i was shot 8 times last night for a crime that i didnt commit; i was shot 8 times by association. the true murderer sat inside, bleeding slightly out of the corner of his left eye because he had been hit by the end of the rifle. i lay outside, on the ground next to the driver's side of the car, bleeding heavily out of my mouth and feeling my clothes grow wet and heavy with my life. i was still moving, to the disastisfaction of this redeemer, and so he brought the barrel of the gun right to my face. i could smell the powder. it was dark, sprinkling a little. a crowd had gathered, but only for the perverse satisfaction of watching the gore. i covered my face with my hands, which was so incredibly painful i should have cried - i didnt, though. i got up, blood now running from my nostrils as well as my mouth, down my neck, between my breasts, down my legs and into my shoes, which now squished with each step. i trudged away, refusing to die. nobody chased after me. i stumbled, but kept my balance despite what felt like a concussion. my whole body was throbbing in time with my heart, which was slowly losing steam. i was angry, but at peace. what was there for me to do?  ¶ 16:34

  so this is new. ill spruce it up... im not exactly the shizzy when it comes to this stuff, but im trying.  ¶ 03:37

  LAST GODS
by Galway Kinnell

She sits naked on a rock
a few yards out in the water.
He stands on the shore,
also naked, picking blueberries.
She calls. He turns. She opens
her legs showing him her great beauty,
and smiles, a bow of lips
seeming to tie together
the ends of the earth.
Splashing her image
to pieces, he wades out
and stands before her, sunk
to the anklebones in leaf-mush
and bottom-slime -- the intimacy
of the visible world. He puts
a berry in its shirt
of mist into her mouth.
She swallows it. Over the lake
two swallows whim, juke, jink,
and when one snatches
an insect they both whirl up
and exult. He is swollen
not with ichor but with blood.
She takes him and sucks him
more swollen. He kneels, opens
the dark, vertical smile
linking heaven with the underearth
and licks her smoothest flesh more smooth.
On top of the rock they join.
Somewhere a frog moans, a crow screams.
The hair of their bodies
startles up. They cry
in the tongue of the last gods,
who refused to go,
chose death, and shuddered
in joy and shattered in pieces,
bequeathing their cries
into the human mouth. Now in the lake
two faces float, looking up
at a great maternal pine whose branches open out in all directions
explaining everything.  ¶ 01:33

  this is the first moment of lust for the past that i have truly, honestly, deeply felt in a long time.
i open the case, and for the first time, im smelling a hint of must... the silver keys are more tarnished than ever, but the black body still shines. a reed is still in the mouthpiece (bad girl) from the last time it was played, which was over a year ago.
this was my baby when i was in elementary school. its just a plastic student model, but all the same, its mine. when i was in high school, i was able to get my hands on a really nice yamaha so that i wouldnt have to purchase a newer, cleaner sounding model. so, once i graduated, i was left once again with this little plastic jupiter. the same two keys are sticking, which often left the instrument unplayable. i need to fix that.
i have a new reed today... im soaking it right now. who the hell knows how this is going to sound.
i miss playing first chair. i miss having a designation. i miss identifying myself with this thing, no matter how frequently i insisted to gene that the band would sound much better if i would play the piano accompaniment rather than pair up with kent on the first part.
we'll see how this sounds.
my clarinet.... "flurry".... my first instrument. who knew?  ¶ 15:48