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Date Posted: 17:06:29 10/12/04 Tue
Author: crack whore
Author Host/IP: 68.91.91.43
Subject: Is It A Coincidence That "Theses" Rhymes With "Feces"?)
In reply to: volt 's message, "a LK's diary entry" on 17:09:39 10/07/04 Thu

The Coora Flower

Today I learned the coora flower
grows high in the mountains of Itty-go-luba Bésa.
Province Meechee.
Pop. 39.

Now I am coming home.
This, at least, is Real, and what I know.

It was restful, learning nothing necessary.
School is tiny vacation. At least you can sleep.
At least you can think of love or feeling your boy friend
against you
(which is not free from grief).

But now it’s Real Business.
I am Coming Home.

My mother will be screaming in an almost dirty dress.
The crack is gone. So a Man will be in the house.

I must watch myself.
I must not dare to sleep.


CHILDREN COMING HOME (The David Company, 1991)



>Posted by Jamelah F. Earle (jamelah)
>
>"The only way I can fall asleep is if the room is
>totally dark, so I guess it's fortunate that when I
>close my eyes, all I see is black. But my eyes are
>open, which means sleep is out of the question."
>
>
>Does this reminds anyone of like a bad Jodie Foster
>movie or maybe a cheesy underground comic strip?
>
>"This is okay, because it's now, at three whatever in
>the morning that I can see things better. The pile of
>clothes that I've been steadily building over the past
>week looks like a dead body sliding off of my desk
>chair onto the floor, something that's infinitely
>preferable to the only truth I have, the one that says
>I'm a mess."
>
>Its not exactly Virginia Woolf, more like Squeeky
>Fromm's "A Letter from Atascadero".....
>
>
>"There was a full moon a few nights ago, a month ago,
>sometime. All the nights have started running together
>now that I've decided to stop being an idiot. And
>anyway, I don't have curtains on my window, so my room
>was lit up like a crime scene. Or the inside of a
>broken refrigerator, one where the door shuts and the
>light stays on and all that's in there is a bottle of
>beer, half a jar of mustard, some shredded cheese, and
>me, wishing I'd remembered to put on an extra pair of
>socks."
>
>In Cal, this would be grounds for a 5150.....she needs
>help, for sure
>
>
>"It gets cold in here at night."
>
>(deep, sistah)
>
>"I haven't slept in weeks, not really slept, and I'm
>just arrogant enough to believe that I'm doing fine.
>Or at least that's what I let myself pretend while I
>stare at my dead body of discarded clothing and try
>not to think about things. Every night, the neighbors
>scream at each other, and all I know is that I don't
>scream enough, that the scar on my foot is invisible
>in the dark, that if I weren't too lazy to get up and
>get my cigarettes out of the kitchen, I could be
>burning myself alive in bed right now.
>
>I'd be warm then."
>
>
>99 Days of Discarded Clothes: A Journal of a Crack
>Whore?
>
>
>"There is a part of me that likes freezing, I guess,
>because even though I know that I could huddle
>underneath the blankets and give unconsciousness a
>shot, this is the only choice I have. Insomnia has
>taught me that I can indeed commit to something, and
>I'm going to hang onto it. This is the first time in
>my life I've remembered my dreams."
>
>The vocabulary, syntax, and depth of insight is about
>the level of a 10th grade failed cheerleader.........

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