On Wednesday Brittany's cousin came to pick us up because he got $40 worth of weed for Britta. I have never seen so much weed before! We went down to Northgate to "see Tarzan." And then we toked it out of the Bad Apple. We met up with Ryan & Ron and some cool gangsta kid. We went to his house which was boring but I was high and I talked to Ryan so I had fun. On Thursday I took my driver's test (while high) and I only missed 4 so I passed. Nice. And then I met a cool hippie. Or, grippie (grunge hippie). Brittany & I went to get Britta at work and we went to skateworld to see Guttermouth. The three of us hid and smoked out of the Bad Apple and drank three Natural Ices and a Corona that I stole from my fridge for Britta We went to the concert highly fucked up. First person I find, next to the Tron video game: Trevor. Of course, where else? And who else? So I was cool, no evil butterflies here. But then every other time I saw him I pretty much just had an orgasm. He is definitely the hottest guy in the world right now.
I don't know where to start. It's either everything or nothing. Full or void. Black or white. Nothing else. I feel sick. Constantly. Empty now, hopefully it will stay that way. I choose indifference over romance. Even being in love would mean nothing. It means as much as nothing, either way it's nothing. My toughness may appear to be confidence. I am in some things. I'm both. How could I not be both, how could I get through anything. There's shit to get through. I'm sitting in a place where no one can see me. No one knows I'm here. I like that.
It was a question which I've been wanting to ask without the want of it being answered, because it's rhetorical. Instead of asking it, Nate answered in the form of a question directed at me: is it going to bother me when Sarah comes back because they'll want to spend a lot of time together because they miss one another. This question led to everything else, my finding him in love, his hoping to be kissing & hugging her once more, my temporary existence not in his heart but in his bed. The temporary girl. Nearly only a month until school starts and that's it for me. I have hopes which is why I continue on with him but his lie solely upon the return of Sarah and the possibility of their getting back together. He loves her, she loves others. I wish my breath would escape me and I'd throw up finally. There is nothing for me, nothing there for me. And it's simple and I'm numb for it but I want to be just entirely numb and to go away and to never believe in my feelings, how can you do that? I ask questions but I'm not questioning anything because I have all the answers. I'm the exception to the rule, the one person who Nate hasn't fallen in love with, the only one who wants it. I disappointed his expectations by not rejecting him. It's the fact that I like him, that he's not an asshole, I enjoy talking to him, and I want him. It doesn't hurt right now. I don't feel too sick. Just there. I don't want to be. I want to bury myself in my own blankets and in my own weight. I don't need to be submersed in that of anyone else. It's only these temporary comforting devices, like weed, like sex. Intoxicants are in color. Color isn't real. Black or white, romance or indifference, gray is all reality. I guess I need things to be gray. This color, it's tricky and it takes over, forcing me to disregard everything else. I hate this. But I don't even feel it now. Empty. Oh- got the STD results back, clean as a whistle. (Frat whistle, Alex said.) Now I can plan to never have condomless sex again and I'm good to go. I can't believe that Jason was clean. How?
Here’s to hoping I sipped the last of the soap from the justice & liberty cup. It’s with iced coffee splashed with milk. Here’s to banshee beat, an all-too-oft overlooked song, someone in my dictionary’s up to no good Remember when charlie and I ate magic mushrooms and flipped out to this particular song? the insides of me still twitter a little at the sound hitting the memories.
And this weather is a change, it is not summer at all but a constant spring. It is too hot at times and things do stop growing. So how is it right that I can be here in sweatpants? at nooon? before my nice window in my nice room, all of it disappearing.
Folk music, now this is cool. There was an article in a hipster online paper called “Is Bushwick the coolest place on Earth?” Interesting.
I can feel myself not reaching so much for the cool. For the sound of the song. Not for the instrument, to annoy at the bandname, to realize, well, there isn’t a lot happening here. And where are they all? I think of Tennessee Williams and his Mummers of St. Louis, the small theater group he wrote & acted for in the mid thirties. His description of the truth they were telling, the difficulty, the effect they had on people. This makes me want to do theater, again. But then it seems only that one couldn’t possibly have a job in the theater like this, one couldn’t even ask for payment to see a show… it would have to be live street action. People are constantly spending thousands of dollars on the most miniscule of short independent films. And for what? The role of action in life, how about that? Growing further away from my friends, and George criticizes that I don’t go all the way. I think I’ve made him understand that I have to function. I refuse to go away and throw out all social intercourse. I would prefer, actually, if it was only intercourse socially; mostly it’s social petting or a very mild social flirting. Barely even does it get as hot as social foreplay, though when it does, I’m whetted for hours! How can I have the chills in late July, praytell?
The good news, I’ve thrown the shallot out the window of my bedroom. The symbolism lies only in my own mentally throwing out of the event of Chris, which of course is an allusion to the throwing out of something else altogether. I can’t rationalize myself through it- boy I don’t like but am attracted to – already we have a problem. Liking someone I don’t like. Rather, wanting to kiss & feel sensational with the person who ultimately I won’t have an attachment to, or really so it’s just physical- then, why should it bother me its immanent ending, when I know it all along, etcetera, I suppose these things don’t really change so much. Nothing really symbolic, then, in my throwing of the shallot. I mentally threw the shallot the day after my *magical* experience. for we all know the magic was in the simple fact that I was getting KISSED BACK! Which is more than I can really say for R! ANYway, here I go, pretty soon to be terribly on my own. The only thing to do is to remain true to my insides. My lacks of desperation, because I’m the one making the choice to be single & alone & uncoupled & eternally me. It might be months and a year of alone. But it won’t, and I won’t have to think about it in any sort of way. Just knowing I want to be out of a relationship for once. My dreamlife is so full, I’m going to have sex, I’m going to kiss, I’m going to hold hands… what more could be wanted? As long as I can sleep, I can be satisfied.
AND my days are so numbered at work… I managed to not get fired and here I go, four shifts left, one tomorrow am with Megan, just me & Megs, one with Jake on Monday where I will put on the happy-go-lucky attitude that everyone knows & loves, wishing I’d do, and then closing Tuesday & Thursday…. hoorwa. I am so happy to be out of it, and to leave with a not so bitter taste on the tongues of everyone on my account, and a last party where I can look deeply into Chris’s long tall dark eyes and moan, silently, you weren’t even that great a kisser… your lazy lips letting themselves be, taking advantage of their beauty & size & inherent kissable qualities… I just hope you had an erection that one time, and well, I shure wish I could give him another! actually, I want to see it. Not really like in the flesh or anything, but just a notion. Well, now that’s asking for an Awful lot, Molly.
So then tomorrow we’re having a crawdad broil & I’ll invite my friends but doubtfully will they show up, I couldn’t mind if they don’t because it will be surely a willamette university reunion starring idiots and douchebags and me, hiding in the yard with a select handful.
*car – Idaho
*get prorated rent & deposit back because I need to get it into Umpqua!!
*pack up yer shit, butch.
*travel tape case? travel case?
*change gasbills over
* record spanish tapes & french tapes
Alright, lesbian couples adopting the patriarchy for the purpose not of overturning it, but to fit in…
Things & going way too fast. Last night I stayed up kissing in bed at Gayle’s with Matt, aka Coldcuts. It’s true! We picked him up from the airport, Kyle nervously driving the subaru, Brittany in front seat. Coldcuts between Nickey and me. It was up all night, drinking, smoking. And then a trip to the steamroom! It was shenanigans. After, alone with Matt & the candle blew out. I asked if he would kiss me, he said sure. Against the walls I painted in the studio. In the desert scene. And it was a kiss, such a kiss. His warm body. His sweetsmelling beard. Back in the world and in my bed, Kyle on the couch watching Dr. Phil, Coldcuts & I pretending to be talking the whole time… but we kissed so well it was like kissing me. The best kisser I've kissed since Bruce. And there haven’t been many. The rolling around, the tongues, faces, lips. Laughter, eyes open, but by now it was 5:30 am and we had to get out of there at 6. I took him in my mouth and he tasted fresh and soft and good. We used the condoms bought for John on the drunken post-Torch night. It was fun, fun… it was hard to remember. I don’t remember. It was early. I haven’t yet slept. But he will kiss me, and he will fuck me again and when he comes inside of me he keeps it a secret and acts bashful, and then when he makes me come he does it & I do it unabashedly. He’s too smart & too funny for me. He is too dangerous. He just turned 24, how is that possible? I know I thought this would never happen. But then of a sudden it happens… and it was so happening. I really want him so badly, more & more. More & more than some people. It was like us fitting together, like brothers. & the last on earth. I haven’t slept, still. We left to the Capri and it wasn’t the sort of breakfast you have after a fun night of cavorting… it was solemn, quiet, understated. We all had coffee, but Coldcuts and I each had eggs & hashbrowns & rye toast but he likes his eggs overeasy. I’ve already mentioned his blonde eyelashes. John Shinn sits right next to me; we’re on his stoop. He reads a book that Matt lent him. He isn’t crazy about it, but has almost finished it. Of course John Shinn doesn’t know. Maybe he will one day. It’s likely that they all will know one day. My body is weird. But it is getting all the action. It’s a beautiful night, and I have the driest cough of one who does nothing save for smoke cigarettes every second. I could have kept kissing Coldcuts forever. I have this body odor now, the reek of another on me. And the tea is eucalyptus and bitter. John Shinn has two gay roommates. They’re cute. He lives around the corner from Chelsea and Taylor. Across & down is where Brittany lives with Wes and Nicole across from Boise High School. I still have nearly one month until I can live at Kelsey’s room with Nickey and KC. One whole month, and for only what seems about one month. What is this illness?
And what about Tim? & Dusty? Do you not think of them anymore? No, no… you misunderstand me. Of course I still hold them all. That night when I followed him… he decided to come back to the neurolux with me, and then he disappeared. You can imagine my severe longing. And then Kyle arrives to tell me that Dusty is a virgin! Can it be believed. I can’t! By now it is late, and I’m sitting on the floor of the neurolux patio. Who needs chairs anymore? My linguistics boyfriend has abandoned me. I decided to never speak of him again… but then there was a message from him, an apology. He was anxious and shy. We wrote back a number of times, cleverly noting our little attractive/intelligent/awkward idiosyncrasies. But alas! He never returned the last, and it has been twentyfour hours. I never should have been so eager… but still, he must have picked up on me. Something he could tell, no doubt. Maybe he put the pieces together that I am psychotic. But his messages all indicated that he was interested! When is your next day off? Here is my phonenumber? Kudos on being a luddite- I really mean that?!? Dusty! Where have you gone, my sweet-eyed bearded tie-dye linguistics lover! But who needs him. Who needs any of them. I am dizzy with them all now. And today, Tim. We were coincidentally filling our glasses simultaneously with lemon water, and he said, when are you coming over? to get drunk? & then we’re sitting, and he tells me that I can come over whenever I like. That he will try to make out with me. And then there’s me blushing, unedited… as usual… he doesn’t seem to mind. He admires my dry, scabrous, hair-dotted legs. He has a hair fetish right now, he says. But I doubt we wouldn’t fuck were we to make out. Is it right to never fuck someone unless the kissing is good & perfect? I could see it. I could make rules of these. But no matter, I have about four too many boys about which I think and they have to be let gone. I want a room. I want to live at Nickey’s right now. I can stay at Brittany’s, I know this. I also know that I want ice cream, for my throat… that a cigarette sounds fun, but impossible… that I don’t have to plan anything until I move in. And then I can plan my future… avoidance of Bruce… sex… romance… being spontaneous, and healthy. Uh oh. Facebooking Kyle, who’s totally hung at Matt’s. And knows. But doesn’t believe. I have too many things to say; I think I might kill myself. I am the only one who cares, who writes in her diary, oh, he is SUCH a great KISSER oh my god… bash, I think I am trying to make myself in a sex-graveyard here. I despise myself. I want to spend the night ALONE ALONE ALONE tomorrow. Maybe I will go to Steve’s…