Blog of Lanterns!

10 little moons shine dim on the old girls and new girls and us ones in between. I'll go and I'll keep going until it's good. No more use for sleep. No more use for smiles. But cute.

Sandra Dean.

"In a little while, I'll be gone. The moment's already passed. Yeah, it's gone, and I'm not here. This isn't happening."

Little moons don't even dry up the moist eyes.

Blog In Black and Blue. ***

I'll spend absolutely no time thinking on glass eyes of near best fit in place of fooling with and skipping stones of plenty on damned shores. But willingly will I, with the greatest indifference or shining reluctance, depending on who I am on and during those aforementioned days, look below unto polluted waters, pulsing and bubbling fastly over stones into pits or tributaries and lakes further along, grasping loosely concrete or steel, recognizing whole-heartedly that what is before me is death so quick and aquatic, but cold anxieties that used to flood channels in my eyes are frozen beneath palaces built by queens and kings occupying steadfastly land with endless acreage. God, I am scared but curious: Do your random euphorias fall like feathers on spots like hanging boys and bloody bathrooms? God, I am falling in slow motion.

You will clench my heart between your fingers if you so wish, and this I surrender to with shaking hands and flooded eyes and cold palms. You will trample over bridges and let my loves and my lost fall into chasms that I cannot see anymore. I am present in the presence of blue and the bright whites. But red lines guide me into halls and wardrobes of German blondes and hairless rats. These cats will kill me if they have to key their way into my skin with gilded claws and silver needle teeth.

I fear the laughing man with photos of families and bamboo reeds and nice shoes has mastered the arts of mastering the artwork of those minds who need saving and can be saved, but cannot, in the end, save a rock at the bottom of the ocean. Well, damn, that artist has thrown his pencils and paints in the well and walked off into great fields of foolish blades of dead grass. Maybe horsemen will find the deserters and bring back shrouds and things and make their own sortof art from black coal and woman's red blood.

What will their canvas be but a wooden frame?

Signs and Wonders.

"My mind's at the gate, looking for an escape."

Today was skipping rocks on foolish waters. I accomplished nothing besides a horrible diet. I awoke at 4PM, weary from a week of no sleep. I spake unto Joelle, learned what "equally yoked" means, took a shower, and started watching the final Harry Potter movie when Nick knocked at my door (I had planned to hang out). He drove me and his mom and brother to his house, and we brewed some Pumpkin Spice. His mother was sweet enough to get me a box of Wegman's brand Sweet n' Low. I suppose the distinguishing trait is the use of saccharin. What a cool name. It's nice to use a heavy German inflection with that word. Wow, you must be shocked at the lucid storytelling I'm spitting right about now. We walked down to Giant, laughed at a cardboard cut-out of the Cake Boss, got some donuts, debated over which brownies to buy (never bought any), had the attendant help us with 15 cents we didn't have at the pay area, bought a small Nesquik, then sat around and watched television. Oh, I also watched Nick play his fancy new video game, L.A. Noire. You are an L.A. detective in the '40s. It's very well-animated and the stories/missions are interesting. Typing the word interesting is very easy. My left hand goes real fast in the middle, square motion. I'm listening to We've Got Everything by Modest Mouse, which is a very good song that I don't often listen to. They are very lazy with records. I am sure this isn't as interesting as last night's blog, but I am not as delirious and inspired. Well, I am eating some delicious chips. I have decimated this bag that my mother just bought tonight. It is Saturday night and that is depressing. My brother is going to a wedding tomorrow instead of chillin' with me, and that depresses me further. But,

though the stills flip back and under the blues and reds fool around with eyes I don't hold in front but they in the back in some folder folding under pressure of weights and measures preordained by parishes and governments local and state humming tunes of whistling death dixon ticonderoga forts juggling terrorists and red tape. What you do is, you wet the creases and your killing is done fastly and getting rear-ended by fjords where Nazi Zombies come frozen and angry. You, Communist! Stand up and face your face forward and let's get on this pumpkin pie grind. Yes, yass, yes.

My Favorite Words/Names.

Bar  Chocolate Rose Rosary Emily August Puzzle Mud Letter Bedding Building Hold Bald Saint  Ansel Forest Oliver Say/Said Bell Burns Auburn Autumn Crying Mother Brother Diner Photography

Teenage Dirtblog.

"Now I'm covered in blood, on the bed, and it's a familiar scene, because I'm pretty sure my mind ran down this line again only last week."


Phew, barely my eyes are open or even capturing and showing off masterpieces of, I suppose, my living Luke. Bony blokes fire, I fire back though. Bearded bare-mouthed boys equivocate, I reciprocate. Still is lint settling on my feet and dust crunching on my hands, small sweeps and washing my arms off in blood. I whip cracking fingers in between warm breezes, spitting blood off through canyons of soft skin. Losing blood, clots along black borders in red lines from cats with keyed claws and keyed saber teeth or stuck on the story. So many panes I have to lift myself over and peer through, shining with wet glares. I'll take this card and that card and sign this and that until I have enough keys into bloody hands I can run up stairs to big women who think hard and see easy pictures. More mirrors to maybe let me see, stains in my shirt then perhaps that part of me. Soooooooooooooooooongs remind me of a world where by God that girl falls short of deathly notes written on my eyes with pins and spikes. The bricks got you crying until I realized all you cried was salt and I was a shaker. Is this more than you wanted to make me? By God, it was a movie. It was a major motion picture with no movements. Set it. Set it to hundreds of clocks and maybe I'll catch up one day. Just mess with my arms until they point the right way. Oh, that's big government if you don't mind me saying. Specks of halls and two dories swimming around until I gotta just go home. Big freaking locks and the bank parks wrong. Are you looking at the black mold? Maybe you haven't found the rusted nails, the glass angels, the Christmas papers, the fans, the toys, the tiles, the evenings, and the files. Long list with a rosary wrapped pencil bleeds through and out in folds of black coals tumbling around k-k-k-k-kisses beyond good measure. Maybe it was the polka dot pants that woke me up or the visible bullets. Aaaaarithmetic, baby. I'm real good, but this is muffins and cake along with sodas and baking foooooools greens. Gums filling teeths that gray and hit knees with stair steps and your godforsaken hair. Freckles call. God man, I was late to the party today, for Tell. Sometimes girls are things like bright lights, they keep you up at night. Phew, the polka dots and the glasses and the blonde and what the hell meaning of her faces in tiny shoes that cut callous armor. What did you say?

Mmm.

"This is something I have to do for myself."

You never end up seeing the red lines. They see you. So, I guess I was absent today. This makes me angry, confused, and nervous. I am writing from the comfort of my living room. We had to move the computer/desk downstairs for my brother, as he is moving into our upstairs middle room. We got ourselves a family again, I guess. Malcom is most definitely in the middle. Oh, how I wonder if the rocks will put aside their sharp ends and begin softening along with the hot steam. Proudly rocking between shores and gurgling salt. Black sheets underneath weights of deep blue.

Don't take any of this too seriously. I am not putting too much thought into it. So I have awful scheduling issues and my schoolwork is sortof put on hold right now. It isn't my fault anymore, not for the two dories or the red lines. Mrs. Shaw's 1st period Biology class is full, apparently. Walter H. White most certainly was depressed. Fugue state? Yes, definitely. Thursday. Yes, everything will be fine, you will be fine. 6 of the clock in the evening and I'll be speaking with a bearded, bespectacled fellow with a large wooden desk and bookshelf of knowledges and facts on interpreting young bloods. Moses throws up his hands and says, "Fooey!" to the black sea, instead the desk holds little boats to sail. But a kid like me, afraid of the ocean and all...can I float all the way?

Happy elephants, there is no such thing. The Wilsons have a thing for elephant figurines. Hopefully the fun I'll have with Michael tonight will somehow part the black sea. Chinese food, Halo Reach...haha. "I'm hungry".

Glass angels, you can see through them. And what's behind them isn't too promising.

Ladada. Ladada. Ladadada.