it's too bad there is nothing we can do.

here's a sonnet i had to write for class today and forgot about, so i wrote it in ten minutes or less.

our nights together down the road

we walk together on lonely nights,
still alone, and you, dead;
distant from the humming, city lights,
i think again of what you said.
it's truly hard, you know this.
our separation from life extends
were i to leave, i question who might miss
a face where eye and smile pretends
and saw once that no one cares
to hear my words, they sit there still,
waiting i feel, to transmit theirs.
remind me, oh please, to forget until
we are both acquainted with these nights, here.
for it doesn't matter much, i guess, to fear.


there you have it. a little block of my mind. Life lived by other people, i feel. and if we were all here together now, then maybe none of us would be so desperately lonely. but don't worry, because my problems aren't real. none of this is really real.

Last night my thought process went completely haywire. I was lying in bed feeling very content and peaceful, but then I got up for a second to do something, and when I laid back down I felt really weird and unsettled. So the story goes, I wanted to fall asleep, but couldn't, so I just started thinking about dying, because that usually exhausts me. This time however, it was especially irrational, everything about it. But I just kept thinking about freaking out and killing myself, and how if it didn't work I would have to be institutionalized, and if that happened I would never ever ever ever get out of there. Ever. If I were ever to be put in a hospital like that, I would have to escape, because I don't think I would be that crazy, so in order to maintain sanity I would have to do crazy things, because that's how I work. Anyway, this was what I was thinking last night in bed. And I started

Later...

crying. So I made toast and put borrowed my brother's burnt copy of OK Computer and smoked a stolen cigarette out my window at seven in the morning. Then I decided it would be a good idea to think about pleasant things while attempting sleep, like my cat, and puppies, art, and Thom Yorke. But mostly Thom. Actually, I only thought about Thom. I wish I lived in my own house, so I could sit here typing and wash my pants at the same time. Because I'd be half naked. And I can't be that here. I like walking around half naked, but it usually involves no top. But I can't do that here either. Apparently my dad and mom can though, because whenever I get home at six am, they never have pants on. It's funny and awkward. I should sleep at my other house, but that's so far away always. I don't know. I- don't know. It's only 1:30 am, and I'm already home and about to prepare for bed, which means, take a hot bath, wrap this floral design sheet around my waist, and lie in bed for a few hours. And tonight it means avoid thinking about trying to die. I don't want to die. Really truly. But if I did, I suppose I'd have to know the right way to go about it, so that's what now is. What. Oh, Lamar says "hey." That's from Mr. Show. Tonight has been odd. Maybe that's why I'm home now. Today at "church job," I asked my secretarial boss what else I should do, and she said, "Let's go outside, and I'll tell you what to do next week." Which really meant, "Let's go chat over a cigarette." I said Okay. We talked about ovulation and breasts. It was seriously a blast. Then I told my mom I wasn't so sexually frustrated anymore. She got wide-eyed and asked why. I told her I fornicated, and she got even more wide-eyed. But then explained to me that fornication is more than kisses and "a reddish mark on the skin caused by amorous kissing," which I apparently didn't know. When I was a kid at Christian school, they told me that it could be as seemingly insignificant as holding hands. They lied to me! Either way it was a funny way of putting it. I showed her my hickey and she said, "OH! You can't even see that!" It was funny, because then she said, in the church mind you, "Well. I just don't want you *f.ucking*." I thought it was hilarious. I just about died. Today I've been listening to a lot of The Magnetic Fields and Tom Waits. Now I'm going to go listen to Ok Computer and lie in bed.

It's so bittersweet when I love a song so much that I listen to it constantly. Because eventually there will be that one time I play it where I discover it's become worn. But it's almost like a new pair of shoes that you really enjoy. You love them, and wear the shit out of them, and then they get dirty and worn out, but you still love them just as much, but in a different, more enchanting way. And nothing is ever like that first time that you wear them. Bright and new. I find it especially interesting to think about how shoes can be painful at first, and need to be broken in; your feet need to accept them. Like a song that is too truthful. It hurts. Well, I had to write this rhyming, metered poem for my class today, and I was given the opportunity to read it aloud. I don't much care for rhymes, I like the free verse. Do you want to hear it? Great. It's funny:


Chloe

I'm a cynic in the bedroom
But grateful for a fuck
After sex
Cigarettes
You'll get me off with any luck

I've had my fill of bitter blood
It's always been my own
Mattress springs
Diamond rings
Could never stand to be alone

Try to ignore my jaded tongue
My skin is just as sweet
Condoms used
Thighs have bruised
Two naked bodies in the sheets

Feel free to try your luck with me
This love is such a steal
Rattled bones
Empty moans
You'll help me think that I can feel


It's trite, I think. I don't much care for it, but I think it's funny. Especially funny when reading to a class. This the other one I wrote for that assignment:


On an early Friday morning
I watched the world wake up
Knowing very well
That you were sleeping
Blew down the dark and empty streets
Beside the Autumn leaves
Nothing to be done
I continued weeping


I don't much like that one either. But what do I like that I write, not a whole lot. I do like what Elliot Smith writes though. I just acquired Figure 8. Hmmm. I thought I would be okay by now. I have to work now.

I thought I was balanced, but I guess not. I just attempted conversation with an acquaintance. It didn't work out so well. I'm outside typing, and it's freezing, my hands feel like rocks. I literally passed out yesterday, rather, this morning at about 7:30am, and I woke up on the floor in my room and crawled into my bed. Woke up 13 hours later, and now here I am, and it's strange. Only ten hours in a span that lasted over a hundred hours. ONE HUNDRED. That's like four or five days practically with no sleep. That is just insane, which is funny, because that's exactly how I felt. Note to self: Don't talk.

I really could have done without that. I was just typing a post, not five minutes ago, and my computer here just decided it was going to freak out. That's lovely. Lucky for me, I'm so tired I don't even remember what I wrote, so I'm pretty much just starting over right now, but it's as though I didn't write at all... Nevermind. Okay. So, as I was saying, still no sleep. It's been eighty-two hours and only ten of those have involved some unpleasant form of sleep. I attempted yesterday afternoon around 5pm, but I kept waking up crying because of these horrible dreams I was having. They were terrible, and they still make me want to cry. So I eventually gave up, and decided maybe I'm just really not capable of sleep anymore. I really should lie down, however, because I've almost collapsed about three times this morning. I just cleaned the house. I felt like a machine. I have an art exam today, and am not looking forward to that. I haven't studied. I keep crying. It's almost exasperating. Yesterday, when I went to "sleep," my cat came and lied (I don't know if that's grammatically correct anymore.) down next to me because she noticed I was crying and sad. She purred and licked my knuckles, because she loves me and knows that I love her. And I told her all that was going on with me. I knew she'd understand. Cats know everything. There are important things I should be doing right now, like studying, but I just can't. I keep writing and writing and writing. Apart from the time I spent cleaning the house, I've been in a constant state of writing and working on my "journal," and reading what I've written since about two in the morning. That's at least a good six or seven hours. I don't know. I don't know if I can sleep. I have enough caffeine in me to kill a small animal. I don't know if that could happen, but I imagine that it might be something like drinking too much water. Hmmm. I've probably smoked a hundred cigarettes since Wednesday. No joke. I don't know how much longer I can deal with this. I just can't sleep or eat. This is horrible. Just horrible. I wonder if I should even be writing about this. Maybe I'll buy a bottle of wine tonight to "clear my head." Or something. Weird logic. I think I'm going to go cuddle with my cat and tear up while she licks my knuckles. Yes, that's what I'll do.

Let's do some simple addition, shall we? If on Wednesday I woke up at 12 pm, and went to bed at 5am the next morning, woke up at 8am that same morning, took an hour nap last night and an hour nap about forty-five minutes ago, by my calculations that mean I have received five hours of sleep in the past fifty hours, it being two o'clock Friday evening. That's forty-five hours I have been awake and moving, and five of rest. Not substantial. And let me tell you, I can feel the lack of sleep. And it feels like lots of confusion and sadness. But what did you expect? Me to sleep after all that? I can honestly say that is stupid. I have also smoked four packs of cigarettes in that span. Two last night. I am struggling today. While I was walking all over town last night I thought my lungs would burst. I went and made Lauren breakfast at seven this morning. She came downstairs really dreamy-eyed and bewildered, and I sang, "Here she comes, Miss America!" It was really wonderful. Then her dad came downstairs and I said, "Mornin' Sunshine!" He cracked a grin, which is pretty good for that surly old man. I had this dream in my - I just had to talk to this lady, because I'm at work right now, and it was very difficult. I felt really nervous, like I was high or something. - most recent nap, and it was really emotional, and I want to cry right now thinking about it. I dreamt that my dearest friends read my journal and were making fun of it because they didn't know it was mine, and they thought it was childish and dumb. I don't even know how to deal with that. I woke up and thought it had all really happened. I still kind of feel that way. Today is a sad day, which was preceded by a sad night, Thursday itself was okay, just brief fits of frustration and sadness. Wednesday, if I remember correctly was blissful. Today is not a good day. Today is not fine. I am not fine. I was attempting to move my car, so that I didn't get a parking ticket, and noticed I had a flat tire. "Awesome," I thought. My body is full of tar. I remember being about six years old, and I had done something wrong, and my mom was scolding me, and I said, "I hate myself." She spanked me a lot of times for that. I don't know, just a blip in my brain right now.

Today is Thursday, which is like a Friday to me, and Friday being like a Thursday, Saturday is still Saturday, and Friday, too. And Sunday is still Sunday. Today has been full of events, but I don't care to go into them. Not necessarily "bad" events, just interesting interludes with life, I suppose. But through most of it, I was listening to The Moon and Antarctica, which is such a good album. It's so versitle to me because I can remember being so utterly depressed and listening to it, or euphorically happy. Today I was very content, and it appeased that. How marvelous. I did get new glasses though, I don't know how I feel about them. I wonder if I look better without glasses, but glasses involve much less maintainence. I'm not indifferent, but I don't like or dislike them. I'm running on very little sleep, and am starving half to death right now. I am so incredibly tired. I can taste it. I like the phrase, "It's all the rage!" It slays me. I'm listening to this really soothing mix I made the other day, and it is just lulling me! Last night I wrote this really strange poem, I wish I had it now. I'd read it to you. But no dice. It was an explanation for my ... nevermind.

Not good enough. My crying spells have started up again. I think I may know why, but what a strange reason. I wonder if my excess of emotion is normal. If people usually get this way. I don't think I did before. Maybe that was because I was younger, and it was a relief. Or because of robots. There's a really strange episode of SeaLab on. It is the weirdest one. Chubby cox. For those who are familiar, I think you'll know what one I'm talking about. Ooh my... I just found a bottle of wine, so I'm going to drink it, and think about all these wonderful things I would like, or would like to do right now.. All these dreams I have. Irrational and way way too passionate. I want to live somewhere else. I'm ready for a new epoch. Should I try harder or ease up for my own sake. I need to hide out again.

This machine will not communicate
These thoughts and the strain I am under


Immerse your soul in love
Immerse your soul in love


Here's another thing from my old journal:

Actually.

Looking for that mouth to mouth resuscitation
Looking for that mouth to mouth sensation
"To restore consciousness, vigor, or life"
I'm drowning in my own desire
Sinking deeper is this loneliness
Maybe I can suck my own blood dry
Or rattle off my own bones
I'd like to leave that up to you
Actually.


Here's a revised rant I wrote a long time ago:

Sometimes I wonder what else there is to lose
Else
No debate over gain
He tells me to slow down
And it sounds like he knows
I'll do anything you say
Anything you tell me to do
We have set ourselves up
To speak and receive
People I don't even know
Telling and giving advice
Me, listening
And I'll do anything, you say
Words are like omens
Projected over radiowaves
A time and a place
A thought process
Will make anyone
Do just about anything
They don't even try
We listen anyway
So slow down, please
Okay.




I think I may have become too overly confident. I should probably stop while I'm ahead.




Immerse your soul in love
Immerse your soul in love.

Yes! I just read a hefty portion of my posts on the thing journal, and my goodness, I am great. I make myself laugh more than anyone else could. I feel like I should recap. February 1st and 7th struck me. So did November 11th and my birthday last year. I tell the weirdest stories. Talking about sex and bladder infections. How jealous of cats I am. How for a long time I dreamt about cutting all of my hair off. How I should call Conan O'Brien up, and ask him to be my friend. I also use the phrase, "happy as a clam" a lot. Wierd. But the weirdest part was that almost exactly a year ago I wrote about how I had been reading all of my old posts from my old blog, "Subject To Change," which is from my junior year in High School. I wonder if that still exists. Anyway, I just love it, and want to read it all, but have to finish my job. How delightful I am to myself sometimes. It's funny though, because when I get this happy, I find that I am very confused about it, and before thinking about how great it is, I wonder what's wrong with me. What is wrong with me? I am especially happy. AH! I FEEL LIKE I CAN'T MAKE THESE WORDS BIG ENOUGH TO EXPRESS WHAT I'M FEELING INSIDE!!! sighing now. Okay, I'm getting really overwhelmed right now, and I think I might cry. So before I get frustrated because I can't explain myself I'm gonna go. This is a riot. My eyes fill with water and I think, "That's more like it." How funny is that?! Maybe it's because I'm out of cigarettes. That's depressing. Well, let's finish this off with a hilarious thought I just had: They say the average human thinks about sex every 6 seconds. Well I think, with a little determination and hard work I have managed to get that down to 3 and a half.

oh yeah okay.

I wonder if people think I have poor hygiene. I would say that I don't think I do. But who knows really. I have this poetry assignment where I have to pick one song that I love and explain its poetic value. And I can't tell you how hard that is for me to do. First of all, choosing one song?! That's asking a lot. When I think I have one, I scroll through my ipod and find another five that would be just as great. So I end up with a list of 38 songs to choose from. Not to mention pretty much any Radiohead song. Ever. I feel really off right now. And I found my old journal, which is exciting. I read through the entire thing last night and discovered that it really doesn't say much of anything, and wondered why I was so careful about it "falling into the wrong hands." It's also funny that I feel like my writing has completely changed since I retired the ol thing. I wouldn't say I was disappointed in what I wrote, that is to say however, the majority was certainly trite, but it just struck me that I could have changed so much in such a short period of time. I don't know. A lot of if involves me saying something along the lines of, "I am so incredibly tired and need sleep." or "I think I drank too much coffee again." or "I am so depressed and want to die... but I don't want to be dead." Let's read from it, shall we?

this is the weirdest thing I could find in it:

For sure and upright.
Complex and unnegatiable.
These phrases repeating
Dominating my mind.
Soulfully sound and
unsadistic.
Capturing a chapter
And epoch of unbelief.
A drink and a dance.
Satin and lace.
Charming.
Unrefined.
Wasted.


Now, my favorite part is the made up words. I should do that more often, in writing form. I already do it verbally. There's so much stupid shit in the journal actually. It's unfortunate.

Here's a new one:


Are you the kind
That bores easily
Zips up your pants
As soon as you
Roll up your sleeves


hoe hum.

Second night in a row that I drank a bottle of wine and watched Donnie Darko at the Cla-zel at two in the morning. Such a good film. I cried. And then I stayed up all night and ranted about everything that seemed so important. Not that it wasn't. But you know how it is. I was too drunk to drive home. Then too drunk and tired. Stayed in that limbo for a time. Then I was just awake enough to drive home and make a sandwich before class. I feel like shit.
I just looked up quite a bit of information about the study abroad program. I could go to Keele University in Staffordshire, which is forty-five minutes from Birmingham and Manchester and two hours from London. Great. I also have some meetings to go to. I guess there just so happens to be one today, but I'm sure I will be sleeping when it takes place. Wouldn't that be lovely. Let's hope this works out for me. It seems less imaginary, now that I have all this information it gives the venture substance. And I can't imagine what it will be like at all now. That's rich. I could also get some grants or scholarships. Which, to some extent, I think is so incredibly stupid. Seriously, I want to go to school somewhere, so why can't they just say okay. Not, "with a lot of hard work, most students are able to make some money through scholarships for funding their international experience." I just want to go there and learn and try and enjoy myself in the process. Weird. I'm pretty crazy right now. Played pool at L'Marie's at six am. I'm just really confused and so thankful that today was a day that we got to go to the library and "look up things." I know my breath smells like old wine. And my coat smells like Grill. My outfit is a riot. I have this slip on and an army jacket and pearls and dark lipstick. The jacket is authentic. I found it in my basement. I'm sure I don't smell too pleasant. Well, I think I'm going to go now. Class is over. And so is Amnesiac. And so is this awake bullshit.

I did not intend

To live such an insane life.

The cigarettes help.

I can't handle trampolines. I just can't. My friend Lauren and I were jumping yesterday, and let me tell you. They freak me out. I'm afraid I'm going to loose control and fly off and kill myself, or fly into space. They are just dangerous. Maybe If I make a suit made out of pillows I'll be okay. That would be hilarious. Lauren and I are going dress shopping at second hand stores today, and I am ex-cited. I keep forgetting how great thrift clothes are. I suppose that's the media for you. I feel distracted by so many expensive things that I know I can't have and shouldn't have. If that makes sense. The reason we are purchasing these dresses is because today ends my detox program, for the most part. So we are going to get drunk. But not just any stupid kind of drunk, crazy and fancy drunk. We are getting out Fight Club dresses, like the one's Helena Bottoncarter (?) wore. Bride's maid's dresses. I bought a few yesterday, but I want to perfect one. And I have yet to find it. We're also going to put on each other's make up.