Archive for February, 2008


Posted in life, poetry with tags , , , on February 20, 2008 by staticity

Drenched in a chinese robe, I sit admiring the blank sky of no creases. Today is nothing. Gray. Mtv and cleaning dishes.

It’s as if the air is sighing with out so much as a breeze. Deadened branches pointing to the once dramatic fall and the flirtatious spring. What a tease.  Running around with summer’s swimsuit body and blond ambitions, she falls short to a hot day.

Today can only hope for a taste of what tomorrow might have.


No Name on the Map

Posted in adventure, family with tags , , , , , on February 19, 2008 by staticity

 It’s tough in the jungle.

Slow cars for small roads. I was riding in the passanger side accompanying my mother on an adventure to the James River. We were headed toward the ferry, picnic in brown paper bags, sunglasses, pressed against the pits of our eyes, camera in the purse.

Now we just had to roll through the sleeping towns of Dollar General, Video Store, (actual name) the Grocers Market, one restaurant, one bar, and several concrete houses. The towns that didn’t quite make the map. The back roads with back woods people lazily strolling down a dirt road sidewalk. Burly men with open beer cans out in public. Sun burnt February. These were the villes.

“I wouldn’t mind living up here.” Again, I was surprised to hear Mom say such a thing. “It’s funny, when I moved down to the South I was so suspicious of everyone. Why ARE these people smiling… I guess you’re finding out the opposite up North.”

We drove past a couple more no-map villes and ended up under the clouds. Trespassing onto the Ferry boat and skipping stones into the river. Sandwiches never tasted so good. Water never felt so cold. We were home grown into the jungle.

under water

Posted in grunge, holidays, insanity, life, Philadelphia, philly with tags , , , , , on February 14, 2008 by staticity

Dear God I just don’t know if I can do it.  I woke up dreaming about a house in the forest with a few other large houses next to it. There were a lot of glass windows and sliders. I was walking around the woods one afternoon when a group of prisoners took me away. I was headed for jail but we were sentenced by guards to cross the mountain.  Coyotes. Guns. Rape. It was terrible and so real. Nic was looking for me, I could tell, but I didn’t know where to find him. The prisoners and I ended up in a big house somewhere remote where a prison guard pulled a giant switch on one of the walls. The entire house was plunged under water.  Somehow I got out and started running back to the house with glass windows.  Days and days later I made it.

The last part of the dream was me looking out the sliding door at night and waiting. I knew they would find me and bring me back, but I had no other place to go and I didn’t want to leave anyway.

I can’t stop crying. This is terrible. It’s valentines day and I want to call my mom, but I know if I do, I’ll end up telling her everything and she’ll get worried and I just wanted so bad to be alright. I wanted to move to Philly and prove that I could hold my own.  I hate myself. I hate every part of me.  I hate my hair. I hate my shoulders. I hate my brain.  I hate everythig. every goddamn last thing.  I don’t think things are going to get better. I thought about ending it. I always fuck that up too. I thought about going home.  I fuck that up too.  There’s nothing left. nothing except a house underwater.

No, Rebecca. Remember the first day was worse.  It was colder. You were sicker. There was less to eat. Now you’ve got to get up. Put on your makeup. Brush your hair. Clean yourself up. I know no  one is home now, and it may feel like you’ve lost your support group, but this is the time to prove that you can be alright.  It’s valentines day. You’re going to make it.

I hope so.

I know so.

The First Day Successes

Posted in adventure, art, facts, gross, grunge, insanity, interactions, life, Philadelphia, philly, relationships, success, values on February 12, 2008 by staticity

Today was hell. I figured I should write it down before I either explode in silence, or pass out from exhaustion. From six a.m. to two p.m. I started feeling the symptoms.

Cold sweats. Hot flashes. Aches. Vomiting. Depression. Coughing. Dizziness. Exhaustion. Confusion. And just an overall unpleasant feeling.

From two p.m. I staggered out of bed naked from last night. I desperately wanted to use the bathroom but to my luck, our pipes broke and the toilets don’t work. I grabbed a thin bathrobe and made it to the shower. My first success. About twenty minutes later I hobbled back to my room to try and turn on the space heater, but it sparked off (which means I have to unplug it and wait for a half hour to turn it back on.)

So then I cried for a little while. (The space heater was a big upset as you can see) I tried sleeping but dreams consisted of a whore house with flashing lights leading to mine and a friend’s arrest for using dope. After that I didn’t really feel tired.

Upstairs to Joe’s room it was. This was the second success. I couldn’t find the hair brush under all the filth in our room so I just left it wet and tangled. I listened to MFDoom and Michael Jackson records with Matthew and Joe and Joe’s new girlfriend. I smiled when Matthew started dancing to ‘PYT’. That was my third success.

Someone asked me why I was so sick. I told Matthew what was going on and he was really really supportive. He wasn’t upset at all and it felt so good to have people that knew and were really genuinely concerned let me hang out with them. That was my fourth success.

Then. Came the unimaginable. Matthew suggested we go out for pizza. The weather must have been negative with wind and I was already cold, but I knew I had to get out or I would start feeling worse. After about an hour of procrastinating and listening to more records, we left the house. It was bitter frozen. The winds were hitting the alleys like boxers. Mad boxers. Maybe as mad as Mike Tyson himself.

At a slow group pace, we gradually defeated Mike Tyson one step at at a time and made it to 7th and Carpenter. I bought a a big pizza for everyone and ate about half a slice before throwing up. We talked about the stupid news that was on the pizza parlor tv. I laughed when we all made fun of the chickens that were ‘running ramped in a PA middle school.’ That was the fifth success.

We ate and talked for a long time. I got to use the bathroom at the pizza place. Sixth success. I bought something to drink and as Matthew and the gang went to the library, I made it home with out any lurking pedestrians asking me if ‘I was good?’ Seventh Success.

I was approaching the stoop when a terrible thought crossed my mind. What if the door is locked. Now, I did have my keys around my neck, but I am a frequent worrier and one of my problems is opening locked doors. Sure enough the door was locked. It must have been a test of God. I finally found the latch to my necklace (were my keys safely rest) and with frigid fingers got the keys to miraculously fit in the door. Eighth Success!!

With an adventure accomplished and a small amount of food still in me, I went upstairs and lied down to watch cartoons for an hour. I went back downstairs to socialize with the roommates and watch a movie later on tonight. Ninth success.

So far, it’s eight thirty p.m. The vomiting has subsided and although there is no toilet, I think I can wait until tomorrow.

Today is the first day.

Tomorrow is the last day.

Wednesday is a break day with two lines.

Thursday is the first day again.

Friday is the last day.

Saturday is break day with two more lines.

Sunday is the first day.

Monday is the toughest day.

Tuesday is the last day.

Wednesday is sanity again with two lines.

I can do it. Today was a success. Tomorrow comes later.


Two days ago was the start. This was the look of things.

pajama party

Posted in adventure, hipster, party, Philadelphia, philly, Uncategorized on February 6, 2008 by staticity

I found myself draped in a skanky slip of a red night gown converted half-assed into a dress. Draped in a blue bathrobe, I felt somewhat out of place. The image of an old lady sitting at a cocktail table earlier that evening, wearing a black sequined gawty dress, came to mind.

Who were these men in flannel and berets? They were smoking pipes out of an era that was lost more than fifty years ago. Jungle juice, vodka, and lots of smoke was traveling around with a grey cloud of people. Bands that sounded badly out of tune with the prospect of angsty anger toward romance sang with their guitars and drums in our basement.

I pushed past crowds of people clustered together in their own private groupings so I could reach the front basement area. Past the grungy carpet I used to sleep on I felt the cold through barefeet among a sea of boots. Finally. A familiar face. Mr. Mustache is standing with his leg stretched out and a beer clasped in his hand. Chain smoking with the other.

The eyes of others were monsterous. Largely focused on the hope of a nearby fame. Could it be? There eyes were large enough to eat the drumset. Engorging all the people and the publicity of myspace photos documenting the evening. Eyes were everywhere. Lurking out of the corners of sofas. Darting between lines of drugs. Flashing flirtatiously at the concept of dare-we-think one night stands?

I sat down onto my mattress after some time had passed. Wrapped around the curl of constant cigarettes, I could feel my face fading. Only ten thirty? How could that be?
With the flash of untying robes into the night life of toilet papered bathrooms, I liked the feel of silk. In an instant, it might be gone.

The Social Orchestra

I hear people in the bathroom…
from Nic’s bedroom.  I think there’s a small group of people smoking pot in the shower.
Someone Nic works with by the name of Keith, bought some dope from us. While we were sitting in the room, he started to talk about all the old things I have heard just like everyone else, a million times over.
– his adventures of warrants out for him in three states.
-his girlfriend is annoying and out of line talking about his dope addiction.
– mentions casually the word ‘addiction’ as if it is in fashion.

Keith is the kind of guy who likes to think of himself as breaking all the rules because he hates the fact he sucks up to get where he is. Probably the kind of guy who would be ashamed by family wealth. He likes flirting with the idea of a scene in heroin. He looks for danger in office buildings.

College girls are in the next room…
“It’s funny how South Philly is so different from West Philly.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s so much more laid back here, but I don’t know.”
“Yeah, I mean I guess these are like, what happened to those people our age that didn’t go to college.”

I was fixing up the dress above my breasts. Tugging at the straps and constantly ‘checking’. Oozing sex, I felt the eyes belonging to long shirts and leggings of nervous chatter. Aware of small, awkward moments, thoughts contained of;
A red lollipop licked and sucked between Mr.Mustache and I.
Barefeet in the basement of bands.
Sitting cross legged with a cigarette tucked between fingers of a rouged lifestyle consisting ‘pure funk.’
The girl who said nothing but kept sitting very closely with cigarettes going both ways.

The satin sensations faded early in the night, but music was still breathing safely from downstairs. I can hear them now singing drunk from the social symphony in awe.