Dancing Like My Mother

i want to write about the break up
yeah
so what
the break up
the details of time and space
more specifically it was the first time
i noticed that your clock in your room
is like the clock in a school, like its
a actual school clock and that you clipped
a clip light to your plant.
there's the sound of aretha franklin coming up through the floor
real loud
and you're all
"I can't believe my neighbor plays my music so loud, it's one am"
you said that.
I lay on your bed face down trying to not fall asleep.
knowing that now i'll have to walk 20 blocks home
in the cold
at 1:15 am.
and i'm not even drunk
being sober i should be asleep before last call

fuck you
fuck you for making me sit through Precious
on what is or was our last date
even though i didnt want to see it
and CERTAINLY didn't want to spend 11 dollars seeing it
fuck having to try
and try
and try


i dont want to explain this to you.
what i want is you to hold my hand and tell me again
one more time that you love me
yeah and i want to fuck you at least once
before the break up.
i have dreams to be better than this
than this moment
than this moment of failure which is the same
as the last moment when i failed

yeah.
fuck you and fuck this
you know what i want? i want you
i want to stand next to you when you get your next fucking big compliment
i want to know how sad you are when your fucking mother says some weird shit to you
i want you to know that even though i'm fundamentally wasting my time so are you
its just the duration of my success is by the hour
and yours seems to last longer
its all luck buddy anyway
enjoy the shit i give when we're together.
fuck you

Posted by Johnny at 10:24 PM | Permalink | Comments

tonight kinda sucked
you grought home htat guy who kinda sucked]
and when you left the strobe lightredlightsmokemachinelight of the club

it was obvious
the way he sucked


his fakeglsses
his kindamaybe seventies ish shirt
the way he talked about beiing diagnosed as insane
in a boring and unconvincing way
yeah

so he's gone
and you're eating blue tortilla chips
leftovers from a part time job

dipped in cottage cheese.
the guy you date is asleep
acrosss town
whle you, drunk, eat chips and cottage cheese.
take a shower,
boil some brocclie
drink somewater
become a better person
sorta

Posted by Johnny at 2:50 AM | Permalink | Comments

1.
I wake 20 minutes into a fitful and dreamy sleep.
the room is black
"The room is black"
the room seems always to be black
and it seems always to be 2a.m.
i wake at two am in a black room.

my mother gave me a small round sound machine
when i left for college.
it has different settings
white noise
stream
rain
heart beat.
i like rain
it keeps out sounds so i can sleep.
and it keeps me asleep when i wake up
at 2 am or other times when i would want to sleep.

tonight it does not work

i worry my jaw back and forth
i seem to always "worry my jaw"
i seem to always wake at 2 am in the black room
worrying my jaw
i roll around the bed

i get up and wake my roomate

he's fallen asleep with the light on
and a book open next to his head
glasses crammed on his face
eyes shut.

he tells me not to worry
he tells me to make a list of the ways i can make money in the next 45 days
he tells me that the world doesn't really make sense
and if my last shitty job, that i don't have anymore
was the only thing keeping me here, in this city i love
well then that is bullshit
he tells me i am amazing and that just because i failed miserably
and pathetically at being an artist doesn't mean i can't try again
no one is keeping score he says
i thank him.

i ask where we keep the kava kava
he says "use just a table spoon"
outside his window someone on the street
someone most likely drunk
sings
"it's my party and i'll do what i want to"
after a pause they yell
"who's gonna fuck with me....and my party?"


2.
What it is is that it seems that all the magics gone
out of the world.
and i'm left here with my face half painted
smelling like pizza
and mostly alone.

Posted by Johnny at 3:06 AM | Permalink | Comments

you sit, with your face leaned toward, and nearly into, the greasey plastic take out container on your lap.
the contents of which currently are:
two chicken bone legs
a chicken breast bone
the gnawed end of a chicken wing bone
and thin swipes of mashed potatoes.
A beige ceramic mug
next to your left knee
on the green painted wood floor
steams with dark dark coffee
just brewed.
You chew.
a fleck of chicken skin on your lower lip, near the corner.
you chew just enough, till you can swallow the ball of meat
just enough so it can slide down your esophagus. just enough.
you scald your mouth with the coffee,
chasing all traces of the
overcooked underseasoned grey meat.
you need to clip your nails. they are too long.
you need to change your pants, the crotch smells, and the thighs.
you need to charge your phone.
you need to shower and shave and brush your teeth.
you need to call your mother again
you need to get a job a good job a great job a job that does not leave you dead tired and dead eyed and dead dead. a job that will lift you up and ply you with bills upon bills upon bills of money so that you can pay down bills upon bills upon bills of debt. a job that will change your life into the magical story it was meant to be and you its unlikely but well deserving hero.
yes yes a job.
you drink more coffee.
your tongue burns.
the roof of your mouth.
tommorow morning's juice will sting,
your lips too.
you could sleep now. you could tumble forward
greasy head into greasy plastic takeout container
and pass out right here on the green painted wood floor.
you could.
even with the coffee in you now
mixing with the meat and the potatoes
mixing with the wine
and beer
and vodka drinks
and snacks-all free
consumed earlier at the
art opening
the pineapple pieces
the humus on pita
the fancy meats and cheeses piled high on a napkin and
sucked in quickly between glasses of wine in the corner
back turned all traces of drink and food
wiped quickly away on a
small
white
square
paper
cocktail
napkin.
you knock the coffee over
it flows out
into the shape of an island
then bigger
a continent
outside a distant jack hammer
mimics the sound of a wheezing
and unstarting car.
you take off your two day
dirty socks
and throw them at the continent
you tip the plastic container over.
you bend forward and vomit
it all
all of it
everything of it
the chicken
the gnawed bone bits
the potatoes
cheese
crackers
hummus
wine
beer
vodka
coffee
in that order
a spectrum
a food spectrum
it wretches
once
twice
three times
out of you.
after
with the mess
of coffee
vomit
and socks infront of you.
after. you touch your face
and it is wet
the jack hammer wheezes, car like.

Posted by Johnny at 9:39 PM | Permalink | Comments

he describes being touched
"it's like when you are going from point a to point b. But there is snow, three feet of snow. and if there's tennis rackets you can walk, you know, on top of the snow, but if there aren't any tennis rackets you sink in. your feet just sink in. It's like that like your weight is, you know, your weight is..."
you say
"its so weird that you said it like that"
he says
"well i mean, like, what kind of lizard has like wide feet so that it can walk on water? it's like that"
you say
"but you said tennis rackets, and not snow shoes. you said point a to point b instead of just- walking on snow"
he says
"or insects with wide feet, because then the weight is spread out, like wider"
you say
"jesus"
he says
"jesus has wide feet, he walked on water"
you say
"really? wide feet"
no, you say
"Really Wide Feet"
you say
"that's what it's like, like sinking into the snow, should i not touch you"
he says
"not always, sometimes its like tennis rackets"
you say
"are you stoned? i mean, are we stoned?"
he says
"what's so weird about point a to point b?"
he laughs
you put your hand on his knee and he stops
you ask
"tennis racket"
he says
"no"
you ask
"jesus"
he says
"no"
you say
"snow"
he says
"snow"

Posted by Johnny at 11:32 AM | Permalink | Comments

10 unhealthy things to do today
-a donut (poor quality donut with white icing and coconut flakes on top)
-3 cups of coffee (at once)
-repeated (inappropriate and unrequited) texts to a boy
-half a cigarette (spread out as small sips from friends' fags)
-pot brownie (eaten 12 hours ago, but effects lingering and slightly debilitating, especially with regards to judgements about texting a boy and eating a donut)
-no shower
-lo mein/chow mein (too soft chewy chicken pieces but mostly greasy fried noodles with maybe a leaf of bok choy and floret of broccli)
-use of internet net working sights and online tv streaming as a means to not draw or write or read.
-compulsive masturbation (as a sedative before sleep or as a means to not draw or write or read)
-abuse of alcohol and the use of convoluted logics and reasoning to justify said abuse, and reframe it as if not a healthy behavior but one that is harmless and even neccessary.

Posted by Johnny at 11:24 AM | Permalink | Comments

I pour the rest of the vodka from the freezer into a small
glass, not unlike a tumbler but tinier.
I cut the dry dead part from the half a lemon on the butcher block,
and squeeze the good part into the vodka. I do not use ice.
I turn on the radio to NPR, to science friday on npr with that host
who sucks, his voice grating and attitude so condescending
i break two eggs into a heated iron skillet
they sizzle, i add ground beef, onions, baby spinach.
voices of very drunk men come in through the thin glass of my kitchen
window
they must've been drinking since sun up to be this drunk now.
My eggs are done. My vodka's gone.
this is the beginning of a very bad day.

Posted by Johnny at 8:49 PM | Permalink | Comments