cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (Default)
GET UP AND FIGHT

Okay, I say to self.
Take you one deep, holy breath;
hold it as long as you need to.

And let it out now.

Then go on, get up, and fight,
and keep on fighting
every single way that you can,
as long as you can.

A Promise

Jan. 25th, 2017 09:25 pm
cerusee: a white blonde girl singing with flowers in the background (hagu singing)
A Promise

At night I write poetry as an excuse instead of sleeping
I swear every dragged-out morning
That this night this night I will do;
That tomorrow I will be well and rested and
I will be better and cure all my ills
I will sleep; I will be good; I will be better
I will read my books, I will and
I will
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (nana and nana)
Because I'm a girl

When I gave you a difficult name
It wasn't an invitation.
I was trying to put you off.
I didn't want you to know my stuff.
I hate to be a girl,
But you were being a guy
I couldn't dodge,
So I gave you a name
That I didn't think that you could solve.
You're my problem,
Because you think I'm a puzzle.
cerusee: a white green-haired girl sitting on top of a white brown-haired boy and strangling him (love is trust)
Dead Rot Finger Trot

Oh on the cusp of doing things
My fingers are cactus, my nails are dried leaves.
I am singing,
"I want to do things but I can’t
My nails are so dry I can’t touch anything,
I'm like a ghost.
All the cloth curls under my dead nails.
Oh on the cusp--
Of things being done
My fingers are cactuses
My nails are dead leaves falling off.
I want to do things but I can’t.
I'm a ghost."
cerusee: a white blonde girl singing with flowers in the background (hagu singing)
What Is The Octopus Religion?

Men are madly of the crowd
All we want is to be together
Or to break apart from each other in revolution.
But the octopus is alone.
What is the octopus religion?

Men worship ourselves.
Four limbs times five is twenty digits
And one brain each.
Heads over feet.
One face is one god. Each.

The octopus has eight gods
Radiant; eight fractal selves
And no neighbors.
What is the octopus religion?
The octopus worships herself,
She is her own god.
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (Default)
This Is Not Your River

Passing through a door
Into a darker, quieter room
Away from asking;
Looking out into the light,
I saw my other self.

This was the room with the mirror.
But out there was the other me.
She was thinner, and less freckled, with better clothes--
It was her, the me who tried harder,
Wanting the same.

She was the me who ate less food
Even though she loved eating,
And who ran
Even though she hated running.
I think this other me never stopped wearing foundation
Even if she had to get up fifteen minutes early to put it on.
Even though she didn't have to,
And she wanted to sleep in.

Other me wasn't happy either.
She broke along the same cracks.
People mostly loved her and hated her the same.
She had the same house and the same cat and the same possessions,
Her clothes were smaller,
But she had the same shoe size as me
And her plants were just as thick and green as mine.
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (nothing good can last)
If You Could Live In Any Era

I couldn't. But,
They like to ask, so
I imagine myself without science.
Deaf, of course, and almost blind.
Sisterless. (One would have died at birth,
the other taken my mother along).
I think my father would still have loved me.
Three broken bones (wrist, foot, shin),
that could have healed badly.
Skin a blistering mass of pox and scars.
Teeth--not good; maybe a few left.
(They're soft, even without sugar.
Genetics can fuck you up as much as industry.)
Pale as a vampire,
I'd freckle, then burn, and burn, and burn,
And wrinkle up like a walnut, and maybe
(If I was really lucky) live long enough to die of cancer.
I wouldn't have been so lucky, though .
My gallbladder would rot into poison inside me
And kill me at seventeen.
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (eat wheaties or die)
It’s My Fault You Said So

You lied to me all the time.
For no reason, you just did.
I don't know why you lied to me; you just did.
You swore to me that they found Amelia Earhart's bones,
Just so you could laugh at me for believing you.
You told me that I was subhuman for hitting back;
I don't know why
You told me that I was an animal.
I do not know why for the love of god you needed to hurt me.
You just did.

Cornucopia

Sep. 25th, 2016 12:28 am
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (mai)
Cornucopia

I always laugh when they go away saying
I guess this city was too much for me,
This town was too much for me.
Inside, I'm laughing at them, and asking, what,
did you try to eat the city all at once?
No wonder you choked,
you couldn't swallow it all, you got gout--
gorging on all that rich food,
drinking from that endless fountain of wine.
You fool, the city is the horn of plenty.
You're just a body.  You should take bits and pieces,
rabbit pellets, one moment at a time,
one night, one concert, one party, one drink at a time.
Try to eat it all in one quick go and you'll choke on it.
You can't swallow the city in one night.
You have it give it years and years and years
to know it.  The city is not a meal,
it is a cuisine to learn slowly, a thousand recipes to try.
The city is not a bottle of wine, it is a vineyard,
forever producing new clusters of grapes.
The city is a garden with new flowers,
new vegetables, new herbs, every year.
The city is not a moment, not even a marathon,
but the thousand-day journey of a thousand souls.
The city is the hunger and the meal together;
it is the beast swallowing its own tail.
When you came to the city, you were just one second of it,
one breath, one scale on the great snake
that is forever shedding and regrowing its skin.
Too much, you say, leaving--the city is everything,
Everything, all at once, and has always been everything,
and the problem here is you,
that you don't know how to breathe
the quick, shallow breaths demanded by this infinity.
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (mai)
It doesn't matter why you're gone (the new economy)

Whatever the need, they will fill it.

There is no reason, no excuse, no horror
Explaining why you are gone
That stops your replacement from filling it.

Die, sleep, take a leave of absence,
Go into a coma, pass out, have a baby,
Take a sabbatical, retire, evolve into a new body,
Reincarnate, ascend, have cancer. But

Never go away.  They will replace you.
They will replace you. They will do it right away.
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (mai)
the fuck is fashion anyway.

six years later
when I was painting them pale again
i heard in my head my friend’s friend say
“your silver nails, so stylish—
she didn’t say!”

fuck if I know if she meant it
or said it just to slay.
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (mai)
Tomato Seed Futures

Oh tomato,
I am crunching your seed
Beneath my eye teeth
As if it was
Nothing.

Animal, I,
Eating life to live;
Remorseless, unrepentant.
Gladfully, joyfully,
Happily, thoughtlessly
--Pleasurably--
Bearing the weight of all my successful cells
On your single one,
Taking your iota of matter into my whole
Universe.

You are mine, now.
All your futures and possibles,
Descendants who could have been,
Are now are my flesh.
Mine, until my line
Blinks from existence.

Life eating life is life;
Cells eating cells is life;
Fight against fight is life.
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (mai)
The ancestors who weren't

I love your phantom, Facebook ex-pat children,
Consequence and complications of a life I (mostly) chose not to have.
What will they say in forty-five years, when I know their every all,
And I am the distant husk of an unknown username
Who remembers their first recorded word?
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (mai)
Watching Leviathan / a different experience of birds

This art is too abstract;
I don't have the attention for it.
The argument:
I don't have time for this art.
It has no people,
It has no story;
It's only fish / boat / abstract people without names.

But what is art? I tell myself
Art is not just stories.
Art is not just people with names.
Everything here is a real color and texture
And happened.
It is an observation of fish flesh from the ocean
To the net to the deck to the knife to the pail
A process occurring everyday,
Concerning people and fish and god.

So I watch the colorful abstraction of the storyless fishing boat,
Feeling that I am doing a favor to art

When the silent eye suddenly swings
Upwards to the sky
And gives me a different experience of birds
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (mai)
behold the light patch of air

Behold the light patch of air, and behold it,
The light pattern crosshatch of sun on that patch of skin,
Sitting by the bus window, in the breeze, in the motion;
Drifting in the moment of feeling,
That sun and breeze.
Stop. See it.

The freckles, the light hair, the whiteness;
Sunlit, sun-warmed, sun-dappled body;
Freckled, shadowed body.
This body works to feel warm and cool,
And underneath the light hair and freckled skin
Burns the coal, the fire, the blood, the beat,
The pulse of warmth, mostly invisible and unfelt
As long as all is well.

Normal is nothing; nothing is normal.
Sensation denotes a change of state,
And then the body pays attention, takes note:
Drafts a memo to the mind
That says sun and wind and movement.
The mind drifts, abstractly, absent the moment,
But the body remains and continues on
As conduit between consciousness and physical existence
And the drifting gradually gives way to purpose,
And the mind considers, and says ah,
The sun and wind and movement, and ah,
The bend and turn means soon, and ah,
Comes the stop.
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (mai)
I wish I knew you

I wish I knew you better than
Your finger swirling on a wine glass
While you whistled and lied to
the children in the room
I wish I knew her better than
Her slow decline and pain
And the empty hospital bed

And after.
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (it falls on you and you die)
Today. SUCKS. From start to finish.

All of my Boston family and friends are okay, and I am so, so grateful for that. But beyond that? Today sucks. I am, simultaneously, selfishly glad that I'm safe in another city, four hundred miles away, and also grieved that I'm so far away, and there's nothing I can do to help, and I can't be with the people in Boston that I love, to stand next to them while we come to grips with what happened in our beautiful city. My last temp job in Boston was near Copley. I used to walk through Copley on my way home from school, just because I liked walking through the city. I can picture the place where this happened. I can't reconcile it in my mind with a bomb. When I try to see this in my head, it makes me want to cry.

Intellectually, I have no trouble understanding why someone would target the marathon--it's an internationally famous event that draws media attention and draws thousands of participants from all over the world. And I understand terrorism, internatnal and domestic. Intellectually, I understand atrocity. But some emotional part of me can't fathom why anyone would set a bomb to blow the legs off of athletes. Can you imagine that? Finishing the freaking Boston Marathon, only to lose a limb? It's sick. And makes me feel sick.

Today sucks.
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (god I'm awesome)
Via [livejournal.com profile] telophase: Bold the ones you have and use at least once a year, italicize the ones you have and don't use, strike through the ones you have had but got rid of.


I wonder how many pasta machines, breadmakers, juicers, blenders, deep fat fryers, egg boilers, melon ballers, sandwich makers, pastry brushes, cheese knives, electric woks, miniature salad spinners, griddle pans, jam funnels, meat thermometers, filleting knives, egg poachers, cake stands, garlic presses, margarita glasses, tea strainers, bamboo steamers, pizza stones, coffee grinders, milk frothers, piping bags, banana stands, fluted pastry wheels, tagine dishes, conical strainers, rice cookers, steam cookers, pressure cookers, slow cookers, spaetzle makers, cookie presses, gravy strainers, double boilers (bains marie), sukiyaki stoves, food processors, ice cream makers, takoyaki makers, fondue sets, and mandolines languish dustily at the back of the nation's cupboards.

Woo! It's like I'm economical!

DC

May. 25th, 2012 10:15 pm
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (Default)
Hey, y'all...I'm going to be working/staying in the DC/Bethesda area between 6/3-7/4. I've been to DC on a few short trips (a couple when I was a kid, and one day trip about a month ago during which I had no free time), but never as an adult, traveling under my own power and with time to explore. What shouldn't I miss while I'm there?

I don't have a car, so public-transportation-accessible stuff is to be preferred.
cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (putting on my face)
Incompleted.

Cosmetological poetry

Nails

Oh, my hands and my nails are all one pink color;
One sameness, one white-rimmed pinkness.
What happened to my deliberation,
To my self-determined decoration?
Wherefore this dull and natural state of the fingers?

Hair

Shit, I shouldn't have dyed my hair;
Now my eyebrows are too fair.
Between now and Sunday
I could wash my hair a hundred times
And it still wouldn't match on Monday.

January 2017

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