22 june

(95, 98, 99, 00, 02, 03, 05, 06, 07, 10, 11, 12)

1999

Don't eat cookies in bed! I just ate a cookie in bed. At driver's training I met this cool boy with bleached hair, sideburns, and cool glasses. His name is Trevor. His birthday is May 26, 1984. His favorite fruit is banana. He goes to BK. He's in the 10th grade. He enjoys skating and playing the guitar. His favorite bands are Against All Authority, Bad Religion, Dead Kennedys, and Operation Ivy. His dream is to be manager of taco bell. His favorite color is red. His favorite number is 28. And he gave me an Irish sweater! It's Paddy's Irish Whiskey. It's so cool and it's all mine! He's cool. I will call him. And that is all that has happened within the last 24 hours.

2002


Lately I've been pretty crazy/bitchy. I went to Shirley's wedding last night, which ended in a conversation with Trevor, directly after I smoked him out. It's true. He talked to me about movies. He said he'd made some films and that he'd like to see mine. Wow! He also told me that I looked great! We had a good time; he, Brian and I all got stoned and talked about movies, music, and Capital. He apologized for anything, if he needed to. I think that he's a nice guy. He seems smart and creative, and I couldn't believe how nice he was to me. Maybe I'll call him, but I doubt it. I'd hang out with him again- why not? A fun night. Brian was drunk, therefore incredibly adorable and sweet to me. He was nice and social to my family, to Trevor, and he was a good boyfriend. When he & I get along, it's wonderful. When we're having a good time together, it's the best thing in the world. I love Brian.

2005

Logically, lustfully. Like being under the influence, when you're supposed to be realistic. 

To me, the West is an expansive, open-ended place. Dry heat, soft skin, no sweat. Crickets. Absolute darkness. Pure, silent beauty, gold and purple bumpy hills along an ever changing horizon. It really is a special place. I've come back and pretended it's all new, and I can finally breathe and move. 

Of course, it's been nice to have summertime distractions (summer wine, sweetgrass beer, margaritas, sparkly clear sharp western contours). My life has been significantly more fun since leaving Chicago.

One night, Alex & I went to Neurolux where we drank cranberry & vodka and sat in front, waiting for a 20 piece band and waited for Brian to appear. He looked entirely the same and was really nice. He sold us some pot on this full moon downtown, and later I laid in bed and felt that warm moment when the breath gets caught in the chest and I spasm in heat. The moment was quickly overtaken by hot tears. 

I laid in my old room, hot with crickets and a full moon overhead. I thought about my stencil for Charles, and how it could have been a terrible idea to realize it. I was advantageous of my whim, capturing it and making it permanent with immediacy, before allowing myself the abstract thought of truth & repercussions. 

And I went through many possibilities, ending finally with the idea that I really don't care for Charles in any way, that it was meant as an imposition of one's self on another, that the "i'm sorry" was merely a meaningless apology for anything, for existing, for imposing, for making you have to see my image all the time, even if you don't want to. Therefore, it's all sarcastic & dark & macabre. I laid there and tried to figure out if I care for Charles. Of course I'd think of course, but when I actually pictured him, heard his voice, thought about what he meant to me, it all meant nothing. I didn't have an emotional response, just indifference and despondence. And then I started to cry, sad because I really didn't care, I really didn't want to, and how and why I had no idea. 

Apparently what's done is done, and when I did it I was certain of any results impending. The idea of it "coming back to haunt" either of us was absurd, as both he and I had nothing but the most pure and everlasting love for one another. Of course, he'll only be there another three months, things can always be painted over, etcetera. David advised that Charlie and I are obsessed with each other, so not to worry about being overly so. At this point, it's all hear-say and we'll see what's going on when our eyes and brains are in the same place.

Perhaps the old boyfriend thing is getting me down slightly. Erwin has been hanging around. We ate together a few times, and spent a few hours drinking, dancing, and cavorting right before I left for Boise. He gave me more Holly Golightly and related sad tales of romantic irony. Upon leaving he hugged me and put his nose on my shoulder, to, I presume, inhale my flesh which he kissed nonchalantly and insisted was just smelling. The times with Erwin were both good and bad; I could put Charles off my mind, but I also had the sick drive to go after his neck or cheeks or stomach. I felt as though, really, my truths do rely only on a whim. What matters but what's there?



2006, midway airport at 5:18 am

gazebo, wheel, spoke, whirr, walkie talkie whisper, click, caution the moving walkway is ending, attention all customomers, these flowers don’t look so pretty under this fluorescent lighting, very hot, we goit crosby, stills, nash & young, sweatsuit, blur shine, soft saxaphone horn bubble, slop slop slop

run on a sloppy slope
sleep on a slippery soap
slap a sappy slut
shoot on a shorn shore

caution our stomachs hand in our pants and there’s a bulge now, thanks.
the sun’s up

2007, Twin Pines, 5:57 pm

Golden moments trapped in falsetto. I don’t think you knew you were in this song. But I’m the creator, and I’m the lyrics, and I want to kiss it eternal. To the point of fire-quake, explosion in the grass and trees. How long is forever trapped in a moment of breeze? How many times can you spell the same word before it changes? What a surprise, how can we account for the unexpected? I’m vital, perhaps not more vital than ever but still I can celebrate the vitality… 

I’m in the Professors’ red sweater, the pullover that smells musty and sweet like a man in the woods. I have to leave it here when I go. It was borrowed and enjoyed and now it’ll be returned. I’m impressed with this breeze… it’s so chilly it almost hurts! But not quite. Everything here’s too green to notice depth of field. Beautiful voyages, and I’m not sure when I’ll wake up or if I already have or if I ever ever will again. 

The things which I’m considering: There’s another future beginning again, and the full moon is nearing but not close enough to be noticed yet. Maybe a week from now it’ll be in all its glory, and of course there will be Jake here, well not here but in Brooklyn with us, primarily (or is it my opinion) me, and hopefully, well all I hope is simple really that he’ll only stay in my bed with me night after night after night… But then it’d be inevitable at least for me but I can avoid those things at costs of pure enjoyment and acceptance of an olive complected skin on my red bedspread. That’s all. Maybe a gentle caress of fingertips on your oily face. Just for a moment or two or more. But more moments than ever would be better than before. 

Just in case. Just in case moments elapse into increments of possibility. But for the most part it’ll be days at a time of us in the same city, with brief momentous memories of a short best-friendship hoping to live on through months and miles away. I can’t remember accurately being so close to him. I’m not so close to anyone since. And before, of course I was, but entrapped in the furnace. Speaking of them… David reports scenarios I’m aghast to believe that are soaking in repulsiveness and fear. Jealousy, guilt and betrayal, violence and obsession are those elements which reign over my ideas of their relationship, as well as all who see them… They instill discomfort and fear in the lives of all passersby. Luckily I’m not there to witness firsthand, and am instead just the lucky recipient of exaggerated details via David. And Hudson now is happily involved with an awesome girl, and he’s happy and healthy… But the two, maybe there will be a heart explosion tragic enough to cause immediate death. Or slow lingering death. Either way, it doesn’t make me feel good… But I laugh through my disbelief, and celebrate it all.

Justin calls and says he thinks we’re on the same page, that we both agree, which is an absolute untruth but I suppose he’s doing what he must to keep me near. I’m not near, though. Alex is right, I shouldn’t call him. I don’t want to be around him. Some other time… I can see where this is going, where it is, and as long as I’m progressing socially I won’t have any desire for him as a friend. I’ll be able to afford to be picky once more. We’re so complicated and that’s perfectly acceptable but sometimes there’s just no way to make it feel nice for anyone.

2010
Paris {from the handmade cardboard book }

The summer is here. According to Gregorian records. “La Vie En Rose” plays stupidly in my head. The stupid morning-light between buildings whilst sitting before a shop window and sharing a cigarette & practicing words like “Bridgeport.” Backwards Never ignoring mouths, scents of necks, murmuring into hair. The constant heart spangles. My little constant implosions. Winter chills shuddering my knees. Impulsive necessity. Dancing the Tango. Riding on the seat in a Hazard flag. The flag of a different nation. “I have a message for you.” My words & yours. Rosemary pronounced “Ro ma – n.” Lemon thyme. Pronounced “Tah”. Tiny apartment. Walls of books. Neighbor stories; some neighbors across are very boring to watch.