you know when you find some one's work and realize you love all of their work and Suddenly you Cannot Wait to Work with them. Or when the day started you fell into a tree running, laughing because christian bale once took the steering wheel of a golf cart off the lot of an audition, because He Just Couldn’t Handle It. Or when one minute you're looking at in-patient programs that accept the insurance-less and the next you call a girl you re-met just before switching continents. a name mentioned over conversation, a phone number still in existence. she answers after one ring. Or you're making lunch telling yourself Again how shitty humans can be, so angry-- fuck trying, can barely feed myself a balanced meal let alone, let alone. Alone. Might as well put the other four of those eight pounds back on because That's the end of the story you've been telling since 26. She answered after one ring. Her parting gift was her story: raped and refuged in the refusal to keep living, to eat anything. 

I still make little incisions. hazmat. I might ask myself, Would you feed your lovr that? A good lunch; the barometer of love. A good movie; barometer of 

beat it.

Battle of the Sexes. Billie Jean. King.

almond croissant is 4$ in america. 

neck cracks. pop snap. the sleep funnies, start giggling. 

5:29. tell emily i’m worried. she says don’t, about a thing, every little thing gunna...but it’s not the melody. i need to reason out what’s weighig out my measurements of successful living. i meet benhjamin’s shaman, “how long have you been here?” “8 days.” “You’re just A Baby.” thats’ what people In The Program say, “how long have you been abstinent?” “three months--” “WALK, don’t run. Jesus you’re not even crawling. Be patient.” i got plans b-a-b-y, and they driven me 110 on the free way. 

i roast beets. make la museli: paleo crunchy, michiel would make fun of me. finish my coffee. 10:45. look at my body, of work. and wonder how i used to do it. stress hormones hi jacking most of my intuitive reason. the fisrt thing my sister asked me, after a nervous how Are you was, “how do you get shit done. like you just decide--then you do it.” 

my heart is strung, tight guitar strings. first world melody. why me. waking up like a princess. sky high. & roarious. skittleskat glorious. but blocked. some where between nape and navel. a paving stone to skip on. hop. scotch. and sip on. 

full to hilts with memories. nothing treading lightly. o holly. the grind. organs. a stitch in nine. eye contact. is the first sign. when you can’t make it. some body gets left behind. 

when i get to la, i want to work with a sponsor who errs towards a positive frame, spiritual stance. Maybe one that doesn’t tell me You’re An Addict, it’s not You: it’s your disease

Ode

to be

in love

to be

enraged

to be

crushed

by a name