après la pluie, le beau temps

sweet clementine.

Sat, 25 Nov 2006 06:02:26 GMT

Currently in Hawai'i. The moment I get the chance to have a life again after the musical ends, my mother whisks me away to an island. Slightly irritating, but it's too beautiful and comfortable here to complain. I just miss my friends.

Christmas is so close! I'm excited for the holidays. I'm excited for being sane again and having sleep. The time difference from Utah (3 hours) helps with going to bed early a lot. (Oh my god, I didn't realize how sleep deprived I was until I took this vacation.) I feel so alive and awake. It's quite nice. I'm even catching up on homework! Which is quite unbelievable, I must assure you.

I want the readers of this to post (reasonable) request for presents. For those far away, leave or e-mail (explodingtilmitt@gmail.com) a mailing address and your request. Even though I have some things in mind for people, I still think that your input is necessary.

Also, if you want a post card, please say so.

That's all for today. I'm going to go do some french homework!

crumbs from your table

Thu, 29 Jun 2006 21:08:31 GMT

Quick update from Higher Ground before I head to french. My internet is down at my house and we're yet to get it fixed. This is alright though, seeing as I've been utterly sucked into Kingdom Hearts II. So pretty, especially when drugged out of your mind.

Mary and Kari visited me on Saturday, which rocked my world. Thanks again, guys, you really cheered me up.

I'm doing well, and I can breathe again. Everything sounds different, too!

Gotta go!

hide & seek

Mon, 13 Mar 2006 03:15:56 GMT

did you hear
about what? that girl?
wasn't she the one who faked
I don't know I don't know she just was there and I couldn't stop it I couldn't take it
did she scream?
no no no she just whispered she just did it on her own it was
a choice she only wanted for herself and look what happened look at where she is now
isn't she on top? that's what she wanted isn't it? doesn't she know that she's going
a long way
to fall?
she only did it for the fame for the glory
it was all for her own gain and she's dead now on her knees she looked him in the eye
but she smiled
didn't she? didn't she want us to
no no no she was dead before she moved a muscle
but it was her choice or did she
prove us all wrong? was she false or true to what we know? is she the one to change
our very own
our only thing that drags us on but we will always stand and fight unlike her
the fabric of our lives?
she is just the nothingness of which the object will stand
tell us our most elemental story
I want to see her I want to touch her
you won't you can't she's just a girl a sex without a name
I knew it all along

artistic recipes

Mon, 23 Jan 2006 00:24:32 GMT

She wants to travel around europe. With her backpack, camera, notebooks, laptop, cellphone, pens, clothing, blanket, and french she wants to sleep in an open feild using him as a pillow. She'll use only her vulnerability as her defenses as the sun sets and the stars reveal to them a place no lover will ever verbalize. Maybe it's the taste of sunshine on her skin, or the moonshine in his eyes that makes her want to be only with him so badly. Only with the musicians weapon will they be gaurded. Only with their talents will they be lifted.

And she can feel it blooming, deep down in her womb. The flowers that burst into birds of song and scents that float on their wings. She can feel the spring caress her neck and back, to convince her of what she desires most.

If he left without her, she would seek him out to watch from afar. Loving him is a muse, and the words do not flow like he makes them.

Write what you know.

beyond the invisible

Mon, 26 Dec 2005 07:59:36 GMT

He kissed me. I turned into madness. All of this with a blossoming desire that pulsates through your arteries until the shock sets in that it was a kiss that defined nations. Guinevere and Lancelot laughed at the realization that I took so long to percieve. Oedipus forgot about the prophecy and laid his mother anyway. And it wasn't disgusting. The love was beautiful. Sincere enough to leave a taste in your mouth that lingers until morning. His arms clutched me tighter to him, like no other before him had and I swooned like some fool with a corset.

How could he? How dare he? Why would he? I wanted to push back and save myself from an intoxicating madness that would salle forth only from all of who he is.

Instead I let him hold me and run his hands up and down my back sending my body into trembling shivers. Only him. Only him. And in my mind there is only him.

working title

Fri, 23 Dec 2005 06:34:54 GMT

We clash as seductively as silver and gold in the chain of an oil-tycoon. With a touch that challenges me to fight back, and a kiss that counters my very ideal of perfection you press your hands in an impulse akin to repulsive desire. You were raised to convert my kind and I have grown to deteste yours. Only one thing unites our delicate psyches of violent opposition, the thing I swore to never desire and the passion you crave in blood.

Together we've bound eachother to stakes to be burned as witches. We're drenched in radical gasoline as I caress your skin while the matchbox smell of sulfur fills the air.

Watching you go up in flames is the perfect ending and all I am is a fire to be fought.

stranger, j'ai quelque chose a dire

Tue, 06 Dec 2005 22:46:45 GMT

When you kiss me I'm filled with electricity and the desire to do a million things. I share a universe when you kiss me and even though I hate sharing, I can tolerate it with you. The tolerance is thin and it makes me incredibly vulnerable. But at the very least I notice it and I can stop myself from building too many barricades against you. This way the war won't break out over the tiniest thing and you won't leave me broken, lost, alone, and estranged from something that I really can't stop myself from needing.

You're far from a cocaine addiction, and I'm toeing the line of an addict. You're a requirement and the provider and your drugs are not so easy to buy. 'Cause I'll do absolutely anything, anything to get your lips on my own. I'll put on creams and powders that only do so much to change what I want; I'll dive into a food-restricted life that doesn't do much to change a targeted problem; and every little sycophantic gesture has an equal or greater exchange rate and at least I don't hide it. At least I don't manipulate you into thinking that you're an adulterating bastard if you even find any sort of attraction in any other woman and deep down I do it only because I want to be the special one but never tell you--because if I didn't it would come out with the tears anyway when I finally lost it all.

"I'm sorry honey, darling, sweetheart--so sorry," would be mumbling, two-year-old gestures of redeeming myself if I ever was that sort of dishonest slut.

The only reason I tell you is because you're not Stephen King's Carrie. When I think of you, I don't get paranoid like the latch on window of my head isn't as weather durable as the packaging promised and rusted through way back in the spring of '05 when everything old was you again. I tell you because only I know what I want, and you can't dictate that for me. I won't let you, and you relish that as you kiss my mouth harder than you anticipated and you crush my body to yours in a reflex that you never knew you had. My knees buckle. I blush. All of the synapse in my brain that I worked so hard at maturing end up in a continuing misfire.

The only reason you know that I bite my lips is because you can feel their worried texture when you introduce me into a new universe that you've created for two only, that's the limit kids. Something that we will never show to all the rest because they don't need it like we do. Something that I can hardly admit to responding to because it completes me.

Way back in the summer, as girls skirts got shorter and my insecurities got larger, I first looked into your eyes and saw my own reflection and so desperately wanted to break that mirror. Not just because you had already shattered mine, but because I know that you are not me. And I'm already too much to deal with.

I'm like a flame around gasoline, baby, and you're a goddamed moth. It's a mutualism with potential parasitism and it doesn't need my ninth grade biology teacher's murky assignments and grading system to understand that. We're always arguing and seeing how far we can push our luck and I love it. I'm always on the edge of the cliff and you're the one below me telling me not to look down.

When you kiss me it's a sunrise.
It's a child's laugh. It's the dew drops on the double fibbonaci spiral of a rose as velveteen scarlet unfolds in the light of a world that refuses possesives like the kid at the party who won't take the hit like his buddies and ends up dying in a wreck because his buddies buddy passed out at the wheel.

Minus the tragedy, double the irony, and add two shots of reality.

update from school

Tue, 15 Nov 2005 17:31:29 GMT

"You're a beautiful misery."
"How poetic."

The smell of drenched hair was an aura of helpless love that would only end up as admiration. Like children they clung to eachother in an oedipal demonstration of illusionment. She his father and He her mother they were meant to seperate within the year and this was known to both of them. It did not keep them from entertwining limbs in a grotesque representation of hearts crushing eachother to better their lover. She was too tall, and cursed his snapping kiss that mimicked a harsh reality. He was too bohemian and fell for her cracking skin caressing the leather jacket that was older than she. Purposefully he left his Economics books in the bathroom and on the bed in hopes that she would read them. Intentionally she would skim them as she took a bath and watched them fall in a disgustingly twisted satisfaction.

But they still curved into a coffin that would fit them both for a time until his ego grew too large and she threw his Economics books out with his clothes. All of the tea that he would douse her coffee cups in would be ejected from the cabnits in an emergency that would only leave one packet behind in sardonic payback for her arsenic and old, lace pot holders that were only out by his design. He would cry only once a night for a week, but she wouldn't cry until the next week. She would cry again each month on their aniversary and in her defense tell her current fix that it was girls night out and he would have to stay at a friends.

goodnight sleep light

Mon, 07 Nov 2005 17:26:32 GMT

"I don't love you anymore." Her pale skin and thin wrists were trembling with passion, and her fists relaxed as the words boiled out from her full mouth and hot tounge. Her hard grey eyes flashed with the cold ambition that he remembered so well from the earlier days for when they loved one another as a mutualism. Now he was no more than a parasite. That's what those eyes said to him. Instead of replying like he knew he should be thinking so despretely about he couldn't help thinking of all of the irony this would be worth. It was a kings ransom worth. Ambition to begin and ambition to end. And he wondered what his therapist would say about this.

"It was over when I couldn't force those thick words out of my mouth every day. When we couldn't love the same things. We aren't tied together like I want to be to..."
"Like you are to him?" The ring that his coffee cup made on the table was wet, like his eyes should be. Brown as dirt it brought out the deeper tones of the cheap wood table that was probably bought at a yard sale. You could almost see the crayon that was still left on it by the man who sold it to throw away a memory. Or the cheap table was a table at best. A relationship between the table and someone else was possible but improbable. But this wasn't what he was supposed to listen to. He couldn't make money off of thoughts he used to avoid the subject of the matter. Of the reason he was staring down at a dirt brown ring, wet with his coffee-stained tears of what should be of his shedding by the end of the night. Why he was here, with the best cup of coffee he had ever encountered and the best woman he had ever had.

"He's not involved in this. He doesn't define my love for anyone..."
"You know that's not true." A lullaby from the cash register as the barista asked for the next willingly starving customer. The lullaby that mommy never sang to you, but that lulls you to the dreams of caffeine, pastries, and europe that you'll never visit with the woman you have always missed. A lullaby of addiction and a lullaby of love. Love that he knew so many times in the stall of the bathroom here after the rich coffees and disgusting pastries pre-packaged to fit your needs. He slammed down his cup spilling the perfect brew down his 75% off jeans and rushed to the door to disappear from the reality of dreaming for too long. He found himself passionately staring into her ambitiously biting stare across a cheap wood table with no past but his own and no coffee on his legs that may provide a release from what he needed most.

"I am not yours." She kept each word trite and controlled with all of her certainty of love's directions and determinations. So many men she had left when the leaves had just begun to ferment and die from the murder of it's host. So many men she had loved as the winter kept her heart a prison of inherent disease. So many men she had destroyed in the thawing of her mind and love. She was determined for this to be the last, as she put a ciggarette to her lips and pulled in the intoxication you can't get from coffee. He hated this deliberate death. He couldn't stand seeing her die slowly from a suicide too artisticly tied to her hearts domain. She loved how he would cringe with every breath that killed him slowly with her. She used to blow it past his head, as close as she could get without blinding or burning away his love, but he wasn't worth the death she needed. She wanted her death to be alone and away from this stain on her fingernails. "I loved you, but you tried too hard. I can't be your little whore as I once was."
"I always liked it when you would chain yourself down. The struggle was almost fun." No smile passed between the gaurds of their ice-cold barred windows of eyes. There was no dance of lips on clever words.
"I can't let you take me over. I can't spend all of my life on invisible riches." Her eyes feinted over his forehead that peaked into hair that was never one way or the other. Down over the abyss between his neck and chin that was patched over with stubble that would've kept him warm had he been locked in her winter heart's chambers and ventricles.

Her eyes constricted as the passion reached a breaking point. And he would remember that she was his coffee-stain and the crayons that his son would mark up the walls in the future would be images of her, despite his wife's flawfully beautiful compatability and devotion. His hands gripped the cup of diluted coffee grounds in the impulse to kiss her rich lips that still dripped with the poisonous vowels. And she would remember that he was a miscommunication from ground control and she would never forget the paths that it made her go down on a planet far from her realized mind. They would never forget the pieces of heart that were served in cups of coffee from one to the other, as they paid for eachothers drinks as usual. They would remember the beggining and the end, as her eyes flashed with the ambition that will nip your heels raw.

je souhaite

Sat, 05 Nov 2005 20:13:23 GMT

7-22-2004 10:26 AM
cruelty afronts the face of humanity
love battles ever tied
my arms are tired
my love,
I tried.

7-22-2004 10:35 AM
4 points
2 symmetrical pairs
I stand for a man who was killed
I stand for pain and sufferage of sins and corruption.
And nothing's changed.
That man.
That man, no more than a man. That cardinal whom decked by a corrupt religion. That leader.
That holier-than-thou man that is supposedly
closest to that man who was sacrificed
for this race's sins
on the first of my
4 contradictory points.

7-22-2004 10:26 AM
slow smooth exhileration
inhale
exhale
life
whirlwind of thoughts and chords
melodic solutions to our being
harmonic deftones, heard my little
little to none
in hever happiness there strikes a note
a note that echos and ressonates
throughout our core
you've heard it before
cracking ever-so into your wall
human
cressendo to the future
decline into your present

7-29-2004
who knows how long I lay here
in this trail of dust
who knos how long I'll stay here
in this world of rust
maybe old ideas will flow
and mutate jealous genes
acceptance may be the spoken word
if the word could just have wings

7-30-2004
strangling us like a corrupt cocoon
our social status kills
throwing beings through drama dreams
and giving them the chills
forever through a fals caress
the egos dissapate
strangely through emphatic abandon
the chorus comes in late

----

right
right left
republican democrat
independent
we are given the right to choose
but is it really us choosing?
united we are to stand
but divided we vote
and divided we fall
we have the right to be
right after all

----

and I'll write into a crosswalk
with the light ever brlinking red
and I'll sing into a change of thoughts
and maybe be home again
and I'm sorry that I lost you
you're not sorry that I'm gone
I'm all alone in silence

to try and prove you wrong
'cause you're no remedy
'cause you're no reminisence
you're a dangerous liasion
and I'm scared
'cause I might prove you wrong
and secretly I need you
but you never want me back
and secretly I'm shy inside
with my heart on a one way track

anyone could come and save me
but only you can save my soul
and you'll be a memory
an experience
a learning lesson of my own

and we're all alone
in our twisted world
with no one to call our own

so I search for a new train of thought
a train that can take you back
some vacation from my idealistic mind
someone with a brand new hack
this is my remedy
this ain't my reminisince

this is my train of thought
this ain't my medicine
this ain't my debate page
this is my creative insanity
but next week I'll be better
next week I'll be fine
tomorrow all the pain is gone
and I'll write into my crosswalk

9-15-2004
you'd never know
the thought I hide
behind my laughing eyes
you'll never know
the past I find
in the smallest strangest things
and I know that you won't go there
and I know that you can dream
and I know that we can make it
happen like it seems

9-24-2004
sigh
for nothing but that sweet caress
that lovers live to feel.
and the harder that loves lost refrain
attempts to strike for an easier day
the wider and abyss grows
till death do us part is unlike any other
but not enough at times

10-26-2005
I am an atlas
and as the word lays
upon my broken back
I consistantly life myself
into my own standards.
I know that the world does not own
the place I carry trouble
but I have created my
own
world that must be chained
to me.
and in the methods of a masochist,
I adore it.

10-27-2005
hypocracies destroy your brain
with rules and guilt and a breath of shame
the pits are burned and
potholes made by the holy bombs
& vast crusades
from all your artillerary
you fire off with a printing press
"pen mighter than sword"
is something you feel you need to address
your mounted calvery dwell within our
TV screens and bars of gin
and from about the street corners
soldiers cry anon
of how their general is gone

11-1-2005
1
filled with sandbags to gaurd me
from firepower and arms against
my intellectual clarity

2
from dream to deathly chalice
I see my worthiness in the society's
struggle against it.

3
I can't see the fire that burns
within the vindictive bosoms
of what I delibrity know.

4
and whatever you wish to bring to
that fire will burn in all the
encourage ment
I can possibly offer.

11-4-2005
what to be has come undone
from father mother lover son
and all that in the vesture wait
to salle forth reciprocate
intending blood but after bile
lover stops to take a while
inducing love and fearing pain
father plays with haughty blame
as mother knows the guilty tune
she hums a little below the moon
that son did place within the sky
so he may see me bleed and die

all within the sufferage wait
from death within reciprocate
and then as we do come to trial
the judge will stop to bleed a while
if the leech is doubly done
from father mother lover son
we all must free the dying day
and place our heads into the frey
closing the pavillion with violent remorse
our damned faces are changed chorus
we face our friends within the mirror
to all within the forum hear
my stranged cry of right sorrow

for my friend will not have seeked the morrow

These poems are from my notebook that I have been writing poetry in for over a year. The dates are all correct. They are selected. It's interesting to see the ones from last year compared to the ones from this year.

Je suis content.

and here's the reason

Mon, 17 Oct 2005 02:32:38 GMT

She craves his touch like a whore wants her next fix: long, strong, and really expensive. She wants to destroy her whole life, watch it go up in flames like hiroshima. She wants to set herself on fire because she would be flirting with the best adultress ever: death. She wants the adrenaline rush of danger and the sedatory fix of lying to your hostess about going to the bathroom because it was "that time of the month" when it was really just "that time of the month" for the hostesses husband to be in there, waiting for long smooth arms, and the breath of perfume as she entertwined her ample neck around his and forgot to lock the door. She screams in silence from the drink of the morning that will never be hers. She wants to break the most determined man. She craves to destroy the best. She desires to be broken and destroyed, naked on the linolium floor sobbing for the world who will never see what she does.

She wants to be free from a world of lessons learned and lessons to be forgotten. She wants to leave the past behind and be free from the squalors and noise of the distructive world. She wants to be free from society and their gult.

She wants to know "just because it is doesn't mean it ought." as intimately as a cup of coffee; to sip it carefully so that it wouldn't burn and consume it to let it melt into her body.

all of my things

Fri, 14 Oct 2005 16:18:55 GMT

Every night that I saw you, the moon was out. My movements were slow and by the time I reached you it was just the mist that was tickling my back and the palms of my hands. I still pretended that you were the mist soothing my sweaty body on those green mornings. I don't know what you'll say to that.

You know that every day I woke up with your name on my eyelids and your tounge in my mouth as I swallowed back and shed tears. And I'm fine with that. You know I am. It wasn't you who left me. You were too great for me to handle, too finely woven-- to expensive to care for. You already know my reasons. Of course you do. Which is something I hate and adore with a lurid rage. Something that drove me away, but keeps me wanting you as I let the mist calm my brow and consider myself lucky to even know your name.

And just like the rest, I'm going to rip this paper and burn it and never say your name again like I swore to so many times, so many nights, so many moments when you would kiss me and hold my hands behind my back so I wouldn't fly into a wild fit that would cause me to scratch you away or pull you so close that I couldn't speak. And I do not regret it. And I don't regret you. And just like every other morning I'll forget that you're alive and feel the sickening taste of utter dispair at someone so great as you not living. And just like that I'll remember that you were mine once but not really, and that I was yours once and really wanted that but really fought against it. And you loved it. And you love me. And then I'll cry out for you, but in joy. And in silence.

And I can't change myself so that I don't love you. I tried. I'm trying. You know that I can't and I hate that. I hate that you smile so sadly at me, so knowingly at me, knowing that it drives me insane. with passion. with desire. with anger. I hate that you know and love everything about me because I want to rip you from the seams of this world. And because of that I'm falling apart at the scenes in an entopic equilibrium that's so fluid that it's sickening to see that it never falls apart. You never put on your best face for my mother. You never tried to impress my father. And I love how you love all of my hatred that's far too loving for words.

Later tonight I'll watch this paper burn, just like the rest, and sweep it's ashes into a plastic baggie that was made opaque with duct tape labled 'stash' that will probably be suspected by the cops one day to be crack cocaine. So when they open it and see black instead of white they'll be looking at the ashes of what I made you to me. They'll throw it away and I'll be satisfied with the fact that someone finally did because as much as my husband begs me to--"It's disgusting, I can't believe you keep shit like that around. Watch as we all die from some sort of poison that comes from it. Then you'll remember what I said. For once in this marriage."--I won't. I can't. Because I will never find anyone but you in my life that I love this much. Because I will never hate someone so little.

And you know that.

concerto in F

Sun, 02 Oct 2005 19:04:51 GMT

Your arms lay around my body, confirming their presence by the warmth eminating from them and soaking into my skin causing me to writhe closer into your embrace. The simple touch of your arm conforming to the curve of my waist was enough to set my senses alight with flame and my face glow with the pleasure of the company I had recieved. It took so little effort and so much energy to be scared and delighted simultaneously, especially when it came as naturally as kissing your lips when we embraced. I couldn't tell whether it was your breath on my neck or my imagination toying with my desire knowing it was as taunt as a piano wire and much more free-spirited. No matter what it was, it was soothing to my psyche as it flamed with images of utopia.

And to think that sleep was as complex as this when you were living with someone. Living with someone, breathing with someone in time. 1. 2. 3. 4. 1. 2. 3. 4. C. G#. and a grunt from a dream that furrows your brow with concentration that I run my hand over slowly and intuitively to soothe. Eye lids flutter, a smile of love, the gentle jerk of your arms to pull me closer, actions from your dream or because I'm in your arms. I'm in our bed that still creaks with new-ness as we climb in together at night and rise in the morning to our eyes reflected in the others. The creaking that makes us laugh as we move and causes us to hold still so I won't wake up in the middle of the night frantic for you. Like I've done tonight. For the affirmation of you.

The moon's not out, but I can see your face perfectly in our dark aparment. The face I've known for years is the one that faces mine, faces me with love. It eddies in the scar on your eyebrow, the creases in your eyelids and on your mouth making it a red fruit begging to be tasted. As it told me how much you'll do for me, how long you've waited for this, how you can't wait for the future, how much you want me it still begged to be tasted. A forbidden fruit of the garden of eden that I have tasted so many times but the serpent still eggs me forward. More. More. He tells me that I can't live without it and I know I can't. I can't stand to not have more. I can't figure out why the snake has your voice for my vice. And I know that your snake has my voice. More. More. we whisper.

For now I ignore the snake as your breath hisses in and out of your tempting mouth that I can't help but love. For now your arms are gently caressing my body and my hands are lost to my mind but found by yours. Like Cupid and Psyche, sittin' in a tree K I S S I N G. Love has found Soul. And as Soul winds itself around Love in a bone crushing spiral like the snake with your voice, Love will run its hands over the constricting body that freezes and relaxes on contact. Soul has found and caught Love. Veni, vidi, vici. Love conquers all. Forever.

A swift inhale and your body rocks with motion in a coughing fit that doesn't last long. Your eyes open and gaze into mine and I kiss your lips pressing hard. The peace was broken and entropy released and I couldn't help myself any longer. My hands are found by my mind and I calm you by rubbing your back gently before winding it back to your waist. We gently part lips and smile, coiled around eachother like Eve's snake on her fruit tree we are happy. This time you caress my brow intuitively and I smile and pull you closer but the entropy causes our lips to meet again in the middle and all is well. Well. Well. Well.

friends only

Mon, 01 Aug 2005 10:06:17 GMT

you heard me.

comment to be added! <3