22 july

2006

Plane. Chicago to Ottawa. Then Ottawa to London. And London to Amsterdam: 8:05 pm somewhere. 

Charlie & I slept in a little longer. Though it wasn’t sleep, I know I was tossing around and he was turning, too, though we were both entirely comfortable and wrapped up in one another. It was blue white morning light and peach warmth all over us. A charlie brown blanket, wool and rainbowed on one side and Alex’s big square fan atop the reversed hamper. A COLD BREEZE and then 9:00 happens. He removes the covers from my body and turns off the fan, threatening eminent heat… not so fast. I reach for the glasses and find something to wear; shorts, a floral tank top… he makes breakfast which I don’t eat save for the tofu… too much tomato sauce… I guess we’ll always forget… There is a somber attitude, though Alex is contented with de Beauvoir’s all men are mortal and Charlie looks quietly around. 

When we say goodbye in front of the palmer house and all its tourists, I hold his face recently cleanshaven, between my hands… we kiss one another lightly. He puts one chin on my head. I remove my glasses. He rides off… Alex and I enter the photo shop to get pictures developed. It’s too pretty outside and it’s made everyone come out. The gay games thrive somewhere near the end of the pier. I go to find Charlie there. He’s smiling genuinely at lines of tourists. I lock his bike up and leave him chips and hummus. I hand him a figi water. I pass over $5 for french fries. He bends over the railing and I kiss him waving goodbye. I go to the beach and whip out Céline. I finish it, thinking I’ve wasted my time, that it wasn’t an end, that there was disappointment… but also the hurry of needing to go go go home to get packed and everything… but there are girls on the beach, and whole families, too, and I smile because there’s sand in my bag and in my book and now in my nose and mouth… A boy walks by, following a man, just a regular, mustachioed man with a tan and shades and the boy calls out, screeches in that little boy voice much too loud, “Steve! Steve! You stepped on a piece of glass!” He holds it high above his head. “I know,” the man replies with resignation. The sight makes me think of very little boys and how nice they are, and how eight year old boys are the worst…

I ride madly to the mcdonalds from which a furore of Wicked crazed tourists pours. I use my first atm card since 2005. I’m not sure if I’ve memorized my pin number… a man selling streetwise guards my bike… I put two dollars in his cup and ask if he’ll watch it some more… he does…

And still later, on another plane to London… I only have an hour of computer left before the lights and music go out… It’s terrible listening to music that makes you feel in the pit of your stomach just as you did those months ago, when all you did was lay with coats on sucking self indulgently from a lemonade glass or a cigarette or a joint… and the tears once again well up in your heart… and you feel like it’s ineluctable… somehow since you’re going over there, over there anyway… and your stomach heart blood tears wail a certain familiar jeremiad… I wonder did I accidentally bring Charlie’s bike key with me on my trip… The thought makes me cry with glasses off in this darkened cabin… my stomach growls in combined guilt-sadness and hunger, for of course in my haste I have also forgotten anything at all to eat… not a bite… not a crumb. I feel like the dead and rotten. And it’s just in remembrance, just in a photo developed today of regent’s park in London where Charlie & I broke up. A picture I took while cradling his voice in my ear, uncaring, thinking about the Possibility of Romain in Dublin. I took a picture of my view that moment, a green park, sunny, but the light of the flash catches the snow. A moment simultaneously hopeful and foreboding. And I feel too sad, now, I feel apologetic and angry at myself and missing Charlie for all he does to me and for all I do to him, and how hot tears welling up just make it worse and I know it, and for the truth now that I don’t want to ever be apart from him. How when we were together we were truly together, and how we couldn’t let family holidays keep us apart… how we’re a team through and through… and how terribly malignant we can be to one another… and how we don’t understand each other or trust each other fully enough even though we want nothing more than to. We both go through the idea, the knowledge that we’ll break up soon enough. I hate this, I detest it… it can’t be spoken about, it becomes all too real & inevitable and then, then it seems like a good idea after all. 

Oh, and isn’t it pretty around here; the film just ended, that is, I can’t remember what it’s called something with matthew however it’s spelt and sarah jessica parker… it’s unusual to employ three mediocre names to form one… And now it’s everyone’s claymation favorite… I refuse to look. 

Look, I only watched that stinking movie because I needed to get my mind away… it was circling around mistakes made and fuck-mes directed at myself… entirely detrimental, undoubtedly… when the flight attendant came by casually to ask if I’d like beef or chicken and told me I should have ordered a vegetarian plate, I really did start crying. Honestly… it was the kind of tears that feels like nausea. Getting all hot in the head and stomach, trying to fend it off… and then it just comes pouring down and I hide in my hair & glasses… so I accepted the salad and a sparkling water and a bland roll… I even ate ice cream… then the wine… And truthfully, the film and that terrible red wine really helped… I wish I was next to one of those portholes right now because I tell you… it’s daylight somewhere… I have no idea what’s below us, though I’m guessing it’s the great atlantic. It’s 12:58 am in Chicago…nearly 8 in Amsterdam, 7 in London… my precious little Eleneus is rolling in bed, about to awaken… perhaps he’s still up, fixing bread…

I don’t know where I am, and that leaves me in a curious place… this peregrination… so new, in fact as to leave me wondering at the wandering… I am thinking about Eleneus… It wouldn’t surprise me at all, in fact, should I dream of him… I hope I should see him… but this is the hot part of me, this is the part I’m so keen to question. This is the part who masturbates near strangers.

2007

brooklyn: 10:10 am

Actually calls me, he does, after sending the letter I miss not having you around I like being around you all the time, etcetera. And at maracuja we’re happy or courting one another and talking about taking a shower and having no one to wash… and doing a dance rendition to hit me baby one more chime, and moments, and it’s close and suddenly I’m out from the bathroom where we first kissed and he’s closed off to any flirtations and jubilations… ah.

18 july

2004

I think it's funny the Americans traveling here in this train. American dads lifting the suitcases of old German men. Overweight and heavily made up American moms. Meanwhile, I sit and try to keep it a secret that I am an American myself. I'd like no one to ever know that, really, as it's definitely nothing about which to be proud. I can't wait to get away from it and to live speaking some other language and renounce my American-ness.

I'm definitely a stranger here but that's only because I don't understand. Americans want to but tend not to know any better. The cuteness that is everything Europe getting me. Striped buildings. It's cute like that. I wish I could sleep. I still cannot.

I cannot what?
I cannot cranefly?


2007
8:51 pm, brooklyn

My inevitable sunday night as it begins to dwindle. I want it to be later, or earlier, or with company, or with inspiration, or even better yet with wine or weed. Not wanting to want them. By Friday I will no longer have an interest in Alex. He will not get my hopes up for friendship or fucking. He will be gone as he already should be. Unfortunately… not so true. If only I had a joint to tide me over… a joint, twelve joints, cuddling by self with only words which suffice to keep me relatively cool awake and tired ready for the following week at nearly minimum wage, alphabetizing, climbing up and down ladders sneezing in the dust having crushes on people based on the books they like and the shy disinterested looks they give. And just because I want to have crushes, crushes, crushes galore! Again… and again. But Justin isn’t even very much fun to have a crush on. At all! He’s so boring to crush on, in fact, it makes me want to puke and not care all at once! A good for nothing little crush he is. The worthless truth as it bites my retarded ass… Ow! I suppose I could get some wine… maybe, maybe not. $12 later. It could last through to tomorrow night, even. But I just please want a joint, just please… I’m totally stupid and high on coffee. I’ll try to read the rest of the night, sober… but something has to happen. I have to be tickled or else I’ll feel bald and too specific.

2008

5:27 pm

Adan & his for some reason yellow eyes, letting the streetlight wash them to clear as I gaze from an inch away, or from no inches away on the porch of Max & Fingers at a three a.m.

It’s Adan, only Adan I think of now. We met at the party, and there he was without leaving my side. Back to Tucson he went some 36 hours ago or something like it. Elements impossible to recall thoroughly.

I intended simply to kiss him on that very porch before journeying off to my house, knowing I wouldn’t be sleeping any longer with Fingers, knowing at least not then for certain. The kissing was too full, too real, I fell asleep as it was too much, tingling in dream sensation and everything taking its time, nothing hurried in the slightest, his lips not eager nor his tongue any splitsecond more than mine; house could easily have passed with just the subtlety of lips and tongues, nothing persistent too. I was dizzy. I asked him what he was doing the following day, he said nothing. His perfect teeth always smiling, his lovely lips from a second, just a minor distance from my eyes. I asked if he’d like to go to the beach; he said we could go right then. In the apartment we gathered out things, he had nothing. He suggested we bring a beach blanket and took two towels. He said, will we need sunglasses? and found some perfect for us. We walked through a sunrising bedstuy, nothing nervous, and to the beach catching all the trains at just the right times, growing delirious now, the perfect early morning light I never get to see over jamaica bay, pink & blue with my hand on his leg, his pretty orange eyes, rows of white teeth always smiling. Our faces hurting from the smiling. Holding hands now because why not. Catching a bus on time, arriving to the fresh cool of an early beach morning. All alone, walking across the dunes barefooted, gasping at the air & scents without the sick new york so used to by now. A spot, the waves taller than we, blue grey & a sun coming up yellow just over west. In our underwear and kissing in the rough waves. He dives, I watch. Bright. Laying on the towels, sand fleas going crazy for us, kissing and sand, not to mind the sand, or even the bugs, or the sunburns, just wanting the kissing & so much of it, and touching and he laying atop, his beautiful face & smoothe brown body. My hair as a shade, then, protecting his eyes from the blaze… and my back growing hot, and company now that it’s reached 9 oclock, so wanting then a breakfast, and catching the bus immediately, sandcovered, drowsy, arms around each other. At the wharf he sat next to me and we touched knees. He tried to order sourdough toast, the waitress laughed and said, this isn’t manhattan. His accent of Tucson and undeniably. A sweetness around him killing me every second. A bird coming by, eating toast off the plate. Every glance so glad. Back to my house where I knew finally we could be naked. I suggested a shower; water on cold, our backs pressed, massaging backwards the other’s body. For hours it seemed again, in slow motion, our cool smoothe skin radiant under delicate fingers. And kissing, and kissing, and tasting water from faces. So much of our mouths all over each other. In bed we had sex for something like six minutes when we came simultaneously, I bursting into hysterics & the blood everywhere, hands and legs and stomachs and testicles. Every sex we had was the sweetest somehow deepest, like climbing down into granite crevasses. Into cool geothermal pools. And naps, but never for a moment untouched, or unspeaking, or ungazing or staring.

a plan

Save up all money. Try to write, try to print, try to publish, send things off. Apply for residencies. But! The money saved to move to Tucson. At least for a few months. From December the 1st until. Sublet the bedroom, stay forever. Maybe don’t have to pay much rent, even. I wish I could just be Adan’s girl, like he’s my boy. I can’t imagine it another way at all. Ever.

2012

At goldys. Coffee. I saw the business men at FORK, I saw the smiling servants in their white buttondowns. And I saw Dusty, my linguistics boyfriend, or see him on occasion; he, always on a bike, crossing a road, or about to get into a gorgeous old volvo, waves, smiles, calls my name. Not so exuberantly as all that, just still. And I, on a bike, or entering Lisa (sadly named subaru), take moments too long to recognize him. But he is still beautifully handsome and so fully bearded, and his eyes behind glasses appear slanted in the corners like those scandinavian men about which we tend to fantasize, and green, too. We are internet friends now, and I was even planning to attend Stephanie’s moving party: she is Eli’s new girlfriend. Very small and pretty with a pixiesh hairdo and an insane amount of laquered-on eyeliner and clumps of mascara. She, on occasion it is said, makes love with Eli using a strap-on at his request. But this is neither here nor there. She is having a moving party, to which Dusty rsvp’d. Only, the party has moved until next week, and so, in my delicious maniacal evilness, I became brave and messaged something about my disappointment that we won’t be meeting one another for realz. Oh, but he responded that he won’t be at the other party… etc. but it was left with him knowing that we might run into one another at a show at the lux. And now: fantasy detumescent. Who does he think is to make claims that I will ever attend the neurolux??! And then in my insane stalking, I found that he claims to be going there TOMORROW night for some sad bastards with beards & banjos show. For $7. I might just show up on the patio to witness the shenanigans…  of me. But now, no. He is at least 3 years John's junior, and to the day. A true June 13 gemini, if you can believe it. I think for posterity’s sake I need to make him lovely number 34. And also: QUIT telling your new sexual partners how many you’ve had! This is getting ridiculous. I think John was a sort of getting-back-out-there practice kind of a guy. I mean, I told him everything, fucking everything, and now I'm fully lacking in mystery. There is nothing left to be said, no claims to be made. I am just there, and almost just a month later. Too Much Information. So! no more. And also: John is annoying the fuck out of me. Actually, just about everyone/everything is right about now. I have been doing my late nights, with John, with Brittany, with Kyle, with Nickey. And Brittany, I know you are sad & angry and have every right to be but really, you guys did get two kittens together and now you have to be stuck with all of them. Oh, it’s so unfair! Life is so unfair when you don’t give a second thought to the future & to what the fuck your actions will make. No matter, Kyle is sort of the funnies, the best. But Nickey sort of likes Kyle, which is funny, because she wouldn’t say so. But they are brother & sister, and would make such a strange and attractive sexual encounter. But I like John because sometimes he is so smart & thoughtful, and especially when we talk everyday about how it might be over now… I get tired of talking like this, and I think it’s coming from his side, his thinking that I’m over it, done. I don’t think he’s trying to quit me… but alas. After yesterday (during which I was a bit saddened by the thought) I just really felt it, truer and stronger this time. His cock remains nowhere near my mind. I guess my little yeast infection was the kickoff, and then my noticings of his superficialities, the things about which we could argue because like he said, maybe couples are just trying to create each other out of themselves, each individual in an attempt to change the partner into that person, just to be solid, but be two. I think that seems insightful, and exactly what I’d keep trying to do should I keep wanting John. There are too many picky little things I dislike, and then the fact that I will never like him enough to love him just how he is. Alas. We have our sex we have the good conversations, the beach, the attempts at intellectualism. And I am not looking for more than that, save for the spontaneous experiences of multiples, when necessary… how could I put out of my mind thoughts of Tim, which will never happen for he would be so weird and cold and never would we joke or flirt at work anymore; or Dusty, that bearded beautiful-eyed, linguistic-studying gemini; or Luke, wherever he is, probably gone gone gone for good; & etc. No, I can’t. Bruce is being better. He is at home, has been cleaning, has plans for himself that I hope he recalls are only for himself. He thinks he will be able to make it so we might be together again. I think I love Bruce very much and imagined forever that he and I would make it work. But now, not now. I hope for him and eventually for any us (friendship etc) that he can get his beautiful shit together. Because he is such beautiful shit. I miss him for days. The night before last I couldn’t take anymore of waiting for them all at the lucky dog; Brittany’s got her popular, her whims, and Nickey’s got her sliver… and I was walking, pulled by Ida, just wanting to go home WHICH I ALWAYS SHOULD DO WHEN FEELING IT and thinking how angry I was at Bruce because I really wanted it to work, too…

So today I have the beginnings or hopefully middle of a cold. I am running, the nose & everything and maybe this could account for the ease with which my specificness and annoyedness came yesterday. I don’t care what fucking sandals you wear. Or camel lights or arm & hammer. Or if you bitch that you can’t afford the coop, yet are able to go out and eat & pay for drinks whenever you like. Or when you complain that you hate rich people. Simple. Banal. Is that how John is showing himself to me now? No, I am also troubled at the idea of not being able to be with anyone else, having to explain or admit things. I want to be isolated! Isn’t this a part of becoming single? Let’s see… when even did this happen? June 27, the day of real single. My own truths are there, but my guilt is leaving. Because I left first, it happened, things happened first. Sometimes I think that John is so handsome, with his somehow scandinavian face, his straight profile, his slanteyes that are blue and green and with all of their beautiful wrinkles surrounding. And sometimes, he is so sickly thin, and blondehair covered, and his hair is balding, you know. And his lips are strange, and teeth… he looks old, and very young, and it is confusing. What is he? He is like Adán in the way he walks, and with distrust I notice… the sort of shuffling on the ball of the foot, the hunched shoulders. Does it give the impression of tallness? The hushed laughter is reminiscent of Adán as well… but then there are other qualities, Jer-like qualities, those disturbing attributes owned by an uncertain gay-ish man. He is good, I like him, you know, and our sex was getting good, and the making out and everything but yesterday, the night before… he is cynical, too, and a little evil and those things are uncontentious for me. But he & I will never be compatible. Who knows what he wants. Someone cool like me “you’re the coolest girl- I almost said ‘girlfriend’!” with that great smile of his that is so honest, o honest and I sort of loved him for that. Sometimes during the slow kissing I found myself thinking I love you, how do you say that to someone without ever saying it because it is untrue?

Last night I was in John's room, begrudgingly, because I’d been wanting to go home for hours & hours, and I was facebooking, and then there was Dusty and his figure came into my mind. I went to the car to retrieve the tiniest bit of pot I had, and a watermelon beer. I saw that guy Brian who lives down in the John's basement and he had just sprayed some AXE body spray around his “bachelor pad.” He has a very large television and carpeting. His buddy was coming over, a glass-blower. Brian used to be one of the handsomest boys in Boise. He wore a bolo tie and was tall and Spanish-looking. But now his hair has grown and he has those chops of mustache, and he is just looking like CCR in the least gorgeous way. And I think he is an idiot. But no matter, he gave me a couple of hits of hashish and then I went to find John, probably annoyed that I hadn’t arrived earlier. We took a shower, and he was rubbing his genitals with soap and getting extremely hard and it seemed at that moment that the giant cock springing from his tiny muscular fair-haired body was atrocious and repugnant. I got out of there, disgusted by the bathroom, by the toilet carpetings, by the gross toothpaste and easy cheap soap- shit, I forgot my soap- and then facebooked to see what could be seen. Wondering what Dusty might say; he has a girlfriend? girlfriends? He is so handsome, but maybe he is daft. He seems charming and sweet. Maybe he is completely unfunny. It wouldn’t surprise me. His smile seems to crack his entire pretty face into pieces. I just really think that we need to fuck. End of story.

4 april

1998

12am

NY is fun, me gusta. I'm in the bath right now listening to Blink 182. My mom of course thought this hottie who works at diesel was flirting with me. So why, mom, would a hottie from NY flirt with me of all girls? Out of all the babes in NY? Sure, okay. Today I went to the top of the Statue of Liberty and saw "Ragtime." It kicked ass. I miss my friends (yes Andrew, you too!) I bet: Brittany met Jack, that he's not cute but she likes him anyway, even though she won't admit it. I bet: Stacie & James are going out.

2000

Tim called and I cried. Then Britta called because Tim called her, worried. I hate how I get made fun of. I'm seen as such a stupid person; that's all I am and it makes me so sad. I want to forget about it, and they won't let me! Katie's perhaps the worst of all. She's not cool anymore.

Quinn took me to the library after school. Relax, it wasn't sexy. We did discuss his "virginity," though. I think he might still be trying to convince me. Good luck. I don't want him! Okay, I want him but I don't like him. He's damn hot. But damn stupid! He's not a retard like Wes, for instance. He's sarcastic, isn't gullible... He's quick & bright, just a fucking dumbass. It's okay. They like it when attractive people are stupid. As do I. I owe him $2 for the great ride he gave me today. I think I'll tell him that tomorrow. Maybe I'll ask if he'd like to hang out. In the company of Megan, of course. Neither of us has drugs. I can get some from Kari so he'll want to hang with me. And maybe he can finally get laid? Poor guy has been trying for 18 years and still hasn't scored. Uh huh. Well, since I feel so badly for him, I might just fuck him. Right... in his dreams? Nope, in mine

2002

I listened to Brian on the phone with Jaime. He's going to the prom with her. She hopes, regardless of me, that the two of them will have one last special night together. She told him she's heard a lot of shit about me. Bruce told her that he and everyone else thinks that I'm an obnoxious, ignorant bitch. I don't think I'm ignorant. Zach's friend told her that Zach and I went out for a week and that something so weird happened between us that he won't talk to anyone about it. I wish I had a clue what this weird, fucked up thing was, but I haven't. Jaime wants him so badly, and she only hopes that I'll be "open-minded enough" to let them have one last night together. Fuck her. If he and I are together, he'll not be. I hope that he doesn't fuck her either way. I want to punch her. In that face. Brian asked me to be his girlfriend over and over. Everyone hurts. I'm hurting Kelly because I'm thinking of being with Brian. It makes him cry. I'm hurting Brian because I keep saying no, and that makes him cry. Such crybabies. I don't know what I want to do. I'm seeing Brian today. We're going to drink gin n' juice, and then we'll run around downtown and kiss in the parking garage.

I'm pissed. Things are fucked up. Kelly's parents might kick him out of the house. Maybe Brian will fuck Jaime.

2004

So I'm fat, so what. It's all a joke anyway. Can you talk about anything else ever, please?! What is this voice that's arisen? O, I can see now that it's feigned. Nonexistent, whatever. Move on again: find that which is your own. Write madly; even from meaninglessness shall be meaning derived. It's good to sound happy. Even with the sounds around

Aha, perfect opportunity for possibility. And future. Possibility embraced by something stirred from within. Here you have one example who has taken some absurd though highly possible liking to you. Ah but a *memory* of him still exists. The features and the looks. Uh. Not to make this seem worthy of words like uh, but simply, He's probably going to come back, to visit Chicago. Grand idea! The city misses you! Just a little over a week though it seems. I suppose he'll do what he feels inside. Some kind of love stirring. Shaking and stirring, I understand because the entire situation and feeling is contiguous. Too many circles

2005

The School of the Art Institute Hot Spot 2005. Blond woman with tan cleavage. Old men with peppered, fluffy hair and barrel chests in striped workshirts. Art: some good, mostly mediocre, many terrible. I left feeling simultaneously good and bad: good, in a selfish way, with the thought that maybe I am a good artist; but the humanitarian in me felt badly, for the future and the art and the education is in general lacking.

After viewing the atrociousness of a digital print, explaining how to be UNIQUE (think elementary school cafeteria poster), I was messily consuming a piece of celery dipped in curried aioli, dropping some on my Catherine Mond-something blouse. A woman who had been staring at me in awe for some time finally commented that my top was just great- oh, you dropped something on it, here's a napkin- oh, I'm so embarrassed, where did you get it? Uh, marshall fields (apparently drunk to the point of honesty) When? last year. Who is it? I don't know. Mind if I check? okay. She looks at my tag and gasps with wide eyes and says, Oh, I know her, she is brilliant. Wow. Whispers the name to her friend whose eyes get wide and says, Ohh! Then she takes a digital photo and tells me I'm, the best dressed person there. The rest of the night I feel queasy and disgusted. Such a part of that ridiculous scene, or at least looked it. Grotesque cinnamon martinis. Sizzling sponsors. So many key lime and lemon meringue tarts.

Afterward I felt understandably exhausted and disgusted with reality. No, just humanity. The following night went similarly though we weren't there as long, and I was eating fake doritos instead of terrible roasted vegetable wraps.

Today I'm in a photo critique. The girls are behaving as usual; some have photos, some have maps and postcards, many have tiny books. Polaroids of landscapes, blurred digital prints of nudes with fuzzy frames and pushpins halfheartedly stuck in the wall. Interior architecture. I just consumed a dunkin donuts bagel for no reason.

New obsessive project idea: make a quilt. Duh, it's so obvious.

white Diesel tennis shoes

all black converse allstars lo tops

offwhite tennis shoes with blue Nike swishes on sides

old Adidas, white, with blue stripes

brown, dirty, leather Diesel

pointy, slip-on, pink with toe cleavage

turquoise v-neck 2/3 sleeve sweater, white shirt

navy blue hoodie, navy blue shirt w/ducks "go your own way"

black hoodie, white shirt

khaki hoodie w/zipper and multi-colored fairaisle design w/blue stripes on sleeves

black wife beater

army green snap-up shortsleeve w/pink thread, pink shirt

People in my photo class are both married and engaged. How dreadfully boring. Actually, both people in this category I find most boring of all.

2008

some time, who the fuck knows or cares

Corn Island, Nicaragua 

I have a sunburn, I am in the old school carribean. I wish I could smoke a thousand joints. I wish I could Eat so many filets of various sorts of fishes. I’d like to drink a million bottles of Toña and Victoria beers. I want to look at electric rays and hammerhead sharks. To drink coffee and write. But then I’d be Sylvia, the spoilt little bitch wouldn’t I.

It’s pretty terrible; I still hope Charlie is having the worst birthday of his life.

27 march

2000

I love Sawyer, forget everything I said about him, we had so much fun. I went home and slept until 10:00, then stayed awake until 1:30, and slept until 2:00 Sunday. Then at 6 I went with Megan & Stacie to Battle o' the Bands. It was pretty fun. Kevin's band is cool. I of course saw Trevor with his girl. He was nice, probably showing off for his girl, later telling her of his "bitchy ex-girlfriend." I watched his solitary soul skank to the PirkQLators. I decided that he should be in a movie, skanking alone in slowmotion with "Dreamweaver" in the background. He's cute. I miss him. Of course Ian was there with his bald head and he kissed Megan and tried to get her to kiss him. She said now, and I found out later that she didn't for my sake. She seriously thought that I liked Ian. It's stupid, but cool that she wouldn't for that reason. It sucks, though, that she wanted to & should have. Player. If I had Quinn, I would never look at anyone else. It's fucked. But also it's fucked on Ian's part. He knows that Quinn likes Megan, unless that doesn't matter to them. It seems like they'd have enough sense not to go for one another's girls. Unless... I guess I don't know senior guys that well. I'm sure Quinn is playing Megan as we speak. And also Megan saw Dan making out with another chick, and she was pissed about that. I can understand her being upset that they were publicly doing that, but she's playing him, as well. It pisses me off because I love Quinn and would never look at anyone else if he was mine! NEVER

2003

The Problem of Evil- Oh my GOD I am starving. Reading Absalom, Absalom! and boy is it worth of exclamations. I'm enjoying what I can understand & with the dictionary's help. 

What's been going on. I spent most of yesterday (10:00 - 5:30) with Nick and a portion of that was with both Nick & Nate and another portion included having both Nick & CJ in by bedroom simultaneously. Kill me. They're so hot. Note from before: I remember a time when I was in bed with Jason and he was sweating profusely from the armpits, only to reach over me with them, touching the sweat to each of my nipples before placing his mouth upon them. Something about the act of his licking his own armpit sweat from my nipples gave me ultimate glee. Just another memory- how his ill fate brings me a sick joy. Won't I miss that. Yes, but no. I am still occasionally thinking of him, and he was the star of a stupid dream, but I know I'm getting over it & I'll move on soon or eventually. As long as I'm dreamless, I can put him aside as something that happened once but is now over. It's nice to not see him everywhere, something that can be avoided. It'll be over soon; I'll continue on celibate and somehow content. 

Things are reasonably good. I'm enjoying my classes, Missy is gone for the next few days, and I'm surrounded constantly by people I like. I can go into Sarah's room whenever I like and smoke. Last night was nice, there were only girls. Sarah, Casey, Paula, and Alice. I like Sarah a lot, and I like Casey though she's an obnoxious shallow valley girl thing. Alice creeps the fuck out of me though she is a version of Alex mom, and I just want to look like Paula. And then there's Renee with the giant red bong called Velma- she's also quite adorable, another inspiration. I don't need hope for attractiveness- as I don't HOPE, I work out and I live on grande mint mochas and one meal daily and wear cute as fuck outfits, but really I have to try for I feel so much better on some days, and no matter what that looks like, it is important for purposes of self-confidence and need for superiority- and then there's Mike who's smoking me out tonight & aiding in my purchases which is a necessary repayment for all the girls. And Nate, I'm sure he'd smoke with me if he had any though Jason would not as we're no longer "as good of friends" and John would never unless it were for Jason. And Alex, Alex when he has it and Jean who allows me to smoke more than she but perhaps will be different now that she and Max are no longer and of course there's Andy who is the random visitor to Sarah's room. I wonder if Jason has taken my marks off the ceiling. One for every fuck we've shared. Hopefully, for unless Olivia is blind to details and unaware, she'll gaze upon it and wouldn't that be unfortunate. It's becoming funny though I'm missing sex and kissing and his head, and his body, and his retarded-attractive sex expressions, though I'm very much getting used to the idea of never experiencing these again. He got a haircut, and to me it only means the end. And finally. About time, thank you, thank you Olivia for going back to that and ending our hotsteamy love-affair. Hotsteamy Love-Affair? Ah... yes... goodbye.

2008

1:51 am

What are the chances you’re in williamsburg, cuts Luke in and out over the 1:49 am telephone. Meanwhile it seems obvious that if I was in williamsburg I would have seen him already tonight.

Mistakes aren’t readily made by me; he wants to smoke a joint and go home and that is all. I said alright, but then when I look at it it isn’t a joint at all really, just a little cigarette with some pot thrown in. And how he says it, on the cutting in and out telephone standing next to the skiball machine at hugs, at hugs… but no one to hug, then. Tells me we’ll smoke a joint and then he’ll leave. Offers of leaving. Possibilityless that he’d like to stay! Always choiceless. I’ll be.

!

17 march

1998

Right now is a Reel Big Fish concert at Bogies. Damn it all to hell. But anyway.

Today I had a science test and today James pushed Keith in the hall and I accidentally walked in between them and James pushed me and said, "Get out of the way." Asshole. But at least he then apologized. After school I went to Brittany's. We went to camel's back and I stole Brandon's watergun and he grabbed me and kissed my head and I will be sure to never do that again I PROMISE. Jack doesn't like me that much, I don't know why, but it's okay because he's a bunghole anyway. Then I came home and made burritos and Kari called me. I called her after dinner but she was busy doing homework (yeah, doing homework = on the other line with KC or Sabina ). Did you know I hate school? Well I fucking do & I want Andrew to call because I want to talk to him. I do. Also, I saw Charlie's mom three times today. She also gave me weird looks because I was laying on the ground making interesting noises. Maybe she went home and said, "I'm so glad you're not with that girl anymore, she's strange." I hope I hope to GOD so. Saturday- New York! My hands smell of cilantro.

1999

Today was Zachness' birthday. I will make him a belated card. God, Bruce was such a dick today, it was amazing. On the way to tennis he was making fun of me and saying that I don't own any of Black Flag's albums, so I don't deserve to own their patch. I told him that I do own one and he said, "oh, their newest one?" But it's actually the one Joe picked out for me. He pisses me off so much. I love Bruce, just 78% of the time I'm pissed off at him. Dumb bitch.

Nothing happened today at all. I made eyecontact with little Joe, the crybaby, and a tear fell from his eye. Then it exploded. In Britta's locker there is a photo of him and there appeared a cloud next to his face saying, "Waah." Poor little guy.

I'm also going to change my hair's length. Damnit, Britta's leaving tomorrow night. I'll miss her. But finally I'll do something with Stacie this weekend.

2003

Kill me. I'm ready to go home. I'm... I'm... God, I finished Blood Meridian and... what an amazing book. I can't wait to start Absalom, Absalom! and I guess I can wait to write my essay, but I am still looking forward to it. The stupidest, most useless weekend occurred and I got nothing from it save from unnecessarily intoxicated. Oh, but now it's spring and it's lovely out and I took my shoes off in the park and talked to Kelly and watched drunken idiots parade around in all of the St. Patrick's Day excitement. I'm feeling & looking fat and unhappy & whatever, all the time. But yesterday I felt skinny and cute, and I felt smart because Alex and I were discussing McCarthy and that book... that book. It got us thinking, and I wonder what my essay will be like. Really, I'm annoyed at critiques and all the dumb food I've eaten for no good reason. I don't want to go to the bead store with Clarissa but fuck. Fuck! I'm never going to fucking Fibers high again because I can never remember the homework and I fail. Now that I've that figured out. Jean's in a relationship and I like hearing about it, it's very interesting. She's reminding me of how and why I can't picture my being in a relationship. Imagine if I had a boyfriend with whom I had a difficult time communicating.

2011
2011
2011

2006

Picture: 

Maz’ studio: No gas (barefeet before a small heater), Maz stoned out of his mind already, watching Clint Eastwood on TV, staring at a drawing he’s made of a silhouette of a man holding a dripping guitar (looks like a large, dripping cock) that he wants someone to turn into a stencil but it’s too expensive even though I tell him he could easily do it himself. What do I know, I’m just a woman. 

Maz calls me a minute before I’m at his door. He asks me if I’ll stop at a store to pick up rizlas and toilet paper. “Don’t forget!” He demands. “Stupid asshole,” I mutter. I also buy drum tobacco and notice that they’ve caught the London Serial Killer. He killed two men and two women in the style of his favorite horror movie murderer, Freddy Krueger. I laughed at this and hurried out of the store, knowing that I guess it shouldn’t be funny. Freddy Krueger always had a great sense of humour. I liked that about him and was hoping Mr. Gonzales, I think was his name, had the same lightheartedness to his killing sprees. 

I walked to Maz’ place. I go in and he’s stoned and rolls me a joint. He also gives me the “rest” of the weed I’ve purchased, a small bud with a gigantic stick going through it. I whip out the old computer and think, yeah, it doesn’t matter whether or not this guy speaks to me, or it the tv’s on, or if he’s staring at his stupid hyper masculine black musician stereotype of a drawing. I’ve got music, Calexico, which I play, for a disinterested audience, and I’m getting high with some mediocre but scenic western images on the screen.

Of course, he finds a way to ruin it by forcing two documentary DVD’s he took part in making. The material was about the neighborhood youth and old people projects, which was nice… but he did successfully take me from my high enjoyment of music. I stayed for awhile and then who called on the telephone but eleneus who was in the city. So I left, thinking I’d likely not see Maz again but he didn’t seem so disappointed, and I’m excited to see eleneus outside the context of our house. I meet him on the street, confusing him for a dad because of nike jacket and sleek helmet. We walk, using a pizza box for a shield. He is very drunk. He finds a sheet on the sidewalk and thinks it so pretty that he has to lay it out on the sidewalk. He uses a traffic cone and trashbags to hold down the corners.

ƒ

It’s apparent that when eleneus gets drunk he goes wild. He can’t look at me in the eye, and he’s kicking boxes of ice and picking up things and saying he doesn’t want them anyway, swears at them, and throws them down. He is an obnoxious drunk, but only because it seems like he doesn’t know how to use his energy. His energy seems to be just bad altogether. He turns into a 16 year old boy again, angry, wanting to go through the trash (“If only we could find a Pret A Manger…” and I laugh) for sandwiches, and telling me I’m just not punk rock enough. I’ve been dealing with not being punk rock enough since I was 13. I look at him and I can’t tell what he is. He’s somewhere between a boy and a man. It’s the perfect in between. Could be 16, could be 36. He has a sweet youthful face and still a nearly hairless upper body. And he has what looks like a receding hairline and a huge soft man build. His skin is smooth and darker than mine. Cool Europeans usually have an olive twist. He has some of the best yellow-green catlike eyes. He has very pale eyebrows and dark brown hair with a barrette. He says he has a potato nose but I’ve never had a problem with potatoes. We have our arms around each other and wander wobbly. I feel excited with him in the verdant night. We are free from our house; we are miles away from Hackney and it’s the middle of the night and we have no idea what to do next. He suggests that I take him to a hotel a few times during or walk. We find a restaurant where they hate us and I drink coffee and we eat a pizza vegetariana (he orders in an Italian accent) and we hold hands without noticing. Suddenly he notices and he says something about feeling weird, you know, those affectionate displays that shouldn’t be public, and I tell him I hadn’t noticed and he withdraws his hand and suddenly we were disconnected and it is much colder so I tell him I meant that holding hands was natural enough, and I asked him if he thinks about it when he breathes and he seems to understand so I take his warm hand again.

He is distracted by the television. The volume is turned up really high and there are music videos. Prince is there. And mariah carey. I can see the reflection in the mirror behind his head. He tells me he told Ben that he wanted to spend his vacation in chicago so that I could buy him a laptop. Ben said it wouldn’t pay out, that he wouldn’t get his money’s worth. Eleneus said he’d also be spending his vacation there… Ben said, why do you want to go there, that place isn’t cool, it’s good for rich whites but not gays, blacks, hispanics… And then he admitted the fight wasn’t about chicago, but about me. And Eleneus tells Ben that he should have made a move on me in the beginning, that this situation might be very different. That maybe Ben and I would have something. This infuriated me as it seemed like he was suggesting that I’m completely out of control of who I like, that it doesn’t matter who comes along, I’ll take anything. I’m also a bit dehumanized, I can be passed back and forth and I’m an object to be achieved. Well, a night of disassociative men… Man… Woman… Okay, that’s what we are. It’s too bad I only know men so that I can only be woman. 

Eleneus tells me change upsets him. He can’t deal with things happening. He needs everything to stay the same. I still think he’s a bit spontaneous, but he is afraid of discomfort. He seems so sad and angry and young. 

Yesterday we spent a lot of time kissing. A lot of time feeling really comfortable and happy and then there was he, solemn, silent, subsumed. Then last night suddenly we were free from the house, miles away from everyone, and all he could say was, “Aren’t you going to take me to a hotel?” Thinking I could and would just drop £50 to fuck him in a cheesy room. I guess he doesn’t see where I’m coming from. We’d like to, I suppose. The thought crosses my mind, sex with eleneus, but in the end it really wouldn’t matter. We aren’t having sex here which I find incredibly ridiculous, and there’s no way I’ll put any effort into having sex somewhere else. He finally apologized for assuming that I would spend money on a hotel just for us. He knows the white middle-upper class guilt. Thanks.

So I suppose I’ve got situations still, and they’ll end up the best they can. Charlie’s coming here, I guess, in less than two days, not that I’m to expect him. He’s not staying here, I’m not meeting him, and therefore I’ve only got to carry on as though he isn’t in the same city, on the same continent or tiny grey island. I’ll get his telephone call one day and I’ll be doing something… carrying on. Carrying on, casually, comfortable, with the utmost relaxation. And no sex with eleneus which is helpful, too. 

I dreamt that I was with charlie and he had four others with him. I was trying to get him alone so that I could talk to him but he wouldn’t even look at me. He wouldn’t go anywhere with me and I told him everything I wanted to say. He got away from me and I knew I’d never see him again. I don’t know if I was drunk, but I felt, of course, that I was completely out of control and that I couldn’t express my thoughts. The whole thing took place in what seemed like a children’s attic; we were sitting at a small, plastic picnic table and I believe there were stuffed animals everywhere. So very sad.

8:30 pm

I get home and I feel good on the way. I can smell my house. There’s nothing between my bedroom and me. I have a bottle of wine, lemons, and a lot of pot. And water. And I get home and it looks like no one’s there which excites me even more. I’ve been muttering “asshole” under my breath all day and just want to smoke a joint in darkness. I’ve forgotten my key. Eleneus answers the door. I walk into my room. Someone descends the stairs. “Um, hey?” Shit. What now. “Yeah?” “Um, do you think you can do something about the slamming of the door?” I look at my feet and apologize for my inadequacy. I feel like I’ve destroyed all possibility of living in this house comfortably. Ben and I will never share a civil word. I go to make lemonade. Eleneus asks what’s wrong. I tell him I think he’s playing games with Ben and with me. I thought it was malicious of him to tell Ben he was going to chicago. That it was demeaning to me to suggest that I would have liked Ben instead if he would have made himself available, or, as Eleneus put it last night, if he had made a move on me. I told him I thought he wasn’t supportive of this house being comfortable for all, that he wasn’t working in anyone’s best interest, not even his own. He gets mad and starts cleaning the dishes. He defends himself and says he shouldn’t talk about it. I realize that I shouldn’t have said anything. And then I leave the kitchen and immediately comes Ben to yell at eleneus, asking him what I was saying about him and what he was saying about him, trying to figure out what’s going on. What is the situation? I almost have no idea. I walked into the kitchen to announce that we could all talk to one another. I tried to explain the situation to Ben, but of course I couldn’t say everything because then eleneus would hate me for giving him away. I know there’s little he tells me about his relationship with Ben, and I will never understand it. But he does tell me some things, and I know I can’t talk about those things he says. I have to stop talking but it seems the only one who knows vaguely what’s going on is eleneus, and he isn’t saying a word until he kicks the stool into Ben and says, “why don’t you make your fucking coffee” and his slippers fly down the hall and he runs up to his bedroom, slams the door, bangs his head against either the wall or the radiator, throws all the glass items to the floor, runs to the bathroom, slams the door, slits his wrists, and runs around for awhile. Ben and I retire quietly to our rooms. The family isn’t doing well. When we were in the kitchen, eleneus said Ben and I should talk more. I, personally, was thinking the same thing, but I know that I can’t know what I know so there’s nothing for me to say. I also think that Ben and eleneus should talk more, but that they should be more honest. We all should. But then I was thinking earlier about honesty and love. And how if I wasn’t so “honest” with charlie we’d both be feeling a hell of a lot better now. I suppose there’s an extent to honesty, a place where honesty shouldn’t go. And really, this isn’t a whim, I’m not being fickle: I am still in love. I am. Still. It’s different. It’s more true, somehow… and then there’s me kissing eleneus so it wouldn’t look like I’m true, then. But that is nothing, it makes me feel better than bad… and I know my relationship is over, that it would be stupid to hold out for IMpossibility…

I feel like if I was with charlie again, I’d be so different and so much better. It’s also meaningless to think about this. But I sincerely believe it. It’s this calm that I’ve got to achieve & embrace. etcetera… let’s get high. On Abuse! Life is comprised from many small deaths.

music for eleneus pot for ben clean blanket for u-sun i clean house i make dinner drawing for eleneus

something to do that’s worthwhile if looking for something to do.

Sleep, then. Sleep is a way to get to tomorrow. You shall awaken refreshed and fulfilled, drastic at the thought of saturday/

Now I’ve forgotten. Forcing yourself to not feel is a pretty wish. I say, I promise to not feel, to be ready for the end, to let it go when it goes. I say, I know, knowing me, that I will not have loved only eight or ten times in the long life I’ll have, that that would be impossible, unlikely, depressing. At twentysix, living until upwards of eighty years old, I have stopped falling in love? with all the new loves in the world? And then the spiteful one in me sneers, claiming, if Trevor came, if Romain came, if Charles came to reclaim me, I would gallop into any pair of their opened arms and cry out, yes, here, I have been waiting & I am ready. And the other romantic, the less spiteful one, fights out that no, I can & will be ready to embrace my eternal one, just one, with whom I will fall in love again & again. That one person can claim me forevermore, because just this one will remind me days over that there is new love within each new moment, and kiss, and touch. That one can under me over and over, to be every day in love again as though it is the first. This is the one that rules me when I am in it. This is the Possibility that is my being with Bruce, the forever upwards in love. And I am always ready, aren’t I, for another, for a new? To rip a heart to shreds, to have mine torn from within my sweetbodied being. But I don’t go there. Willingly. The heart in me, that rich creature, wants to beat with the blood of One good man. To have the aforementioned as veins enriching, as a past maker of everything that is fullingly, exceedingly present. The fervent beating. Is the One found? I like to think so, but thinking doesn’t make it so. Remembering that I Can and Do fall in love gracelessly and with rampance.

 

21 february

2002

I'm sitting here wondering how one could be so interested in economics. I think it's crazy. Some people are crazy. I'm excited for everything starting tonight. No dad. I sort of would like to see Zach and Justin. I like Justin, he's fun, and I guess I could call Zach entertaining. He is. He is so cute and yet, so dumb. I hope that I will be able to see Justin before he leaves forever. And I think I should at least have one picture of Zach, don't you? I mean, if I had pictures of all my other boys... Yeah. But I'm not sure. I'll probably hang around Rite-Aid more frequently in the hope that I can talk to Justin. Oh well. Damnit, in a couple of minutes I have a psychology test that I'm not looking forward to. Did I tell you about Zach's fish, speaking of economics? I made him name it Stephanie, after everyone's favorite economics teacher. But according to him, its name is Molly. I told  Kari to ask him what it was, and he denied it. Stephanie. Isn't that sweet. I can tell that I don't like him solely on the fact that I don't want to flirt/talk to him when I have the opportunity to talk to someone better. Obviously, this is unlike me when in the presence of a likable boy. He's cute but... what a dork. He's I guess maybe worthy of the "cool retard" title. I suppose his annoyingness can be related to that of Ben Affleck. They're differently annoying, but annoying nonetheless. And Zach's cuter. 

2004

music: soft

mood: harsh

Soft cat arms. true love and not enough. weirdness  loss of memory  absolute under-standing  I abhor meaning   [I'd rather get the version of you that you gave me]. 

Probably am too self obsessed but then think, maybe should just explain self and an answer will be concluded upon and for any record, will exist I. Image made for self: Youthful  mature. Round face, rotund cheeks, smile that curls at the corner. Big cat eyes. Lovely hazel eyes. Lashes. Expressive face. Freckles. 5'3 3/4, 130 lbs. Aqua cowgirl boots from Idaho. Dirty aesthetic. Retro nouveau   Look at me. I look like I want to stab you. can look really hot, or really innocent. or so mean. why would anyone want to be friends anyway. maybe should remember the stupid things said. 

Hate to be emotional but

here's some truth for you

Take me far away from you

always tired exactly when you should be for the good of yourself

2009

11:12 pm, Portland, Oregon

I wish I could lowercase the numbers. Any and all numbers. It’s funny, this feeling in me like familiar little lovejolts up a spine. Like being in love for a second. Isn’t to say not I’m in love and all, we all know what that is. Is what that, all. What if I could type so many more words a second, and a minute letters would appear rightful & strong.

I am in Portland, Oregon, in this sweet attic room a space heater very close. Two windows, one northward and the other, bednear, south. A cat named Mary Lou who is no Mexico but such a sweet & pretty friend & pet, sleeps in a black and white curl at the foot of the bed. I am warm & my hands are dry, such as wintry hands go in warm rooms. Even listening to Bonnie Prince Billy, that’s why the heartpangs. Silly me, I got the phone in disconnect and now wait in patience, will he come? Wondering, just to know. I had to try to communicate with Adan only using telepathy. And email, because that’s what we have now, the two of us. He has a job at a restaurant in the southeast. He rides his bike there and has a white helmet. I have a job at a teashop, and I make between ten and up towards thirty dollars of tips a day. I am almost completely out of money, which is unfortunate for my wants of magic mushrooms ordered and got very next day by Elijah, my roommate who lives in the basement. I’ve only just seen the basement, never been to his rooms but have heard his girlfriend Faith scream in ecstasy while I retrieved my warm laundry from the downstairs bathroom. I wanted to ask Bill if he’d mind could I use his phone for a call to Adan, but he’s on it & the door’s shut so I suppose it’s more like, will he appear? And hope it won’t be on gchat?

I am tired, my eyes I can feel are closing. It is strange here, I never go into hysterics. At least I had hysterics at stonehome winebar. There is too much to do, and now nothing but all the time in the world in which to do it. But same, same always. Now not even the distractions of phones.

parties, cheerleader beer, breaking up, slutting out, fear anxiety, snow, letters, wild dog

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january 13

1999
6:47 pm


Mister Punk Rock is majorly PMSing this week. Yesterday I made a poster for my vocabulary word "wily." It had a tornado with cops chasing it (Joe's idea). It's cool. Yesterday was also bowling. It was a lot of fun. Stacie & I beat the other team. It was very fair. Stacie likes: Luke, Jojo, Paul, Nate, Drew, & Jesse. & Mister Horseshit, of course. But today she told me she doesn't like Paul, that he's an asshole, and she only likes Jesse as a friend. I hate Paul so bad. I knew she loved Drew (Drew this, Drew that). Jesse surprised me, though.


Today I had finals in History, Speech, and Algebra. I got 100% on my history test! And my speech went well, and algebra, what can I say about algebra? Jesus, talk about PMS. Monday... I can't remember that far back. Oh yeah, after school, Bruce offered to help me with pornography. Then suddenly Joe decided it was time to go, so Bruce couldn't help me. Bruce thought he was being a jerkoff. Then he wouldn't even give me a ride home. Even Bruce cared about me than Joe. He felt badly that he couldn't help me, and he was even trying to find me a ride. On Tuesday at bowling, 80% of Joe's words to me were "shut up." Thanks, sweetheart. Today he was very sad to hear that Kemper was going on our team. He hates Kemper because "he's an asshole." Okay, sweetheart. PRICK? Yes. He will die. Just you wait. So let's see: Tomorrow is a half day at school. I am happy because I dislike school so very much. I want to go downtown. Maybe the whore will join me. But I'd better not ask Kemper if he wants to cumm, because Joe might never speak to me again. I need to get a new punk rock CD. Who knows, maybe I'll get a band I've never heard of. Now that would be punk rock. Actually, it would be more poser.


Brittany and I want to go to a hockey game so we can play in the elevator again.

2000

4:00 pm

Today was a stupid day. John wasn't in Biology, Elliot is no longer cool... nothing's exciting. This weekend should be fun, however. I have something to live for. Apparently Jake's having a party tomorrow night that Kari & I will most likely go to. Hopefully I'll be back into alcohol again. I'll die if I don't get into alcohol soon. Damnit! Britta hangs out with Nick and Remy. Fuck, Remy's so cute! And screw Nick, I don't like him. And I really don't like Britta and Rachel and I really really don't like Ivy. They can all suck my cock! Oh, I saw the new years photographs. Very cute, I am kissing Stacie, I am on top of Ben, my stomach is being shown off to the world, they're bad but they're really funny. Hahaha! Man, the millennium.

2002

My daddy was OOT all weekend. It was fun playing house with Kelly. I can't believe I don't get sick of him after spending this much time together. It's a miracle. Or I just love him. 

A regular weekend. Got drunk last night with Sam, Kelly, & Kari. Fun, fun. I'm thinking about going to The School of the Art Institute of Chicago. I guess it's a really great school. Kelly's applying to Columbia College in Chicago. I really want to be with him next year. I feel like we deserve to be together. I love him. I want him to get out of Boise because he's great and needs to do great things.

But then what if I'm not cut out to be a filmmaker? What then? And what if he can't design video games? I want nothing more than to be happy. And successful and to be doing what I want to do. I just don't know. I feel like everything's going to work out for the best, but... it probably won't end up how I currently hope it will. 

Oh, and Kelly took buds off his parents' plant! And we smoked them, and they got us stoned. Hell fucking yeah, Kelly's parents rule

2007

2:53 pm

Wow! Gee whix. Here’s how it went…

Night’s going on… get to Skylark, boy are there a whole lot of people there! Way too many, there’s barely any room to stand! Finally I gather up my friendliness and approach Jullian, trying to be careful not to block his cock. I ask him if he has anyone for me, so he reluctantly passes over Chris… could be… Oh, and speaking of Christmas, it’s that, too, so we all get in Jullian’s van and I put a finger to the side of my nose and up the chimney it goes. Snow-town. To some party where I eat cheese and tomatoes. Then on the way to the car, who’s walking down the street but Nate… happily enough we grab him and put him in the car with us… all the while he’s yelling, “no!” as he was just on his way home to call it a night… But then we’re at the infamous Continental… homegirl buys beer for all. I stand next to Nate. I kiss him on the corner of the mouth, he kisses back, a good one, with excitement for real. In engineer hat with cracked brim. Mustache. Drunken expression. He kisses me again on the couch. Hand on leg. I’m feeling good, excited. He invites me over. After the cab leaves us at Shakespeare, we stop to makeout three times. I swoon more and more after each… He’s showing me total & undeniable interest… as far as making out is concerned… it’s kind of a shock, and so sweet… I feel like I can slide to his house on all the moisture, I’m surprised I don’t slip in all the slick and fall on the walk! He holds my hand. We talk about swooning. We get there… stale, like Steve’s but with rubber trees. And we’re on the couch, I with a PBR which I set down to kiss more and more… he unhooks my 6th grade bra like a child-molesting pro…He’s smiling, I open my eyes and he’s grinning and sighing all over the place, rubbing his hands all over my body, touching me everywhere… it feels amazing… and then he’s off to the bathroom, and I don’t know what to do but there’s the familiar choke grabbing for me, and I know I have to fight it, I can ruin everything right about now just by crying about… what, oh, why isn’t he that guy… No, fuck that guy! Put on that red stocking cap, the one sitting on the couch next to you and chug your pbr!! And Nate’s out of the bathroom, and I feel inclined to tell him a little bit about the boat I’m on… he says we’re in similar vessels, though his has been out to sea for a few months longer… So because of this we won’t have sex (though we both want to, which each of us stresses in italics or with parentheses again and again)… and then more making out and he touching me, we’re aroused and erect and I run my fingers across his beneath jeans and there are sighs all around… And he’s grinning and grinning and I love it… With The Knife on in the background… and then into bed where we undress, mostly… I ask him to take his underwear off… he’s thick everywhere, rounded and tattooed… on the chest, family crests… blue eyes… rubber plants… I’m on top of him and my breasts are in his mouth… something I haven’t felt for while… All that passion! And then the “oh god”s and the pushing to the side of the underwear and then it almost… almost until of course I Cry Out no and we agree… we can’t. Because if we do he’ll be aloof & distant in the morning out of fear and awkwardness; he needs to be alone. And I, even if the sex means nothing or little, even if he turns out badly and I have distaste… still, I’ll invent him up like I always do. And I’m not exaggerating. Always is the right word in this unavoidable circumstance. I ask him to promise to be nice and not to ignore me in the morning… I have a couple of brief dreams… I sleep across his arm; he’s on his back and snoring. In a dream I place a tissue box behind his head to elevate him. I ask him if it’s comfortable and he says no. The second one happens while he’s in the bathroom… and he comes out wearing a lot of clothing, especially a black leather jacket and black leather boots… and I’m still nearly naked, and I ask what he’s doing… he says it’s time to take me home… no breakfast. Then he gets back in bed and I put my arm over him and there’s no response… and I say to myself, oh yeah, it’s the next morning and this person isn’t your boyfriend and he doesn’t want you to be here in his bed. So I ask if he wants my arm on him in such a way and he says, “oh, it doesn’t matter.” And indifference has won yet again! I refrain… but keep talking anyway. I am always trying to understand & justify situations with words when no words are possible. It’s more like I try to manipulate situations with my words… trying to understand while simultaneously taking into account logic and emotional overload. So I’m talking, talking, talking about what’s going on… he’s fidgeting, wants to get out of bed. Tells me he’s awkward in the morning. I keep trying to make it anything but indifferent; no, I’m trying to make it great & awesome instead of worthless. He tells me it’s the least awkward he’s been the next morning… Finally we’re up and dressed and all he has for breakfast is a small grapefruit so he drives me home and doesn’t want coffee or tea or food or even to come inside my lonely apartment or wait for me to open the door. But he’s not bad, he’s an incredibly sweet & wonderful guy. We don’t know one another very well. His indifference is caused by many, many factors about which I know very little. I want to be indifferent… but how can I when all I want to do is feel? Everything, every which way and all the time, too? And then I’m home and frank calls and I find out I have even less money than I thought, and no, I don’t care about what you have to do, what movies you’re working on, how busy you are and I don’t want to hear your stupid cool indifferent alright voice. Fuck your voice and your movies, your motivations, your feigned or invented happinesses. And mostly, fuck you, frank, because yes, it’s hate, true & true again… I absolutely do. And maybe when another year and a half passes I’ll not feel anything but indifference towards you. How does one begin to go about it? All I want right now… I’d rather feel absolutely nothing than all the bullshit garbage stewing and rotting away in my pathetic little brain. If only I could really throw myself in the drink! At last!

The steps to indifference… I want to make friends, but I don’t want to go out to do it… no spending money, making out/fucking is completely out of the question… And I’m not going to talk about my plans with people like David and charlie… maybe I really am going to New York… but why would I tell you about it until I’m long gone? Good riddance & hate you now and for awhile in the future. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

sleep

sex

kiss

feeling

eat

blue

sweet

words

interest

hand

body

lonely

Finally

understand

nearly apartment

future

comfortable

excited money

fear

mouth

trees arm

family

cheese

breakfast brain

touching awkward incredibly

sea emotional

thick dreams

nose corner

Snow excitement similar naked

surprised slip garbage

Wow slide fight underwear

finger Drunken shock beneath indifference logic

approach familiar chest response situations

leg ruin knife undress leather simultaneously

happily expression child choke inclined background promise

skylark concerned bra distaste ignore worthless pathetic

Night’s cracked makeout total undeniable rubber grinning grabbing boat distant snoring justify

friendliness cock continental swoon moisture stale sighing parentheses rounded plants breasts passion aloof invent circumstance tissue refrain manipulate overload fidgeting riddance

reluctantly chimney tomatoes infamous engineer brim Mustache invites Shakespeare slick unhooks molesting vessels italics aroused erect tattooed crests exaggerating elevate grapefruit motivations feigned happinesses stewing rotting

A lighthearted carefree episode or experience – 13 January

Good morning, bright new world! My stomach is eating itself right now. I like to play mean tricks, create some unjust foofaraw for the little muncher. MMMM gobble it up, you little beast! That's right! Bring on the stimulations, the heart quickening to ghastly excess!! Diary, these previous imprecations I've hoped for (and those for which I've prayed even), these ridiculous little wishes and tiny little deaths I've been wanting... No, I can see now that the greatest is Mortality... "eternal mortality"... A curse, indeed!!! But, I don't hate or love anyone enough to wish him that. If I could throw a curse at you, I wouldn't. I'm trying to grow up here, but it's hard. This eddy in which I swim round and round again... no, it's not misperception, or lack of reality because reality bites small circles into my left arm. My so-called life leaves me clueless and lacking words or descriptors. I stay here and say to you, "Good luck! I hope you never die, but I hope you don't live forever!" And that is the nicest and most genuine thing I have to offer you. also, reality and emotions bring about the same incarnadine hue in my cheeks and heart... can't have one without the other! A cheek and a heart both express the same life-flow of Eternity! And justification for all things felt, for all things lost & gained! And I know that behind every bush is a trap or a wildflower. Wowie zowie. Put that one in your pipe and tell me whence it blows.

 I know that my mind is somewhat malleable, tractable, but I also know that I know everything. So there!!!!!!!! Try to bend me, I'll just break cuzz it's freazin cold outside and I know the toes still on my foot are numb yet, as the hour before now I was riding the bike out of doors. But this is all filler, bromide for the tops of our irreverent little stews. Sit down and fill both our plates, please (my hands are full; too busy derogating from my malaise with tools and magical herbs). An opportune moment for impassiveness! Impassivity, even, or impassibility, even more rightly so!! Reticent and lacking even the mostest slightestest pule emanating from my youthful mouth. 

I'm sorry for this turgid idyll... Can this be a romantic interlude? Precisely? But realistically, I'll be the only person who ever reads this bullshit.

2012

I couldn’t write yesterday on account of a hangover, the kind that comes on slowly and forces one, in slippers, to creep outside to the front yard and regurgitate in the leaves. There is something subtly comforting in the vomiting outside, rather than in the toilet. The toilet, I guess, is a depressing place, especially at my house. There is so much mold in the bathroom, and I think, is this why we are constantly hacking, unable to breathe?

It was the night before, then. A waste of a night. Drunk and with KC and Brittany and then Britta, and then at the bar, finally, where there was Kyle with his depressing long hair. It isn’t worth a damn.

There are always the in & out moments, but I know, Ian won’t quit the drink. He came home last night well before the close of the bar, and we had a conversation, laid in bed. I was so happy. All I can ask is that he does that, that he doesn’t return shitfaced everytime. Who wants shitfaced everytime? I can’t.