A Sneeze in Bed!

I AM SPENDING TOO MUCH TIME ON THINGS THAT ARE NOT PRODUCTIVE.
Is that bad?


Tomorrow night I am going to see Noam Chomsky speak about the resistance in Honduras. Not something I'm familiar with, but interested in learning about. Kevin Rehberg and Simon Rios are co-sponsoring this event... which I think is kind of cool.

I finally read at an open mic.

This is the poem I read:


I spill prerogative like
my cat's caviar dish.
I'm money.
What's given me the right
to press my breasts against someone's chest
and get a plate of beans
is not me.
It's you.
Your money.

Drink beers! Be merry!
Sing along around the piano,
your mustaches and pointy shoes,
your tweed and your
100 dollar tattoos.
You've never had to step in someone's blood
with your doc martins.
You're money.

A freed bird
is going to sing the same
song you hum,
when you watch fat people
order McDonald's
as you sip on your coffee from across the park.
You're so money.

Father's arm slips around your shoulder
and folds a fifty into your front pocket.
Clandestine and proud.
You cry and say, how did I get trapped in this?
Can you sell your car and wear a big pack back?
You can sell your car and wear a big pack back.
You're not money.

Until you've written a book
about how you hate money
and tell others to hate it too.
Then you get money.


It was well received.

I'm taking some time tonight to go to NCC, have an interview and see what it would look like if I took classes in the spring/winter/summer.


I've been sleeping in a fort the past couple of nights.
Tree-house soon.

I hate my job.
The socialism dude hasn't contacted me.
I haven't gone for a run in 2 months.

big tall square things, lights, people,

it's like a large supermarket and all I want is to be a can of beans on the shelf.

Speak to editors, organizers, protesters, rally-ers.

Listen to old women who are poetry. Who have been poetry their whole lives. Who know nothing but how to be humble, speak clearly, be unpretentious.

I don't want to go back to the woods.
I want to study the faces of everyone who is anyone.
Everyone who plays the game.
---

Secret pacts!
I'm scared that when Mags leaves, things will be chaos. She is by no means a glue, but she's respected. I'm not respected.

I want theater and sex. That's all I crave right now. I'm horny and I want to act?
----
Today! I'm celebrating Thanksgiving with Mickeline, The Hedges, The Parkers and all these other people I know. It feels really good to be around friends instead of stressing out with family. I wonder what my mom is doing.
----

Tomorrow should be really fun. I don't know what I'm doing during the day, but during the evening there is poetry, and then ye olde throwdown in Bedford.

Then Saturday is the stroll and some crazy activity afterward.
----

Last night I went to go see a production of Macbeth in Broookline. This theater company has taken over an old, abandoned school building in downtown, set up different scenes in every classroom, and has invited the public to come, run around the building, follow around their actors, and stay for three whole hours.

You just wander around the building with a mask on, run into these people playing the parts of the play, possibly participate in some things, and be generally creeped out by the CSI:SVU atmosphere of it all. I have to go again.

I attended a discussion on socialism today. Called out of work for it.

---

Trying to organize something in this god forsaken city is going to be interesting. I met the guy who's heading the NH chapter of this group. He seems discouraged... which is such an easy state to be in. The argument that kept coming up during the meeting was that it seems futile to organize, to meet or talk. It seems so futile to do anything, why don't we all just get left alone so we can watch TV in our nice, just-"left"-enough living rooms furnished by ikea. Just leave me alone so I can listen to NPR in peace and discuss politics with all my insular friends and if only things were different. And isn't Obama our savior. And isn't my kid a genius. And is my prius so shiny. I don't have time to go to city hall and attend a town hall meeting, I have my reiki-fifth energy-meditation yoga class. I paid money for that. I can't miss it.

God, there has to be change.
----

These two guys who ran the discussion today seemed so down to drive up to the next con! I even said, "It's December 4th, and it's about a 3 hour drive." I mentioned compensation, but they said they'd do it. He seemed excited. He seemed excited that there was some one else in this city that thought about this stuff.
----

Movement movement movement.

I've been working on an email list for social action/community events for all over New England.

It's the second day, but it's pretty slow. I'm just going to be persistent but non-obtrusive and not annoying. People need to connect.

What's that little thing that keeps being said about the "resistance waiting to be organized"

well, we're trying to get it organized.

You can email me at

selizabethward(AT)riseup(DOT)net

and add info, events, whatever... there.
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In other news, I haven't been so saucy lately and that's because I am a miserable human being who feels like her life is absolutely nowhere and wants to fucking curb-stomp her boss because he's a misogynistic, complacent, tyrannical dog shit eater who won't ever look you in the eye and tell you the god damn truth.

And that's what's up.
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The spell check on this computer just told me to correct "curbstomp." It says it's actually hyphenated.

GOD

That poem he read tonight! Jesus!

It just hit me in the face with his blatant... sexuality. His need to want to do something like... that. Like get handcuffed together and scream out what it means to be in the absolute ground zero of lust.

Wuh.

Sent shivers down my spine.
---

Tonight I spoke that I'll be reading in two weeks. That gives me two weeks to write something up to my standards of sharing. Which will be really fucking difficult.

---

I've been thinking about going back to school for literature.
---

Why is it that dudes who are 5+ years older than me are:

a) the ones that I am absolutely most attracted to.

b) the ones who are absolutely not interested/weirded out that a 20 year old is throwing game down.

I am totally repellant right now. What the hell?

----

I desperately need to invest in a voice recorder. A tape recorder or something.
--

I bought a Hohner Marine Band harmonica today in the key of C. Hello new hobby.
---

First time in a while I could tell someone I was happy and not feel like I was lying. This is good.

northampton
car
smoke
deertick
music
dancing
johnny corndawg
country
drunk
boys kissing
stage
so drunk
close
hot southern
hot south
dirty dishes in the crowd
banisters
wish
virginia
dark club
beer
pizza
third wheel
walk back
whiskey
3 AM
apocalyptic downtown
sparse
disgusting
seven
eleven
food
white castle
guilt
drunken guilt
very drunk
whiskey
freestyle
camaraderie
good freestyle
record
record
get real
bossa nova
not my floor
not my chair
video
photo
sleep
guilt
noon
awake
grease
haymarket
downtown
people
conversation
valuable
love
acidic
indigestion
gross
cook
boobs
red hair
veggie burgers
potatoes
sloppy
goofy
cook
music
girls
women
chicks
women
meeting
everyone
hot
looks
minister o.e.
conversation
pranks
chai
talk
date
black and white
date
into
date
too much
talk
friendship
love
blonde
smile
buskers
connection
friend
talk
dog
bite
blood
watch
bark
noise
nervous
accordion
think
talk
walk
back
revel
be
sleep
deal
ticket
rebuke
mall
pete
connection
ghetto
inner city
cell phone
talk
open
cry
human
amazement
connie
panama
pete
daze
cloud
what
email
ritalin
discovery
car
cell phone
women
charge
women
talk
charge
charge
gross photos
charge
wait
downtown
go
walk
hang
wait
meet
talk
wait
buskers!
chat
notice
ritalin
too much
shake
drink
eat
red velvet
stolen scarf
bought scarf
hospice
watch
talk
radiate
love
goodbye
hug
need to return
reflect
organize
Allen Ginsberg
supermarkets
think
platonic
ms. sand
so much
so good
miss my friend
miss youth/young adult
communities
miss action
miss networks
need to create
-----

separate

I didn’t know what a brute I was
I dipped my cigarette and rode the bus
Vengeance built me hastily
And I drag the clanging notion I was nobody.
All I had was my invention
And my love invented on you
Oh, look what thoughts can do
If you’re not by now dead and buried
You’re most certifiably married.
I’m sure you’re sleeping sound
With a mistress of the hours
The hours that grind your life to dust
Oh, easy loves:
You keep like pets.
Denied them you are powerless
Whatever keeps you sleeping through the night .
I’m not the man you thought I was .
My love has never lived indoors
I had to drag it home by force
Hired hounds at both my wrists
Damp and bruised by stranger’s kisses on my lips
And the truth is that it comes as no surprise
I'm not the man you think I am.

The woods never looked so wild as they did tonight.


I've never been more pissed of at the power of "the dollar" than I have now.


My stomach's empty and it should be. What the fuck does solidarity mean?

I hate all the life-talking I've been having to do lately. I'd love to just have a couple of weeks where I don't have to say anything to anyone.

Dude at work not interested in me.
--

I'm stuck. I'm not what my next step is, professionally, as a student.
---

My idea of sleeping in has become 7:45 AM. Living the wild life.
--

Long, elaborate explanation of this local food movement I'm involved in to come.
--

For now?!? Crap cereal, rice milk and mexican beer for breakfast.
I'M SUCH AN ADULT.

I'm a tortured soul.

I've got it bad for this dude at work who has a partner. And a child.
He hunts his own meat, roasts his own coffee, loves ween. He rides a motorcycle.
He's got a deep voice. Respects me. Curious about me. His hair is salt and pepper. He's older.
He gave me a digeridoo.

God damn!
Need new prospects.


so far, ideas for halloween:


devil in disguise
devil's costume, long coat, groucho marx eye glasses.

capitalist pig
professional dress, fake money, pig nose, pig tail

native american

I ate some chocolate cake for you.
You thought it was delicious.
Your fat pouring over itself
like a Picasso painting in heat.
It was a lesbian prison guard.
It was a diving board
in the eyes of a twelve year old boy.
It was three names.
It was the bottom half of a picture.
It was blonde on blonde
with it's own book
saying it only has one copy
because it wants to impress
L.
It was sweater vests behind you
while it gave a blow-job
to the boy who plays the cello
and who had a diamond
on his forehead.
It was skin rubbing onto skin,
dirt falling off,
it was dirt falling off.
It was kicking two people out of the room.
It was blonde on blonde in heat.
It was fat people in heat.
It was a cat sticking it's anus in the air
and a red head girl shoving a q-tip
into the cat so it would shut up.
Because it was in heat.
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After I solve the dilemma of my car, and the chaos that is the week before a con, I'm going to start renovating the tree house so I can live there through the winter. The first step is to find lumber for a composting toilet shed. The next step is to insulate and wire the house. Actually, the first step is to clean the tree house. There's already heat up there.

Eventually there will be shelves, a carpet, a mattress, a pulley system and some sort of fencing so I don't fall off of everything. Maybe even some sort of cooking thing.

Then maybe I can save my money up for a touring bicycle. I love working.

This ridiculousness around the murder of Kim Cates and the injuring of her daughter makes me think about that time I went to visit my mom in Raleigh and I saw someone get shot outside her window. For days after I scoured the internet for any information. Who was he? Did he die? Who was the person that shot him? What happened?

All I could find was one fucking 5 sentence paragraph on a local news website. There was nothing on any of the televised news programs, and nothing in the news papers. The guy who was shot was mexican... he said the guy who shot him was black.

Maybe it's because armed robberies are so common in that area, maybe because nobody really cares because if you're living with the illusion that you're "safe" then you are "safe." And if you're not "safe" you know how to live your life in a way that's comfortable for you... whatever that means.

Whatever... all this has just got me thinking about the idea of safety. And race... is it fair to think about race when it comes to something like this? New England, let alone New Hampshire, let alone MONT VERNON are predominantly white, affluent locations. And those things (race and money) mean SAFETY. And power! And comfort!

It's just... if I run into one more person from Souhegan that wants to talk about how terrible this is while they sip a latte they just bought and text their friends on their touch-screen-magic-remote? I'm liable to go off.

Two kids from my high school (along with two others that I didn't know) were arrested a couple days ago and charged with murder/intent to murder, burglary and possession. One guy I knew, Quinn, we did theater together and hung out on occasion. Kim Cates was brutally beaten/stabbed to death, and her eleven-year-old daughter's throat slashed. I'm shaken. Everyone's shaken. Makes me think about people who have to deal with this shit every day.

Birthday is nigh! Being held in Keene next weekend. Making yummy vegan cake w/Ginger. Going to Keene tonight. Paint celebration tomorrow. Not doing anything responsible. There's a little part of me that feels guilty about all of this.

Living My Life - Emma Goldman, Vol 1

Days of War/Nights of Love

I'll Be Your Mirror: Selected Interviews with Andy Warhol

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I'm thinking about design school.
I'm applying to go to Cuba in the Spring.
Which makes me think of the DYC and Sterling.
I haven't showered in a long time.
I have some weird crush on this guy in VT. I don't even know how it developed. He's great though. Radical in his own ways.
I road a fantastic road bike today.
I'm staring at a big picture of a mosquito and wondering, "How does this relate to me?"
The more I think about it, the more I don't feel comfortable with the idea of returning to Sterling. Or I want to, but I might wait until most of the people I know have filtered out.
Once I'm done with the DYC I'm thinking about Warren Wilson.
I'm thinking about getting my grades up, and graduate school.
I still don't have a job. But I have a million things I need to do.

I I I I I. Eye.
-------

I know it sucks
that daddy's dumb
but you've got to think of
what
you want.

You've got to
open up your
open up your
open up your
throat.

Lessons in my neuroticism:

My leg got stuck under neath the seat of my bike about 15 minutes ago. I was trying to hop off with a pack basket on my back after racing to the upper campus. In the name of trying to spy on someone I dated three years ago to figure out if it was him I ran into today, amen.