I'm Glad I Didn't Die Before I Met You.

Everybody! I made it back to Portland in one piece. This is a) because of my exceptional driving skills and b) because a very large red-headed fella with about three teeth helped me put oil and transmission fluid in the Biscuit. I promise I’ll tell you about my trip. I’ve got plenty to say about it, but I need to do some processing before I word-vomit all over the internet. So tonight I’m going to answer a “reader request”. By calling it a “reader request” I’m implying I have readers (all of you fine people whom I adore) and admitting to the fact that you guys have a say in what you hear from me. Comments/questions/concerns? Feel free to e-mail.

[Note: Mom, you want to just skip this one…]

Tonight’s theme: a chronological poetic analysis of my first love affair. Before we get started, keep several things in the forefront of your mind. Let the record show I was seventeen, angsty and living in Smalltown Montana when I wrote these poems. Post high school I was working in a café in Smalltown (one of two cafés in a 30 mile radius), waiting for my first semester at University of Montana to hurry it’s ass up and start already. The first woman I ever loved was my co-worker. Let’s call her Lily so I can stop typing out “the first woman I ever loved”. It’s obnoxious. Also, though I had a boyfriend in high school [note: singular, and it lasted about 6 days my junior year], this was the first time I felt an insane connection to another living human being. Also, I hate to break it to you guys but things didn’t work out with me and my first love. She’s now happily married to one of the best men I’ve ever met in my entire life, and I’m obvs out here Growing Up in Portland. I still love her very much, and she’s one of my very dearest friends. Scene set? Good.

I’m pretty sure these first two poems refer to the same night. Lily and I had been working together for about a month. I’m pretty sure we had kissed already. Lil invited me to spend the 4^th of July with her and her then boyfriend. Oh, boyfriend? Yes. Damn.

7.04.06

      #1

100 lbs of Devil-may-care

Lose myself in the loose corners

of her kiss

A bottle of blackberry wine

washing away my tragedy.

Moonlight loves the line

of her jaw, hides beneath

            those cheekbones.

     #2

Maybe it’s the booze. Maybe it’s the holiday. Maybe it’s summer and seventeen and smoking cheap cigarettes on the neighbor’s porch. I’ll be reaching for the goddamn stars, even if I never catch them. Wandering lips/hands/hearts. Sloshing wet gravel beneath bare feet, the rain pouring down like fireworks, showering sparks, showering silver.

My backseat and your clean sheets. Nerves jangling louder than the change in the ashtray, louder than the phone a hundred years away. And I want to believe in love, and I want you to believe in me, because I sure as hell believe in the way your skin feels between my teeth.

Blinking at another neon 3 a.m., your hands on me, soaked but smiling. Cheap booze, cheap perfume, cheap lies, and it’s fucking beautiful the way you smile in the moonlight.

Following “our-summer-of-love”, little b scooted off to college completely infatuated. Unfortunately, this whole boyfriend thing was still going on and Lily (being a responsible adult), admirably ignored the majority of my advances. The day that inspired the next poem she drove into Missoula to visit me for the first time. We spent the afternoon downtown, browsing the Import Market and old bookstores, being all coy with each other.

[Note: ULOL let me drink some of her awesome hand-distilled vodka as a nightcap. I think it hit me approximately 1.5 pages ago.]

10.04.06

To hold beauty close to my body, feel

the music slide down

the curve of my ribcage, release

my voice let it dance.

Because all I want is all I want is

all I want is you

and me and this:

            a nothing that feels like something

            beautiful.

Like sneaking kisses between the rows

of musty books, making my breath

            startstopstart again

the way we startstopstart.

It shouldn’t be this hard.

Then there’s a big long gap in my poetic lovelife. I’m pretty sure my first semester of finals and maybe my one-and-only cocaine experience occurred somewhere in here. For her birthday, I invited Lil over to my parents’ house for a tea party with my little sister. Cute? I'm not sure. Kind of awkward looking back. Later in the afternoon, during naptime, the next poem happened.

1.21.07

Lazy winter sunlight

pools under the dirty window

while your breath

paints stories across my skin

and the day stretches out

beside our bodies intertwined

minutes melting into hours:

            squandering precious seconds

            hoping the smell of your hair

            lingers on my pillow.

And I love the way your thoughts

parade across your face,

love the dark of your hair against

the white of my sheets,

the dissonance

of our uneven breathing.

And last but not least. The letting go poem. I'm not convinced this is actually when I said goodbye to Lily, since I met my first girlfriend whilst crying about my broken little heart... but this was a good step towards Being Ok again. 

2.06.07

I’ll

            let you teach me how to sing

            again.

            Because I can’t stop staring   

                        at your rainstorm.

            The way your body moves,

            so fluid,

            with the rhythm of

            breaths:

            desperate needing me, kneading you

            My dirty little secret,

                        beautiful alien, enchanting.

            I’m missing you already

            when you’re kissing me goodbye.

            Loving me loving you

                        and the idea of love.

I hope this post doesn’t sound too flippant. Seriously, you guys. These experiences played a vital role in shaping who I am today. The idea of “first love” sounds corny and over-played, but everybody has a first. If you’re lucky like me, they stick around despite all the drama and bullshit and you get to benefit from a long, incredibly fulfilling friendship. She changed my life, and I thank  the powers that be, she could see we were meant to be long-term friends not short-term lovers. 

The funny thing about re-reading all of these old poems is that I can still feel the emotions so resoundingly. They’re little vignettes into my past, and I love them for their honesty. Lil, I hope this is what you were looking for.

Stay posted, I’ll be talking about my love affair with Missoula soon.

I love you all. All the days.

-b 

Somewhere Someone Puts All of their Faith in a Fast Car

This weekend I inexplicably had four days off, all in a row. So naturally I downloaded 100 new songs, gassed up the Biscuit and drove to Missoula. Something strange happens to me when I’m alone for too long, and 10 hours definitely qualifies as too long. I started talking to myself, and I’m pretty sure I hallucinated driving through several tunnels. I consumed one coffee, two Rockstars and an entire can of Pringles. I have never been in so much pain as when I had all that grease and caffeine rolling around in my stomach. I literally considered going somewhere to have my stomach pumped when I started to feel like the unfortunate host of an evil alien spawn clawing its way out of my body. But I made it! Now I’m sitting at The Break, sipping an americano and attempting to catch you guys up on my recent comings and goings.

First of all, did I tell you guys I got a job? Because I got a job. I’m now a fulltime receptionist for a local veterinary hospital. This means I get to spend 8 hours a day, 5 days a week in close proximity to at least one other human being. When we’re busy things aren’t so bad, but trying to sustain conversation for that long is definitely not my strong suit. The people I work with are really fascinating though. Legitimately, there should be some sort of behind-the-scenes dramatic reality show. I’ve only glimpsed the surface tensions, but I’ma wager there’s a lot of hidden turmoil and I can’t wait to be fully exposed to it.

Also, Lo came and visited me. This pretty effectively sums up the week. Unfortunately, her trip coincided with my first full work week. I’m afraid I was a terrible host, mostly because I was either asleep or talking about how much I wanted to sleep 90% of the time she was here. However, we did discover The Delta, a restaurant which specializes in Southern and Cajun comfort food. At The Delta you can order a 40 oz. PBR and they serve it to you in a bucket of ice, like fucking champagne. What could be more comforting than that? Friend and Lo also found a gem called the Yamhill Pub. They have a sticker toilet, and the entire building smells like stale piss. Their bar food is all microwavable, including the lasagna.

[Note: this information courtesy of Lo and Friend, since I was still at work…]

Lo: Can I get some mini corndogs?

Sullen Bartender: Yeah, but it’ll take a minute. I have to warm up the oven.

      *Then they watched him pop a plate of mini corndogs into the microwave….

Lo, I know your visit wasn’t exactly what either of us expected, but I don’t regret a single minute. Take care of yourself, kitten.

My trip home was entirely fortuitous luck. Despite the fact that it snowed all week, I woke up Thursday morning to blue skies and sunshine. The office was unnaturally slow so my co-workers didn't have a problem letting me leave early. Even the traffic cooperated with me. Travelling is still a strange concept to me. The Biscuit is the first reliable car I've ever owned, and the idea that I can drive anywhere, leave everything in a different time zone, is still novel. There’s something thrilling about touching the ground in four different states in one day.

I was shocked to see the mistakes of each generation will just fade like a radio station when you drive, you’ve just gotta drive, out of range…

There are at least a hundred complicated and conflicting reasons for me to be in Missoula this weekend, but primarily I’m here for E. I didn’t tell her I was coming. I showed up on her doorstep at 2:30 in the morning. I swear to god, the look on her face when I opened the front door was enough to stop your heart. It was beautiful and pure and fleeting.

Nobody deserves a funeral birthday party. I hope me being here has made things a little bit easier. Happy birthday, honey.

There’s something unsettling about coming back to a place that used to be home. I’ve caught myself aching lonely for Portland already. I miss the green and the daffodils and the rain. I miss my noisy heater, and my roommates, and our house with the red walls. I wonder when things shifted, when my new city became home. It was all as natural as taking a deep breath.

And everything is easier than I had guessed that everything would be, even remembering the way who looked at whom first, anyhow dancing.

Last night I had dinner and drinks with E, The Velvet Fog (TVF) and J-Bot. I laughed until my stomach ached and my cheeks were sore. There’s so much history, we’ve shared so many drinks, stories and cigarettes. We’ve laughed/danced/cried together, discussed pasts and futures, politics and religion, dreams and nightmares. Sorry this all sounds so cliché, but you are my very dearest friends, and I wouldn’t be who I am without our shared history.

Also, we experienced this together. On the couch, eyes closed, holding hands together. I wept like a child.

So here I am, in a town that doesn’t feel like home, with friends who feel like family and a chest that feels like it’s full of rocks and broken glass. In two days I’ll get back in the Biscuit and leave this town. I’ll keep my hands on the wheel, my eyes on the road, my thoughts in my head and marbles in my throat.

Lucy, thank you for your moment of weakness.

-b

We Are Nowhere, and It's Now.

Another week has passed. I hope you guys missed me as much as I missed you… as much as I miss sleep, my friends, my family. As much as I miss snow falling silently in the dirty glow of streetlights. As much as I miss purple.

I’ve been sleeping so strange at night. Side effects they don’t advertise. I’ve been sleeping so strange, with a head full of pesticides…

My dreams have never been so strange as this last week. They’ve been so vivid I feel them painfully, if not physically. They seem to trail behind me throughout the day, like a kite string, or my breath in the cold mornings. I can’t quite shake them; they sit in the back corner of my mind gathering dust and suspicions. I’m going to share them in an attempt to exorcise them.

I dreamt about a man sitting beside me, holding a giant hunting knife. He asked if I was a realist or an idealist. I said I wasn’t sure. He swung the knife at my chest, and I somehow deflected it. He told me I must be a realist; an idealist never would have believed he’d strike.

I dreamt about my best friends from high school. You guys remember Florida? I miss you all the time. I hope your futures are sliding into focus.   

I dreamt about sitting in the backseat of a car with TR driving. We were trying to get to church because she’d left her keys there the night before. Lucy was leaving when we pulled up, wearing a purple bandana. She saw me and I felt like a ghost, or the idea of a ghost. Perhaps a dream. Something not quite real, or not quite human, I’m not sure which. Lucy, I still keep the idea of love on a chain around my neck.

I dreamt about flying a plane full of strangers. We crash landed on a yellow brick road that was mortared with the blood of children. These children staggered around with glazed eyes begging for us to hold their hands, while a ragged militia threatened us with rusty bayonets.

Why are you scared to dream of god, when it’s salvation that you want?

[Note: One time I wrote a poem to embody my dreamscape]

Children of desire                                                       your mouths are empty skulls

                                                                        droning wordless songs

Children of tomorrow                                                 you tear your clothes while

                                                                        the world laughs, laughingly

Children of revolution,                                               your voices dig wells

                                                                        for the thirsty to drown in

mother, your cold fingers tremble

brother, your breath stirs ashes in a stone hearth

father, your mind scavenges rotten ideas

sister, the bones rattle in your fist

while the sickle moon

     dances

          dances

Children of desire,                                                      your eyes are hollow sockets

                                                                        leaking sticky smoke

Children of tomorrow,                                                your future hangs bloated

                                                                        in the gallows of yesterday

Children of revolution,                                               your honeyed lips drizzle

                                                                        poison into hungry mouths

mother, your smile is on backwards

brother, your future swells like a black balloon

father, your life is a silver dagger

sister, your mind swallows infinity

still the sickle moon

     dances

          dances

Sorry guys, I promise my next post will be more informative. I really do have a whole heap of hilarious anecdotes and progress reports from this past week. Check back soon for my sense of humor, I'm sure I only momentarily misplaced it. 

So rest eludes me, now I’m back where I’ve already been. Waiting for the rain to start, looking at the sky.

I love you. 

-b

I'm Like the Rain in a Downpour...

[Note: I did not in any way edit this stream-of-consciousness post...]

You guys, the past 48 hours or so have been significant, so I’ma subject you to more of my ramblings ahead of schedule. Also, Lo is coming to visit! Starting tomorrow! So this will probably be the last you hear from me between now and Sunday. Do you think you can make it that long? I’m not sure I can. Seriously guys, this has been the best outlet I’ve ever had. Thank you for enabling me, I couldn’t do it without you. Ok, yes I could. But it would be significantly less fulfilling.

It’s been drawn to my attention that I was a little nonchalant in my discussion of the weather yesterday. I know I mentioned a little bit of a storm… Let me elaborate. Yesterday being my final day of funemployment, I proclaimed: “Come hell or high water I’m going to see the coast tomorrow”. Apparently I shouldn’t have chosen a phrase that could be interpreted so literally. The beach I was headed to is about an hour and a half away from home base. I figured I would wake up, grab a coffee on my way out of town and be watching the waves roll in by noon or so. Was I dissuaded when I woke up to torrential rains? Yes. But clearly not enough to call off the mission. I had downloaded 90 new songs for the trip, and weather be damned I was going to see the ocean!

You know how sometimes you get an idea in your head and you stubbornly cling to it despite every indication that it will cause you trouble? Hmmm…

The first time I considered turning around was when I realized the rain had subtly shifted into a weird misty sleet/snow and the roads may or may not be icy. I was hesitant to test them because the Biscuit is shady even in good weather, and we’d already enjoyed a couple of good hydroplanes. The second time was when a semi passed me, spraying a sheet of rainwater over the entire front end of my car and making it impossible to see a goddamn thing. The third was when the bridge I needed to take was washed out. But did I turn around? No. Because I’m stubborn, and stupid, and in Montana tsunamis are as realistic as unicorns and the Truth Fairy.

By the time I rolled into Seaside my stomach was literally digesting itself. I decided to stop into a coffee shop, have some lunch and do some homework before heading down to the beach. This is where my previous post found us. What I forgot to mention is this: whilst sitting in the coffee shop I overheard these old men talking about the police barricades preventing beach access and a legitimate tsunami warning. People weren’t being allowed anywhere near the ocean because it could literally swallow them whole. At this point I realized several things: it had been raining for a lot of hours, it was going to be getting dark soon and I was a long, long way from home. So really, it’s a miracle I survived my adventure yesterday, and all I got out of it was a delicious turkey sandwich and the opportunity to listen to approximately 90 new songs. And a chance to talk to you guys about all the feelings I’ve been having lately.

I should also state that after all that Buffy hype, and the hours spent pouring over episodes and the wikipedia, Friend and I skipped trivia yesterday. Friend’s awesome big sister had tickets to a Saul Williams show and wanted us to get tickets too so we could be concert-goers together. I had personally never heard of Saul Williams. If you’re in the same boat as I was, watch him on Def Poetry. Having watched this video with Friend about 30 minutes before the concert, I was expecting something in this same vein.

He wasn’t at all what I expected. Standing in that crowded basement room I felt Music the way I’ve never felt it before. Music that cancelled out your heartbeat. Music that wanted to crack your ribs, cause your body to implode, leave a supernova in the space your breath used to occupy. You guys, it was Poetry. Also, Saul Williams is a total rock star.

On a completely unrelated note, today was my first day at New Job. I observed! I absorbed! I attempted to retain any single bit of information. You guys, I like to think that I’m pretty seasoned in all things dog. But today I watched a rescue greyhound get neutered. Apparently it takes a better person than me to “manscape” a dog’s penis and not be absolutely disgusted with yourself and your lot in life. It also takes a much stranger person than me to be able to eat a hardboiled egg whilst watching someone else manscape a dog’s penis. I expected myself to feel a little queasy in the operating room, because let’s face it, I almost pass out when I nick my leg shaving. All things considered, I handled myself pretty well. I watched a surgery, helped splint a cat’s broken toe and played with a golden retriever puppy. For the other 7.5 hours I mostly stared at a wall and thought about how much my feet hurt. I’ma chalk it off as a win.

Tomorrow is another big day! So I had best get myself to sleep. 

I love you guys. Seriously. 

-b

P.S. For the record, since I have been quoting a lot of really incredible people in these posts: anything in italics is not my original work. It is some snippet of inspirational something that I borrowed to reinforce whatever thing I was saying. If you want to know what something is from you're more than welcome to e-mail me your request, or leave me a comment.