[About it]
A blug of worrying warts
and sooth-saying


[Yukyak]
Name: Zara Tak
Age: 20
Location: Austin, TX
Email: Gmail
Facebook: Zara.Tak
Myspace: Tazarat
Singspace: Fotura +


[Multi.Blug]
[x] Oma
[x] A Modern Shell


[Linx]
Zara Tak







[Scripts]

12.17.2011
Bukowski was a mail man
and Eliot a banker
and W. C. Williams a pediatrician
and Adolpho is a maintenance man
and I find myself envying him.
With vigor and zest and his leaf blower
He pretends to shoot tennis balls at so called "pussy cats"

You can work at Pita Pit
but hell if I'm going to Jamba Juice.
A man and woman have to have pride,
I know
But I don't care.
You're King Leonidas as far as I'm concerned
and you pick a wilted flower to wear in your pocket
and ask for the smiles of civilians
and laugh with half your heart.

Goddammit, John

It'd be a little romantic to be a truck driver
or a janitor after hours somewhere
and that cabin I'd build,
you could go there.
We wouldn't fight all that much.

posted by Tazarat @ 4:19 PM

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There were a lot of weddings on November 11th this year.

I feel as though everything is on battery life.
Like eventually this page'll run out, the pen's ink, my mind with thoughts.
The sweat of desperation.
That's what they call "writer's block", right?
John bought me a little white bag for breakfast. It was particularly full of taste and texture
and then meaning.
He bought himself a malt beer in a bright orange can
And for one fucking second
I thought he wouldn't drink it.
I related my dad to "By the way" Bill,
how he could come back for a while after living in a shopping cart and be okay.

My memory is leaving me more and more. I forget things I've just said. The feeling of recognition is less great, remembrance more few. I blamed it this morning on wine. I don't think it's true.

posted by Tazarat @ 4:04 PM

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2.18.2010
I saw a thin man sucking a limp cigarette with a work apron tied around his bent waste and a lump of greasy dark hair tumbling down into a pair of puffy inset eyes. He's what we call a 'working man', a 'starving artist', a 'sucker'. Like the lips he puckered to that vice between his fingers, he'll give in again.
He'll continue getting gaunt
and hollow out with a spoonful of that sappy heroine.
There is something in the greyness of his eyes that made me stare, like dead men rolling in their graves. Now he's down the street in a taxicab and right to work with a stained apron on
coughing up moths from the back of his throat.

posted by Tazarat @ 8:09 PM

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2.09.2010
Greaso,
you're lingering on the tips of my index and thumb fingers where I had plucked your mane from a box of thimbles and tumbling and opening to find you there, didn't you follow me home then? I paid a handsome sum to feel the soft hair and watch the glassy eyes you keep untamed because the caged beast claws from the inside-out.

posted by Tazarat @ 6:28 PM

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2.01.2010
It looks like you burnt your hand
Those fingers are bent in a broken way
sharply into the palm, the thumb out stretching strangely limp.
I get maggots in my mind eating at the bandages, spitting up acidic saliva that burns each thread like embers on the skin
and I find myself recoiling like a handgun, a spring loaded ignition in a black chrome case.
(I hate thinking about it.)
Those fingers nub-
nod-
naked bone carved into finger tips on a stretching hand!
Lye scrapes the thinly-skinned place I was told to bare toward a hot door during a fire drill.
Lye curdles there and adrenaline cuts my line of sight into a sunsetting horizon
where I lay hand-over-hand coddling the lump of scar under my outer palm.
The bandaged hand is being held in a bandaged hand
and the eyes let the irises show shame

posted by Tazarat @ 5:44 PM

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1.27.2010
"Explainations are in order for why these floor boards are always freezing. Guess it will all make sense once we get older and reach the age of reason and, until then, I'll have no reason to sleep in. Not even on weekends; Unless we're together because my willpower will probably weaken."

The main drag licks at Hedon.
He drags back
and licks the filter
to get the main tar taste.
Where Luis sits in a dirty shirt,
with a cup ring over his chest
he knows the answers to all your queries.
He is in the hottest seat
(know one no is it is him)
The main drag licks at the window
where Luis sits in a dirty seat
with a lick of know on his shirt
and the glass is the great filter
and Hedon is being watched there on the other side.

posted by Tazarat @ 11:53 AM

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1.18.2010
I'm lost
foraging for something lost
nothing that wasn't there
I know I'm just spinning
and he smiled, concerned
but what else.
I'm the one.

I'm so tired
my eyes are hurting.
What does that mean?
Why can I still smell his skin?
and can see his lips?
the smile he waded in,
concerned.
I'm in love with him, I know now.
No longer do I doubt
He is the one.
like a sour candy on your tongue
like driving too quickly around a corner
like a flying bird overhead
(dark against the sky but fleeting)
He draws on me now
pulls difficult things out now
and I want him
like a woman's cravings
like a child's retracted toy
like hunger and then laziness
The today there was a sun
but only was it warm
when I stepped out of that light.


posted by Tazarat @ 6:54 PM

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