allysonsadie-blog

[allysonsadie-blog]

Carol Rama

i. 

Deep inside the toaster beams

left on

i circle around the house like mad

i dream to jump off pillars

when im crushed within my bed

whatever happened before this

i would only know

but deep within the lonesome spittle

and dust

im mad

ii. 

theyre gone

the lonely chatters gone

now im eating chips on my couch 

ive awaited for this

back to sleep thinking about everything

that wont happen 

dream to swim in a lake

dream sit by a lake

dream to float down a lake

and whisper things like

ooh you lost weight

or

youre always in sight for me

[allysonsadie-blog]

Westmount #1

And with my looming return I’m still going to lay on her satin sheets And let the light poor in for 2 minutes All the while I lay in the dark for most of the time I look into her mirror Relieved to see something But hey the time I’ve fought it enough And I sit on my mother’s stool Because time is still in my mother’s room

Up on top She remarried a village man I wouldn’t have known this otherwise I wouldn’t of sunk myself in a jet stream tub And have myself cleaned by the time the stew had been bubbling for hours I search some pictures I walk along a distilled pond A busy street, maybe to see you Take notes about the jet stream An underground mall, maybe to see you

[allysonsadie-blog]

untitled

i try and say hello to no one

when a day is filled with only arrow keys

ill go home on a walking spree

singing a long to a magic new song

transic, i watch photographic moments 

fumble with my phone

look out onto the street

and kiss you in my mind, it’s cold. 

[allysonsadie-blog]

Happy Birthday Avril Lavigne

Happy birthday Avril Lavigne I never even knew you My clothes line juggling nothing right now My floors have specs of lettuce Burnt endings Spits of coffee who knows what else When you were younger I’d want to break mirrors You said in a magazine that you wore lip balm cuz lipstick was for diva chicks And ever since I leave my house ugly Thanks Avril Lavigne Happy Birthday

[allysonsadie-blog]

Was it him that caught me On my walk around and around the park Like a ghostly truck

[allysonsadie-blog]

Teaching myself a lesson

But without science, we aren’t being reassured that these things aren’t supposed to be emotional, nor are they supposed to bombard our minds with passion for the unthinkable. Things at a distance are always emotional for us. And when I’d walk across the Pulaski bridge everyday and look towards the Empire State Building, erect with supposed history directly opposing my longing for something unreachable, i would think of petty things like falling in love or my self beauty that will never be enough all within a certain time that eventually will be longed for, at another time. Falling in love with myself. Unwavering, undistilled thoughts, childlike and unproductive, pang like. Maybe science could teach me.  I could make something that is smart. I’d much rather sit and stare and be harassed by a grand army of immaturity. 

My friend wrote about photographing distance, and formulated a thesis around his journey, investigating his longing for his girlfriend. Why he photographed the moon and space, why he photographed mountains , why he was so fascinated with things at a distance. Black and white, perfect,  Robert Frank-ish. Mapping out an impeccable platform for him to continue his photographic practice. He referenced Carl Sagan, Rebecca Solnit, Roland Barthes and others to make meaning of his itch to photograph.   i can talk to weston about this but he lives off the land. hes a desert dweller. all he knows is music. We could talk about what it means to live off the land, what it means to give and take. What it means to have to go to the rivine and wash. Im still allergic to the juniper and i want to dunk my head Into the rivine. This place is repelling me and yet i have nowhere to go. He tells me that it’s good to have nowhere to go, it’s good to have nowhere to stay and how the journey of trying to hit on something with a hammer is exactly what we live for.   We can talk about where my mother can wash me or where the brine of trash is cleaned up.

Everything with my mother has to be cleaned up. I can tell him about the dancing grey birds who nest on my air conditioner out of spite, he’d get that and tell me that it’s normal for birds to be mad at you, but only because they have nowhere to go. My hand grazes over a bag of licorice But then throws the bag out the window Only to watch the birds try and eat the sweetness but then watch them fly away I’ve watched them build their nests over time And sorted through memories of times when the sight of them made me feel nothing But made me feel something now.

Weston came to play chess at the coffee shop I’m at.

He knows everybody

He’s a desert dweller

lives off the land he knows so well

lives a luxury free life.

he asked me what i was writing and i told him some essay about photography, a collaboration with a friend. 

[allysonsadie-blog]

still not ok with being around people my hands get cold and I lose feeling in my face but still feel like crying sometimes I might as well just lay on the floor I like to hide behind myself and things that involve people but from far away wish people welcomed that & me. Yes I'm ok I just like to write words

[allysonsadie-blog]

Rushing my way to see you Taking my time after I leave Not saying a word in between

[allysonsadie-blog]

Places that are rich 2010

So then why do the sound of the cars going by Outside my window Remind me of you A cold hard Clean gravel Moistened by the drops off the leaves In mid July A clean slated road Wealthy neighborhood is quiet always But the poor neighborhood is only quiet in the deep dark of the night And awoken by the charm of love The loudness of colors And why does the clean green rich neighborhood Make me quiver with wretch A mere yearning for a grey that is delicious

My hand grazes over a bag of licorice But then throws the bag out the window Only to watch a dozen pigeons try and eat the sweetness but then watch them fly away I’ve watched them build their nests over time And sorted through a grand army of memories of times when the sight of a pigeon made me feel nothing But made me feel something now

To fall down the 20 steps in front of my house onto the clean gravel that has penetrated my skin I cry a clean cry And it’s still June and I’m still thinking about when I went to see you in your house in December It wasn’t the right time to see you then The right time was June In the clean park near my house Next to a pond with an island

In the mornings my mother makes me coffee And in the night she’ll make me a fish of some kind And when I go to Rhode Island to the yellow house overlooking a mile long lawn I’ll eat nothing but bagels And cured meat I’ll go to sleep overlooking the bridge to Kingston And think about someone dreaming

[allysonsadie-blog]

I can stare at people walking by

I’m good at staring

and looking

but I still don’t know what I’m seeing. 

Back track

and since I’m all by myself 

I cant appreciate the warmth of others

I have become a bit judgy

on Suydam street 

there is a strip of houses that I love

outside my window

greens reds and whites 

all muted because of all the washes of snow & rains

with driveways a-locked gate

and dogs that remain in front

accross the street from a school that had asbestos. 

The school once had a rainbow colored track

the kids would run around and around on. 

I had the urge to film it once but I never did

and now they have painted over it with tar

and ill never get to see it again

[allysonsadie-blog]

The night where I thought I might have been Might have been right for the first time But instead was struck by a long gone Distant summer breeze That left me alone in a bed Every hour awoken by a train Along a river that I once dreamt Watching with you Instead laying next to a fake friend Seeing red eyes in the dark Nothing to be afraid of Only hope Of a dusty room that isn't mine Peachly lit Like a cry I once cried When my mother was far Wishing I was on the floor where you are