1999
3:17 pm
I am wearing Sam's butterfly pants. PHONE! Brittany. I am going to a party at her friend Jacqueline's tonight. I'm nervous that I'll be a bitch to her friends, but I'm going to try really really hard not to. It's important that I get out and meet new people. So I'm happy. Today I'm cleaning my room, and hopefully I can somehow get to Hastings to get a new CD. That would be nice. I can't find FRANKENCHRIST! Damnit.
2002
X-Mas is over. Now I'm going to Montana. I still suck. People are funny. So far: Hey, Kelly and I kissed. I was contemplating whether or no it was diary worthy. I got upset because I didn't want to, but did anyway. He said it wouldn't happen again, that he felt nothing. Who cares, it happened, it's over, it was weird for a few hours, it is better now, and I need Chicago. I'm boring here. Even though this is Montana, it's still (I'm still) boring. I can't draw, I can't write, nothing. Useless. I may as well just kill myself... well at least I've still my sense of humor. Ah, Molly. Oh, and Tim. Or should I say, Tim and Tara. So now they're spending nights together, cuddling, kissing, fondling, sucking, eating, etc. etc. Fucking Tim. Oh well, I'll win in the end. I'll have my way with him. Not any time soon, I'm giving it at least fourteen years. We'll just get married or something, after I've had numerous relations with art school freaks.Alex . Ah, Alex. How could I give up on him? I couldn't possibly, he's too perfect. Perfectly New York, perfectly art school, perfectly too cute.
Last night I went to Carey, Idaho with Stacie, Sam, & Kelly to see Jarrett's new house and to go to his friends' Buddy & Sinatra's christmas party. It was a damn fun party. Met a few interesting (or normal) Carey-ites, such as a guy called Red who called me Red and wanted probably for me to fuck him, yes, he gave me a kiss as we argued. And I shotgunned two beers and kicked some serious ass. Jello shots. It was great except for the part when I awoke and proceeded to vomit on six different occasions. I love those kids. Doug was there, and Doug was cool. I need to get my ticket immediately. I need to go home soon. Now.
Why didn't I go to the senior prom with Alex? I hate my life. KILL ME!
So, chew on this: I think everytime I dream of hooking up with a boy (which is usually whenever I sleep) Tim appears with this knowing look. Odd. I guess because I know Tim will always have a knowing look when I am doing something I will later regret or something stated previously that I wouldn't do. I'm funny. I get to go home January 15. I can't wait. Imagine: me in my cave, all alone in my room... ah, the possibilities.
Ah, the ZMan. We have so much in common, yet still, so little have we. So very, very little. Am I tired? Would I like to retire? Nope. Watching "Home Alone 2: Lost in New York" with the ZMan is much better. Maybe not much, but enough better.
2003
Ah IDAHO... Fucking place. No, not fucking place, just fucking feelings. How I don't necessarily like anyone enough to spend time with him or her, save for Tim. And how smoking pot can once again make things awkward. I hadn't smoked for a week and finally did once I went to Kelly's. Then I bought some and was too stoned for my own good. Had trouble driving. And Kelly, how can he be like that. Kelly will become his dad. Kelly watches TV constantly and smokes pot and works and does nothing else. Nothing to say. Defensive about everything. He's boring and gives me a bad feeling. Being around him is scary. We never had a past. I'd like to go back to the way it was, but now I'm certain I don't love him at all or who he's going to be sooner than later. It's sad to think about. This place; I just really want to get back to where I feel good. I felt good in chicago and I can be in surroundings that I love and surrounded by those I love and that's it. Even imagine a Ian or a Erwin here. No one is like that. I miss Brittany a lot. And Alex and Steve. Here I have Tim. Which is a lot and thank fucking god I have Tim.
I did get to go snowboarding and probably had the best snowboarding of my life in McCall. It was so beautiful; the sun catching snow falling making everything sparkle and shimmer and shine. And so quiet, so amazing. I rode with confidence. I just raced and smiled and let the eyes water.
Today I got caught shoplifting at the boutique. Ha. But don't worry, just as the woman was telephoning the police, I booked out of there, fast as I could. I dropped the phone in the parkinglot and picked it up and ran through streets and between buildings. I called Tim to pick me up. As she took me into the back room she said, "not smart." And she was right. She told me to sit down so I did with a view of my clear path to freedom. I jumped up from my seat once she was securely positioned on the opposite side of the giant desk and she yelled, "get back here!" and with that, I was gone. And that's shoplifting. How do I feel now? Well, my throat and lungs hurt from the running and the smoking and the exhilaration. Do I feel badly, no, I guess I shouldn't steal from boutiques because they're privately owned but even then they're marked up incredibly and fuck it if I didn't run, I would be in trouble now. I think I've lost the attraction for the frivolous shoplifting. But it's okay to steal the necessities. I guess I am fucking selfish and greedy and I do suck. No. This day was beautiful and Idaho winter grey and I love Idaho so much but I wish for the warmth of connections like in chicago. I will. It now seems to have turned around completely and I am disconnected from those here because they can't hear me or I don't listen closely enough and I just really long for car rides, cigarettes, and the music with Steve and waiting for the bus in the cold to go to Dominick's with Brittany and sitting in Alex's warm blue room talking about transcendentalism and smoking on the back porch with crab hands and the skyline and bright eyes again and Christopher dancing and doing my hair and Erwin's sharp beard and my newly organized room that I love so much, not like this old room that used to surround the old me with the old stuff that meant something once... I just can't wait for this normal sunrise to sunset feeling to be gone and here I am back in the cold and the sun comes up early and the walk to the train is the time it takes to smoke a cigarette. And now to hang out with Stacie, Kari, Kelly. And Tim. TGFT.
2008
McCall, Idaho
Boy is scared, worryful of hurts and future. I been sunburst and snowblind, especially windburst making pink cheeks on me in the low temperatures of high up mountain winters. My sweet darling is hurt and waiting, stationary, for his appearance in my arms. So what could we not be together forever? so what could it be over eventually? could we break hearts in palms without thought or care? either or both? palms or us? My mind is dead and it is purest whitefall out there. I am in love with it. I am in love with Adan. We are moving to Portland and I can only be happy excited for it. I can also be sad worried and missing him, and go in & out of that, but as soon as he doesn’t make my heart want to digest my body and throw it up again out of its little aorta and other red tubes, I will be happy content & fine with it all. I will survive should it end. I would be happy to marry him in upwards of forevers.
2009
Portland Oregon, 7:41 pm
december, lie me down, tie me
up: metamorphosis two
She
talked of the cat laying like a turban, I think of it more a torpedo, but then
I would assume a season should be picked, so we could agree on the state of
warmth, the quality of the air, the wind, if any; the temperature &
pressure of each and every particle, particular for a season or another.
I have wine; was given me by Kari
Anooshian and was given her by her dear mother Linda. I have this sweet dog.
Used to be I talked of the colors of breeze, more; now it’s this pleasant dog
with back to me in the cold attic-room which we share, in which we doze,
comfortably. It is 7:46 and it is night and I wonder, what if now was my
bed-time and in the morning, or in the true night, rather, I woke to see the
still dark sky and the sun break into it for day. And this was my routine. I
wonder where the word comes from, routine. I have plenty of words now, to look
up, thanks to Colette. My major problems are these, in no particular order: I
do not miss Adán nor do I await with dewy eyelashes his return, I doubt
strongly I will get into graduate school (I wonder, do I even want it), and I
have to stay in the graphic novels class though it irks me so. But today, luck
brought to me Annie Murphy, and before I could even say hello she said, oh hi!
how are you! Molly! she said, will you be there next semester, and I said,
hesitantly Yes, and she excitedly called out Good! Well. Maybe she is here to
remind me that I am committed. I even forced myself into commitments. This is why
I am here. Everything I mention is a commitment. To other living beings, to
myself, to my innards. I wonder at it. I wonder at the morning, when my pot is
gone, and how can one have such nice pot around? and at this wine.
8:55
And
my blood, lungs, full with it. The piano, or the blue, the whale cry in the
smoky club scene. You are a scene. Scene the scenery. I thank the piano, and
the slide guitar I whimper to, asking please, but not needing to so doing it
silent. The last five years are the ones of life. I slap across the song. I
flood myself across the piano; a piano spark waterfall. Forget the semicolon;
this is what I need. Skipping punctuations like stones. An explanation like
pebbles dropping on keys , the comma, an upstroke. I can feel the heart now.
Subtle smoke curtain now. Ash on a
pillow, the porcelain dish. Not a dish but a lid. The porcelain lid to a
hairbox. This a particular delight remnant of Nanny. Poor Jack, didn’t get a
gift. The only one at the party. Jack Clark wish not to write his obit. Without
mentioning death, will they surpass it? Without mentioning death, she passed
it. Without mentioning death can one suppress it. Without mentioning, death
surprises us. It’s without mention, without mansion. Without mandibles, death
surprises us. Death sells us. Without mention, mandibles surpass. An ñ of
sourts, the unitalixized ways, her little fingers skipping stones. The brown
stones, the ones made from porcelain,
the little stubs of fingers wafting generously. Like the breeze. The bees worked
with them, that’s a fact. Soon as the sky fell earlier in day, like a shade of
red over everything, and a call given to elbows and arms in favor of sweaters.
The possibility of sweaters, sweater possibility, sweater ability. My shadows
over everything, the letters abrupt and flat. Oh, but if I could go back then!
The only time is time viewed rounded, like the edges of courners cut, and made
curved and painless. The letters, though: the letters are so straight up and
square. The haunted voice
could change eventually, ending
gorgeously. Yesterday, yesterday: yellow winter remaining, gold drives serene.
Enough hazard dreamt,
Scratch the spelling off that piece
of bark! Knowing gratefully yields some emotional leverage. engaging gratefully
yields savory youth, harrowed, dimly, yet triumphant, trying, gggggg
Songs stretching, going grim,
marbled divine,
we
found your virginity, to hunt in time and bounty
bloodstain
on your majesty
four
seasons dark combinations
13
years of Karen
to
be given all the unity
the
hunt & tie of bounty
bloodseed
of your majesty
in
this mighty plan
dark
correlations
I
found my 13 years of Karen
in
all four seasons and their dark brethren
your
four seasons and their embarrassment
with
dark combinations, I found my
13
years of Karen
What
an unnecessary document! considering the effort, I would like to offer an
effort, in trade, a words with five or four letters time.
We
will be together in Old England we’ll be together
And
as for falling in love, this mighty contemporary thing. Trying to recreate the
divine. Only smokers need desks. The ashes are flying!
2010
11:39 am
Looking great, wanting coffee, listening to
Sonic Youth with the basset hound, quoting from Plexus, wanting to finish it… but there isn’t a bookmarker there,
anymore. The printer ran out of ink. I have two copies of my resume, and I need
a desperate sort of job. At red feather! Ooh, wouldn’t, couldn’t that be nice.
The eating & drinking well and the looking good.
Today
I am good! Dressed in Bruce’s shrunken navy hunter maroon pearl-snapped
Pendleton. Oh, Bruce. Stockings ripped all up the sides. I think he might come
back tomorrow…
