In Love With

Five Women I'm In Love With... In A Non-Freaky Way:


Jane Austen. Best female author I know of. Victorian sociologist who made her works into addicting works of fiction. Why isn't there a religion based on this woman?


Yulia Tymoshenko. Ukraine is renowned for women-trafficking, yet in a country where women are rater devalued, they have a prime ministress. Props to Yulia, I say. Props to any powerful female politician, at that.

Scarlett Johnasson. (This is pretty much the only G-rated picture I could find of her in 3 google image pages, but she's an amazing actress, and a Hollywood lady who is NOT a twig, thus I overlook her conciets.)

Ingrid Michaelson sings songs of my life. (And look at this picture, she's eating. A PICTURE OF A WOMAN EATING! This is what I want to see more of! Body-accepting).

Regina Spektor is amazing. I love her piano skills, her esoteric style, her immigrant-status. She's a goddess. That's that.

O, Uncertain Future, How I Love Thee.

I live in the past.
I live in your kisses, the way
you make it obvious when you're
about to pounce.

I live in the hallway,
where we would congregate,
the six of us. The two of us, the
intellects, the two of them, they
kept us apart. The other two?
They matter about as much
as the present.

Oh, I live in the
poker games, the nights of
Risk, That 70's Show,
however symbolic,
I live in that living room, too.

I live in the future.
The campus evening with the
leaves falling over me,
your touch far from my mind.

I live in that flat
above the laundromat
with that cat and parrot and
that struggling musician who
reminds me too much of you.

Maybe he is.
If I live in the past and I
live in the future,
maybe, in the present,
I am marrying the two.

Maybe I'm wishing the two
was you,
if you know
what I'm hinting at.

Or maybe I'm not.

Maybe I'm hoping I can
get out of this funk,
but this funk is my life.

I say I feel emotion threefold-
my emotion, your emotion, and the
emotions we're denying ourselves.
Heightened empathy,
I say, a curse,
by all means.

I want to deny myself of you,
as I know you've moved on.
Well on.
But I can't.

When I look into the past,
when I live in the past rather than
the present, my future
become my past.
My present is a fog between the two.

The future is today,
from the viewpoint of yesterday.
On this course, the present
will get bypassed,
like the protagonist
of a shitty movie,
standing dusty, alone,
with a big black
suitcase on a train platform.

Hey, wait.
That wasn't in the plan.
Did I mention trains in college?
In the apartment encima de la
laundromat?
What is my life?
What is this floating existence?

And if this is the present,
as I'm assuming it is, why
aren't I feeling gracious?
Or did I get coal?

The way I've been living,
getting coal would be an honor.

I'll stab you with a fork

if you get me something from Wal Mart for Christmas, and why you should threaten your loved ones likewise! (December 3)

The facts, always the facts:
WalMart Ranking in F500: 2
Exxon Ranking: 1
WalMart Profits: $13,400,000,000 (billion)
Exxon Profits: $45,200,000,000 (billion)
Closest Retailer: Costco
Ranking in F500: 24
Profits: $1,249,900,000 (billion)

Walmart Profits in 2008: $12,730,000,000 (billion) No. 1 in F500
Exxon Profits in 2008: $40,610,000,000 (billion) No. 2 in F500
Costco Profits in 2008: $1,082,800,000 (billion) No. 29 in F500

http://money.cnn.com/magazines/fortune/fortune500/2008(2009)/full_list/


My personal beliefs:

A Girl Can Dream.

November 28:
Places To Take A Lover (gonna take a lover- gonna take her back to somerville. show her 'round the neighborhood. re-case the place and settle down. gonna take a lover- gonna take her back to somerville. don't care if she's pretty as we leave suck city, yeaah.)

It's windy. It's cold and cloudy and I'm feeling a tad loveworn. Dreaming up days of sun, water, and love, should those things ever come my way, I compile a list:

Places To Take A Lover

Van Campen's Glenn: Swim in the pools created by waterfalls, gliding your way past walls of igneous rock.

Rooftop of Central School: You have to scale your way up, which is always fun. Plus, the stars must look nicer when breaking the law.

Astronomer's Cliff, Jenny Jump: Overlooking the sod farms is romantic- in the wow-we-live-in-a-shithole way.

The Pequest: Pack some sandwiches, bring a guitar, whatever. Muddy water makes for a nice tryst.

Tox Island: I heart abandoned houses. Just saying.

Dunnfield Creek: Take waterfalls. Add mossy hills and rocks and a meandering trail. What's not to love?

"Ireland": My little field in the middle of the woods. I love me some sunset watching.

Municipal Fields: Soccer at midnight? Playground at midnight? Need I say more?

A concert: Venue: Lovemesome mosh pits.

A concert: Coffeehouse: Lovemesome shitty music and superb beverages.

Wawayanda: The lake is huge, and has all these little islands dotted around it.

Terrace Pond: Fifteen feet of cliff above twenty feet of water? Yes.

Mountain Lakes: For those less-daring cliff divers.

Bergen Tool: Abanadoned factory, you have a place in my heart no amount of abandoned houses can fill.

The Best Was Right Here, I Need Not Look Further

November 26
A Response to his song, "Bigger And Better"

Assuming that beautiful
proclamation of moving on referred to me,
I have to retort.
I wasn't meant to see that, you
aren't meant to read this, but,
if the fates allow, we may yet
be rejoined.

I was not in search of bigger and better,
I like my men short and angst-ridden.
And I was not intentionally hurting you,
if that is indeed what you think,
I was simply trying to ease my own pain by
occupying my time with school, with band,
with college-
I wanted to leave you so little space in my brain
that you were forced to be evicted.

But I forgot that
you occupy my whole heart,
and that estate you have there is
lying vacant, in disrepair.

I cannot forget you in my mind when my heart
aches for you every
minute of every day,
in my sleeping,
my eating,
my learning.

Ethan, all the honors societies,
the medals,
the awards in the world couldn't amount to
the ten or fifteen minutes every few months that
we allow ourselves to embrace our ids-
you know what I mean.

I'm not good at any of that stuff.
I feel strange on that stage
in formal dress, award in hand.
And I'd trade any beaker, any
pile of DNA for time to spend with you.

It's violent, this feeling.
I soar in the sky with one kiss,
I fall into quicksand when we deny
each other our company.

Tell me, can spanish make me feel alive?
Can duckweed?
CanSAT'sCanIvyLeaguesCanFencing?
You said hope is fine but life is so much better-
I've hoped for as long as you have,
but ne'er have I lived,
except when in your arms.

Jaymay, You Summarize Me.

November 25:
Fuck Love, And All It Entails (Aided by JayMay's "Gray or Blue")

I feel so helpless now, my guitar is not around
And I'm struggling with the xylophone to make these feelings sound
And I'm remembering you singing and bringing you to life
And It's raining out the window and today it looks like night

You haven't written to me in a week
I'm wondering why that is
Are you too nervous to be lovers,
friendships ruined with just one kiss

I watched you very closely
I saw you look away
Your eyes are either gray or blue
I'm never close enough to say

But your sweatshirt says it all with the hood over your face
I can't keep staring at your mouth without wondering how it tastes
I'm with another boy; he's asleep, I'm wide awake
And he tries to win my heart, but it's taking time

I know the shape of your hands because I watch them when you talk
And I know the shape of your body 'cause I watch it when you walk
And I want to know it all but I'm giving you the lead
So go on, go on and take it, don't fake it, shake it

Charming, crazy eyes have you are they gray or blue,
I won't make the move you must make the move
if you make the move
I will then approve
if you do not move
we will surely lose

Don't second guess your feelings you were right from the start
And I notice she's your lover, but she's nowhere near your heart
This city is for strangers, like the sky is for the stars
But I think it's very dangerous if we do not take whats ours
And I'm winning you with words because I have no other way
I'd love to look into your face without your eyes turning away
Last night I watched you sing because a person has to try
And I walked home in the rain because a person cannot lie

Death Threats Are Not Cool

November 17
A Dislike of Mine

It's just not cool
to say that you wish a man's family will
become heartbroken by the loss of his life.

It's not nice
to pray, just as people pray before a
dinner table, that
he will be gunned down.

You claim to be righteous,
you claim to believe in God and to want
all people to have equal, unbiased judgment-
that is the work of the father, not his children.

Then why, may I ask, are you praying for his demise-
is liberal rule so terrible in your eyes?
I've been to Bible School, I heard the rules:
Love thy neighbor as thyself,
never kill,
and don't bear false witness against your neighbor.

It appears to me that you
broke all three, and
probably more, you
pretentious pig.

You call him out on lies you've heard,
stating them as fact.
You openly criticize his
policies, his
family, his
ethnicity, his
beliefs.
Would you criticize your mother's?

When you hear of death plots,
you lower your head,
trying to hide the smirk.
It wouldn't be so bad,
you think,
as long as the gun wasn't yours.

Let some crazy do the dirty work,
and leave the liberals to mourn.

You're a pig.
To wish death is to cause death-
you can be disgruntled:
I was disgruntled for four years.
But,
God DAMN! let me, and my
150,000,000 friends have at least
four years of peace- four years of progress.

Your party had their chance.
Nixon, Reagan, Bush, Bush II, Truman, et. al.
Give us a chance.
Be a real Christian:
love us with open arms.

We'd be glad to do the same for you,
if only the hate weren't such a brick wall
blocking us off.

Veteran's Day

November 11
Moaning

Why does it seem that there's
always trouble with the VA?
Some guys won't be admitted, or
recognized, or some guys can't
get adequate payment for their services?

Why is it that veterans get hit the hardest?
They come home torn, some limbless,
some friendless,
some suffering the repercussions of killing a man,
of seeing one of their men killed.

The suicide rate among vets is great,
just as the rate of vets that died due to complications from wounds in
the war.
Do you recall Ira Hayes?
The soldier at Iwo Jima,
died of alcoholism, he did,
on the bleak reservation he came home to
after fighting for our country- our men in suits
and women in ball gowns and
yachts and
estates and
horse farms and all.

I sit, moaning over my love troubles,
while my friends' brothers and cousins and fathers and sisters
are over in some alien land,
carrying guns,
fighting so I can moan about love some more.

They get little thanks.
They have to fight- even when they come home,
for a decent compensation- a check,
some pills to help them fight their memories,
anything.

And I just moan about love some more.

Another.

November 9
College

Wanted: one college
know world-round for its amazing
psych department.

The campus must be large,
the buildings brick, preferably red,
and there shall be old trees shading worn paths
made by scholars past.

I'd like the dorms to be warm,
the hallways to be home to shenanigans, such as
swivel-chair races, golfing, dumpster rolling, the like.

May you be steeped in tradition,
and your students full of pride.
I'd like them to be creative, witty,
liberal, open to adventure.

Do you have intramural soccer, dream school?
Ah, I thought so.
And a ski club? Well, blow me away!
You are environmentally conscious, without having to
announce it to the world?

What of your students? The boys must be
just the right amount of edgy, while staying kind, and
their minds must be as open as their car doors, that they hold open
on our first date- nothing more, I can care for myself, thank you.

Are your girls thinkers?
Do they worship Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, all that is
strong and female? Do they care about new concepts
as much as new clothes?
Do they appreciate a good piece of pie?

Your location, of course, is in a city.
Close to home, with a thriving social scene.
The coffeehouses are quaint, the music experimental,
the restaurants inventive and affordable.

Tuition? Need I even care?
I have a free ride, your endowment is huge
but your heart larger, and kids of middle-class quinquagenarians
oft get in for free-
I'm no exception.

Oh, college of my dreams, I know you exist.
Somewhere between Narnia and the River Styx,
north of Camelot and east of Atlantis.
More prestigious than Oxford, but I don't even have to take
the SAT's to get in.

Oh, she posted another within an hour of her last one! How devoted.

November 7
Teenage Desires:

I want nothing more
than to feel your heart
beat
in time with mine.

In addition,
let's have sex-
no, make love-
like it's the day before you go to college.
Everyday.

Then, the day you
go off,
we'll do it like
it's the day of the apocalypse.

I'd make you a sandwich,
I swear I would,
anything,
glady, even, to hold you
closely and know you're not afraid.

Not of me, of course,
but of love,
of attatchment,
of being exposed, vulnerable.

I'm scared, too, and I know we
cut ourselves off
from what we could be,
from fear of losing
what we are.

But living in fear
is hardly a life-
more of a passive existence.
Let's be aggressive!

Our time is short and
we keep resorting to old,
sexually frustrated ways.
I don't want to be frustrated;
I want to be yours.

First Post.

I made Kneehill (pronounced nihil, if that says anything about what I hope my identity will remain) to write some poems. I have many, lying around my sock drawer, never read. I can't contain all this emotion in a 12x9 room anymore. It's too much to bear, like the color on my walls, lavender since I was ten. That's really it, I mean, my poems are pretty much going to tell you, whoever you are, all you want to know about me, all I know about me, and all you can psychoanalyze about me (if you choose to try).