hailmarythreetimes

[hailmarythreetimes]

It’ll be good if you let it be It’ll be god if you let it be 

[hailmarythreetimes]

And we’ll remember that after all this time that its all just apples and oranges.

[hailmarythreetimes]

He lingers like cinnamon, sweet and pungent, always just out of reach, him, the jar in the cupboard, the sticks in a chai tea simmering. His sweetness dissolved in egoic rants and ramblings in bad taste and musings of the future that were held with an open hand. He told me in too many of the wrong words that we had complimentary souls but not emotions. My vanilla was too combative, too countering, too real. He wasn’t sure if I was vanilla at all or some cheap imitation or if he even liked vanilla in the first place. He held me in dreams while he drifted farther away in planes and taxis and into new lovers who feel like sand and smell like true love and figs and ease. It’s not that you’re hard to love, it's just the emotional imbalances he says. He says that I’m everything but enough for him. That I will grace this life with love and tangerine sunsets and with just enough healing I can touch the shoe of God. 

[hailmarythreetimes]

I showed him my poems at dinner, the ones about him

He read my diary in front of me and the branzino he ordered for the table. I think that fish have more soul than people and by eating them we gain more bad karma than veal. He told me he might be the reincarnation of John Lennon because a psychic told him that once on a zoom call. I don't think John Lennon would write so much about longing, I don't think his songs would carry the cadence of fear. But who am I to counter a psychic woman?

[hailmarythreetimes]

if i can do it, anyone can

[hailmarythreetimes]

figure it out !

[hailmarythreetimes]

June in respite

He tries to hold himself lightly. He is blind faith and saccharine songs and illegitimate offerings of love behind closed doors. He is warmth and Jesus and whispered poems in the bath. He is the glass of spilled wine on the pillowcase and the empty arms of a trust fall. He is just close enough to taste but he is far away in spirit and time and behind castle guards on a mossy moat. He is jacaranda blossoms and sweet sweltering sun-sweat in the valley in July. He is an outstretched hand one rock above mine in the creek off the side of the road. He is everything I wrote on paper last December but he is not enough to hold me.

[hailmarythreetimes]

February 3, 2025

The show was yesterday. I was there all day, I had margaritas all night. It doesn’t happen often that they just keep coming, hundreds of dollars worth of alcohol and no idea who's footing the bill. I wore a leopard coat and I had the panties I nicked from the stage in my pocket. I couldn’t go to the after party because I didn't want to get into a bar fight with a waitress. I could have gotten her fired, but I didn’t. I abstained to keep the peace, sometimes knowing that you can is rectifying enough. I like European people. I get them. I got drunk and talked to them about the political climate of America, and homelessness, and Brexit, and the disparity of wealth in America, and arson, and why people can’t just be good. I don’t know what my calling is in life but I think I’m going to start listening to the rejections. Juggling my options right now, trying to let the universe decide what's in the cards for me. The lessons are slow and bitter and sweet and everything happens as it should. It’s sumo season - the citrus are ripe for picking. 

[hailmarythreetimes]

fishwife, pornographic priestess

[hailmarythreetimes]

At 15 I got my first job at a dim sum and sushi restaurant down the street from my childhood home. I started as a hostess and spent the majority of my time transcribing the best of 2013 playlist that repeated the same 10 songs over and over again to sheet music for the violin. The rest of my time was spent cleaning menus and talking about atheism and whether God was coming back to kill us all with our 37 year old bartender. The conversation never ended in an argument, just a mutual understanding that we don’t actually know anything and that’s okay. After months of proving my worth expertly seating tables and quelling impatient parties - I graduated to chopping limes in the back of house until 2am on special Fridays and Saturdays when our restaurant turned into a latin themed nightclub. After my shifts I would be sent home with a frozen daiquiri or Miami Vice in a styrofoam cup with a lid and a bendy straw to drive the one and a half mile road in my 1999 Chrysler Sebring convertible back to my childhood house. At 27 I still chop limes the same and I still question God.

[hailmarythreetimes]

soul music 1978 Tina L'Hotsky

"When a prostitute goes to a tropical island there is a chemical blackmailing, she singes in the sun. Her illumination is red disco neon sun. Animals and plants wither and run when sin walks by."

Dedicated to Billy Holiday

[hailmarythreetimes]

I need to get intentional about my ambiguity. I tried to end it all but I only had one chip on my shoulder, two jacks, a three of hearts and some loose change in my pocket. I couldn’t cash that in! That doesn’t represent a living! They just wouldn’t take it. I tried to return my life and got yelled at. No return policy. Now I must haunt the stairs outside of the expensive hotel wearing black sweaters and a bad attitude. They wouldn’t let me get away with it and now I have to haunt true to form. Fatigue of living, I’m suffering. 

[hailmarythreetimes]

something romantic about avoidance. 

He sang me a song from a French Armenian singer from the 70s told me about his broken arm as a kid how he doesn’t believe in god and prayed in front of notre dame he cried talking about a bus falling off the road in Peru and how his girlfriend and him broke up because of distance his favorite color is red but he’s colorblind and can’t see it and he kept looking into my eyes asking to kiss me in French I asked if he believed in god and he said yeah I believe in you 

[hailmarythreetimes]

I was a great person for a moment. A true believer, I turned others into believers as well. Knowing me was knowing there are good people in the world. Even I believed my own advice. For a moment I was Jesus, I was understanding, I was the cusp of God. My hair tinsel and gold, my gaze gracious, and my life abounding.

But Imagine it’s all ones and zeros and the psychics were lying this whole time. There’s no magic, there’s no god, there’s only you and the stories you tell yourself. Imagine reverting to atheism when it all gets too hard to digest.

[hailmarythreetimes]

July 11 2025

[hailmarythreetimes]

and then tell me about the beatniks