A. Rose's Blurty Entries [entries|friends|calendar]
A. Rose

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[14 Aug 2009|10:48pm]
I want to start using this again.
I know nobody really does: everyone's moved to Livejournal or grown up.
But I don't keep a regular journal and I need to think somewhere.
1 : precious : thing break : your : hold : over : me

[13 May 2009|10:37pm]
Please, please, please, tell me that you're okay, ladies.
Or, if not okay, at least alive.
break : your : hold : over : me

[10 Apr 2009|04:28am]
I'm still alive.
I forget that so many electronic things exist.
break : your : hold : over : me

[26 Mar 2009|03:10pm]
A Haiku

My cynicism
is ever growing. As is
my shoe collection.
break : your : hold : over : me

[20 Jan 2009|03:03am]
Until four minutes ago, I had forgotten that I once called myself a writer.
break : your : hold : over : me

[03 Dec 2008|08:32pm]
Is everyone still alive?
2 : precious : thing break : your : hold : over : me

[26 Jul 2008|11:08am]
I don't know how I feel about a boy who asks me out before noon. I guess ambition and cuteness should be positive things.

I do know I feel about eating breakfast with a homeless man. Awesome.

The woman who sold me cigarettes this morning told me that her grandbaby had just gone to Disney World and she hoped that her daughter and granddaughter would stop by and have a hotdog with Nanna. For a minute there, I thought maybe I want to have children and not die at thirty-five.
And then Mary called me to talk about Keith and I considered the family track record and that idea got pushed out of my head pretty quick.

Also, "On the Radio" makes me cry. Let's blame it on having to go to work.
2 : precious : thing break : your : hold : over : me

x-posted [01 Jun 2008|05:27am]
And so I transcribe a short letter entitled Luke 2.19 including the sentence: Maybe it's too much of Ecclesiastes, maybe it's not enough church, I just can't seem to get right with Jesus, or him right with me, whichever it may be. Because, in truth, I drew a bath to wash my feet in tonight. What I left out of the letter was the part where I left the house to evade unrealistic bugs slithering in my veins and am afraid of consumption, both the verb and the illness, and less than afraid of the opposite. Last night my heart shot arrows into the whole of my chest for forty-five minutes; perhaps I've just contracted something. Perhaps that something's what I've always had.

Ecclesiastes 1.18
break : your : hold : over : me

Tear this apart; I hate it. [20 Apr 2008|01:33am]
[ music | Paul Robeson: Water Boy ]

It’s four thirty in the morning on a Saturday.
I’m outside sweeping the car port because I
can’t sleep because Rachel’s studying and Jo
fell asleep on the couch. And because I’m
not lying in a paisely bed with you. Buffalo
Tiger is running under the house and as much as I’d
like to avoid thinking of you, with his disappearance
I can’t seem to do it anymore. So I think of
you and how three months ago you’d said that
you firmly believe that in a past or future life
we were or will be house cats. You’d be black
and white and I’d be quick at catching mice.
I’d smiled when you kissed me at the break
of my bangs and then drank straight from the bottle
of rum. It was four thirty in the morning then too,
but I think it was a Wednesday. And then you
told me that you wanted us to run away together,
to head out west, to giant skies and hardwood floors
and apple trees. And you waited for my logic to
kick in and when it didn’t, you drank some more
and kissed my mouth this time. I remember, you
tasted like rum and smoke and spit and I liked it.

But now it’s a Saturday and I’m outside sweeping
the car port and I can see Rachel standing in the
doorway of the front door. The yellow light from
inside the house is glowing behind her, giving her
an un-suprising halo. I ignore her because I know
that she’s standing there because she’s nervous,
because she never knows what to do when I get like
this, when I can’t hold still except when I have a
very heavy glass of bourbon to weigh me down and
every other word I say makes me cry because
my skin is itching and your voice is it’s only calamine
lotion. But right now I hate four thirty in the morning and
I can’t stop the itching feeling because
it’s been two weeks since we’ve talked because I don’t
have it in me to tell you that two weeks
ago today, I saw two house cats run out into the street
and fall pray to the wheels of a green pick-up truck.

break : your : hold : over : me

[14 Mar 2008|12:50pm]
I sat last night, amidst books; every notebook, every thing I've written since I was eight years old. Stacks of unsent letters and bittersweet Fairy Tales about girls getting their wings clipped. In all, I found myself overwhelmed by the things I used to think and be. But then, fifteen was so long ago.
I dreamt last night in blues and grays that I was in a new city on a bus I didn't know with people I didn't know. But we were all heading to the same job at the same place. It was a modernist building with a giant table in the center and we were on a scavenger hunt for a reason to stay alive. When the two typical mean girls asked me what I thought that was, I couldn't even get my head around the fact that they were speaking to me because there was a river outside the building. I woke up before I found the reason.

My mother likes dreams because they tell her what to do with her life.
I hate dreams, dreaming, sleeping, because it tells me what not to do, which is considerably harder.

That's not really why I hate sleeping; but it's going on the list.
break : your : hold : over : me

[15 Jan 2008|11:51pm]
December 24, 2007

His hands are
like giant oak tress with Virginia Creepers for veins.
They uproot themselves in syncopated rhythm
As he plays Christmas Carols on our old brown piano.
There’s no light on in the living room but the butter-colored one
From the hallway lights up his white beard and gin-pink face.

My mother’s
in the fern green kitchen behind me washing dishes.
Her brown curly hair finely streaked with grey in some
Places falls into her round face and she pushes
It back with lemon soap smelling ancient hands. When he plays louder
She closes her lake blue eyes, his roots deep into her.

I am on
the Mexican tile step between the kitchen and liv-
ing room, wrapped in a baby blue blanket, listening
To the music his oak fingers make, notes like
Tiny birds buzzing in my mouth as I hum and my grass green shoe
Catches his raindrop rhythm. Behind me, I can feel

My sister
on the other side of our low-lit kitchen. Her
Sapling fingers molding dough into cookies. Her
Hair is black and glossy like her Mary-Jane’s and
Pulled back off her Snow White face in a French Twist. She wipes her flour
Covered hands on her black pants and smiles straight cloud white teeth.

My sister -
my Rachel - flits passed me in a blur of cold black. I
Catch the smell of her: dead grass and cigarettes and
Recall when we were children and I would sit in
Her lap outside in the warm Florida winter and she would smoke
Her white cigarettes with orangey-tan filters and

She’d tell me
again and again the story of her wedding dream
Where I walked into a giant blue church and
It filled with hummingbirds as I would tear blades of
Grass to rub on her blue jeans just to make the color. She became
A hummingbird then, filling every room wherever

She wanted
to be at that time. She spent the summers making sun
Shine music and the autumns writing red poems;
Spring spawned pink stories but the winters were always
Green and they had always been ours. She perches herself
On the old oak tree to sing now: my sister and

Her oak tree
break : your : hold : over : me

[15 Oct 2007|12:34pm]
[ music | A Long December: Counting Crows ]

My father's best friend in the whole world (who's practically been in the family since I was two) has been in the hospital for two weeks. My father went to Mexico last week to see him and that's where he ended up. He has an ulcerated esophogus and they're not certain that things will end up well.
If you pray, please pray for him and pass it around to friends, if you don't mind. If you don't pray, please, in passing thought, think of him.
It really means a lot to me and to our families.

2 : precious : thing break : your : hold : over : me

[02 Oct 2007|12:58am]
Teacher: What cultures would we consider to be uncivilized in the present day?
Boy: The Middle East, like, Iraq.
Teacher: Why is that?
Boy: Because they just go around killing each other and other people all the time.

WHAT? I mean seriously. That's where we're at? That's how we're thinking.
Looking back, I should have ripped his throat out. But at the time, it somehow seemed overwhelmingly appropriate to laugh really loudly.
break : your : hold : over : me

[30 Aug 2007|07:58pm]
[ mood | peaceful ]
[ music | Star Spangled Banner: Jimi Hendrix ]

I like the way the rain falls in Tallahassee.

And the look that the cute freshmen in my Bio Lab gave me today when, upon leaving, I turned my face to the sky and opened my mouth.

Water from the sky tastes better

break : your : hold : over : me

[07 Aug 2007|04:01am]
There's this thing about the night of my birthday that I love. The first few hours of knowing exactly how long I've been on this planet. They're private, in some sort of non-private way.
It's been a few years since I was at home for my birthday; it's been even longer since I was around non-familiy for it. It's a strange sensation, really; this is the first year of my life that I actually think I've gotten older.
I generally hate birthdays. I would much rather celebrate events than a date. If anyone should be celebrated on a birthday, it's the mom, yah know? But, in this house, it's whatever you like, for the whole entire day. And, traditionally, I ask that we do nothing except be together, hang out and do puzzles and watch home videos; I ask for no presents, no cake, no singing, no mention of birthday. They disregard that last part, but it's what I'd prefer.
This year, though, my father and I are doing construction work with Anna and Mary and Johnny and Keith and my cousin. We're going out when mom gets off work. We're celebrating, traditionally. And it makes me feel strange. Everything between this point last year and now has been strange.
But these few hours, the time between midnight and when my mother quietly wakes me up to tell me I was born [some number of] years ago today, are mine. They are celebration, in and of themselves. They are every change that's happened in this past year. They are every change that will happen in the next year.
It's a glorious thing, really, when you give yourself a present.
Four o'clock in the morning, alone. There is no greater gift.
2 : precious : thing break : your : hold : over : me

[02 Aug 2007|12:16am]
[ mood | crappy ]
[ music | Andrew Bird: Lull ]

Shin Splints.
My mother tells me I have to stop running, at least for a few days, so it doesn't turn into me not walking for six-eight weeks.
I cried when she said it. Real hard.

Freedom's slipping out of my hands.

I go to the doctor tomorrow. Because I'm eight months late but not pregnant and not on any kind of BC.
This could mean so many things.

2 : precious : thing break : your : hold : over : me

[29 Jul 2007|05:44pm]
[ music | Hallelujah: Jeff Buckley ]

So I slept in her bed every night because she wanted me there, she loves me so much she can't stand it. And she loved the way that I kissed her and the way my body curves.
And the night after everything overwhelmingly came out of her, I stood behind him at the kitchen table where he was sitting beside her with his head resting on my chest and rubbed his head because his Russian homework was killing his brain. And when he looked up at me, I benevolently smiled and his smiling eyes whispered I love you and when I brought up his girlfriend, he sighed and got up to do more work.
And at night, I slept on the couch, rather than her room.
And in the morning, he covered me with his favorite blanket.

I don't know what I'm doing.

2 : precious : thing break : your : hold : over : me

[22 Jul 2007|11:53pm]
[ mood | nervous ]
[ music | Hallelujah: Jeff Buckley ]

So, I'm stepping out of routine for a minute to head back to Tallahassee for a few days, as silly as that seems. And I'm thrilled at this lovely idea of four friends in a house and rounds of Pass the Alison and spreading blankets on the family room floor as a bed so all of us can sleep in the same place. There's this glowing sort of feeling that comes when I think of the beauty that is that.
Annnnd, then I think about how he becomes overwhelmingly upset at the very mention of my name. And about how she faints at the idea of me. And about how my best one won't be there until later.
It will be fine. Everything always, eventualy is. It's just the getting there that makes me feel so strange.

break : your : hold : over : me

[19 Jul 2007|11:16pm]
[ mood | complacent ]
[ music | Nights of the Living Dead: Tilly & the Wall ]

I couldn't play the piano so I took a razor to my body and shaved absolutely everything except my hair. Which I would have shaved had we had scissors anywhere in this entire house to start it out with. And courage. Courage would be really fucking awesome right about now.

I'm losing it.

2 : precious : thing break : your : hold : over : me

[12 Jul 2007|10:30pm]
[ music | It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding): Bob Dylan ]

The sky cracked open today and poured out words that I taped to my wall.
They're clinging there, glaring at me, reminding me that I don't know what the hell I'm doing with these eccentric thoughts and hopes.
I listen to too much Neil Young, too much Cohen, too much Dylan.
I'm throwing away boxes left and right, standing in ashes and smiling a Roark-type smile.
The cat walked out on me today, when I threw my phone against the wall.
I've forgotten how to communicate.

Eleven days and I'm out of this town, away from this place for a few minutes.

break : your : hold : over : me

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