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.

27 december

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…

(<3)