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in the pilot jackie teases shauna abt her “catholic phase” and to that shauna responds that she liked the saints bc she thought they were “so tragic”. in the last ep of s1 during their fight the first insult shauna calls jackie is tragic. she calls her other things too but its so intresting that the first thing she thinks of is tragic. to me thats like a freudian slip. jackie was shaunas saint.

Haiku #2

prince turns to pauper in the the dying sun's arms for all else is lost

first base is putting your cigarettes out on each other second base is psychosexual obsession third base is murder-suicide

Door open in my room

Now I lie in my bed

my window is open wide

I don’t have to be outside to feel the cool breeze

I can hear so much

The wind

The birds

My dog’s breath

My pen on paper

Leaves rustling

Cars rushing by

My brother’s laughter

And the tapping of my own fingers

The sky is turning purple

With the purple comes comes a cloud of calm

And a gust of joy

I want it to stay this way

(Perfect temperature, perfect sounds, perfect peace)

Forever.

Viktor Zaretsky - Tatyana (ca. 1980s)

Off to sleep

When I close my eyes to look for sleep’s touch, I think of you.

I think of how our fingertips brushed

How much it meant to me, how little it meant to you. 

I hear your breath laughing in my ear at some joke I didn’t say,

but I wish I did. 

I remember all of the time we spend together,

even if you don’t. 

I can still see all of the little notes you left on my desk

which I wish I kept not just in my heart, but in my hand as well. 

It is all so comforting, as I drift away.  

Just to know you are in my life. 

Even if you are not mine. 

If I am being truly honest with myself,

When I think realistically about my future, 

I know in my heart I will be alone. 

It’s not that love isn't something I yearn for.

I do. I really do. 

There is this fire in my heart that wants to be put out.

But I know it will always burn.

It’s not that I am incapable of loving. 

At least I hope not. 

It’s just that I can’t really see why anyone would want to deal with loing me.

From what I know, 

Which isn't much, 

Is that love is supposed to be through thick and thin. 

Love is supposed to be filled with little moments,

Like thinking of them while you fall asleep,

Like getting to know every little thing about them.

Love is supposed to be like coming home in their arms. 

And while I feel like I could feel all of those things for someone else, 

I know nobody would feel it for me. 

Who would want to?

They want to love someone interesting. 

Someone happy. 

Someone smart. 

Someone real. 

I’m none of those things. 

No matter how hard I try. 

I hope one day I will get the hang of it. 

Being lovable. 

But I suppose for now, all that is, is a silly, childish dream.  

pretty

What do I have to do?

Paper thin and delicate

(So far from me)

Thin little lines, not the ugly kind

Bones of glass

Skin like water

Hands that fit into another hand properly

Canyon gap between legs

Face soft and structured

(not me)

Starve? 

Pray?

Crows

by Mary Oliver

It is January, and there are crows like black flowers on the snow. While I watch, they rise and float toward the frozen pond, they have seen some streak of death on the dark ice. They gather around it and consume everything, the strings and the red music of that nameless body. Then they shout, one hungry, blunt voice echoing another. It begins to rain. Later, it becomes February, and even later, spring returns, a chorus of thousands. They bow, and begin their important music. I recognize the oriole. I recognize the thrush, and the mockingbird. I recognize the business of summer, which is to forge ahead, delicately. So I dip my fingers among the green stems, delicately. I lounge at the edge of the leafing pond, delicately. I scarcely remember the crust of the snow. I scarcely remember the icy dawns and the sun like a lamp without a fuse. I don’t remember the fury of loneliness. I never felt the wind’s drift. I never heard of the struggle between anything and nothing. I never saw the flapping, blood-gulping crows.