i'll be back soon meg. just in a stagnant period. bleeding heavily for you.

a poem for aids

I am a dog.

last night i saw a movie

To suck out the juice and reduce it to nothing and put it in a mish-mash of order, I’ll offer a useless film review about a Wild Turkey love affair starring this fast paced bald man "ahhing" and "uhhing" and "umming" his way through these wryly hysterical, seldom nonsensical, these forever mind blowing smart banters and quips that he spoke most likely drug riddled but not addled just riddled, never addled, just riddled. Drug riddled. A cigarette holder fixed to his lip. His outfits – fishing vest, Nixon mask, curly wig, a Vegas visor that I feel like calling a “bodega hat,” striped shirt, tinted glasses, blonde wig, grey wig, many Dad-goes-to-Hawaii button up t-shirts (flora not fauna theme here), baby blue powdered shorts cutting off at mid-thigh. At dusk, without a helmet, he speeds down Big Sur on his bike like a villain, a con, an Invincible, flirting with the eye-drying speed he shifts from first to second, from second to third and on up till he hits the edge facing the thing head on. Take me! he says. Take me! But it doesn’t, it won’t, so he will later with a gun. There is Chicago 1968 when he cries. Alongside nude women he types and the women stand about, prance about, their chaches all bush, so seventies, their tits amazing hanging down. And out come the guns to fire at wild boars, typewriters, trees, to fire inside the house and outside the house and sometimes at nothing at all. He is not Good Sally and the Activist team pulling in on their scholarship wagon, he’s not Baby Jane with daddy’s money either. He delivers punches with his balls intoxicated and his heart in flames and so sets politics on fire. In a Cadillac, with an attorney and a tape recorder he goes out looking for the American dream and is asked by a woman at a taco stand, “What is that? The American Dream?” She thinks it’s a nightclub, a psych ward. He eats speed, drops acid, snorts blow off knife blades (Knives out? Yes? Yes!), takes mescaline – two half doses thirty minutes apart, etc., etc. drug culture galore. Pours whiskey after whiskey like a southerner cradling sweet tea, makes me thirst for a soda pop, a whiskey soda pop. He divorces and remarries. Blows off his head with a gun. Ha-ha! Of course! Fire at nothing, fire at it all! Blasts out of a cannon. Fire work display. Ashes to ashes, ahh, what a rush. Life seems so glorious on film.

may

We lounged about. In our rooms, in the lobby with the grand puzzle, in the big room at the end of the tiled hallway where Law & Order re-runs played out on a twenty inch beast that hummed through commercials and flickered during shows. In the bathroom with the spiders and sticky floor, where Charlotte a woman near forty liked to hide behind the toilet bowl and purr, liked flushing her pills down the drain. But never outside. We weren’t allowed outside. Only outside for cigarette breaks – four times a day, the first one at six a.m. Outside taunted us, it haunted me. It sat there poker faced behind five caged windows that lined a wall of the big room. Outside, a massive tree spurting off branches and roots, which rose through the dirt in knotted knolls up and over the cracked stone pathway leading to a rotting red park bench, passed on in its glory without us. It seemed to march. So deliberate, so callous, I thought I would drown. I wanted autumn, I wanted to rake, I wanted to cut my palms raking, I wanted to stick my hands in the soil and come out with a worm. Beyond the massive tree were more trees, a forest of trees. A drained moat. Two wire lawn chairs thrown together, side by side, one rusting at its feet. A ten foot high chain link fence. A trash barrel full of cigarette butts and small paper Dixie cups. A spider that would bite me while I smoked a Newport with a vainglorious heroin addict name Tricia, a bite that’d turn my left calf purple.

hm.

i have no desire to say anything halfway preconceived or clever or full of contridiction. i turned 23 two days ago. it was very simple and i was upstate at this house. i went swimming and ate alot of exceptionally delcious food and played games in the woods.

aids4lyfe update

megan took a brief hiatus from the world and dropped off the face of the earth. never fear, readers- she's alive, safe and sound, but has removed herself from the blogosphere. thus, i am left to fulfill the aids4lyfe prophecy dolo. we all die alone.

Things that have happened since April (the last time I posted):
-I moved out of my apartment on s.3rd street and in with my friend Bailey on Stanhope street. Bailey is kooky and lovely and acutely domestic. i love her.
-2.5 months later I moved in with my boyfriend, Joe. We live at the Silent Barn on Wyckoff Ave.
-A band called Teeth Mountain from Baltimore played at the house and a girl from the band, Kate, went outside and found a cat on the sidewalk. He was all white and had a blue bell. He his now mine and he is named Suge Knight.
-Joe and I went to Mexico City for eight days.
-I started managing the new Deitch space in Long Island City. It's at the end of 44th drive, right on the water. Mainly, I see alot of kayakers and people who work for Matthew Barney. It's sort of the best summer job ever.

I developed a keenness for suburban Queens and have picked out various blocks that I would like to sit on as an old woman with high socks and breasts that touch my knees.
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