La Jota Nasty****OOTD

Howdy ya'll

Jota here--OOTD is #nooneremembersmilakunis

All that Blindness, All that Blood

1.

I love to think about how much I'm

not a part of other people's lives.

*

I ran across the highway to be

closer to the ocean.

*

The man who tends the bar remembers what

your name is cos you sign it, always.

*

Once inside the wafting musk I paused

to lock the scent of salt in memory.

*

He shakes your hand, not because he likes you,

but because he knows that you'll be back.

*

The sidewalk glowed under the dusty powder

of those orange traffic cones and yellow light.

The vibe today is Black Swan, mimes, whispering, dancing, black and white, memory. No one rememBERS Mila Kunis~I don't remember Mila Kunis. In the movie, she plays another woman's hallucination and object of desire. Today, I honor the idea of her.

The vibe is nighttime uber ride in Guadalajara, waving my arm out the window. Smeared eyeliner on forearm rests on crossed legs. Keep my mouth shut. Move my body in appropriate ways. Laugh, smile, turn my head away after a second too long of eye contact.

Inside of me, I feel as if there is some divide between the parts I want, I wish, I dream of and those I act, I move, I am in. I feel as if two worlds are trapped inside me, colliding like tectonic plates shaking me until I rip apart and break. One is perfect, floating, happy. One is flawed, grounded, miserable. The plates are shuddering. Fighting. Can the two worlds inside me ever join each other? Can the two worlds inside me ever be one?

2.

*********** *******love*************************think

******************************************************

**************************how much

***********the ocean

******************always knows

*********************************your name

****

Red Lace Leotard: Ross Dress for Less

Black and White Striped Dress: Goodwill

Black Kenneth Cole Oxfords: Nordstrom Rack

Gold Aviator Frame Glasses: Zenni Optical

3.

I love to think

I think

I think about

how much

I am not

I am not

I am not

a part of

other people's lives

*

I ran

I ran across

I ran across the highway

to be closer

to the ocean

*

I ran

I ran across

across the ocean

to be closer

to

*

the musk

of fish & salt

I paused

I paused to keep

that smell of salt

*

the sidewalk

glowing

*

powder*****************************I paused

dust & orange cones*****************************to think

*

the yellow light*****************************to think about

*****************************how much

stars & highway**********the yellow light*********the light

4.

The sidewalk glowed under the dusty powder

of those orange traffic cones and yellow light.

*

I thought about how much I'm

not a part of other people's lives.

Look Away. At night even after my eyes are shut to flickering light films on shadow screens I’m enraptured, enlivened, inundated by mind movies on inside-lid LEDs and I cannot look away. I feel like I’m in a horror story where they pin some guy’s eyes open and make him watch his worst memories over and over. I wonder if there were any sickos who don’t want to look away. I would give any part of my body to look away but still the scenes project in hazy, never-ending replay. Treadmill Clouds.

My limbs and organs beckon me down. They are desperately begging. They are rooted in the world out there. They are reality. But these nights it seems my made up movies could be just as real. I need, I want. Tomorrow is now.

Because I can, for now, I look away from night dreams in favor of my pipe dreams.

****

It's difficult to face human duality head on. Society tells us our insides should never be in two, three, infinite pieces but forces all of us to compartmentalize, disguise, forget, divide our own identities in the name of "functionality." No. Go dance. Talk about everything slant-wise if that is the only language you have access to. Think about everyone who has worked hard, showed the world their face, and never once dropped their glass shards. Remember that you don't have to do that. Remember Mila Kunis.

Love,

Jota