Friday, February 16, 2007


There's no end to the love you can give
When you change your point of view to underfoot
Very good
You may be flat but you're breathing
And there's no doubt he's at home in his room
Probably watching porn of you from the fall
It's last call
And you're the last one leaving
And you thought you could change the world
By opening your legs
Well it isn't very hard
Try kicking them instead
And you thought you could change his mind
By changing your perfume to the kind his mother wore
Oh god, Delilah, why?
I never met a more impossible girl...
In this same bar where you slammed down your hand
And said "Amanda, I'm in love"
No, you're not
You're just a sucker for the ones who use you
And it doesn't matter what I say or do
The stupid bastard's gonna have his way with you...
You're an unrescuable schizo
Or else you're on the rag
If you take him back
I'm gonna lose my nerve
I never met a more impossible girl...
I never met a more impossible girl...
At four o'clock he got off
And you called up
"I'm down at Denny's on Route One and you won't guess what he's done"
Is that a fact, Delilah?
Larry Tapp let you in through the back
And use his calling card again
For a quick hand of gin
You are impossible, Delilah: the princess of denial
And after 7 years in advertising
You are none the wiser
You're an unrescuable schizo
Or else you're on the rag
And if you take him back
I'm gonna lose my nerve
He's gonna beat you like a pillow
You schizos never learn
And if you take him home
You'll get what you deserve
I never met a more impossible girl
So don't cry, Delilah
You're still alive, Delilah
You need a ride, Delilah?
Let's see how fast this thing can go...

-amanda palmer, the dresden dolls

Wednesday, January 17, 2007


At what point does the grass on the other side stop seeming so much greener?
At what point do I start becoming content with what I have?
At what point do I stop settling for less than what I really want?
At what point does emotion stop and rationalization come in?
At what point does "good enough" become "selling myself short?"
At what point do I stop falling in love with the people around me?
At what point does life stop being perceived as drama and start being satirical comedy?
At what point does hedonism go too far?
At what point do I start being honest with myself and with others?
At what point do I give up on dreams?
At what point will I stop being afraid?
At what point do I grow up?
At what point do I stop?

Thursday, November 30, 2006

The Perfect Fit

I could make a dress, a robe fit for a prince
I could clothe a continent, but I can't sew a stitch
I can paint my face, and stand very, very still
It's not very practical, but it still pays the bills
I can't change my name, but I could be your type
I can dance and win at games like Backgammon and Life

I used to be the smart one, sharp as a tack
Funny that how skipping years ahead has held me back
I used to be the bright one, top in my class
Funny what they give you when you just learn how to ask

I can write a song, but I can't sing in key
I can play piano, but I never learned to read
I can't trap a mouse, but I can pet a cat
No, I'm really serious - I'm really very good at that
I can't fix a car, but I can fix a flat
I could fix a lot of things, but I'd rather not get into that

I used to be the bright one, smart as a whip
Funny how you slip so far when teachers don't keep track of it
I used to be the tight one, the perfect fit
Funny how those compliments can make you feel so full of it

I can shuffle cut and deal, but I can't draw a hand
I can't draw a lot of things, I hope you understand
I'm not exceptionally shy, but I've never had a man
That I could look straight in the eye and tell my secret plans
I can take a vow, and I can wear a ring
And I can make you promises but they won't mean a thing

Can't you do it for me? I'll pay you well
Fuck, I'll pay you anything if you could end this
Can't you just fix it for me? It's gone berserk
Oh, fuck! I'll give you anything if you can make the damn thing work
Can't you just fix it for me? I'll pay you well
Oh, fuck! I'll pay you anything if you could end this hell
I love you will you tell me your name?
Hello, I'm good for nothing
Will you love me just the same?
The same...

-Amanda Palmer, the Dresden Dolls-

Monday, November 13, 2006

I Want.

I want one day in which you are not bitching, moaning, complaining, or aching. I want you to sound happy when I call you. I want you to be happy to see me when we come home at the end of the day. I want you to not spend all of your time holed-up. I want to go places and do things with you. I want to see you smile again, and not just at something funny that Jon Stewart or Stephen Colbert says. I want to feel better about the choices I have made that forever tie me to you. I want to feel better about resigning myself to this life. I want to see love towards me in your eyes again. I want you to want me again.

I want to provide you all the love, support, security, comfort, safety, magic, wonder, and happiness I can possibly muster. I want to know that some day, all my forcing you to take a vitamin, wear warm clothing, brush your teeth, not play on the bunkbed ladder, read every night, not sit so close to the television, and not drink the bathwater will pay off. I want to relish the time I have with you that I will miss so much when you are an angsty teenager. I want to be here and there for you. I want to see the world through your eyes. I want to see myself through your eyes.

I want to never forget who I used to be. I want to play instruments again. I want to keep learning, all the time. I want to be a good cook. I want to learn to knit. I want to read as many books as I possibly can. I want to feel not so boring. I want to grow my hair out. I want to take up yoga. I want to be better at growing plants. I want to be more patient. I want to control my anger. I want to be organized. I want to cut the people out of my life that don't do me any good. I want to cherish my true friends. I want to spend time with my family. I want to be closer to my mother. I want to do more crossword puzzles. I want to be happy with myself.

Saturday, August 05, 2006

"Millennium Theater" by Ani DiFranco

millennium theater
get out there and buy that water and gas
ramadan, orange alert
everybody put on your gas mask

first, leak it out about the president
then stand up and shout, "IMPEACHMENT!"
pull the coattails out from under their little VP
before he has a chance to get in the driver's seat

millennium spectacle
everybody put on a show
slip the little prince in the back door
21st century here we go
digital whiplash
so many formats, so little time
while out in TV nation
under darkening skies
the resistance is just waiting to be organized...

halliburton, enron
chief justices for sale
yucca mountain goddesses
their tears they form a trail
trickle-down pollution
patriarchies realigned
while the ice caps melt down
new orleans bides her time
new orleans bides her time

ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight's show
the millennium theater asks that you not smoke
please turn off your cell phones
and forget what you think you know...

Thursday, August 03, 2006

I Am Happy When I...

Clean up my cubicle. Cook a good meal. Receive compliments on a meal. Drink good coffee. Make a new friend. Pet a cat. See penguins. Organize a calendar. Listen to Ani DiFranco. Listen to the Ditty Bops. Feel like I've accomplished another tick under the "good mom" tally I constantly run on myself. Think about something serious without getting upset. See the Daughter completely spellbound by Yellow Submarine. Listen to vinyl records. Paint my nails without smudging them. Put a decent outfit together. Get a lot of work done. See the artwork the Daughter makes at school. Take a good picture. Make a stranger happy. See baby pictures of the Man. Fall into bed after a long day. Pluck my eyebrows. Eat a bowl of cereal. Use big words properly. Finish a book that doesn't make me cry at the end. Get praise from my parents. Play the piano. Listen to NPR. See that Dubya's approval ratings continue to fall. Take a vitamin. Read a "family" magazine and get good ideas. Go to the tanning bed. Go to the gym. Make a list. Have a well-stocked pantry. Reminisce. Buy new clothes. Pull weeds in my garden. Find stray shopping lists at the grocery. Get told that I don't sound like I'm from the Midwest. Change the month on the calendar. Make resolutions. Read the blogs of other moms. Spend time with my friends who are in healthy, functioning relationships and have kids, because it makes me feel more normal. Feel normal. Can let go and be spontaneous. Find good pieces of the past. Get invited out to lunch. Buy new ink pens or sharpie markers. Start a new notebook. Work on my Target online wedding registry. Blog. Can go outside and not sweat. Listen to the Postal Service. Wear sparkly eyeshadow. Leave the house in the morning without feeling like the sky is going to just come crashing down around me. Get mail. Get email. Buy perfume. Receive attention from my younger, prettier, more hip little sister. Am told that the Man and I make a lovely couple. Remember my grandmother. Wake up in the morning not feeling like a zombie. Ride a bicycle. Find a good buy at a thrift store. Clean up clutter and junk. Listen to Dave Brubeck. Manage to finagle my bank account so that I don't go into the negative before I get paid. Switch purses. Clean out my car. Feel like I'm accomplishing something in my life.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

A House in the Sun

Vertebrae run up
Your back like stairs
You are pretty and skinny
And ribbed like a cat,
With almond eyes to match.
We stand outside your house in the sun
And I hide my face in dark glasses.
You grasp my hand and point to the left
È questo senso,” you say to me
And I don’t know what that means.
Venuto con mi, cara mia,”
And I don’t know what that means, either.
I didn’t know you spoke Italian.
But I follow you without argument
Because you are beautiful and this is a dream
And we’re racing hand in hand down a street
Filled with dust and sunshine.
The leathery faces of the local peddlers
Watch us in puzzled amusement
Two crazy girls, due ragazze pazzesche
One with cat eyes and skin like butter,
The other one, me.
But I run without argument
Because the day is beautiful, and this is a dream
It is a postcard; it is a move still,
It is a commercial for diamond rings and wine
Your hand in mine feels smooth and cool as water
And I see you in a sort of slow-motion haze
The light filtering through the tangled ropes of your hair
Your wide mouth opening and closing in laughter
And you dart like a fish to the side,
To an alley dark and full of birds
And we’re going up, up, up
Stairs made of stone
Going up, up, up,
Like the vertebrae
Of your back.