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Mia M Nakao

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Marooned
by Jennifer Miller

"Marooned" is the 1860's saga of Justin Radcliff, a young American, who is beaten and thrown overboard by his evil twin brother, Edward. Kolya, a handsome Black ..  
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This Is What You Call A Blog, Kids
by Mia M Nakao
Rated "PG13" by the Author.
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Recent poems by Mia M Nakao
•  And to you, my dear friend:
•  Love Poem
•  When the Clock Strikes Later
•  Joshua Tree
•  Spring, 2006
           >> View all 115

...call it what you may...

Iím running out of ideas when I tell Jason that Iíll go to the bookstore, wear a beanie, and buy some Starbuckís. I told him Iíd do that. It was a good idea Ė and Iíd buy his book Ė Iíve been meaning to pick it up. But then he told me that it was only available on barnesandnoble.com. ďDot com?Ē I say, and then, ďÖdot dammit.Ē My plans have vanished into oblivion, and I donít know what to do with myself again. Itís not enough that I donít want to be home Ė I have to not want to be home and have nothing to do. Itís just my luck. Itís the story of my life. It makes perfect sense. I guess though if things made sense and I always had a plan, I wouldnít be me. But now that I think on it more, if things made sense and I always had a plan, nothing would make sense to me, and my plans would seem like more promises I donít intend to keep, and I would be back in the place that I am now.

 

So far the ďplanĒ is to stay at work late, and blast Function by Denali because itís my new favorite song. I told JC Iíd get TONS of work done Ė I added, ďlike, a truck-full.Ē When I think about things I say and things I do, I wonder if maybe I think Iím funny. Do you think that when you make a statement like ďI wonder if, blah blah blah,Ē you have to use a question mark? JC says you donít have to if the statement is a rhetorical question, and that makes so much sense to me Ė but then why didnít I think of it? Like today when Alan showed me that picture of the one-way-glass port-a-potty. I told him that people would run into it (itís made of mirrors) and then he said ďyouíd see yourself.Ē See, that makes perfect sense! Why did I think that a mirrored cell would cause you to run into it? ďThatís like running into a mirror,Ē I told myself. ďYouíre so lame.Ē

 

Iíve been reading up on Misti again, and I wonder if sheís here in LA.(?) She talks about Old Town shops and being a Gypsy in Downtown LA, and I donít know if I trust myself  Ė or my interpretations. Am I waiting to turn into Misti? Am I waiting to become anyone but who I am? It feels like Iím waiting for something, but I donít know what it is Ė Iíve been waiting for it for as long as I can remember Ė and I guess I really am waiting to become someone Iím not. That makes sense. Iím waiting for my dad too, but waiting for him is like waiting for Godot Ė that stupid and ridiculous hope that drowns me Ė and now that I think more on it, it makes more sense to be waiting to be someone Iím not than it does to be waiting for him.

 

Last night I watched that E! Entertainment True Hollywood Story bullshit Ė it was Demi Moore this time. I am Demi Moore. Thatís what Iím waiting for. Iím going to be rich, and then Iím going to move to a small town and fix up all the public buildings of the town, and everyone will respect me and my privacy and my kidsí privacy. Yes, thatís what Iím waiting for.

 

Okay, so. Iím so bored these days that I went to Sav-On to see if they sold anything with Ephedra in it. I wanted to see how my body would react to it. I found out later that Ephedra is illegal or something in the beautiful state of California. Just when Iím bored enough to build the nerve to try it, they go and ban it. Fuck them! Yeah, fuck them! Just because people donít know how to control their intake of Ephedra, doesnít mean you have to ban it. Thatís like someone dying of a caffeine overdose, or something, and then coffee gets banned. Holy-mother-of-fucking-ChristÖif coffee was banned, that would be a good reason for suicide. Anything is a good reason for suicide, though Ė if you justify it to yourself properly. Speaking of suicide (or, writing of suicide reminds me) I keep forgetting to get those two tattoos I want. Maybe Iím forgetting. Maybe Iím just chicken-shit, or maybe Iím broke Ė either one, I havenít gotten the two new fucking tattoos. Friends tell me, ďNo more tattoos. Remember the deep state of regret you were in when you got your first three?Ē And yes, I remember, but I am Mia, and I donít learn from my mistakes, and maybe I WANT to feel regret! Maybe I want to feel something for once besides the illusions of love I have, and the ridiculous sadness that throws me overboard. Regret can be your friend, kids. Remember that, and donít do drugs.

 

This Denali song is looping now, and I canít stop it because it makes me comfortable in my skin. It reminds me of my drive home Ė that rural part where no radio stations come in and cell phone reception is crappy Ė thereís this part where you can see parts of LA, and parts of Glendale and Burbank, itís so beautiful. Well, I always want to drive off the freeway at that part Ė thereís just a small amount of metal railing in my way Ė but I would be so free the last few moments of my life. I would be flying. I would be flying free over the world I know so well. Well, either that or at the last second, I would question the suicide, and it would be too late, so my last thought would be of indecisionÖwhich actually seems fitting for me.

 

ďÖand now itís already over.Ē

 

Moonlight Sonata Ė play. Play and play, and play, and play. And then, in comes the angelic voice of Maura Ė sing and sing, and sing, and sing, and never stop because I donít know what Iíd do if you stopped because your song is the only thing that keeps me typing nowÖno control over my fingers Ė tap and tap, and tap, and tap and this is what you call a Blog, kids.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



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Reviewed by Mike Sandoval (Reader) 2/24/2004
While it certainly doesn't look like a poem, when I read this I feel like I am reading poetry. To be more specific, I feel like I'm reading exceptional poetry.
Reviewed by Peter Benson 2/24/2004
It has a lot of good points, but why is it under poetry? Why not 'article'
Reviewed by Sandie Angel 2/24/2004
I don't much like Demi Moore. I think she's a fake. She's got fake boobs.

~ Sandie Angel a.k.a. May Lu ~
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