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.
