unfocused once more

there has been snow and ice, and red wine on midnight roofs. i can no longer do one thing at a time. i have to be occupied with at least two things at a time so as to not get restless. read and watch videos. work and write letters and draw pictures. wash the dishes and daydream and pour wine and pet the cats and play electronic chess. my minds is crying out for something at all times.
my keyboard is at a huge delay right now, so when i type everything down i can look up and see it type out on the screen slowly.
late last night i attempted to bake cookies, being inspired by the season. i learned that i will never be a baker and i would never make a good housewife and i will never make christmas cookies again.
i had a dream that i lived in my car. but the inside of my car was like a little house. with pots and pans and my telephone and shoes and furs and birdcages with little yellow birds and my globe and books. me and my little house-car just spent the days driving through mountains and over and under bridges. the entire dream was done in yellows and greens and bright. just like a warm morning in the spring.
this little blog has no structure or interest or anything. i keep typing words into different words that i was not even thinking about. proof that i am in fact loosing my mind. again.

it snowed today.
i have not seen snow in four years. i felt like a little kid and woke david up to watch it fall to the ground with me.
the feeling is undeniably winter. i need white earmuffs and black coffee. i want walks in the park and snow angels
i want to cover the apartment in flowers and trees and branches. and maybe pine cones.
while walking up 5th ave i saw christmas trees on every corner. tempted to buy one, but riding the subway home would then prove to be difficult. and it where would it fit in the apartment.
i spent too much money on books today.
psycho killer the cat is dreaming.
and i need to paint something tonight.

s.o.l.i.t.u.d.e.

staring up at the water shooting out at you. if you never close your eyes, things can never sneak up on you. or away from you. or. just away. but then you have eyes that are red from being drowned. from being lost in a desert of air. so. you. wander the studio in cotton and fur. silk robes and old man slippers. coffee in a martini glass. red wine in a mason jar. stare out the window. lean out the window. then there is smoke and pigeons and yelling 5 stories down. i live in solitude without you.
sometimes i think that it's impossible that there could be a future. thereisapast.thereisrightnow.butafuturwhereeverythingcouldbedifferentandyoumightbegoneorimightbefartherawayandwhycantthingsjuststaythesamebutmaybejustalittlebetter.
but there has to be a future.
and you have to close your eyes.

the blues come and go. the reds and blacks and golds are always here. stationary. the city is still a mystery and i have the ability to turn good opportunities into the steel bars of a cage. when things get better i want to leave. leave. leave and take you with me. only you. o.nl.yy.o.u. but then i want to stay.
i forget if we are happy here. but i know that we are happy where we are.

tonight me and david went to church at a bar for the free food.

the city is still a mystery.
but all the walking makes me smile.

Empty

things that are empty. no longer useful, they have completed what the were created to do. empty. e.m.p.t.y. no longer full.
why do i keep empty things? keep them and love them and bring them with me when i leave one place to step foot in another. dozens of empty jars. under the tables, on top of the dresser, in the drawers. empty boxes. empty suitcases. stacked against the walls. stacked inside the closet. stacked inside the trunk of my car. empty wine glasses by the bed and under the desk.
empty tuperware in the refridgerator. empty bottles lined against the front door, never taken out.
i love empty things. i keep them and save them and sometimes fill them back up, but most often just leave them alone.
does it mean something. or nothing. is there a reason i hold on to things that have been used to their full potential. no reason. no deeper meaning.
i just like empty things.
and if you look at the word... it just seems so complicated.

something happened. something at the fartest end of the universe turned on or off or inside-out and sent unluck my way. the smallest of things, losing a few dollars, walking down the steps of the subway right as the train i need is leaving, little car stalling. small things. but lots of them. every day. what does it mean. will it grow or wither away. is the world preparing and equalizing me for some futher and fantastically lucky moment. or am i being wlecomed to the school of hard knocks.
whatever it is, the cats still meow and the sun still sets. i keep finding nails on our floor and glass in the mailbox.
survive off of olives and chocolate and chardonnay. hide cigarettes and spare euros in boxes and jars for a rainy day. light a candle for the virgin de guadelupe. hope for the best.

remember what tommy newton said: "mary-lou! help me!"

once more and the first paragraph.

so here is this. a new little space where i can write words and not make pictures. i suppose i could just combine the two, but that is excess, and today i am feeling minimal. or is it the other way around.
so here is where i can tell stories and make stories. update you on my french language progress. so far i can say: je voudrais l'ours! i would like the bear! or le grenouille est le tarif. the frog is the rate. that one is not a real sentence, although it should/could be.
and i can talk about thoughts and facts and news. how i get the best ideas in the bathtub, but forget them once i am dry. how a childs toy was taken off the shelves because when ingested it turns into the date rape drug. how i haven't heard the operaman neighbor in a long while.
then you can read this and say oh thats nice and then go look at dumb pictures i painted.