intravenously polite, it was the walkie talkies that had knocked the pins down

as her shoes gripped the dirt floor, in a silhouette of dying.

(dancin on the corpses ashes)

"you drove yourself to the emergency room and didnt tell anyone?! jamie pounds!"

"you know, it was when i hit my head twice, that i became this way," tariq grins, catching my eye

(number one, garrett tumbles, in his attempt to pick me up and spin me around.

number two, jimmy salantri hurls a large, rubber ball from the street to my porch and it smacks straight into the side of my head, demolishing my vision, sending a buzzing noise exploding through my skull. the rest of the weekend, i can hardly interact. i'm removed. i can't connect. nothing makes sense. piecing language together is unbearably difficult. my words come out slurred. i'm so exhausted, i sleep 7 hours on the porch sofa saturday afternoon, covered in small elm flowers, waking to peel them gently from within my curls. my head, is aching.)

the curtain rises on me, clad in nothing but my black dress coat, standing alone, on my side porch at 2 in the morning, watching the foliage, coursing with cerulean.

all it says is you're tonights casualty,

curled up in my huge, brown sweater on the fire escape of tariqs west college apartment. below me, a drunk girl and a semi drunk boy are fighting, her drunken slurs slamming against my ear drums "i just want to go to kyles!" shes screaming "where's kyle! where's kyle!"

tears are streaming down my cheeks.

to my left, the bedroom door opens, and tariq steps out into the night.

"i thought you had left." he says "are you alright?"

the drama continues below "i just want to to kyles!"

i nod "i just needed some air."

he pauses

"i'm just enjoying the air. i'm fine, really."

as he goes back inside, i stretch out on the wrought iron floor, head in my arms, sweater wrapped around my tiny body. i could sleep here, i think, shrouded safe in the shadow of the mountains and the hum of nearby friday night state college parties.

and in case it wasn't already clear..

this is all love, all the time.

undone.adieu.

this is about,

assembling.

my hands, intent, sewing.

functionality.  wedding art and purpose.

"you worded that so well".

and how thats assemblage, as well.

placing nuances and phrases, just.  so.

about the delicate way his hands brought to life.

about how yasi is annoying me right now.  with her insistence.. her..

how all i want to do today is sew, headphones bringing broken social scene to life in my ears.

learning, from people.

about that room, with all the clothes, hanging from the ceiling.  the thread.  the fabric.  "the machine sometimes goes too fast.  it may take longer, but i prefer to stitch everything together by hand."  the warm smell of pure earth.  and how it was only thursday, my hands smelled like dirt, for no reason at all.  how i saw him, on campus, while i was reading, when he was on his long board, glancing at me out the corner of his eye as he went past.  how all of these things seem portentous, now.   and everything, all these cherries.

one stitch.  two stitch.  thick, gold thread.

the hush of plants.

flicker of a candle.

this music, is beautiful right now.

my hands smell like dirt.

in retrospect, today was much better than i thought at the time.

almost thought i was losing it, before i realized that thats what its like to live as me, always in motion and teetering on the edge of balance like youre always just about to tumble over and somehow at the last second youre righted and did you do that?  or did it just happen?  and where am i going?  and where even am i? youre never quite sure but somehow you just keep racing forward aching longing for the next step the next step the next step.

sat out by the alumni gardens and read poetry for a few hours in the sun and felt rejuvenated, then took an in class essay exam in philosophy and walked home with joe rehashing each question and felt accomplished because i think i did better than expected.

(its night and the sky is clear, and from the park by yasi's house you can see for miles and she's twirling in the grass, arms out stretched, tipsy and buoyant and i'm lingering on the path watching her, half envious.  i, too, used to be able to do that.  in my small heels i'm teetering along the edge, swaying back and forth.  "i just... want kyle to come back."  i whisper.  i lower myself to the mud, remove my shoes, dig my feet into its depths.

"you know you just picked the worst place to sit down"  yasi laughs.

I shrug.  "no, i wanted this place."

kyle, january 11th, 2009: "i just miss you jamie.  miss the time where you could come over and we could so some good drugs, then pass out on each other.  how about destiny?  how about pure originality?  how about a classic example of intellect attracting intellect, body on body, you and i, lips to lips.  i am all fucking for you.")

i could try to continue an entry right now, but i think i'd rather watch the onset of dusk, admiring the shape of my shoulders under my razor back top in the mirror.   these are turning into just bullet lists of the things i've done and want, anyway. 

i say that like its a bad thing.  after a winter of constant self work, this plateau is nice.

windows, they contain what is best

of us, the glass your arm has arranged

into crystal by spinning eye, by alarms

taken when the rain has chosen a form

unlike the universe, similar to ups and downs

which vary or change as cowslips

in the meadow we cross have a natural tint

the planes reflect our hesitations and delight.

everything has been status quo, lately.

i've been reminiscing and reconvening and aligning and the like.  read 92 pages of the rum diary last night and am excited to get back out into the world and cause a little trouble, stir up a little scene.

stayed up til midnight to watch april come in.  it wasn't as metaphorically symbolic and exciting as i'd hoped.

i've been stricken with this latent desire to learn as much as i can from everyone in the world.

monday night, at garretts he had me in fits over the stories he was telling documenting his experiences on the bus from state college to quakertown and vice versa,("i just strike up conversations with everyone" he shrugs "i'm that kid i don't mind, you'd be surprised at how much people really want to talk") my personal favorite involving an old western pennsylvanian farmer with dentures ("and it was the first time i'd ever witnessed someone's teeth falling out imagine how jarring that was for me, in the middle of conversation for this man's teeth to just tumble from his mouth, catch them, and put them back in!  like, christ!"), who turned to garrett, as they were passing a quarry filled with water and said,

"you know, theres probably tons of cars down there.  cars filled with bodies.  they find them, all the time.  would you ever want to do that?"

and just turned, staring back out the window.

yesterday afternoon, was an outdoor table at pickles, one of the local bars, on my way to class, with mani and a friend of hers i'd never met before.    i spoke of love with this boy dan; its amazing to me how much the mind of people, specifically boys, of this college age are concerned with love.  admittedly, i too am guilty of it, though not to the extent of my teenage years.

he seemed to try to make the point of soulmates, of true love... theres 6 billion people in the world, he argued, what if you don't find the one person?

i told him his conception was flawed, basically.  

gosh, how to consolidate one shimmering, multi-faceted idea into two dimensional words.  this is about leibniz's theory of pre-established harmony, of an expression into time of something that happens outside of it, of the individual as one, perfect, complete expression playing itself out through experience.  

its not about searching, about finding... but about being, in proximity.  and even so, theres no necessity of forever.

i lied, though, when i told him i'd never experienced something so true.  its a lie i use to prevent grief, or expel hope, both equally terrifying emotions.

this morning its raining and i've been sitting next to the window in my kitchen all day, headphones over my ears, sipping coffee (8 am) and then blackberry tea (2pm), admiring the miniature blotches of green appearing amongst the wakening brown of the landscape.

you've got that guilty smile that culminates in bedlam.