Sunday, July 31, 2005


Put something else on instead,
And come back with me
Green and red
Merion engraved
finally dead
I don’t know where this is going yet.

I don’t know what I’m doing
half of the time
and I could swear
that I’m blind in one eye
drunk on one side
squinting at you
Sometimes I pretend I can see you.

And I know you're just pretending too.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005


I want to write so badly
But there’s a black spot
In front my face
That keeps disrupting me.

I think it’s the shadow of my nose.

Elizabeth Wurtzel on 9-11

"I had not the slightest emotional reaction. I thought, 'This is a really strange art project.' It was the most amazing sight in terms of sheer elegance. It fell like water. It just slid, like a turtleneck going over someone's head."

Elizabeth Wurtzel was quoted as saying this in response to 9-11. I personally think that it's a great quote. I felt like I was floating in water that day, or as if I was underwater, and everyone was talking to me, but the sound was gurgled and unintelligible. I looked at whoever was speaking and blew bubbles of nonsense in response. Nothing could really get through. I went to classes as usual, and at my college, there was some kind of welcoming week occurring at the time. Instrumental bands were playing celebratory music all day long as we dragged ourselves around from class to class trying to figure out what the hell was going on. It was completely surreal.

Apparently, Wurtzel's comments lead to Miramax pulling the film and releasing it safely on video four years later. As a fan of both the movie and the book, this angers me. I don't think Wurtzel is necessarily an unfeeling stuck-up American who makes light of the tragedies that exist in this society. On the contrary, she uses tragedy in her writing, and she does it well. Tragedy exists. Her reaction was just as genuine as any other American reaction, and censoring her movie (a movie that has nothing to do with war or patriotism at all) is simply asinine.

She is an American. I am an American. We're supposed to have free speech. Lucky for me, I'm not famous, and I don't owe any film companies any explanation.

I guess I should post this on contabland too.

The Onion's review of Prozac Nation

Sunday, July 24, 2005


Freckled faced
Hair in braids
Innocent twit
Dolores Haze

But Lolita was never my name

and tennis was never my game.


I don’t want to be your girl anymore

I’m going to run away
I know I’ll escape you

And you’ll hunt me down
like a broke-down hound
But I’ll disappear without a trace.

And you’ll die of obsession
praising my name…

Your sweet, Dolores Haze

Innocent twit
Dolores Haze

Ask me
Beg me
To come back someday

pale and changed
pregnant and plain
yours truly,
Dottie Haze

I am going to escape you someday.

Saturday, July 23, 2005

Fragments Too

I call you excuse,
But I swear that you’ll do.

I keep finding bones in my soup.

I wrote this last night
like the soup was for you
But it’s gone now
Like you’ll be soon too.

Have angry sentiments forgotten you?

Do you think soup is what soup wanted to do?

He’ll come to get me in an hour or two.

Please call me if you get confused.

Friday, July 22, 2005


I am dehydrated pickle chips
waiting for hamburger you.
I can’t agree with shadow
But I know now what now means to you.

Nothing is more painful than dawn
except the boom and Bloom of my name.
Tomorrow's yesterday is always today.
And an insane reality is, apparently, sane.


I am a slave to the taste of salt
Soup, popcorn, pretzel sticks.
But I’m an addict, so it isn’t my fault.

This is yet another elemental poem.

Thursday, July 21, 2005

Einstein Quotes

"Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one."
-Albert Einstein

A list of Einstein quotes


Soup always tastes better
from a ladle than a spoon
I could swear it’s almost noon
but let’s rename it 22.

Spread your legs
and feed your head
Disease spreads
like green on bread.

20 minutes simply won’t do.

Lukas Haas

I had a dream the other night that it was New Year's Eve, and I was at a big house party. Everyone was drinking and living it up, and for some reason my dad was there, which in reality would be absurd because he doesn't drink anymore, hates parties and completely despises New Year's Eve. I was feeling a little bored with the party, when suddenly Lucas Haas walked in with all of his friends. They were all wearing make-up as if they had just been to see the Rocky Horror Picture Show, only less extreme. It actually looked really good on him. In the dream, Lucas Haas and I knew one another, so I waved at him and he smiled back, seeming genuinely glad to see me. I went over to him and we started flirting and hanging all over each other. I even asked him if he wanted to go out on a date with me sometime.

Lucas and I left the party to go find some place quiet to hang out and talk, but by that time it was more than just a big house party. It was the hugest New Year's Eve bash that ever was. I think it was the end of a millennium or something. We were all in a big building now instead of a house, like an arena or a school. It must have been a school because it had a gymnasium, but it was arena sized, and the whole place was filled with vendors selling beer and food for the party, like an indoor Summerfest combined with a grocery store.

Lucas and I went to the gymnasium and it was empty. He offered me a cigarette and I told him I needed to go get something to drink first. I asked him if I could get him anything and he said that he wanted Tecata. I was planning on having a Corona myself. When I left the gymnasium it was complete chaos. People were scrambling all over and buying everything in sight like it was Armageddon. I looked everywhere but I couldn't find any Tecata. I couldn't find much of anything. It was approaching midnight and everyone was panicking. I saw my dad standing around looking like he wanted to go home but I pretended not to see him. I wanted to get back to Lucas, but I still didn't have any drinks.

When midnight struck everything stopped. No one sang Auld Lang Syne or toasted with champagne. Everything just went dark. All of the vendors disappeared, as did most of the party goers, with the exception a few stragglers. I ran back to the gymnasium to find Lucas, and I saw that he was leaving. I ran after him and he was easy to catch up to because he had crutches like his character in Leap of Faith.

Next time Lucas Haas comes to one of my dreams I will make Tecata (or anything else he might want) instantly appear with the power of my mind. I will remember that I am dreaming and manipulate the dream to my liking. It takes a lot of concentration, but I know that it's possible. I've done it before.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005


This life is to breed.
Maybe someday even we
can have a welfare baby
of our own.

We could name her Christine
and feed her canned peas and
let her out once or twice
a day to roam.

We could feed her raw meat.
We could feed her bird seed.
We could feed her Mac and Cheese.
We could feed her Mickey D's.

And when she turns sixteen,
maybe then even she can
have a welfare baby
of her own.

Monday, July 18, 2005

I found this amusing

Pulp Fiction in 30 seconds

Nik wants credit for finding it.


You stare at me blank
your eyes like waning moons.
No one ever speaks until I do.


You nauseate me
with necessity.
Ambulance sirens,
and cute EMTs.
Get it off of me please!
The air is sickening.
The air is thickening.
It’s asphyxiating me.

Visit the Poetic Table of Elements

Sunday, July 17, 2005

Beware of gnomes in raincoats.

Thursday, July 14, 2005


I just discovered the poetic table of elements. You can write a poem about the element of your choice. I just wrote one about Helium.

Helium drift me
from your weightlessness
and set me squeaky free
send me birthday party poem.

Old Man

If I were a man
I would want to grow old
I would wear funny pants
and play the trombone

I would drive a blue Buick
really slow down the street
and wear argyle socks
with brown shoes on my feet

I would smoke sweet tobacco
from an old dirty pipe
and keep my shoes on
until ten at night

And I’d bury my wife,
be widowed alone,
and build things of wood
for my lonely old home.

It's the end of the world as we know it, or maybe just an air show

I've been feeling really paranoid today. I keep thinking we're all going to die. I know that we are all going to die at some point, but with all of these jets flying overhead I feel like a bomb is about to get dropped on me. I learned from the news that there's an air show this weekend, which explains all of the jets, but doesn't keep me from feeling the urge to duck and cover every time they fly overhead. It also doesn't help that Nik and I both had apocalyptic type dreams last night. I dreamt that we were caught in a tornado inside of my dad's SUV. We knew we with perfect clarity that we were going to die. Nik dreamt that he overslept, and then awoke to look out the window and see fire raining down from the sky.

Maybe I should stock up on bottled water and canned goods.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005


We wanted normalcy and sanity
And the comfort of routine

I went back and took him with me
We swallowed the truth like seeds

stuck in my throat, gagged me closed
The stale comfort of home.
I think I'm a poet because I lack patience. I've never been the type to write poems that are pages long. My poems don't have parts, like Ginsberg or T.S. Eliot. Ideas come to me in a flash and I work them into poetry. Moments of time. Glimpses of life. All of my short stories are about three pages long, and I've only written three of them.

I have an idea for something new now, but it's a project. It's going to take patience. I may have to spend an hour on one paragraph to get it right. It isn't an idea that I can shove into a poem over the course of a day and then go on with my life afterwards. It's bigger than that. I'll have to peck away at it, but I'm afraid of losing patience. I'm afraid of wandering away from the idea like the non-committal flake that I am. Fickle, fickle Heidi.

I'm pretending to write short stories, but they might be chapters to something bigger. So far I have two paragraphs. How frustrating.

NIk's 23rd

Happy birthday Nik. This was the part where the bug raped the bunny.

Monday, July 11, 2005

tonight's sunset

Sunday, July 10, 2005

A night with Corona and Morgan.

Saturday, July 09, 2005

Fears and Dreams

Every day I wake up terrified that I'm not going to be able to write anymore. If I don't have ideas in mind, I think 'Well, that's it for me...I'm finished. I'm not a writer after all'. Before this summer I wrote about two things over the past three years. I don't want that to happen again. I can't let it happen.

I had strange dreams last night, the first one was about a friend I used to have named Brian (who everyone called Beto because of a high school Spanish class that I wasn't even in). Beto and I grew up in the same neighborhood. In my dream, I was at my parents' house, and my mom told me that Beto had just been there taking up a collection for himself because he was seriously ill. "His face and his neck were covered in bandages", she said.

Anxious to catch up, I ran across the street to find Beto, and when I did, he no longer had the bandages. He didn't look injured or sick at all, but his hair was brown instead of blonde. I tried talking to him but he just kept walking and ignoring me. I was trying to tell him that I didn't understand why we couldn't be friends anymore, and finally he turned to me and told me that the reason we were no longer friends was because he was evil in my presence. He said something to the effect of not trusting himself when he was with me, not being able to use his best judgement, etc.

I told him things were different now. "We're married", I said. He gave me a strange look. "We are?" he asked. "Yes, I mean to different people. We're each married to different people now." We both started laughing and for whatever reason this seemed to convince him that we could be friends again. We had been walking the whole time and were quickly apporoaching the house where he grew up.

"Ok", he said "Why don't you come over then?"

"You mean to meet your wife?" I asked.

"No, My wife isn't even there. She gets a lot of headaches", he said, as if that somehow clarified things.

"Let me go home and change my jeans first", I said, although I'm not sure what was wrong with the jeans I had on.

Beto agreed that he would meet me at his house after I went home and changed. He even suggested what jeans I should wear, a pair that used to be my favorite when I was friends with him that I've been missing for several years.

When I got to my parents' house Beto's family was there to talk to me. I invited them in and we sat on the back patio. The weird thing was, they were nice to me, and in reality his family always hated me. They hated my whole family because my psuedo-adoptive brother had dated Beto's sister while her husband was overseas during the Gulf War. The visit from his family was the strangest thing. My family came out to the patio to join them and they were all talking about what it meant for Brian and I to be friends again, as if we were getting married or something.

After his family left I went into my room to change. At that point, my parents' house was completely different than it usually is. I was standing in front of my closet, trying to find the right jeans to wear, and every time I found a pair that I liked, they would disappear from the hanger before I got a chance to put them on. I was frantic trying to find the right jeans to wear, and time kept going by unusually fast. Before I knew it, two hours had passed, and suddenly all of the friends I ever had were all outside waiting to reunite with me , but it didn't matter because I couldn't find the right pair of jeans.

Friday, July 08, 2005


After much debate and indecision and crankiness, we decided to go to Summerfest. I knew if I didn't go at least once this year I would regret it. We saw Death Cab for Cutie at a distance from one of those rooftop bars with standing room at the rails overlooking the stage. We didn't plan ahead and get a good spot to see the band up close. The concert was really good, but I must admit, I still like The Postal Service better. Nonetheless, I still enjoyed Death Cab, and right at the end of the concert, they played my favorite song, The Sound of Settling, and then left the stage. I knew there were too many Death Cab fans in Milwaukee to let the band just leave. Naturally, they came back on stage for a double encore.

Ah, I forgot to tell you about the part at the end of the night where we scrambled to an ATM for cash to buy popcorn. For any of you who don't know, I am a popcorn junkie. While waiting for the shuttle back to my neighborhood, this guy came up to me and asked if he could have some of my popcorn. I really didn't mind, seeing as I had a lot of it, and the guy was obviously a Death Cab fan. Before long I had 20 drunks approaching me to ask for some of my popcorn. It was a bit out of hand. After that we decided to pace back and forth while waiting for the bus to keep the popcorn hawks from circling in on us. I mean, I really don't mind sharing, but let's not get carried away. There is also the issue of complete strangers putting their disgusting hands in my bag of popcorn.

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Can't we go to Death Cab?

We live in Milwaukee and we haven't even been to Summerfest yet this year. I wanted to go on Sunday, but we had the family barbecue thing. My next choice is Thursday, to see Death Cab for Cutie. We've never been big Death Cab fans. We've been more into The Postal Service, but right now I'm listening to Death Cab for Cutie and I'm not quite sure why we've never been fans. Truthfully, I've never been a big Summerfest fan. For the past few years I've stuck up my nose at anyone willing to pay $12 to co-exist within a sweaty crowd of strangers, but this year, for once, I want to be like everyone else. I just want to go to Summerfest like a normal person and enjoy the music. Is that at all possible? Couldn't I just be like everyone else for a moment and have a good time? As soon as my husband gets home, I'm planning to convince him that we should go tomorrow.
Just for the record, I'm really tired of people comparing Rachel Yamagata to Norah Jones. I wish there was a better way to describe music without comparing it to other music, but I suppose since listening to music is a sensory experience, it is ineffable by nature.

See Qualia

Tuesday, July 05, 2005


I am 26 and starting to age.
Every day a part of me turns to decay,
and will never be quite the same.
I am going to die someday.

Monday, July 04, 2005

Happy 4th everyone.

Saturday, July 02, 2005

Blueberries are complicated.


At night I walk the sidewalks
kicking my heart around like a stone,
a pebble alone on the pavement
unwillingly tagging along.

I walk because if I stand still
I will truly turn to stone.
They'll chip away at me like ice
and scatter my pieces around.

But if you plant the heart of me,
I'll come back as a pebble tree,
stone like the sidewalks and city,
an eternal statuesque Heidi.