the health of our children they tell us we make "too much" money to qualify for any kind of help abd turn me around and stick there dick up my ass and tell me "you better tell the truth about your income or you can go to jail for fraud" treating me like a fucking criminal. well fuck your selves hard, assholes. i guess we can suck it up and be proud of the fact that we are making it without the help of uncle sam, but the thought of it is sickening when we have to swallow our pride every now and then and hit a relative up for some cash for the electric bill,or what have you. slowly but surely we will be all the way up on our feet, and things will improve. while i appreciate everything we have, worrying about when the electricity will suddenly cut off, or wrapping your baby in a towel because you ran out of daipers definatley puts a damper on the happiness your suppose to enjoy with your family. i cant help but picture those fucking whales stuffing themselves with birthday cake on nobody's birthday while i watch my son take a piss on the couch.   i can only take comfort in the fact that im positive there are others going through the same thing. living paycheck to paycheck on a paycheck that is never ever enough isnt the way anybody wants to live. but its the way most of us do everyday.  barak obama lets do something for the middle man baby c'mon!  in the end im just another grumpy poor person bitching about the health system and the taxes and blah blah whatever. the other day i even caught myself about to scream "hey you kids get off my lawn!" and after i couldnt find a gun to shoot myself in the face i realized that the inevidable had happened.  im just another miserable bitch too lazy to put on shoes to check the mail and flip through the bills as i walk back to my house mumbling about money and fairness and life. or whatever.  ahhhh vel, ill be glad about a couple of things. i have awesome sex, i may be fat, but im not deformed or mutilated in any way, my kids seem to be turning out halfway decent, i can drink like a fucking champ, and i havent lost my mind wihout my meds....quite yet. ill just ignore the fact that my family probably loathes me for sucking them dry and instead of going to the doc for my eye infection ill spend that 10 dollar copay on some 40 ouncers and call it a week.

responsibility  is a sad reality that still makes my gag reflex twitch every now and then.

she shifted her jaw as she savored the bitter taste of cocaine all in her sinuses and back of her throat, and a few seconds later felt it wrap around her brain, making her head fall backwards in a chemical euphoria that was almost too intense to experience. all she could do now was surrender and let her eyes roll backwards in her skull and ride it out like she had done so many nights begfore this one. she takes a look around the room, with her new point of veiw, and even though the feeling is quite intense she's still not sure if her hunger pains have completely been satisfied. she considers moving but seems to be stuck where she is on the floor, her body weighed down by her high, still fresh and reeling in her brain. she continues to lay down against her own will in the darkness of the room. aside from the glowing television in the corner, the only other light is from her lighter, busy lighting a cigarette. as she wonders how long it will take her arm to realize it needs to light her goddamn cigarette, her attention shifts to the black butane lighter in her hand. its beautiful flame. sitting on top of the cheap metal part of the lighter and dancing from side to side. her thumb pressed down hard on the red button of the lighter, on what seemed like its own will, and wouldnt let go. her brown eyes glazed over as she stared at it, the thought of her cigarette becoming a distant memory. she seemed to sink into the floor further and further, feeling every miniscule imperfection on the hard wood against her skin, and still felt numb at the same time. the textured ceiling of the room became further and further away as she sank, not knowing or caring if she should be alarmed at the fact that she was floating away, but somehow convinced herself that it was the best feeling she's ever had. the shadows generated by the lonely television in the corner danced on the wall, conflicting with those  that danced along with the beautiful flame, and she realized her thumb was burning and suddenly let go. she finally felt the hard floor underneath her again, the ceiling was now only a short distance away. her lips were numb. her nose was numb, her forehead. it was as if her beautiful drug had rubbed its thumb across her lips as it kissed her, and caressed her face as it made its way up to her brain, and back down her spine. the only intimate feeling that didnt feel wrong. this felt ok. and this is why she longed for it so badly when it was away. and why she became so sad when she felt it leaving. she moved her feet around in her shoes and began to sit up. she frantically dug in her purse for her cigarette, the only other thing she wanted for the moment, and felt around for her lighter. her hand felt it on the cold floor and grabbed it, burning her hand and making her realize that she had a horrible burn on the thumb she couldnt stop from squeezing the lighter. its was a dark, irritated pink with a small, painful white blister in the center. with only the cigarette on her mind she place the injured thumb back on top of the hot lighter and squeezed, not noticing the seering, sharp pain coming from the blister she had just ripped open. it bled. but there was the beautiful flame again, dancing, waiting for her cigarette. she finally lit it and relaxed again, leaning against the couch and slowly inhaling the thick smoke, holding it inside her lungs, and releasing it into the air, a different dancer now, swaying and twirling in the air above her, putting on yet another show for her chemical soaked brain to enjoy. it crashed into the textured ceiling, dispersed into the air in all directions, and disappeared. she realized she was lonely. she could almost feel her lips. she panicked.   she could finally feel her lover slipping away, trying to leave her, removing its many hands from all parts of her, inside and out, and trying to get away from her. she wanted to cry. she took another drag of her cigarette, not noticing the smoke sway and twirl into the air this time. she searched around for her purse again, and frantically dug for more coke. she started to get scared, she could think again.

my name is Lucille,
and i know how you feel.

i live downstairs

i hear you taking out your garbage,
i hear you loving your girlfriend.
i hear you loving your self too.


i hear you turning your thoughts off..
.i turn mine off too...
.the only thing i hear is you..
and you don't sound nice
and you don't sound right
and it gets quiet.
quiet
 
quite quite quiet.....

i really do loathe people. out of the very few who have tried to be my friend lately i have definitely pushed them away.  i just hate talking to people and fucking being polite and keeping my mouth shut when i want to yell at them. i cant get past the mundane process of getting to know people. i don't care who you are or how your feeling or where you came from. "hows the weather" conversation irritates me. i just want to scream "hows the weather in my ass!?" i just want to meet people who think for themselves and aren't stuck on social etiquette.  i guess i spent too long getting my ass beat and snorting shit to establish any kind of meaningful relationship with anybody.  sometimes i wish things went differently. sometimes i wish i was sunshine and fucking rainbows in high school. if you cant beat em' join em', right? but what kind of person would i be if my whole life was an act? i just cant bring myself to be that way no matter how hard i try. it even hurts my face if i smile too much. although i wouldn't be so lonely today if i did in fact act that way back then. but then i would be surrounded by assholes that i hate but pretend to like and i guess I'm just better off being alone than surrounded by  that. or maybe its just me. i know my personality sucks. i only have a tiny handful of people who i actually get along with, people i have known since high school and haven't changed much like me. i can count them all on one hand. i know its not quantity, its quality. but they all live in other places now, which leaves me stuck communicating with them on the computer like a huge tool. some flesh and blood every now and then would be nice. I'm just so easy to forget about these days. Lame, but as soon as i come up with a new personality, ill get back to you.