Tag Archives: adventure

Secret Lovers



I was fat elvis on pills [ryan]

milwaukee, harmonie and chad’s apartment


ryan’s eye, jenn, harmonie and chad (jenn’s peace corps friends).


left cleveland yesterday. it was emotional. got attached so fast. finally got to see what Cleveland was like from inside a motel all day. It was beautiful. there was a Mcdonalds nearby. lots o’ gas stations. other stuff. ahh, cleveland. we toured the whole inside of that Cleveland motel room like we were at the rock and roll hall of fame, which was actually right down the street. but who wants to travel hundreds of miles to a destination only to feel like what you really want is right down the street? rock and roll hall of fame, fsst. motel bed became graceland, and I was fat elvis on pills. right down the street became HBO, became reading more Chuck Palahniuck in my underwear, became spooning my dog just a hair shy of beastiality, became peanut butter sandwich dinner with chips from the vending machine.


who’d of thunk it? Cleveland? wow. It’s like. you get your own plastic key. there’s a tv. you get complimentary breakfast compliments of you paying for a room which is slightly more expensive in order to include complimentary breakfast. the shower head is powerful like anti-racism. You pelt your dirty head with a million man march and merge your body into everything that is quintessential Cleveland.

then we slept. Cleveland style. I don’t know what that means.

then we drove.



through Indiana, through Chicago.


20 minutes til Milwaukee. it’s been 7 hours of driving. I start to make that noise that your laptop does when you’ve been on it too long. I am ice cream running down your fingers faster than you can lick, I am neon sign flickering.

I am Scott Baio’s career, post Charles in Charge.

my heart is pumping sigur ros beats dipped in fudge, I am slowly becoming slowly.

and then it happened.
the mistake.
the mistake i swore i would never make.
I still replay this next scene in my head over and over again against my own will.


to be continued…

in fall bloom at the pottery barn. (jenn)


(damp from thunderstorm walk to dinner, too full, cleveland motel with a king-sized bed for the whole family, finally warm)

hi friends!

yes, we were in maryland for a whole week. who knew maryland was the best place on earth? we were at my cousins’ house that i named “the pottery barn” in the most loving way possible. it’s the homiest of homey at the pottery barn. the pottery barn also has every kitchen appliance known to mankind, including the ferrari of hand held mixers. so indeed, we struggled to say good-bye to the chocolate macadamia kona coffee every morning, free wireless, a yard of mati’s own, and the gorgeous mini-lake down the street (we left both the ducks AND geese alone). how can you leave the cousins who are forgiving of my shameless mooching, everyday crazies, and boyfriend’s tendency to scream turrets-style non-sequiturs such as–“Giving birth is the cruelest thing you could do to a non-person!” of course it’s hard to drive away from the loving embrace of the people who have known you since birth.

it’s also hard to hate on suburbia. that shit’s comfortable.

oh, maryland.

we finally left this morning, feeling the itch to get further away from the cold/philly. our next desired stop is milwaukee, to see my beloved peace corps commiserators–harmonie and chad. we are currently in cleveland, for no apparent reason. i’m sure it’s a lovely city but we’ve been content to whole up, nap, write, and watch heroes.

today’s non-plan plan: we’re thinking about moving to canada.

every day i give ryan a dirty look when i roll out of bed at 9 and he’s been up since 5:30am writing. i usually say, “fuck you, prolific motherfucker.” (if you can’t tell by the banal tone of this blog–i’m a bit blocked.) today he finally asked me what prolific meant. which brings me to…

Road Trip Conversation Snippets as Processed by Me:


Ryan: “Was New Hampshire in Connecticut?”

The End


Our Day in DC

Jenn: Do you want to walk to the Lincoln Memorial?

Ryan: Okay.

[Halfway between the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial–about 15 more minutes to walk.]

Ryan: This is close enough.

Jenn: You lazy fuck.

Ryan: What? You think it’s going to be any more interesting if we get closer?

The End!

i love ryan motts because he lets me make fun of his intelligence when he really is the smartest person i’ve ever met. ever.

i feel like i have so much to write about that i don’t know where to begin, and instead end up making lists of all the things i will blog about as soon as i finish listing all the things i will blog about. maybe if i make an outline of four pieces i should finish this week i will stick to it:

*ex-boyfriend quilting- poem/piece stitching together all the things i’ve learned from my previous relationships

*my last time at harvard- blog about the last time i visited harvard, and how it changed my everything

*a barfy shmarfy ryan-jenn have been together for a year poem!

*more about where we’ve been and where we’re going

it’s 3:00am. i’m falling asleep at the keyboard. the prolific motherfucker is snoring his face off. mati is balled up next to my chair. i miss the pottery barn.



“Two Ongs make us write.” -Ryan



we are just about to meet. (jenn)

we met almost a year ago… when jenn bought a ticket from bulgaria to philadelphia to visit ryan after about 3 months of myspacing. we now shamelessly post the poems we wrote to each other, even though every line is an inside joke, an allusion, a loop to another poem.

we want to remember what we already knew.


(pure nightclub, vegas, 11/06)

november 11, 2006

from ryan:

this is ridiculous already.
days before I see you.
less than a week.
i am pacing.
biting nails.
laughing out loud, by myself, in public.
what have you undone to me?
holly balls.
fuckerty fuck.
hi 5.
matchee matchee.
fuck fear of trite.
inner homo.
your blinkey
your blinkey
my body
my body
beast. [but of the beasts, you’re the most beautiful, ouch, I’m kidding, oh, you know my nipples are sensitive you bitch! breach of confidence! ow!]
not alone.
plus one.
I’m just saying.
don’t shhh.
I’m not just saying.
warm fuzzy.
salty nesty balls.
ball sweat (in various contexts, obviously.]
I love brainstorming.
I love fucking.
song for no one.
the very thought of you.
that girl.
100% perfect girl.
oh jenn.
I am so smitten
I might say things
oh jenn.
i am silly in love with you.
don’t worry, I have shhh on auto.
I know.
it’s crazy.
who are you?
where the hell did you?
I mean?
full hug.
half question marks.
woo ha!
be still your adolescent heart.
you sneezed.
I sneezed.
myspace drama.
i don’t know what this says about me?
he didn’t know what to do with me.
I know what to do with you hee.
I don’t know what i’d do without you.
how did i even get this far?
heemotts productions presents:
entire existence.
come see about you.
tell me.

oh jenn.
heart shaped words

oh jenn
I can’t wait to start all over again with you for the first time, again, for the first time, again.

november 11, 2006

from jenn

again, for the first time, again
you printed me on your heart
you said marry me for profit
i said yea okay, why not giving you
another oops-and-a mischievous girl glance
and i was your favoritest
after your eyes lost their ability to roll, period(.)
i [on paper] out oofed you
and you have been hungry for this kind of food
your whole life.

(and all this time
it was doritos
all along.)

my memories so old–
so much
in one space
so much–
like russian dolls
circa wombs.

p.s.-ing early
you gush at my genius
and i gush at you
distracting me
with an infinite amount of secret reasons
which you will continue to tell me forever.

and when you knew
that i knew
that you knew
it wasn’t that simple
and you knew
that i knew that
that was okay.
and then and then
you invited yourself
into my everything
into my future
into my dismantling–
then i knew
i just couldn’t get any softer
and you are puddled
i’m throwing fishing lines in the water,
and biting

on the days you have died
i have died too.
and my mute would be louder
than all the voices in your head.

and look how much we have been through
before we have been through anything.
we have given each other ourselves back
but i want to belong to you, i know
you would keep me safe in your
heart shaped words, not having to go
anywhere, but there,
(but for nostalgia’s sake
i could whisper
and you could
call me amelie
and i could hide
and you could keep.)

and we know, we do
it’s something, we know
it’s something:
you are 6, you are 12
and in days i
will play you, will
learn you by heart.
and we, both of us,
we love to fall in love–
and do it again.
i missed it,
i swear.

Duck Duck Goose

Don’t Give into the Fear!

day 3: i am risen. [ryan]




day 3. stayed in last night, was raining, so went to ancient mayan civilization instead. apocolypto. humans are fucking scary. the movie made passion of christ seem like a romantic comedy. I am so pussy. the pussiest. wouldn’t last 5 seconds in a rape and pillage combo by angry mayans. fsst, even docile mayans scare me. hell, I’m scared of most filipinos. I am not a man. I am writer, comedian, philosopher, microwaver. not a fighter, a lover of fight club the movie. watching humans kill each other in the face with stones makes you feel silly for worrying about your career.

I still worry about my career. lessness.

let me not fool you O’ 401-k-er, I have worries, yes, even on the road. I don’t want to come off like the tie dye wearer who mocks society for a month and then returns double fisting application and fake smile, uh uh, nope. I don’t mock society. I mock society, there’s a difference. I mock it knowing that I am a mockery. I am what I hate. everything in society that makes me bleed, bleeds inside of me. this fucking fight. this life. this run for our lives. and yet, we don’t have mayans chasing us. but then is that much better? to run and run and find no one chasing you? that almost seems worse. that is our generation. we are running, not in a forest, being chased by human sacrificers, no, we are running on sidewalks, down hallways, from voices in our head. but don’t they sacrifice us? don’t our voices reach down deep into our hearts and rip our beats from us, holding them up towards the gods, which is really the sky, which is really nothing? are we not waiting for a solar eclipse to save us? am I not giving away the plot to the whole movie? this morning, day 3 of our great adventure inside someone else’s living room, I am grateful for having my village not raped. and isn’t that what it means to be happy? to think of how great things are that they are not not great? to think, hey, at least we don’t have boils on our ass. sorry if you have boils on your ass, nothing personal. i tried to pick something obscure so you wouldn’t have it.

all happiness is relief from unhappiness.

hence our obsession with unhappiness. we are addicted to sad. we instinctively know that if we smoke the sad, it will take us higher, because when you’re down, all you have is up. and so we down down ‘til we drown, only so we can save ourselves and become god. then we sacrifice ourselves to our selves in the most ironic act of life—life itself.

how else can one experience the resurrection?

we beat our hearts with our own hands hoping we will stop the annoying rhythm of our guilt which stems from beating our hearts with our own hands.

guilt, guilt. guilt, guilt. guilt, guilt.

but maybe there’s something to ripping your own heart out. don’t knock it til you try it? maybe? maybe human sacrifice has been the most progressive manifestation of humanity, only we’ve been sacrificing the wrong people—other people. maybe the sacrifice of oneself to nothingness is the ultimate gesture to a god who is obviously not there.

one day, I shall make this sacrifice fully, and not bit by tiny bit, because it hurts way more that way. one final rip of my heart, is better than tiny increments of brain sacrifice.

I am my own human sacrifice. I give myself to me. I am worth my own martyrdom. I only wish that large quantities of morphine be present during this sacrifice. amen.

day 3.

I am risen.