3 august

1999

Today I got a break and got to take Brittany waterskiing @ Lake Placid for Dad's B-Day. It was fun. We went tubing & skiing. And I'm fine. Didn't you know? I'm so fucking tired. Stacie & Condom, and I think we spotted Neecie sitting in the back seat, all came and woke me up at 10 this morning. Surprise! I think it was real, but it could have been a dream. I actually might get to go to the vintage store with Dad tomorrow. That'd be fun.

I'm so excited for registration! I'm going with Britta, Kari, & Kelly. I'm just excited to see everyone that I used to know. Namely Tristan. Oh, and John, but in a different way. I'm actually excited for school this year. This year, I think, will be different. I'm looking forward to meeting interesting people. It should be a good experience.

2000

I am waiting for Brittany's dress rehearsal for her play to begin. I am in Arizona. Available only at JCPenney. 

Yesterday, Kelly & I spent two hours doing AMS, OS, yes. And we would have lasted longer, had my dad not have gotten home. I'm in trouble. He wanted to do pink hairbrush, he was begging me to, so I finally gave in. Then it happened again, and again! Three times in two hours, not kidding. That's how great it is, I wanted it that much. I even kissed him a few minutes after. It's kind of embarrassing to think about, but he insists it's not bad. If it was, would he have done it every 40 minutes? I think not, unless he's itching for head (which he still hasn't been lucky enough to receive). Then I spent the night at Kari's. It was fun. We spent the night as 12-yearolds; we prank called and did shit to asshole's homes. We went to Nick' s and put shaving cream and clam chowder on his mailbox, and wrote NICK SMELLS in shaving cream on his lawn. Then we went to KC's and filled condoms with clam chowder and shaving cream and put chowder all over his windows. Not immature at all! I wanted to do Trevor's so bad, but I'm dumb because I don't have his address. It was a lot of fun, I hope I never grow out of that. I saw Sam too, he and Kari are together and happier than ever. I'm glad for them. 

I, on the other hand. I don't know what's wrong. Kelly doesn't give me that feeling right now. I know that I love him, I just don't get excited. It's so boring, we do nothing, then play nintendo and do many different kinds of sex. And cuddle, and hug, and I'm really not into the whole PDA thing. He never surprises me, I think he's so predictable. What's Kelly going to do? Ask me, I'll know in advance. It's dull, the only excitement comes with oral sex or assisted manual sex, and that's nothing to base a relationship on. It's not spontaneous enough, he's not unpredictable enough, and he never decides anything. We haven't done anything unless I've initiated it. He's great, I love him, but I'm afraid that I'll become bored. I am glad I will be unable to talk to him for a few days, but then I'll feel guilty because he's expecting to hear from me. I don't want him sad and waiting for my call. I just know he's home now, hoping for it. Our relationship is progressing physically right now, but not mentally. I think in Kelly's opinion we're progressing in every way, based on the extravagant gifts and everything else. He treats me as though we're getting married. He would completely support me now if he could. In his mind, this is permanent. It's a nice thought, but at this rate? I'm already uneasy and it's only been how long? About two months and a week? It makes me nervous. I hate it, but I don't know what to do. I really, really like him. I don't like how he is towards my friends (with the exception of Tim), and he acts like he's constantly trying to impress me. He knows I love him, why does he have to do that? I don't know, I wish I could do something. I try to include my other friends and introduce him and everything, and I try to keep us out of my house. But since OS has been discovered as more enjoyable than AMS, we've been drawn to my house, which has probably ended up getting me grounded anyway. I like him, but I don't think I'm freaking out unnecessarily right now. I know I'm not. I'm sorry, I hope I'm not dumb... no, I've thought about it. He totally overreacted when he forgot to get me at the airport. The smallest things he does he takes as an extreme fuck-up. If anything fucks up this relationship, that will be it. That and my boredom, that I will not be able to stand for much longer. Maybe after school starts we will each get more of a social life, this will not be so serious and our relationship will improve? I hope so because I'm freaked out right now. I'm driving myself insane (without the help of Rachel!).

2003

It's so nothing, there's nothing to say. Today empty last night full; vomitous anxiety at a party where Nate was. I almost feel like that's the last time I'm going to see him. I don't even care about him, how could I. There's nothing to complain about. Silent and somehow managing to remain alone indefinitely. I know now that there's nothing I want to do. Since I can't think of anything I'm good at I may as well just try to think of what makes me happy

But I can count these things on one hand And I can't just sit and listen to music for the rest of my life.

I'm sick of hearing myself talk.

I'm sick of so much, actually I'm sick of everything. I'm sick thinking of having sex with you and nearing loving you and listening to you when you could care less about me. Why say "ouch" when I don't hug you, it doesn't matter. I'm sick of not being important enough when you're too important.

I think I'm really ridiculous and I'm not going anywhere.

I wish I'd never be in love, not wanting to be in love again.

I wish I could ignore them all. I wish I wanted to be here.

Too bad I don't want to write. And of course I feel sick.

I wish I didn't feel like I was in love.

I wish I didn't always want to throw up. I wish I could grow out of something.

I wish Brittany was here.

I wish I wasn't already just completely gone & over & hopeless.

2004

Finally we are leaving Italy. The smog, the opaque green salty sea. The intense tans. Just soon enough will S and I be leaving one another. He reminds me of a tolerable, intelligent, and much nicer Jason. Hot & arrogant. Both will fuck only models (Jason has to fuck less than models, as he's stuck in american bars with american girls). Both will argue and accuse and ridicule constantly. Both are never wrong. I'll never fuck a guy like that (again). I hate to think about those I'd fuck and would fuck, because I'd like to not. To not fuck, to not think about the past or future in terms of fucking. Rather I'd like to consider crevices of life, in between facts and don'ts. I shouldn't even say that f word. Europe scares the fuck out of me. When I come back, I need to grasp a language. I'd like to go to Vancouver for college. There are too many places in the world. I'll have to write essays, why am I not doing this right now.

What, you can't write when something happens? Who are you? Once I was inspired and exalted everytime my eyes were open. Is it not me, anymore. Was it overkill? Thought I could be the best candidate for an "existence of transience." At least satisfied. But bored once again. Maybe since I have been with the same person for 18 days now and it is a long time. Unless you could love one another. I need to return with Tim, as planned. I'd love to come with Bryttni. As if it could happen.

I did feel happy (after my first couple of Heinekens) when I was all alone. No one was there to find me stupid (though he was, of course, finding me stupid a trainstop away in Dresden) or make fun of me and I was to do whatever I pleased. Sometimes I think I'm pretty smart. Not then. I'm bewildered. Am I absent of mind?

Maybe I just prefer aloneness. Not constant company with only one, maybe. Alex, S, it starts just great but must come to an end.

HYPOTHETICAL ART PROJECT FUTURE SHREWISH LYING BITCH #1

In this project, I take time perfecting my appearance and acting skills; not to live the life of an attractive, naive young girl, but to learn to come across one should I need to pretend to be. Find a rick mormon dentist. He can't be too smart. I'll be a directionless untouched young thing (practicing for that) and he'll take me in his godly arms to his kitchen and the Lord. We'll get married and I'll live the secret life of an artist. Of course I won't work so I'll meet him for lunch and spend the rest of the time making bizarre films and working out/getting my nails done. I'll write many stories under the name J. Hollander. No no, of course I'll have changed my name before I met him to Charlotte Hinkle. I'll go by my real name in literary ventures. He'll know nothing of my dark past, and I'll be a good, beautiful, mormon wife. When he wants kids I'll go through a mid-life crisis which means I'll have to go stay with a college friend for a time. He begs me to stay home, and I'll agree if he buys painter Erwin's 2.5 million dollar paintings. "He's always been my favorite artist darling" and of course Mr. Newton will need an Armani suit to paint in. And my husband will send Erwin to his man at Armani and he won't know we've been fucking all along.

-Can't take socks off. Have to ask myself, did I shave my legs for this?
Drinking a really large beer on train to Zurich. We were supposed to go to Basel but alas it left without us and with S angry and knowing that every Italian, and I, as well, are total fucking idiots. Maybe Jason would say, stupid morons. I can only hope his CD player works so he doesn't hurl it in a rage. What kinds of rage do I experience. Quiet ones. Ones that result in my buying a large Italian beer. Those which allow me to pop off the bottletop with ease, using my say no to hard drugs lighter. My rage is the silent, nonviolent type. It doesn't make me scream, rarely makes me cry. The kind that makes me say anything but "you're a fucking moron" to anyone who dares ask a question. Is it because I am a woman that I'm incapable? Not all men go into rages. Not Alex, Tim, Steve, of Christopher, though sometimes Erwin. And always, Brian,  Jason, and S! And Alex W. They have to make sure I know that they won't have a problem with guys "as long as they don't fuck with me." The former group isn't of homophobes. Nothing new. Why bother with rage? The biggest turn-off. I'll be in the way of it, inevitably. Rage is a screaming terror, directed at someone. Rage & sensitivity, going together? No. You'll see a sensitive boy punching a wall. Rage whether or no it comes from a place of sensitivity/emotional pain. Take Nick (I'm trying to take him, I am). He's always breaking his hand from punching walls. He's sensitive. All man. He can get on well with everybody because of it. Intelligent & openminded. On Superbowl sunday once he taught me how to punch the corkboard in the dorms. Our team had lost, right. Tons of masculine energy happening with us. Masculinity, passion, or me trying to make him fall in love.

Perfect, I'll devise my own chancelike way of making art. It won't work all the time. A film about animals, good/evil, minimalism/excess? Screenprint of brainwashing, sight & seclusion? I need more categories. A more organized chance for chance.

To do: Nick, Ariel
Loves of life: Tim, Alex C, Steve, Nick, Erwin [Steve is circled and edited "I have to change my life"]

2006

Perigueux, France

It’s evening and the window to the dining room is opened halfway. A hawk and a hacksaw are playing, and outside there are green hills and treesides which threaten dusk… in a few hours. I am drinking a small but strong belgian beer, strong as belgian beers tend to be. There are only two bottles of wine left in the chateau, and absolutely no cheese whatsoever. I am worried and anxious at the thought. I still have approximately twelve days to consume as much as possible. 

There is good news; I am happy as a clam. Not only am I excited for my european voyage to come to an end, but I am excited, as well to meet up for the final third in San Sebastian with father. I think this end shall be joyous, however different… hopefully it will only get better. There is also the possibility of my coming into contact with one Eleneus… I’ve asked him to make my acquaintance on the 12th of August at the London Waterloo trainstation. If only I hadn’t decided to stay in Paris for the three hours, it would have been three more with Eleneus  ... Of course, I had no way to tell that one old lover of mine would be out of reach at the time. I doubt there is any way to change it? But perhaps… it might be worth it to arrive earlier, if only to see Eleneus  outside the light of the early evening… I’d like for us to stay awake all hours of the night… caressing without touching… those gold eyes of his… Eleneus… my little pigeon…

On drunken eves I tend to fantasize… safely, you can bet… a fantastic voyage with invisible footsteps overhead… and a code, to hide behind. No one will ever know… because we can’t always play violin with the one we love…

The news is good… Wayne and Blane are off to town to find cheese and wine… I knew they wouldn’t let me down. There is a reason I am related by blood to some, and marriage to others… we all share something, and that is mama, as she’s ever so rarely called. The cheese and wine go with her, though she sleeps hopefully soundly with all effort for staving off any unwanted though inevitable sore throat… hopefully she’s not hearing a hawk, nor a hacksaw in her sweetest dreams…

Ah! I am finally sitting in the most appealing way. A round table with white cloth, glass of red wine, plate with crackers and variety of cheese… new black dress, french, and the ‘help’ setting the table in room nearby. Also the most gloriously mature & elegant song from a hawk & a hacksaw… Accordion, Cello, Violin, Tambourine, Slide Guitar… if only I believed in heaven as understatement of future possibilities…

Beloved Molly,

Last night I spent awake, 'till five or so, crafting a short interlude of my

day at Photogenic, but concentrating with more intent on my letter to you.

But I don't have it here. It's on my computer at home. And I assure you it

is viscous with sap.

In any event eat cheese, drink wine, and melting chocolate cream. It's worth

it. I'm pretending I'm poor and not spending any money. Imagine, and I made

rent!

Alex is frantic, manic, elated, tragic, and all within the course of a few

hours. Possibly has something to do with his diet of rice and beans, and red

onion and peper for extravagance. I'm terribly happy that your days have

taken a turn for the red side. Unfortunatly I've been soaking my dome with

bottled PBR, and avoiding the pot. Alex refilled his perscription and has

been giving me pills in the evening. Hense the drinks and the late evenings.

I'm going to be written about in Lumpen, Bike in Cinema, the kids love it,

can't get enough. Ignatius lost my cable, the incompitent, and promises a

prompt replacement despite the financial restrictions of moving.

And when I'm not reading too much Celine I'm not so down. Happy, doing

things with a caress, that would be much more effective if you were here,

but untll the 13th the keyboard will have to deal with my affection. These

days are treating me well, the thoughts are flowing, the stomach digesting,

the films running. This life I lead . . . it's so spoiled rancid that I eat

the muck to convince myself I'm not like this. Celine was talking about how

the only reason I'm still around is because I've lost my humanity, all the

people I've stomped on, disregaurded, abuse. So . . . I'm being good,

frugal, compassionate, I even go to the North side every once and a while to

see David.

I'm happy that I have a date now, a time worth looking forward to. At the

airport, I can see the waiting area now! And you with your yellow outfit!

You cute thing, you adorable worldly woman. Just don't lose me in the

shuffle. I'm always going to be in your deck, another to leave at the cabin,

a safe place for our fondness, in the woods, with lazy big eared deer, and

sharp little squirrels.

A toast! . . . To Us . . . raise the red and the beer can together, perfect,

wonderful. These moments are the ones!. Ten days I can do, meanwhile write,

translate, drink, eat, enjoy the Spanish, they're worth it.

I'll see you soon enough, We'll do wonderful things, we will, and how, and

with such excitement, delirious, typhoidaneous, dripping with feaverous

ambitions, we will.

And soon,

Charles

2008

1:25 am

In and out of bursting in and out of flames. Hiccups, and contractions, and a need to drink water, but I have wine now. And a room which has never been more perfect. And flat tires continuous, almost daily, without a doubt weekly. Because of these roads, these pieces of glass and trash and everything. A siren chirps. They party all over the streets. I don’t like that my tire is flat and I can’t walk my bike the two miles home, that instead I have to pay a car to take me, and paying is what I’m doing, whereas before it was silly to think about not paying, paying paying what, let me pay, who cares. And it’s like that still, the everyotherday kind, of devastation at least it isn’t constant. It’s beautiful to think of Adan like this. It also helps to devastate my state, in particular a new york state, at why shouldn’t I walk alone at midnight home, where someplace else I could, and could easily & should gladly, maybe not minding so much. It’s just the feeling I want, to be in love and the rest seems excessive, like the trash, the city, the pressure, the job of boring useless. Wow! Did I just scream that? Okay then bye bye. It’s just getting me & has been since we met that I could be close to someone again, so inevitably close. And of course so all I want at this moment, and how long it’s been since, and SO LONG it’s been, and yes I am ready, have been since the day Charles & I broke up. Really have. It seems better, more intelligent, all the wiser for a body to say things to self & others like, oh I’m just not ready to be close to someone again… so I’ve adopted that (subtly, and in a lie) by saying it aloud & to myself, and even at times knowing I’m not great or interesting enough at this particular point in my life. But let me interrupt: why then is it so easy for me to be endlessly interesting to Adan, and for me to want to listen to him for upwards of eternity, and for me to feel in every bone the truth that what I say & do & feel and all the ways in which I respond & act are right and True and completely unnecessary to justify or explain or support. They are little enigmas on their own, and even I don’t feel selfconscious, when he tells me he thinks I’m brilliant I know it is because I am. I want to say no, I’m a genius- which I am. Bright & lit up. Radiant. Omygod I am such an asshole, it’s about time I smoked that last one and went dark.

But first: I wanted to gush; how about the women with huge gigantic bosoms wearing tshirts like JUICY printed across them in three feet of block lettering, oh wow, and gushing, like I do. I go in & out, back & forth with Adan there, yeah, he’s a boy but must be dumbly romantic like I or else this wouldn’t work out so well. And I trust the fuck out of him, can you imagine? Is it because I know he thinks I’m brilliant, maybe, but not because I’m afar like I worry I might find him, appealing in such an impossible way, and I don’t need to know the mileage to know an approximate latitude, a latallure he has to me, so far down in heaven country where my heart thrives like a succulent, sits baking in a sun so close and thriving, fleshy, on all the blood love lust fluffing out its puffy tufted paws. My heart is a simple succulent, so simple in fact it’s just the leaf of one, nevermind the plant; what I’m looking for here is the whole rest of me, a stalk & a root stuck down into the dry rocksoil. My damn little affable heart in all its bliss stuck into the Arizona dirt, forever.

I once when a child made fun of people who wanted to live in Arizona like they were afeared of the cold, but look at a strong creature tucked beneath a prickly pear and we’ll attempt to uncover a coward.

I want to gush at the productions I’ve had, contractions too. It has been: Only about 15 days since my last sexual encounter with anyone. I happened to find my vibrator today after it had been mysteriously missing for decades. We went at it for about 7 minutes, afterwhich I groped at the sky and mouthed questions. I love Adan a little bit. He is better than anything I have else. And that is the worrisome. That I could possibly tear my own existence to shreds for some fantasm I’ve producted from years, birthed again anew & from pieces of my own flesh memory.

I still look forward to it, yes.

3:18 am

Dear diary, I am obviously not speaking or gesturing with a wineglass to his child’s portrait in a photocopy stuck to my wall. I am glad. Ovenmouthed, glad. I understand that Tucson could very well mean instrumentals and recordings. As long as I have Alex and someone who has instruments and happens a musician to be, a pretty future holds. In a climate such as, nonetheless, healthful habitat all hot and hearts helped.

I am tired. I poured another wine, and fancied what if I could (and I could) make a disc for Adan what would it be. A poem from titles, nonelse, happenably unwritten by me.

12:57

The desert landscape is associated with a pain one might choose

I read this just a minute ago on Ron Silliman’s bog. He’s talking about a poem called “It seemed a similar choice although in an adjacent register” by Martha Ronk.

Today I’m less than joyfilled, a lot I’m sure having to do with my sleeping a lot later than planned, maybe the whispers of a hangover (fucked up upon going to sleep last night but happy, I felt happy) and again having that crisis of, what the fuck am I doing again? Wanting to abandon NY right away… but the desert? What the hell am I going to do in the desert? Live in a hot, dusty apartment, have a succulent garden, spend time with the desert, look at sunsets, be happy, be in love…

So completely unlike what I’m doing here. I wish I had chosen something else. Well I still can, news for you. 

2012

mccaall 1:14 am

The only way to impress someone is by being better & smarter than they are. Can’t we just have fun? he cries out. Do you call this fun? I scream silently in disbelief as he snores on the porch, which is where I am, eating popcorn-chips & popcorn. Matt, my little Connie Jr/Sr

            Matt threatens that I’m always giving him “the talk” which very well might be true, but also it was beneath the light of the moon, and now he is snoring worse than Connie even,  but before this he said, why don’t we just fuck around? which of course means makeout and fuck, but once I am into bed he is so passed out, so I grab snacks, and still he snores through shoves and shouts and you’d better believe I elbow him so hard in the stomach. I also mentioned that I think he might get wasted (in one of our “talks”) in an effort to avoid having SEX with me to which he shouted angrily, chill out, dood! By the by, he’s never looked cuter…shadows cast all over his face & his beard is so gorgeous vermilion, and eyebrows & eyeleashes glowing silvergoldwhite. But I cannot move him, on account of broken shoulder he is delicate, and also so oosoooos sss ooo passed out it is NOT even funny. He just snores & snores, and probably will not remember our conversation because who the fuck cares? It’s not like I wanted to have sex today. With Matt. EW

            Meanwhile, Britttany stole for me a Dusty keychain from Horsewhoe Bemd. Dusty Aunan also wrote me back; something sentimental abut chugging beers in a field after a toast with his semi-stepbrother. John Shinn hasn’t existed for at least six days; Tim Harris has beautiful eyes & comes on too strong; and Justin Ryan Fyfe? he isn’t in a hurry, so therefore neither am I. I just wanted to bone, and have my whole point completely understood. I Luv august

            Meanwhile, Matt just snores while somehow looking cuter than he has ever looked, and grinds his teeth like crazy when I try to move him; I've never hated anyone more