editors notes [05 Apr 2005|05:54pm] hi if you are someone who has been reading this, this is a note to say that i'm done with it. done is kind of a tentative word and it never means exactly what you think it does when you say it. i might keep doing this stuff on some kind of level at some point but, as a writing experiment, i think the case is closed, at least for a minute. a bunch of these are now printed on ink and paper and are in a zine i finally got together and put out, which you could get a copy of if you wanted (satellitesmedaite@yahoo.com) although there's not much point because you have already read all of the poems right here. so all that is to say thanks for following along while i was playing with words and ideas. it's been fun. heart d. gonzales 1 comment|post comment

fog [08 Jan 2005|03:41pm] once, when God was in a bad mood I finally learned to dance my heart stood still. now tourists are posing for pictures with suicides. there's an inch of snow in Brunswick, New Jersey my lungs are filled with forgetting that you exist post comment

velocity [26 Sep 2004|04:06pm] In the spirit of bridge burning, we drank vodka in coffee cups. salvation coming in very small packages. we still make photographs skeletal, structural candidly eyeballing desperate involvement so how much has internet affected your life? it's been a week since you looked at me collapsed, under pressure mcdonalds on weekdays, borders on weekends delusional alchemy turns lies to mistakes this week's bruises mark new addictions restraining indulgence still flirting with time post comment

milkcrates [02 Jul 2004|06:53pm] I know very well that the night falls in drops. the media industry makes memories, boxed up for the drunks on the avenue smashing the sun as the city sets all around your feet a few comfortable flaws, and we were good to go with ninety nine red balloons a midsized air rifle nothing to say in response to the rain in retrospect, you were the one good thing about this part of town - nothing familiar, everything guilty - the metaphysics of nighttime. perpetually frozen. 2 comments|post comment

newspaper clippings [19 Jun 2004|05:50pm] emptiness is something like the ghosts of your cigarettes mascara stained bedsheets and prayers from the hospital Assume that after you kissed me I drowned. Calm, on sleeping pills, wireless, safe, with nobody talking and no one to listen remember me, Michigan, with photobooth honesty perfect, ficticious, i'll see you around. 1 comment|post comment

roman candles [16 Jan 2004|01:15am] Where did you go when history fell asleep? dangerous, with the smoke alarm broken and winter rolling over the backdrop of consensus reaction and simple class wars I was living in Urbana. The letter in the mail, carpeting over clouds and sunsets, blue braids and dancing, intensely satisfied, headed invisibly down to the sea Were you numb? Was breathing living? If I could crawl out through your hips these dreams would have voice an accidental physiology a whirlpool of context - So I fear the things that have happened to us. the state that i am in, not existing on a map, not captured by camera, premature - a hangover before the buzz - sex with antithesis back to iraq hectic, like death but without the immunity 2 comments|post comment

karma [19 Dec 2003|11:38am] when you were born the first time traveling was over. the world was dreaming and you were hanging over a balcony in Tokyo remembering for the first time the smell of LA mornings and coffee hangovers introduced unintentionally to luck, and to danger a moment of progress intended to burn an extreme case of writers block the innocence of wet paint but everyone has regrets and every time you paint a room it gets a little smaller 4 comments|post comment

saffron [18 Oct 2003|10:06pm] asleep for fifteen minutes with the lights off dream deprived god speaks in many voices empty in the wind with poems that never rhyme little blue flashes blackout orgasms that feel like television i could sell the house tonight slip out like a smuggler on a plane to cincinatti with minnesota below us limp and lifeless bloated stomach, hairline limbs reaching out into autumn, plastic, burnished, left with scabs coughing when you should be sleeping with no one left to identify the hotel rooms or cigarettes smoked en route to graceland so write another poem and as long as confusion smells like clarity no one will ever tell the difference 2 comments|post comment

spitting [01 Aug 2003|01:50pm] every story begins with a circle. all we needed was a ride to Providence with punkrock ambition and a bottle of hairdye offering up our arms to needles like blood gifts for Vishnu without pain or anxiety she only needed a hug and a dirty sleeve to wipe a tear sleepy romantic somewhere in Lawrence, Kansas we stopped laughing without pretense a strange and distant summer with hands on her shoulders, hands on his neck she wants to steal his kisses, to sew them into the creases of her warm lips I only want it there when you write it in your diary Lawrence, Kansas to Sierra Leone with your language tracing you all the way home 2 comments|post comment

fascism [26 Jun 2003|02:10am] our laughter had given it away overly emotional at six in the morning gasping for love with our spastic social graces lost in illogic strangely at peace with our drowning with the rose parade petals still trapped in your hair post comment

arson [23 Jun 2003|02:21pm] one last prayer for maps and memories like insomniac prayers for winter sleep with thunder and lightning all night in union square when feeling your heartbeat through your back is cause enough for breakdown inhaling the optomism and breathing it out into a vaccuum of winter skylines and graveyard photography setting it on fire where it first splashed on bathroom tiles 2 comments|post comment

typewriter [18 Jun 2003|04:16pm] blow me insomniac kisses as you go a dripping grin tipped toward Detriot my dreams are the color of your soup-stained palms after three weeks of rain and television chemistry after sleeping three hours being on planes for twenty six eight-forty for bankok, japan, thailand, kean kohn you in taiwan, me in harvard square standing in rain with a red umbrella like cartoons directed by anwesenheitspunk 2 comments|post comment

ontology [16 Jun 2003|04:39pm] when everything broke down we realized that life tasted better on the edge of a chasm falling faster between thought and action no longer packaged for the need, boxed up for the insane flaming flowers and human clouds violet horizons spiralling, lost Above all he was a great collector of mementos drops of reality in a small box, tabulating backpacks of booze and churchyard dumpsters looking for logic in forgotten chambers memories lost in external reality now with government subsidized phone lines electricity out in downtown Órgãos after two weeks of nonstop recording the better ones take longer to fade away 3 comments|post comment

abnegation [12 Jun 2003|03:11am] seven thirteen in the morning car alarms going off like a billion clocks inert, pixelated emulsifying like milk with more exercise an epic trip to the sea the devil incarnate in all things modern a mescaline wedding solved without conflicts madly in love with Jesus and oddly deciphered texts dreams of nebraska and critical thought adrenaline mist and unfinished business san fransisco answer the phone paranoid anxious jugular home post comment

fingertips [25 May 2003|09:01pm] in the long run, computer science student. not you, but a vulgar girl in a computer-animated wonderland afraid of heights of not finding the snooze button of a remote control for a digital lifestyle a Starbucks in my back yard i love the way the powder burns a path into my brainmeat making my chest hurt coughing and choking and unable to even recognize my own body sputtering out the truth; the most surreal thing ever in November, coming home to lighten the air covers warm body hot fan cool heat already building outside. so tired of the complicated prose. 117 pages of cryptic meanderings,artfully crafted, originally neutral Erratic. Insane. i loved the diassociation the loss of self. the blank stare. the restless unwilling sleep so predictable so expected 117 people waiting in line complimenting my smarts, my glasses, so excited to watch me fall overboard so you knew that everything would be fine? is that why you showed up that night. didn't leave until well after eleven? the snooze button, the starbucks, the imac, with fireplace visuals i'm in love with you. so please don't fuck it up. post comment

flags [06 Jan 2003|12:36am] spring break in london donner party hamburgers tasting like cardboard, while punk rocker authority figures choose not to divulge this information i had to have the spins perfect while i made phone calls she roamed the hallways for three weeks whispering self mutilation singing buddy holly karaoke, her kitten under the pillow playing twister in ensemble band, airline tickets, tonsils out to never run out of complex problems or misspelled words in online journals. post comment

oceanography [29 Dec 2002|02:42pm] a city girl taking trains Broadway shows and ballet halfway across the world New York, Taipei, Kuala Lumpur the greatest attempts at the right decision the sounds of the reel machine in the background a longing inside that can't be replaced and all of these great memories the smell of garlic roasted, sage and rosemary new wave film stills and vogue sketches from the 20’s yoga, bible study, sisterhood Africa mt rainer my indie rock boyfriend The paper said the policeman died at home, fifty one, alone. He used to play a five string tenor guitar and sing, a thousand miles from home. two months worth of diabetic aids. one bottle of water. no accident reports and definitely no logic. “Dance,” she tells me, but with the earth spinning i keep getting the shakes running, falling delicate, elegant with a hangover, consequences, and an incredible desire to know the future post comment

coffee and cigarettes [21 Dec 2002|08:08pm] true or false: i said that we enter the world through language; poison apple and a plastic fork winter fruit and coffee in paris binge and purge, baby, binge and purge like the frozen rose gardens, with time and everything else just illusion dying like winter sick with lithium swish swish, dissapear and then quiet, not a word. when half the night is gone off the edge over the cliff in warm spiralling mists lost in sea salty air crisscrossed collided every night something more awful my bleached hair, my rouge my lipstick hearts in no hurry(Taurus is a patient sign) with dangerous convulsions of misplaced beauty. floating underwater, sadder than our nights the harmonica on the steps of Westpac Bank reminds me to drink some more coffee. reminds me to love. but i(depression does not understand god but wants it oh so badly)fear my heart will break before i speak again. post comment

socks [13 Dec 2002|03:58pm] i wish i was a song caffeine pills and liquor bottles and glitter out of kentucky ending up in panama, spinning in the sky, with the stars and people dying my heater's broke and my heart already wounded. crash and you could talk for hours upon hours on how love is so fucking beautiful (i was 20 knew more about motorcycles than i did about makeup he was 48, lied to get his CDL and jesus mary and joseph did he make me happy...) and we accuse each other of instigating this play this dialogue, strategic, impatient (i have since learned that morning feelings never last and wishes typically useless) post comment

road trips, part 1 [11 Oct 2002|05:04pm] someone take me on a drive and never come back off to some pathetic excuse for a school where the junkies and the openly suicidal take up camp and everything that I said holds true. when she was nine, she had glasses and was into making maze challenges for her hampsters; now she drives a convertible and smokes marlboro lights, while i make my progress of failing happen like magic later, i watched her emerge from the basement leave through the front door with all of her belongings, not saying good-bye to anyone. like magic. i can't even tell her she had that effect on me; as i walked away scared, blinded like from the flashes in the photobooth. is it true that everything that flashes must explode? ex varsity basketball cheerleader with the longest, deepest thousand yard stare of anyone i have ever known, not smiling, expressionless --she is not really cruel; just outspoken-- a beautiful girl just like magic. post comment

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