remyrem

I was wandering around the grocery store the other night looking at different things, weighing the prices/quality. Living on a student's budget got me thinking "no, too much." But then, I heard my mother's exasperated voice in my head saying "just get it. if you'll eat it, get it." It made me miss my mommy. So I splurged on fancy cheese, expensive belgian beer and my pretentious, frozen organic meals. Thank you mom, for instilling in me the value of epicure.

How could we have been so dumb? You were there the whole time.. So many times I know, now, we would willingly have caught each other. I let you fade away like another assumed insincerity. How much future do we have left?

FUCK FUCK FUCK HTML. Fuck me for not learning this gay shit 13 years ago!!! It's not like there was a shortage of people around me who could hold a conversation in programming languages.. Fuck Pace, Fuck my laptop, fuck my stupid fat face in the face.

Fingers twisted in dense hair forget boundaries.
The tips of these probes pull you closer in tune with
The soundtrack of our affair.

Dance with me.
Twirl me around the floor with your hands.
Let our rhythm be the strands
That tie us together.

We're characters in this black and white movie;
A man with a beautiful voice crooning
As we salivate over each other, singing along,
Trying, almost trying, to be faithful to our promises.

I can still taste you;
Your kiss lingers on my tongue.
The recolection of your touch
Is a bold imprint pressing on my flesh.

I hear that song behind an earphone bubble.
No one sees what plays behind my eyes;
The way I look in your arms,
I want to go home.

This bird is a Western Grebe. It has one of the cutest faces and most ear-piercing screams that are so dramatic, I can't help but laugh at them. While I was tube-feeding liquids to one of these, I pulled its long ass neck out of the towel and even covered in oil, pathetic and close to death, this needle-tweazer-beak thing came shooting out at me. While most of us would be crying and whining about being covered in some of the most vile substance the earth created, this bird lost none of its fighting spirit. Most of the grebes were that way. Even the tiny Eared Grebes that could fit inside a hand. They have these funny little webbed feet that flap around when you try to net them.

Some birds weren't that lucky. Some birds were covered or more healthy than others. One bird about died in the hands of my tubing partner while we were trying to save its life. It was a mousy little Surf Scoter. I'll never forget the way its head just flopped in my hands as it was taking its last breaths. The way its neck was so limp and its eyes so sad. We put him down and got the next bird. But when we drew back the sheets to check on him, he'd just keeled over and was laying on his side breathing shallowly. To me there's no point for this. This life is as important as any of ours.
I wanted to curl up and cry because I was devastated. But I couldn't because there was a job to do.

Just because we can do things that these animals can't, doesn't give us the right to destroy them. These creatures are every bit as important as we are.They have brains, feelings, emotions, complex social systems and spirit. They're better parents than we are. Look these birds in the face when you tell them you refuse to help the world change.

I am from the taste of salt water
Potential hydrogen and seaweed
blooms first inspirations.
I am from unadulterated bossa nova
and crooning saxophones
I am from the underground smell of
rotting brick that lines a Brooklyn
apartment building and cardboard and
matted grass on a hillside.
A place where ice is born in jars on windowsills

I am from what it means to live
in the breathing space of tightly packed cars.
Posessions meandering along coasts.
I am from yelling at a sibling behind
a locked door with a butter knife in my hand

I am from missing the point because dreams
make their way past imagination and cut off sound.
I am from the daylight swarming with awe
and nighttimes of insurmountable curiosities.

I am from Creosotebush and
the smell of asphalt water vapor.
Desert nights like listful harmonies
a soundtrack with roots as deep as loose sand.

Young man, you look like Ed Ricketts,
Pauses amuse and entertain a
Mysteriously romantic complexity,
Intriguing, at first, drawing.

Curiosity ends at your lips
So vacant and non-enthralled,
I'll do all the talking
Between pauses of nothing.

Perhaps noise is confusing,
Intimidating and nerving.
You heard a sound like
Thunder on your groin

There was no stopping this
incredible, invisible rush of
post copulative wind, the force,
I laugh every time.

The lips talking now were
Flapping wildly without remorse.
The queef blew you away,
You never returned, shame on you.

I had the trip of a lifetime. The getaway weekend people dream about. This was the grandfather of luxury. I sold a stereo to get on this thing, to walk to the stairs of this square bullet. The floors, forever layered with grubby, transcontinental grit, slipping through canyons of grooves in dull laminate. Who are you, woman next to me, with spiders in your hair? How dare you bring those things on board? The rumbling engine idles and calls me “dummy” under its carbon breath. I close my eyes, willing the oily beast to shut its mouth, fear, anxiety grips me, my breath stalls in my chest like stuffing a sock in a chicken beak. First stop, Barstow, Burger King, how many fries would it take to quiet the man listening to static radio? The next few days, I lived, in various impossible positions, sandwiched between two worn out seats and a stranger’s shoulder, ripe for drooling; I can taste your fabric softener. Drifter AM/FM signals hitch a ride in a tiny radio, Josh Turner and Alan Jackson own this land, stakes made, claims laid in the hearts of wild hillbillies. Texas: Continental Shelf, Abyssal Plain, active to passive margin—west to east, in or out, no grey area. The sun sets better here, languid, tired, with the smell of starved dirt. My heart beats in tune with the desert, salivates at the purple sideways lightening streaking purposefully through air molecules. I wait, patiently, fearfully as I amble across the South in a bus full of strangers, seats full of creepy weirdo’s and mothers. American Stew boiling and infusing inside silver walls, migrating through a pool of Louisiana bayou. You called me here; invited into your world, slept with knees implanted into my chest, shoved between ribcage and seatback. If I don’t find faith, I’ll keel over out here and never be found.

Your eyes sing, they pulled me, I knew when I saw you. I wanted to wrap myself in the way you smell, lose my fingers in an impossibly endless tangle, my lips to know the intricacies of your skin. I want to taste you, feel my legs wrapped around you under a desert of blankets, sweating, grabbing at each other in the middle of the night, waking up next to you. The firelight hits the walls making your sweet face glow. I wanted to melt into you under your arms while mapping the road from your neck to your hips. Burn the shape of your gaze into me while we vanish to a place where only we exist. I wake up from not sleeping, you spin in my head, my thoughts, my dreams swim with you, I can almost feel you touch me from across the Gulf; you keep me up with your restlessness. I want to spend the rest of my life learning you, hearing your voice, crossing oceans together. I want to breathe you in, make you a part of me. I can still see your smile pulling the rug from beneath my feet. I want you to hold me and look into me; just promise you won't let go.

I sat around and did nothing for 3 weeks. I even went to the American River the other day and it blew. It was boring. I shouldn't have brought my bf. He's so boring. I got to catch up with some friends, but for the most part, it sucked. To top it off, as a nice ned to my shitty break, my boyfriend forgot to call me to go to the movies. He says he forgot. I say he didn't even want to, or he would have remembered. I'm ready to go back to school. At least it gives me a sense of purpose.

Are great. When they're mine. Let's all welcome Remys new boyfriend to the topic of talk.

people say you need to take your time with relationships.. the boy is supposed to pursue you. That's what my friends tell me. But he is pursuing me and I'm just letting him do all the guesswork. Is being too afraid of something and letting it just happen being irresponsible with your feelings? Am I just letting someone walk over me by handing over the control? It's like what I do at restaraunts. I sit staring through the menu without really looking at it, chattering away with everyone at the table.. looking around. Then, when the waitress walks up I tell everyone else to order while I quickly pick something that sounds good. I'm just letting him figure it all out. While I enjoy the ride, but something in the back of my head is confused and curious. Is that a lie? Am I lying to him? .. and myself? Or is it ok to just let things run their course without getting too involved with hashing out the details of the framework. What are the rules. Christmas presents are an unspoken rule. Meeting the family is an unspoken rule. These are the things that help us feel that sense of security. In the beginning. It's thrilling and sweet, but I fall for it. Everytime. I'm the biggest sucker on the planet. So if I pretend that I don't notice, if I can camoflauge my feelings a little longer.. But, Lord, is he beautiful. It doesn't feel forced or rushed or synthetic. Time is a miserable thing. I think I just realized how scary life is.

"list seven songs you are into right now. no matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they're any good, they must be songs you are presently enjoying. post these instructions in your journal, along with your seven songs. then four other people to see what they're listening to."

Ok ok let me dig through my library...

EINZ: The Postal Service.. that Atmosphere something song. I hear it on the radio and I love it, but I don't have it.

ZWEI: Tim McGraw: Blank Sheet of Paper. This song just about sums up my love life.

DREI: Aveneged Sevenfold: Chapter Four. Yea ok.. these guys are douchbags, a little, but the more I listen, the more I like. This song is currently my favorite.

VIER: Satyricon: Filthgrinder. It's all about the little breakdown ditty in the middle of this song.

FUNF: Greenday: Give Me Novacaine. Jimi.. You suck.

SECHS: GWAR: Immortal Corruptor. This song has everything in it that I need. Always will. You don't judge me.

SIEBEN: As I Lay Dying: Elegy. It gets me moving. Up and around the house. I need that.

Steve, Kelly, Stan and John. Go. The only 4 other people on my LJ. Now someone buy me a fucking iPod.

I ate BACON last night. EW. so good.

Men hate me. I'm a lucky girl.

So.. I am supposed to be in Las Vegas right now, but I missed my flight. It's one of those spur of the moment Remyisms that drive me that was in effect tonight. I got offered to come out there and the flight was booked. My mom, however, wouldn't participate in my 'idiocy' and wanted to have nothing to do with supporting my sporadic travel plans. So I rode my bike, Old Trusty, to SFO. You know, for those of you that ride a bike or want to take a motorcycle to the airport, know this: The vehicle is too light to trip the weight sensor and spit out a ticket. This is bullshit. However, it's true. So I flew around with a few minutes left to catch my plane and found no alternatives. I FINALLY ended up using the phone to call the people in the ticket place and they let the arm up for me. I ran through the airport and needless to say, I didn't make it. The flight left early. The ticket attendent told me that he couldn't reach his hand up and pull a moving plane out of the sky. I told him not to talk to me like an idiot. So after bitter, bitter cold wind and a let down, i made plans to leave early in the morning. My mom sucks. Carolyn is the shit... I'M GOING TO VEGAS BABY, YEAH!!

It will just be drunken garble.

I might upgrade from the status of Wingwoman. I put in my resume.

It's for the people who love you;
The people who stick by your side
When the world is a brick of dying embers,
Crumbling beneath your tired feet.
It's for the people who who tossed you a rope
When distance washed up the foundations like a riptide,
Sucking you under with and unforgiving grip.
It's for he strength of a soft, unspoken look
That can peer though the density of bone to the
Labrynth burried, locked in a six foot
Wooden bax, carved with someone elses initials.
Hidden somewhere between organs and soul.
For the way they treasure the findings, intense or jaded.
It's for the brotherhood
Of a rapid dance of pavement and
For staying alive on the battlefield.
For the ear to ear helmet grins.
It's for perfect days you pray would never end.
It's for the people who can never marr their personal reflection.
It's for the people who know.. It's for people like you.

It's not entirely my fault that I'm scared, but it's been ages since I've tasted the untainted sweetness of joy. Your smile pierces. It infiltrates darkness and my own creeps upward when your image floats across the void of jaded, empty space.. It's anxious and curious. Laced with threads of doubt. Big, fat ropes of disbelief. Soon, the whole thing implodes and I'm lying on the ground bleeding out my own desire to defy the histories. I'll be labotomized, choking on whisps my own bravery. You'll be the deflection of shrapnel. The pillar of your own strength. The web of good I tried to find peace with will rain down and bruise my broken bits of vibrance. Leaking away with it the last 15 pounds I wasn't ready to lose. Slowly as time rots away with my vicious battle of will, I'll be my own uplifting experience, laden with a sagging sense of victory. He left you with a silent mess. He was the vile creature of deception. He didn't even have a clue.