self-analysis is for the birds.
i'm the pill of the century.
things are most level when they're utterly messed up.
and my lungs aren't what they used to me.


Ramble ramble ramble. I feel that's all I ever do anymore. It's just that much easier for me to be completely vague and cryptic than it is to be at all straight forward. But I think that has to do with writing a "blog." It doesn't seem fair or right to be open about your life on a page that's so easily accessible for other people. I don't know. I do know. I do know. Lauren told me that I say, "I don't know," too much, so now I have to say, "I do know," even when I don't have a clue. It's an interesting adjustment. I don't have much to say. I feel very alone at the moment. I feel like I'm alone. That's pretty much all there is to it. I think I have a subconscious fear of loneliness. Or maybe I need other people to distract me from myself, but they don't ever seem to be around when I need them most. I'm actually pretty okay tonight. Pretty okay, my, that makes me sound simple. There have been worse nights. But on this particular one, I feel alone, but I can cope. I think these lonely feelings derive from this realization that I don't really spend my days with anyone. For every hour I'm with someone, there are somewhere between 7 and 9 that I'm alone. It doesn't matter. No one talks anymore. We just smoke at each other. We're talking. We're always talking.

why are you staring into outerspace crying

it's funny to me that i would be so tired right now, considering the fact that i slept pretty much all day yesterday. maybe it's just the notion of being awake during the time when the sun is out, being awake when the sun is gone, and still being awake when the sun shows it's ugly face again. maybe not. maybe i am just tired and stupid. maybe i'm just so emotionally exhausted that i don't know how to feel in general. maybe i'm not tired at all, i just feel like that's how i should feel... at any rate, i don't know how to interpret anything anymore. not anyone i know, not myself, not priorities, not inspiration or time or strangers. I just saw this lady in a black trench coat of sorts, and all i thought, after studying the coat was, "i hate that coat. i hate that coat." then i saw this woman and her young son, and she had these enormous bangs, for no good reason, and i imagined the boy thinking something like, "why does mommy have such huge bangs?" i mean, i don't know much about what looks good, but that does not look good, and it never did, and even though it was i style for a time, it definitely hasn't been "in" for about a decade. speaking of me not knowing anything about fashion, i wrote about it the other day in here, and how i will die never understanding it, and that night i had this bizarre dream about shopping and seeing these "hippy" looking shirts and thinking, "oh, i'll buy one for Lauren; she loves these." but they were like $200.00, which was fucking ridiculous and weird, and i thought, "why are hippy clothes so expensive? don't they know that if anyone has no money it's the "hippies?" I don't like that word, but for lack of a better term. ANYWAY, so, i'm waltzing around this store and i end up accidentally leaving and this lady accuses me of shoplifting, because i have all these stupid shirts in my hands, like i'm gonna buy them or something, which i wasn't. so i had to explain all this shit to her. it was odd. very. i can't believe i dreamt about shopping. how strange. people smell too much in the morning. it's like they have their full amount of perfume or colone (i... don't know how to spell that...) on, and it hasn't aired out yet. it's making me dizzy, AND it's not good smells. it's old and i'm sure the bearers of these odors have had the same scents for like thirty-five years. hoo. i need to write this paper. it's about viking death rituals, and maybe i'm just really bad at researching things, which i don't think i am, but apparently there is no information of viking death rituals. imagine that. okay. done now.

Anywhere seems better than here
i want to live when there's no electricity
when plugs and sockets didn't clutter the world
plastics and metals sticking out of the ground
and walls
i tried to think about how great i am
but instead i slept
i stayed in bed all day, most of the night
my body fighting for consciousness
just lying there
listening
and dreaming about all the things i want
all the emotions i'd like to be
all the people i know and have known
for the past half hour i've been sitting at a piano
for the next i'll be staring at a screen

i want you to know me better than anyone
i feel so apologetic
because i never told you
about my
you seemed to jump right into the boiling water
and i'll bet you're thinking
what did i do
whatwhatwhat
i've lost my tongue
i can't find my shoes
everything is up and down and everywhere
with me
all the time
that's what i forgot to say
that it's freezing in here
you're going to get burnt
and the dog needs walking
it seems i've done it again

it's a mess
it's a complete and utter pigsty
i haven't done the dishes
there are papers and dust bunnies
mold covered mugs and empty bottles
i'm the paperweight holding it all in place
this way
the way i like it

my body is swelling again
hips spreading
well shit.
i can't say how sorry i am
i should have known better really
this is fucked
this is such a shame
because i'm so absent minded sometimes
we all have to cope with our flaws i guess
yes yes,
let's cope
i'll live alone
either that
or i can be sylvia and you can be ted
i'd prefer it otherwise
but that's coping that's learning that's finding the solution
and settling for less
rolling with punches
and taking one for the team
fuck.

that isn't the way i had planned it
all those nights when i put my head down and thought so many thoughts
all these dreams and images i learn in images
i see in pictures and colors
it was a nice day dream at night
it was a splendid little story i made up

last night i dreamt i was floating in a giant basket full of feathers
pillows and blankets
over ponds full of plants and age
old and stangnant
and i hovered above them dipping my feet in the waters when i chose to
delighted and alarmed
by the mystery of dark waters
where i've never tread
and when it seemed i would just fall right into the frightening unknown
bodies, i would be carried
back up in to the sky
and laugh and my own fear
i could feel it,
in my throat
so scared i could have wept
i floated through trees and swamp in a crescent shaped basket
just floating
just above the water
crawling with filth and slime and everything disgusting
i am barely above it now.
even now
i sit and i can smell the rotting smells
the mildew and the decay
and it's funny
because
i hadn't thought of it that way

why do i feel like people are avoiding me?
hiding behind brick walls
it's funny though
because they laugh so loud
don't you think
i can hear you?

i've never felt so good
about feeling so bad
every terrible fear
all these poor and bleak thoughts
have finally made me feel
at all

blah blah
blah

i did have important things to say about how good i felt, but not anymore
i bleached my teeth
and attempted to keep up with traffic
for no good reason

i'm wearing a new coat
that i didn't buy
but it feels like i might
look good
and i did when i was smiling

i've been where you've all been
you're wrong
my thoughts aren't normal
they aren't like everyone else's

and i was going to thank you
and show so much gratitude

you're just what i need right now

something to be mad at

i felt so hopeful and fulfilled
for fifteen minutes
i stared into that mirror
and saw something great
what the fuck was running through my mind then
i remember
all the notions of contentment
i can recite them like verse
in my head and through my fingers
but now they don't mean a thing

Olin Slaughter.

I’d like to say it’s been a productive day. But it’s really just been vain and stupid. And nothing seems to go as planned. I make plans. What happens to them? These daily goals. I need help with that. But I think I’m the only one who can help me. Things I wanted to do today: First (and most importantly) all the homework I have to do; my pop culture magazine, my sociology paper, my psychology paper, my art paper. I wish I were a good student. I can’t get it right. I wish I could, for everyone’s sake. What the fuck. Secondly, I had to work for a few hours at the school. Thirdly, I wanted to go to Lima for my dad’s art show, but I really didn’t want to go by myself, and no one wanted to or could go with me. And then there were other miscellaneous things I had to do that never panned out. What did I do today? Well, I painted my nails, I cut my hair a bit, I took a shower, I read about George Bush for a while, pierced my ears, AND best of all, my mom convinced me to whiten my teeth. That last thing is what really consumed my day. And here’s why: So, I use this stuff that tastes like shit, and it’s going to take about 2 hours to achieve remotely whiter teeth. Whatever, yeah fine. I’ll have a Radiohead marathon while I am waiting. Which I did. But after the first twenty minute session of my dental reinvention I discovered after removing the mouth piece, that my teeth were not in fact whiter, rather they were blotchy and weird looking. So, instead of freaking out, I tried it some more, to see if everything would fix itself. And it didn’t. My mom told me to use her kind of whitener, so I did, which involved leaving it in my mouth for an hour. That didn’t help either. So I tried it again, and instead of anything good happening, my gums were burnt by the solution of bleach in my mouth. Great. That’s lovely. And painful. And stupid. Why did I even care for that five minute span about how white my teeth were? Now, not only are my teeth weird looking, I have to continue this whitening thing for the next week or two to fix them, And I feel like such a shit for even caring in the first place.

Sometimes I feel so alone
I’ll call up “time and temp” to hear a voice
He told me it would be fair tomorrow
He even thanked me for calling
Thank you, Weather Man
For helping me make it through
Another lonely night.

I haven't always been this cool.

Why are clothes so important? I will never ever figure that out; I will die not knowing why fashion and clothes matter. I want a piercing. That's what I want. I also want to understand the idea behind personal space. Why people in all cultures have differing invisible bubble parameters surrounding them. In the US I think the bubble is mighty big and that's strange. Maybe not strange, but I think from now on I'm going to try and get as close to people as I possibly can when initiating conversation. I'll do a study. My hypothesis is that people will either inch away, become awkward, or verbally explain to me how I'm making them uncomfortable. That's funny. I live in a movie of my own design. People say things like, "Life isn't a movie," and I think, "Wait, yes it is. It depends on how you look at it, and what circumstances and situations you place yourself in. If I'm, let's say, at a social gathering of sorts, I will find the most cinematic and strange place to sit or stand. I place myself in the most cinematically (Spellcheck says that isn't a word... is it?) aesthetic scenery. And I like it that way. I feel more comfortable. What it boils down to is you can be in a movie if you so choose. I do. I choose to be in a movie. That's why I listen to music pretty much constantly, unless I'm with other people. We all want a soundtrack. And this is why I can't just listen to anything at anytime. Finding what to listen to is such a precise process, you can't just pop in whatever the fuck. That's how I see it anyway. Let's say I wanted to listen to Beck, but was content in my mood of sullenness, I couldn't listen to Beck. I couldn't listen to Sea Change either, though. Because if I'm sullen, and not exactly depressed, listening to Sea Change would completely alter where I am emotionally. I would start to feel sad. At the same time though, if I were simply content and relaxed, I would listen to Sea Change, because it's soothing. I wouldn't have the symptoms of depression or an inkling of it, so, it wouldn't make me depressed. There. Yes. Oh my. I don't know if that made a lick of sense. Right now, I'm listening to Boards of Canada, because my day has been strange and somewhat gone awry, like most days. So I'm in a weird mood, like most days. What bad luck. School and I really don't get along. I wish we did. Life would be so much easier. I'm really stuck in my own brain right now, and it is such a frightening place to be at the moment. I need to talk with other humans. But usually that doesn't even help. I need to talk to other humans who I will allow into my brain. The ones who actually talk to me, not at me. That impact and stimulate my glial cells and neurons in a productive manner. Sending signals and transmitting electrical waves through my brain." reinforcing eliza. oh, eliza. who are you, eliza? no alcoholic beverages allowed. turkish and domestic blends. jimmy "the iceman" macneil. the ice keeps changing, but never my coffee. oil type: 10W. your application was selected for review in a process called "verification." list siblings and others. i'm reinforcing eliza. wash your hands often. hot surface can cause severe burns. do not touch. precise pilot. I love planes. reinforcing eliza. eliza. eliza. dayton timberline ranger. A/T. any time. who are you? eliza? where did you come from? stick your strong fingers in my brain, eliza.


andy or bruce

sitting, elbows on knees
"i could use a light"
to a big bulky man with an orange beard
camouflage pants
baseball cap and blue eyes
a circle of saliva surrounding
the ground around him

his nostrils flared
his heavy breathing
i could smell anxiety
sitting next to a pretty girl
him fiddling
i felt light headed as I smoked

smalltalksmalltalk
going into fire science
"are you going to fight...
fires?"
joining the army
he had inner aggression,
he guessed

"you seem like a nice enough lady"
we both draw
he wanted to be an animator
he wanted to move to florida
never panned out

don't forget i said
you should do what you love
forceful feelings
can be relieved through pencils too
you know
don't forget
you should do what you love

don't forget
do what you love
said it like eight times
he looked like an andy
or a bruce

Maybe I am a fucking martyr. What the fuck is wrong with me? Too much apparently. I have been doing so well. I have been so consistent and stable for the past week, and this evening, for a reason or two, everything blew out of my hands. It’s entirely my fault. I don’t know. I do know. I do know. But telling myself that it’s just a night, and tomorrow will be a day, and when I fall asleep I won’t be thinking, and when I wake up everything will be just fine, didn’t help any. It just made it worse. I want to be elsewhere. I’m getting really tired of this and writing about it is stupid and pointless, but I suppose I’ll listen to myself a little better if all my emotions are put on a page. Then I’ll read them and realize how stupid I am, that I am a martyr, that everything is fucked up because I am impossible. It seems there isn’t much I can do right. I’m this stupid, privileged kid who is completely selfish and prideful and I have so much potential and so many opportunities, and yet I never fulfill them, I rarely see anything through, and I just want to sleep all the time. I used to adore my obscure sense of sobriety, but not anymore. And then other people will read this and think, “How melodramatic. What is she trying to prove by writing this? Is this some cry for help? Maybe I should call her… I mean, does she think she’s the only person out there with issues?!” Yeah, well, fuck everyone. And fuck me. I want to be dead right now and I don’t apologize for thinking that.

there’s nothing wrong that wasn’t wrong before.

I’m damaged. bad at best.

It should be said that I just sat outside, smoking my cigarette, and this old man, dressed like a "gangsta" waked past me, chatting the whole way, and Less than half of the words that came out of his mouth were understandable. I smiled politely.

Well. I just wrote a long post, and it was all erased. But that's okay, because I have plenty of time. Yeah. I made sleep-plans this morning. That's right. Sleep-plans. What are those, you say. Well, sleep-plans are the plans you make early in the morning when someone asks you to do something and you more than likely respond in the affirmative. I did. And that's why I am in Lima right now. I went to sleep around 6am, and around 7am, my mother apparently, came into my room and asked me to do a bunch of things that I said I would do. I don't exactly remember that happening. Then at 8am, my father pounded on my door and told me to get up to go to Lima. "What!?" I said. And that's when the confusion began. Apparently, I said I would go to Lima to run Artspace today. So here I am, running a small business, art gallery thing. I feel all grown up. Not really. I'm actually just really tired and still confused. When my dad told me where I was going today, I got really confused and started crying, so he got mad and called me a "basket case" and told me to grow up and get my act together. I called him and asshole and cried a lot. It wasn't that I didn't want to help him out, I just really didn't know what was happening or why I was going to Lima or when that plan went into action. Either way, here I am. AND since I'm here and all, I'm going to steal a bottle of nice wine, AND I get $50. I'm trying to save a plants life right now. I think I may have food poisoning. I just ate salsa that's three months expired. We'll see how that one plays out. I'm tired. I'm wearing boots. I'm going to have a cigarette now. Everything is nuts. NUTS I Tell you! What does that mean? Nuts. (?)

oh, there's the other post. right under there. hmmm. imagine that. what's happening!?

Who made sleep-plans to go to Lima today. I did. Who's in Lima today. I am. That's right. Sleep plans. Those are the plans you make when someone wakes you up at 7am, and asks you lots of questions, most of which you reply to in an affirmative manner. That's what I did this morning. I fell asleep around 6am, and an hour later I vaguely remember my mother coming into the room and asking me questions. Either way, at 8am, my father was pounding on my door, telling me I was going to Lima today. And here I am. In Lima. Listening to bad Jazz. I am running a small business today. That's fuckin right. AND, since I'm here, I am going to steal a bottle of wine and get $50. I'm still really tired though, and it's confusing to me as to how I ended up here today. I cried a lot this morning because my dad was yelling at me and calling me a "basket case" (what does that mean?!) and telling me I need to get my act together and become an adult. So I cried, and said, "What is going on!? What is happening?!" and "Dad, you are being an asshole." We had a shout out. I stood my ground. You bet I did. It wasn't that I didn't want to help him, of course I did, but I didn't know what was happening. I mean, I seriously didn't have a clue why I was going to Lima. Then my mom started telling me that I was going to die because I don't sleep right. Yesterday she said she was going to beat me with a baseball bat because I wouldn't stop smoking. I thought that was- special. I'm eating chips and really hot salsa, and my mouth hurts. Wow. I'm tired. I think I may have just saved some plants life. This salsa has expired by the way. Let's see how this turns out. meh. Sure am bored and lonely. Stuck here with my thoughts. I keep thinking about how this salsa has expired. It tastes okay, but I don't know what expired salsa tastes like. What if there are huge things forming in the expired salsa and I'm eating them? I hope not. My lips are burning. I think I'm going to sit outside for a stint and smoke.

I'll never give up. I'll never buckle under.
Or wave a white flag.
Flags aren't my thing.
But what a ways I have to go.
Times are too fun.




Some say I dance a wicked dance.
They tell me I waltz down
The broad way of immorality
Skipping here and there
Picking all the posies I desire

I can't say I disagree

But this wilted, apetalous plant
Is just right

We carry our own rhythm
Our beats and clangs
Our slaps
Such
Beautiful
Sounds
I could just go deaf

Our music makes my ears bleed
And my heart is pumping out
Irregular signatures

When I figure out how to put pictures on this thing, I am going to try and get a deep cut, and then take a picture of it every twelve hours, to show the healing process. Because I find that to be one of the most interesting things in the world. I have had this cigarette burn on the top of my hand for a few weeks now, and I've gradually watched it heal up; attempting not to pick at it. I did a few times because the scab was so thick, that as the skin was healing around it there was a great pressure on the scab. It seemed necessary. After I picked the scab of, there was this huge crater in my hand. Weird. I hope no one thinks I'm crazy masochistic, just remember, it's for the sake of art. I think, at least. And if you disagree, well, what do you know anyway. I had several cuts on the knuckles of my left hand recently, they've healed, and now there's hardly a scar. My body has healed itself. How beautiful is that?! There is so much that is taken advantage of. Like Aurora Borealis, pouring white cream into black coffee (before it's mixed in), freckles, wrinkles, everything small and wonderful. Except Aurora Borealis. That's huge. But how many people watched it the other night? FUCKING STARS! I've found myself getting really worked up about things that I find beautiful lately. I get really teary, but I think that is splendid. I was punched in the face today, by Lauren, and my jaw really hurts. We have too much fun. Well. Hm. It's cold. And last night I dreamt of Manta Rays.

before we went to the grocer's


we sat in your antique, overgrown backyard
having a smoke.
everything there was dying or dead,
even us.
the grass had turned brown.
we sat on the mossy, cement blocks of the fountain
that was too old to care to work,
and had been faded by the sun
and stained by rain water.
a metal, mesh fence separated
our lives from those
of the brightly and scantily-clad
girls next door
having a pool party.
blond with big breasts,
they danced.
ponytails defying gravity,
they danced.
mid drifts and slender legs.
what disgusting fun.

we gazed quietly.
judging silently.
and a girl took off her top
displaying an unnatural chest.
nonchalantly astonished,
and i couldn't understand what she was saying.
i stood
in an attempt to make out
what she was saying,
but her face turned jet black,
and she puckered her lips.
feeling the frown and wrinkled brow,
i walked away.

we moved inside
as your father took a picture,
and i made up faces for people
i haven't met yet.
in the wink of an eye.
we're upstairs.
everyone is here.
all male.
all staring
out the window at midday
at the girls swimming outside.

i sat in the corner
watching you stare,
silently judging still.
so silent and confused,
but in my mind
your eye was always wandering,
so i sit with the thoughts I don't have.

"we decided it was the only interesting thing to look at,"
your voice rang and echoed in my head.
eyebrows raised, i grinned, still speechless.
white walls.
you sat with me.
for a while.

Some days I feel like I'm dying. This is one of those days. And this is also my favorite song at the moment. It's so pretty and appropriate:

i better be quiet now
elliot smith

wish you gave me your number
wish i could call you today, just to hear a voice
i got a long way to go
getting further away
if i didn't know the difference
living alone'd probably be ok
it wouldn't be lonely
i got a long way to go
getting further away
a lot of hours to occupy,
it was easy when i didn't know you yet
things i'd have to forget
but i better be quiet now
i'm tired of wasting my breath
carrying on and getting upset
maybe i got a problem,
but that's not what i wanted to say
i'd prefer to say nothing.
i got a long way to go
getting further away.
had a dream as an army man with an order
just to march in my place
while a dead enemy screams in my face
but i better be quiet now
i'm tired of wasting my breath
carrying on, not over it yet
wish i knew what you're doing
and why you want to do it this way,
so i can't go the distance
i got a long way to go
getting further away
i got a long way to go
getting further away

I don't know if all the lyrics are right, but oh well. You get the idea.

Well. Hm. I just did a crazy thing, and I think it's funny, but I think the other kids in the computer lab probably don't. Or maybe they do, but in a bad way. I just was looking up Elliot Smith lyrics whilst listening to Elliot Smith on my headphones, and all of the sudden started to sing this song to myself. Which doesn't seem like such a big deal, but honestly, usually when things feel that weird and I recognize them suddenly, I would image they probably are strange. The thing is, I Couldn't hear myself singing, I just realized I was. I wasn't that loud, but it's pretty quite in the library. I tried to cover it up like I'd been humming or something, and looked at the ceiling and all around the room, as though I were pondering or looking for something, but I think that just made me look even crazier. Listening to Headphones in libraries reminds me of every day in the last two years of high school. I know we weren't aloud to listen to headphones, but I can't remember getting in trouble very often about them, even though I listened to them everyday. I have this fear at the moment that I'll grow older, about 40 or so, and still be so depressed. I'll pop out some kids, and when they are old enough to realize anything they'll go up to daddy with curious eyes and ask, "Daddy, why is mommy sleeping all the time?" or "Daddy, why does mommy smoke so many cigarettes? Doesn't she know they're bad for her?" Because in my experience, kids as young as 4 already know that cigarettes are bad for you. So yeah, for a while my children will silently resent me, and then as they grow they'll learn how to verbally show me how pathetic I am. I don't think I could ever imagine dealing with that. Creating something, and then that creation telling you that you're wasting your life and you're pathetic. I'd probably say, "Well, I made you didn't I?" That's frightening. I want to be asleep right now, but, off to work... It's getting harder and harder to press through every responsibility, but at the same time I feel more motivation because I can sense that everything is about to be so so f.ucked in my life if I don't do something about it now. Therein lies the test. Determining whether or not anything is really worth saving.

I heart The Daily Show. I also heart strange John Kerry parties where I don't know anyone, but there's lots and lots of alcohol. Some of which I'm drinking right now. Good ole MD 20/20 that I found in my bag this morning and thought, "...Oh yeah." Man, I feel like it's the end of the world, but still feel like everything is the same. I love The Daily Show, it is great, why are these people so funny!? It's a gift. Oh man. I feel incredibly gross today, rather, I should feel that way, and don't, but I'm sure I look disgusting. OHOHOHOHOH!!!! There's a preview for The Life Aquatic on the TV!!! I'm so excited about that. I want to see I Heart Huckabees, too, and Sideways. And there's this new show called Huff, with Hank Azaria (sp?) and Oliver Plat. I love them so. AND a ton of movies with Jude Law, which, good or not, is great because he is ever so attractive. Yes! I feel like there are some good movies coming out. I love movies. I love. I love. I love. I wish everyone loved as much as I did, and loved the things that I love, or could at least understand them. I'm almost positive that absolutely no one in this city understands me, or can make heads or tails of where I'm coming from half the time. Man. That's unfortunate. On Tuesday my pop culture class was in the library, and when it came time to leave I didn't know where my professor was, and the whole class was still there, so I didn't know what to do. I approached this table of people and said very softly, "Um... hey..." And this tough guy with braces who talks just like my cousin George grunted, "WHAT." It was really weird and awkward, so I stumbled over words and asked them if they thought we could leave. Brace face said something like, "oh yeah, I'm sure that's fine." I apologized for interrupting and he said it was okay. As I walked away they were completely quiet, and when I was about 15 yards away they started cracking up. I thought to myself, "they're laughing at me... awe..." I told Lauren and we decided that I should have turned around, and in a very dull voice said, "You're laughing at me. Aren't you." Then slowly turned and walked away. I think I should have said that and then run as fast as I could out of the library. It would have been very weird and Wes Anderson. I might be able to sit in on my friend Rob's drawing class and draw someone's naked body. Bodies are so beautiful. I'm so excited! It'll be great. And his instructor is this man named Paul who thinks I'm funny. Actually, he thinks Blanche DuBois is funny. Cameron Diaz is not pretty or funny. Why did the TV just say that. TV, you say so many dumb things. TV is so messed up. I just saw three commercials, one for a fancy tooth brush (what?) one for a Snickers power bar for "the energy you crave," and one for Taco Bell. So, the way I see it, my teeth aren't white enough, I should exercise more and eat disgusting energy bars that taste good now or something and eat lots of tacos until I'm "full." Eat more, exercise more and look better. I hate commercials. Man. I'm so inconsistent. Actually, I suppose I'm very consistent, because I'm consistently trying to be consistent. That works? I don't think I have anything else to say. I feel terrible in my brain. My brain feels terrible terrible terrible. Terrible. Just terrible. Terrible. Last night I writhed on the floor at my job. No on was there, so it was okay, I guess. I hate writhing and crying on the cold, tile floor. I love air planes though. They amaze me, and make me tear up. I feel so small. I feel like I live in such a strange time. I've been doing a lot of "research" on Elliot Smith for my magazine, which I'm thinking about calling Your Favorite Band Sucks magazine; issue one. Whadya think? It's from a t-shirt. Things move to fast for me. Everything is so quick and flashy. Lauren thinks I'm crazy. I think she's worried about me, actually I know she is because she said she is. She says I pass things off as funny, which I do. For instance, walking around for four hours, talking to myself, and not wearing shoes. It's so easy to pass that off as hilarious, so I do. Because it's easier to deal with in that light. So let's let things be funny for now, but when I'm institutionalized, let's not be surprised. UUUUUuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I need to drink faster.

i'm going to silence myself
calm my insides down
and mend my bones
gradually dig my grave in solitude
bury myself in unwashed sheets and old goose feathers
suffocated by my own smoke
hardened by chemicals
and bad water
we can't see in the dark
but that's what i'm going for
so shut the blinds
say, "it's okay to be this way," it cleanses
and confronts an illness
we all choose what we want out of life
this is my desire
a means to an end
an end, to a beginning.




if anything
i'd like to be an inspiration
good or bad
it doesn't matter

some say I dance a wicked dance
some say I waltz along
the fine and crooked line of morality
I say
I walked my dangerous line of love for you
And I've never loved so freely



I feel like my heart is in this constant state of pouring itself out. The faucet is running, and the handle controlling the flow is broken. I'm sick. I'm blah. I'm whatever. I can't even help myself anymore. And the more I talk the more vulnerable and pathetic I fell. kids. kids. kids. Why so glum. Pass the time. Pass the time. Pass the time. Pass the time. Pass the time... smoke another cigarette. BLah blah blah. This is ridiculous. This is outlandish and somethin' else. Today has been pretty consistent, however. Not so up and down, left and right and write. Your eyes did the talking.

i'm freaking out lately
always thinking about bones and babies
you make me
pump blood
i make me
b
l
e
e
d
blood
and cough up lung
i want to be smashed in
i want to fall out
sitting here,
filthy and blind
let's either live large
or not live at all
because i itch all over




fever blisters and sweaty palms
it was your eyes that did the talking
and they spoke so much of nothing
despite it all
i loved you sort of
i couldn't tell anymore


I was so depressed in my poetry class today I had to let my hair down, let it cover my face, so no one could see me. Like I wasn't there if they couldn't see my eyes. I just wanted to be sleeping. Then I would very randomly explode about something someone had said. One man said that prose poetry wasn't poetry, and I freaked out at him. But what really got me was someone commended Wordsworth for revising his poetry years and years after he wrote it because he felt differently about it at 65. Okay. No. I don't think that makes any sense, because how you feel when you are 20, greatly differs from how you feel at 60, and this is obvious. But you can't change how you felt at 20, you can't go back and change the thoughts you had at 20. YOu can't make it a different experience than what it was. In the giant history book of your life you cannot go back to chapter 12, when you are at chapter 35, and change anything about that because people change, and life is a giant revision, and we change on a weekly basis. What I wrote a week ago is different in some way than how I feel NOW! Let alone, the poetry I wrote in Jr. High now seems ridiculous, BUT THAT IS HOW I FELT then!!! And it makes sense to put it in context of being 14 years old. I can't change how I felt at 14. I know more now, but it wouldn't make any sense to pretend like I had 20 year old thoughts at 14. IT IS IMPOssible!!! so whatever guy in my poetry class! You are stupid and don't know anything and you listen to contemporary christian music!!! SO what do you know!!! ABout life and poetry and your god and everything else. GLK;ljkdjlkf/.

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.

"ingenious abs"

(?)

That's what I said. Well, today is over, and that's nice. I still have to clean my little house. I has two exams today. I got a B on one, which was funny, because I remember thinking, "I'm doomed. I'm a self-fulfilling prophecy." That's something we talked about in class. But I wasn't, and when I saw my grade I burst out in an enthusiastic "Yes!" And everyone stared at me. I had a lot of outbursts today, just weird sighs and "my goodness"es. It's really relieving.
I was reminded of a high school incident today. It involved the end of my senior year, which would have been in January. I was sitting on the computer in the room that separated "Single Survival" from "Advanced Foods," trying to type a paper. These guys in my class were playing some rough form of volleyball in that 5ft by 5ft room, with a beach ball. The ball kept hitting me or landing my me, so finally I was so agitated that I grabbed it and popped it with my fingernails. This one kid named Travis Transle jumped on me to grab it before it was destroyed. It was too late, I popped it and threw it across the room as hard as I could. He really hurt me when he was reaching for that stupid ball, so I flipped out. And started screaming at him, asking him how old he was. He said he was 13. Never in my life have I ever wanted to destroy someone as much as I wanted to destroy him. That stupid kid. Was a moron.
Well, detox ends this weekend. Sort of. I won't go back to my "normal" diet, but I can eat more that organic vegetables and green apples and almond butter. I've really gotten used to spending practically all of my time alone. It's funny. Things are funny and I laugh and then I wish I could turn to someone and tell them what I saw that was so funny. I want to share. Like today, I saw this fat-faced man walking towards me, and it looked like his cheek wasn't connected to his face. The closer he got, I began to see that he had one of those pencil thin beards that guys sport along their jaw lines. But the thing was, he didn't have a jaw line because it was hidden under sheets of fat. Nice try fat man. That's mean. And then, there was this guy who started talking to me in my psychology class during a break, while I was eating this carrot, which was really huge and loud, and he was being really "sly" and flirty, using his eyebrows and smiling out of the side of his mouth. He made his voice very deep and smooth. And I kept trying to attempt to converse with him, but felt very awkward, so I said things that didn't make a whole lot of sense and then stared off into space, looking thoughtful and sighed or chewed on my carrot, hoping the conversation would be over, but it just wouldn't end. Finally he said, "I'm gonna go take a breather." It was weird. Very weird. AND HILARIOUS! I thought so. So yeah. I'm going to go home and sleep now. It's about 330am.

Well just great.
I had a really splendid 4:30 in the morning last night. It was quite nice. Just one of those segments of life that I could recognize as lovely, and I was so pleased to be alive and breathing. A very comfortable episode. But I don't quite know how to deal with some things right now, and am trying to analyze them in my brain. Using both sides. I'd say I do that pretty well. Corpus collosum in place. Today I forgot to bring my music to work, so I am thinking a lot. Turning things over and over. I've been thinking in poetry a lot lately. In verse maybe. I still really wish I had some sort of brain recording device. Sometimes the concept of a thought process, especially me thinking of my own, completely freaks me out, and I become overwhelmed. Silly me, silly brain, trying to study itself.
I've also been thinking about how we choose someone to share things with, like love, experiences, seasons, etc. And I think that is just such an amazing idea. Two people mutually choose each other {I think sometimes one is more relentless than the other} in a subconscious joint decision to share life with each other for a while, or forever. Either way it's just an enchanting idea. This also makes me feel a lot less hesitant. Because why should I be? It's certainly more fun to act on every emotion anyway. And dangerous. But, I think that there is some discretion involved. By all that I really mean, just doing crazy things. I know that doesn't clarify anything, but I often times find myself day dreaming about ridiculously interesting and random things to do, and never really "get around to it" or whatever. So yes, decision made.

It's a beautiful thing, love, isn't it? I'm going to sweep floors now, and make up songs in my head.

tell me what you think, love
are we defective
I'd give my right brain from your sanity
but how insensitive am I
I am afraid you may perceive it that way


smoking in a dirty bathtub
powder blue tiles and trim
red hot light

the faucet's old
did it always work so poorly

fluorescent lights and fiberglas
doorknobs made of clay

I wonder if she knows I'm smoking
I wonder why the tissues are coming out of the wall
these towels aren't clean

what if we lived together
in this hotel room
and a dozen others
would she still love me?
even if I smoked
in the non-smoking bathroom
would she still love me?
would you still love me?


I love to destroy myself
I crave the things that kill me
that fu.ck up my insides
just for now
I hope not later

tell me to quit
and love myself
I do
but forget sometimes
things get all muffled
and break into pieces
until we reassemble them
and I remember

sitting like a greek sculpture
I doubt they smoked as much

our trabiated lifestyle
we can be our sturdy architecture
you can be my substance


I saw it in the southwest
then in he northeast sky
and that plane must have gone
a million miles by now

these nights
where I go to sleep
without kissing the person I love
I can only suck on cigarettes
to simulate that feeling


I lick the wine
off my fingers
I drink the beer
off your breath
we can still make it
pretty far
on sick, sad and tired fumes


that's all.

Okay.
Let's talk.
I've been thinking a lot about menstruation today. First of all, because I am, and it is so immensely painful. My body is finally getting back into its reproductive rhythm, after several years of filling it with chemicals to stop procreation. But I don't remember it being this excruciating. I remember having to take medication for the pain, but two days ago it struck me again, after two.something years of no period. At least I feel pretty normal again in that organ region.
Secondly, I think the whole process of menstruation, the whole cycle, is rather beautiful. I really do. I can understand why women may find it to be gross, I know I do sometimes, just uncomfortable and it is blood. But why would people find it to be unclean. Is it because it's a cleansing process, so, when it's happening you would be considered unclean, as opposed to when it's over, and you're extra clean? I don't know. But my feelings toward it were backed up in this film I watched the other day called The Dreamers. Three young adults, two guys and a girl, lying in a tub together, they've fallen asleep. When they wake up the realize the tub water has become reddened, by blood of course, and one man is slightly alarmed. The woman tells him not to be, because it's good news, hence she wasn't pregnant. (Does that make sense? Using "hence?"... ) I thought that was just great. What a beautiful way to be. Then I think, well, she was fabulously gorgeous, and what it she hadn't been gorgeous, what if she had been slightly unattractive? What if she were overweight? Is it simply the mentality that matters in a person? Are they more beautiful when more confident? And then I thought, she looks very pleased with the outcome, which she should be, but if that was me, I would be happy, and curling into a fetal position to try and relieve the pain. Maybe it was because she was in a hot bath. That always seems to help. Or I'll try and concentrate on my ovaries as hard as I can, and with my mind power, make them stop hurting. It usually works. The same goes for headaches. I don't think the pain is psychological, but it does help. I wonder why that is... Anyway, look up menstruate in a dictionary sometime, I did and all it said was, "to undergo menstruation" for all of it's definitions. I thought that was a riot. No one wants to describe it, not even in dictionaries. I have always hated tampon and pad commercials. They kill me. I can't even think of how to describe them right now. They're just weird. Young attractive and thin girls in their underwear or pajamas talking, and 'Stacey' says to 'Tiffany,' " I hate the cardboard applicator, it's too rough and makes me uncomfortable, so I have to wear these mattress pads!" And Tiffany says, "You should try blah blah blah! It works wonders for me." And then they're all happy and bouncing on the bed, eating popcorn. And someone says to Stacey, "So tell me about the boy you were with at the mall!" And they all smile huge curious smiles, laugh and a pillow fight begins as the commercial ends. Yes! I think that was pretty good. I laughed while I was writing it. But what I want to see is some commercial depicting the side effects of periods, like pms and shit. Where there at some party and Tiffany asks Stacy if she's alright, and in a quick annoyed tone Stacey says, "Yeah, just leemee alone." And Tiffany says, "Geeze Stacey, I was just wondering, you don't hafta be sucha bitch." And Stacey flips out and says, "Tiffany, maybe it's you who's the bitch! Listen these fucking shove sticks that I have to use are made out of fucking cardboard, and every fucking time I try to stick them up my fucking gine, it fucking kills, and pisses me right the fuck off. So unless you have some other tampon to let me use, just piss the fuck off!!!" I don't know what would happen after that. Just the girls sitting on the bed silently and still, one girl eating popcorn slowly. That's rich!

I have all these lighters in my bag, and no use for them. Maybe I'll just start lighting things on fire. Then I'll feel better. I've cried three times today and counting, and I think about how many times I've written about sadness, for how many years now. It's been cheapened, and it's become hackneyed. There's some kid singing in the hallway, and I find that to be so pleasant. To be a kid again, and sing in the hallways. How I'd love to not care that much. It's not even the not caring, so much as the blissful ignorance. I'd like that. Sometimes. Yesterday this older gentleman walked past me in the hallway at school, and smiled what seemed to be a very sincere smile directed at me. I cried again. Then I stood outside in the courtyard for a while, absorbing something, I'm not sure what. The insignificant and beautiful things I encounter, maybe. Or just the strangeness of life and living it. I walked past a dozen people who just sat and sat and stared and looked blank, then I walked past that man, in his nice ironed shirt and a nice tie and his bag draped across his shoulder. A nice worn face.
Well, I do feel better. Despite how dramatic I feel I've made everything sound. It's just too strange. I've been sad before, but never like this, and I can't figure it out. Why why why? It's just too strange. I don't understand it. I think of myself, and the moments sadness has struck me, and I contemplate why I cried, or even why I cried the way that I did. It's weird, the dynamics of differing tearful sessions. I can't explain it.
I know some of the reasoning behind why I am in such a state. And I'm choosing to ignore them, and recognize them as pointless. I just have to remember to take those thoughts captive. I criticize myself too much. I'm so afraid of being simple and uninteresting. Why is that? Why does that overwhelm me to such an extent? It does, you know. It really takes a hold of me, and is almost impossible to shake sometimes. You are what you tell yourself you are. That taken from a woman who says "she knows nothing." The poor thing. Husband just left her from some co-worker. She has these boys, two of them. The thing is, I was just talking to her, about how fucked up her life was, how she's been on her own since she was sixteen. And at that time she moved in with the man she married three years later, at the ripe age of nineteen, and her husband of over thirty years, who she loves deeply, and who just decided to leave his family. And she is redefined. I just wish that someone that amazing didn't have to go through this.
There's this other woman in the office, she's older, maybe 38, and she is a newly-wed. Her hubby just called and she got all excited and sensual in the church office. They chatted for a while, he said something, then I very clearly heard her whisper twice, "There are other people in the office..." Me. And then she started saying things really faintly and flirty like, "no... later... later... no, because those were just you're parents... not now..." Really flirty like. It was weird. I didn't want to move. Like if I moved she would know that I was listening. Strange.

I was also thinking. About the raspberries. There mine to give. So if you want them, you can have them. If not, that's alright, too. Not everyone likes raspberries, or bananas or mangos. But whichever, just let me know. I could go to pick them myself. So they'd be fresh. And ripe.

Okay.
Let's talk.
I don't know if it's the tremendous smoking cut back taking a hold of me, or the caffeine free last three days or the no sugar or what, but either way, there is too much sadness in me right now. And I am so fucking tired of sadness. I don't want it! You can keep it, really. It drains me. I've been listening to a lot of Kid A and Brian Eno over the past twenty-four hours, and I don't know if it's helping or putting me in a more dream like state. I vote "B." But my oh my. I don't even know what to do. I feel like I've written all of these phrases a million times. And it's just so frustrating. I am frustrated. To such an astronomical degree. What makes it worse is the fact that I want to be everything you could ever want or need me to be. I'd love to give you everything beautiful. Every wonderful moment. Nice tears, smiles and fresh raspberries.
But I don't even know if you like raspberries. I know I love them, but what if you didn't, and raspberries annoyed you because they're tart, but you ate them anyway.
Therein lies my biggest problem facing my right now. I always have these second guessing, these thoughts that sometimes don't even make much sense. Illogical, but I think them anyway. A lot of the time they are interesting, but not when I am making up what people think. Because I'm scared, and I want to consider the worst reaction I could get. What scares me is that it is all in your brain, not mine, and I can't see what's up there. And what if it all changes in a split second. What if I can't be everything beautiful. Why do I need to be? I don't know. I'd love to believe that I'm completely human and everything I say and do walks in the shadow of that. But for whatever reason I want to be something greater than what I am. Not even that, I don't necessarily want to be greater, I just want to be right. I want to fit into you. And I want to be everything. But I know that I can't be, and where do I go from there.
I really want to be happy. I want to enjoy and to bask. I want to know that now is good and wonderful. I want to not think about five months from now. I want to not think about where I am going in life. I want to not be miserable in school, and cry most times I drive to class. I want to know that I am good and brilliant and interesting and never second guess myself ever again. Be comfortable and love who I am. Unconditionally. I'd love that. I would love so much more in every area of life. I would love. And now would be good.

Parallel Universe: Day 1.5. Anyway. I have no vision, really. No contacts. No glasses. It isn't too hard to see. I can do it. I can pass. But today when I went to Wal-Mart, which I hate doing, and asked the lovely fuckin lady if I could get some contacts, and she said "no," because it was the law, and I said, "well that's a stupid law," I felt very helpless and vulnerable. Something about realizing how little you can see on your own, makes a person feel like their dying. My body is already deteriorating. Everything is giving out. Knees, hips, lungs, eyes, and intestines. It's really sad. How long am I supposed to live if things are already falling apart. Not sixty more years, I'll tell you that much. If I even make it that far, everything in my pathetic body will have to be made of metal and plastics.
I was thinking today about what it would be like to have a robotic arm. I decided that apart from having to tie a trash bag around yourself while showering, it would be pretty neat. An arm full of microchips and blinking red lights. And when you went to bed would have to wear a long glove over it, because the metal would get really cold, and you'd wake up if you touched it to your body. That was the other thing I thought, just having this dead, while simultaneously alive appendage, would be bizarre. A cold steel arm. Weird.
I was feeling better today about everyone. Maybe it's because I'm in a dream like state right now. But everyone seemed pleasant and kind. Or maybe it was because I slept in my own bed last night, which was delightful, but empty. I slept a lot too. I love sleeping next to windows, especially when they have wooden blinds. When the sun rises, it projects these little slits of light onto your body, and it's really beautiful to wake up to that.
I need more money, and am thinking about getting another job of sorts. Who knows what I'll do. I feel like I have been trying to take up every opportunity to make cash, not every one, but most. I sorted yarn for six hours. I am going to paint my grandma's ceiling. I need to call her about that. I don't know. I need to stop spending money in little amounts. Like on packs of cigarettes. I need to quit smoking. I don't want to, but should certainly cut the fuck back. I feel like I need some sort of break too. Which is why I am going to drink this weekend. I looks stupid in writing, it looks simple and pathetic. But seriously, if I don't loose myself for a few hours, I might freak out more than I am right now. OH man... I think I should work now. But it's been nice talking to you. I am always a lot better at explaining myself in writing form, as opposed to verbally. Then I just don't make sense, and sound irrational and scatterbrained. But I know what I'm thinking. It's just hard to look at someone and tell them exactly what you're thinking in an efficient, effective and poetic way. I'd like to though.

i want to cry, I just wrote so so much. And it spun together so well, and my thoughts were organized, and now it's all gone. F.uck this computer. F.uck it so f.ucking much because I can't swear on it. What genius decided that was a good idea. I wasn't even swearing that much. ;aodkhsfpoa heoigahdo;gh ;aoihds;oad'p ajv 'd


end

It's been a while. Well, let's see here. School has begun again. I remember sitting out in front of Grounds (?!) this time last year, pondering school starting, eager to learn, the rusty gears in my brain turning once more... and here I am again. Time certainly does fly. And what a strange year it has been. I smelled this lotion today, as I was smearing it on my pastey legs, and it's scent ignited a memory, that scent was from Pittsburgh. I decided it was the smell of me realizing I didn't like who I was seeing anymore. That's all I have to say. I am so tired. It hurts. So do my intestines. Stupid digestive system.

Secret Terry the Secretary... I wish my name was Terry, not really, that name rings funny in my head, but it would be cool in the respect that I could refer to myself as "Secret Terry the Secretary" while secretarial. Listening to the Lost in Translation soundtrack. So good. I started making Mixed CDs yesterday. I spent hours doing that. The mix I created was for the employees at Grounds for Thought, because the only music they had was this traditional Irish music, which for a while is okay, but not for hours. Anyway, the mix I made was the "Punch In The Face Mix," which soon became the "Punch In The Face Remix Mix." I put some songs on it that I just didn't dig at all. They didn't flow. It was crazy awesome. It had so much hip hop and scratching and synthesizers and songs about video games. Mechanical Cat's CD is so good. Lately I've been really proud of my friends. We all have our silly flaws, and despite those the majority of the people I associate with are awesome, good, kind-hearted people. For instance, I was chatting it up with Eric Barton yesterday. What a doll. Can you say that about guys. What a gem. He makes me smile. There's this catalog on the secretarial desk called J.W. Pepper Choral Music Catalog: You Complete Resource Catalog for Choral Music, and on the cover is this incredibly unattractive man singing his guts out. He looks so awkwardly passionate. It makes me uncomfortable and feel sorry for his face. And there's this woman in the background and she's trying to look all angelic and regal or something, prolly because she knew her picture was being taken. Unlike Mr. J.W. Pepper, or whoever that is. I'm currently looking for an efficiency apartment to move into. I don't know how realistic that is, in reference to my finances, but my mom is driving me nuts. I just think we need these stints apart from each other, and it's not like she's going anywhere. I intend on going to church next Sunday. And going outside to sneak a smoke. They always seem better when there's sneaking involved.

I want to find someone cooler than anyone I already know, and say to them, "Get me out of this town,"  and then they'll say, "Let's go."  Goodbye.  I'm so incredibly lacking tolerance for everyone I know right now, with the exception of Lauren.  Who I am simultaneously trying to call on  the telephone.  She's not home.click.Oh well.  I know I'm just upset about the stupid drama that went down last night, but I feel like I was forced into this drama, and if there's one thing I hate, it's drama.  But 0n a lighter note, my friend told me I looked like someone from Ghost World yesterday, and that made me really happy.  I need to watch that movie again.  It's been years.  Speaking of years, it feels like it's been those since I posted last.  Let's see, what have I done, I had Jury Duty this week, I don't know why I capitalized that.  It was funny.  And cold and frustrating.  I dressed up like I was nuts.  They didn't pick me.  I'm listening to this Pinback I just acquired, and it's making me smile.  I love that.  I also got in my first car accident this week.   I've also been drinking a lot lately, which isn't so good.  Nothing really has substance for me anymore.  It's been really depressing.  And I often wonder how I got the the place I am in.  It seems like the people I've invested a lot in lately are being weird and sort of stupid, but I think that just has a lot to do with me at the moment, and how I'm dealing with things in a pissed off way.  There's this guy I know, and for some reason, I feel like he would understand me.   And I feel like I'll always think that.  Now this post doesn't make sense.  I got a second tattoo.  I'm at the church being a secretary right now, and I think I'm going to sneak out and hide in this strange fenced off crevice of the building and have a smoke.  trying.

Wow. I have been consistently happy for a few days now. It's crazy awesome. When I have those moments where I recognize my contentment, I always feel like I'm momentarily going to die. For instance, a good example of this would be in Donny Darko, when, in the end, sorry to give this away for those who haven't seen it, but if you haven't, what the hell is wrong with you, anyway, so he's going to bed, and laughing, and then that jet engine falls on him. That's how I feel. When I'm driving and realize how happy I am, I feel like I'm about to get T-boned or my engine will explode. Or something along the lines of that, which would inevitably kill me. Anyway. I went to Pittsburgh for a day a few days ago. It's was crazy and wonderful and spontaneous. Made me happy. wow. continue.

"But I learned fast how to keep my head up 'cause I know there is this side of me that wants to grab the yoke from the pilot and just fly the whole mess into the sea."

"I'm a little bit lonely these days."

Something along the lines of that. Well, that line describes me at the moment, and usually. I've found that you can be surrounded by people, and still feel painfully alone. However, I have been very inspired lately. This sense of "doing" has overwhelmed me. I may still have insecurities, but they won't stop me from simply doing. This idea began last night when discussing with my friends who have graduated from college what they are going to do with their lives. Not so much discussing what they are going to do, so much as them recognizing that they don't have a clue as to what they want to do. We discussed society's standards of success and what you need to be a "qualified" individual, and how both of these concepts are ridiculous. I was talking to my friend Jason, a marvelous person, who pointed out that in our society, if something isn't seen it doesn't exist. For instance, a "rock band" or a famous artist, someone who has been recognized by the masses will be seen as successful, and the people like me who might make a painting that makes me smile and maybe some of my friends won't be recognized. I don't know if this is making sense, it's a lot more difficult to write as opposed to verbalize. Anyway, so the idea of success has been skewed. And people strive to find something big and prestigious to do instead of pursuing their loves and dreams. It's messed up. Hobbies is a different story. But what it all boils down to is a sense of fulfillment, and people need to learn to do what comes naturally to them. But I think a lot of people don't recognize those things because they come so naturally. Like quilting or cooking or writing, and are constantly in pursuit of things that are bigger, when in reality it shouldn't be because it's right there in front of them. Those things can be expanded upon as well. Maybe people are just looking too hard. Not to mention people find it hard to be themselves and use there own brilliance. Like if you were to listen to Radiohead and think, "Wow, they sure do rock my socks. I could never be like them. They're too good." But that isn't even the point, because why would you want to be like them. Influenced maybe, inspired, yes. But when YOU do what comes naturally to YOU, and use your own creativity and individualism you would see that you are brilliant. Once again, I'm not sure if any of this is connecting together correctly, but whatever. So yes, the moral of the story is that because of this realization I have decided to do what comes naturally to me, and expand upon that. I have several projects lined up: A film project with some friends. We bought a camera and are going to start a "film society," because I like the word "society." I'm also doing a photography project with Blanche, because I just acquired some photo paper, which is really expensive, but I got it for free. I'm contemplating a music gig with Eric, which will include jazz and red dresses. And some friends and I are starting up a Bible study for "alternative Christians." I'm sure that'll be misinterpreted, but whatever. Which reminds me, I hate those posters or signs that say, "Don't forget... I have everything under control. Love, God (Your Father)" How strange. I just think they're cheesy. I feel I must do. But I am feeling very lonely, and deprived of fellowship. I went to church on Sunday with my mom, and it always makes me feel very strange. I just feel looked down upon or shunned or hated. I don't know. Maybe it's just me. It's just weird because I used to be so involved with the church, the I denounced it, and now I'm coming back around, and there is awkwardness. But on a final note I will say this: Today through some strange chain of associations, I had this memory pop into my head, and I had this horrifying realization in reference to that memory, in other words I figured something out, and now I feel like a giant asshole. I literally felt my face turn red as I realized something I had ignorantly said so someone years ago. What a moron I am.

I still haven't gotten my drawers back. Or begun reading The Secret of the Old Mill. But I did just eat a Boca Burger and it was exquisite. Last night involved much dancing and a bit of ridiculous razamatchazah. Drinking is funny to me. My friend once asked me why drinking was such a fuss, because he didn't get it. I told him that it was just a few hours in which people go crazy and have fun, then proceed to get sick or depressed or embarrassed. I usually just get depressed, even if I kept to myself through the phases of drunk. I don't know where I'm going with this, maybe I'm just thinking about weddings, because I went to one last night. Yes, weddings. They are certainly strange things, weddings are. I don't get them. They're sort of creepy. I don't know. I'm pretty tired. I think I'm going to take off my blue pantyhose and sleep for a stint. I certainly refer to myself quite a bit in this "online journal." Then watch American Splendor, which I'm really excited about. I think it's going to be good, but here's to hoping. Whatever that means...

I just realized that I forgot my underwear at my friends house. I was babysitting, and my underwear was digging into my ass cheeks, so Lauren convinced me to take it off. I put it in the stroller, and it's really skimpy underwear, which is unusual for me. I would probably be embarrassed if I wasn't so tired. I think my brain is trying to make me embarrassed, but oh well. I just hope it isn't gross. MAN! What a fool I am. So I bought a Hardy Boys book. I saw it at Grounds, and thought, "I simply MUST have that." It's called The Secret of the Old Mill. How great is that? I'm feeling a bit better. I have resolved to simply not think about myself at all, because there's nothing I can do to change anything, as far as looks are concerned. Yeah, I suppose I could wear make-up or nice clothes and look all priss-prass, but that's just not my style, and I wouldn't be comfortable at all. I think I know who I'm supposed to marry. Which is cool, and foolish and weird because now I don't want to date anyone because I feel so "set aside." I'm sure the worldly influences in my mind will sooner or later void me of that singularity notion. Oh well. I don't plan on tying the proverbial "knot" anytime soon though. And by no time soon I mean not for years. I had this great conversation tonight with a guy I know after we watched The Never-Ending Story. We just chatted about how it's infuriating that people forget their dreams. We've learned to accept less. It was a very emotional talk, and meant a lot to me. Lately it's been hard trying to figure out "what I'm supposed to do." It really hasn't been hard, but I've had many people nagging me about figuring my life out A-sap, which I have no desire to do. I don't exactly know what career I might pursue. I'd like to somehow incorporate my writing abilities with my film ideas or photographs. I need to make things. Not be an art director or teacher. I don't know. It's difficult organizing my thoughts in reference to that whole topic of "life career" and what not. I just know what I don't want to do, and this will in turn help me determine what I DO want to do. And that's that. Just one last thought: Whenever I'm attracted to someone, like most people I start thinking about what our relationship would be like if we had one. You know, quick photographic images of the future. But then I just think about them at Thanksgiving dinner with my family and me. Every time. It's weird. I was writing yesterday about how I hope to marry a vegetarian, and we'll have to make a special meal for whoever that might be, and for me too, considering I'm a vegetarian as of this year. And I hope to marry a very peculiar person, so that my uncle John would say, "Megan's husband is very peculiar..." That's a memory I want to have. My hypothesis as to why I'm thinking this way has to do with my maternal clock. It's ticking and agitating the hell out of me. I just don't want to feel like the only person who thinks the way I do anymore. Because I know there are people out there who would laugh at the things that make me laugh. Crazy stuff, that no one else sees. It's strange living a life like this when no one else gets it. Lauren gets it. But I'm straight and so is she, and even if we were lesbians we would probably end up hating each other if we dated. A lot. The moral of the story is, I want someone to see what I see, and I want to see what they see.

"...To see like you're eyes do..."

A song someone wrote for my cold, dark nights. And I've kept it in my heart always.



the sun shines and leaves blow
and my hope, like autumn, is turning brown
and I know it seems like I'm always falling down

but it does not matter to me
although it seems like it should
it's because I know I'm understood when I hear Him say
rest in me little david
and dry all your tears
you can lay down your armor
and have no fear
'cause I'm always here
when you're tired of running
and I'm all the strength that you need

it's up hill both ways
tomorrow I swear I won't act this way
I know it seems like that is what I always say

but it does not matter to me
although it seems like it should
it's because I know I'm understood when I hear Him say
rest in me little david
and dry all your tears
you can lay down your armor
and have no fear
'cause I'm always here
when you're tired of running
and I'm all the strength that you need

you know I want to be like Jesus
but it seems so very far away
when will I learn to obey

obey.

Oh life, what crazy hijinks will you present me with next. Crazy hijinks. That's what I have to say about life. It's pretty crazy. Actually come to think of it, I would really like for there to be additional daily hijinks. You know, like mysteries to solve, like Nancy Drew or the Hardy Boys or Ghost writer. What a silly name for a collection of books. Hardy Boys... who thought THAT one up. Anyway, so there will hopefully be more hijinks, or hullabaloo, or um, razamatchazah. I'll bet you've never heard that one before. Well, joke's on you, that's because I made it up. At this point I would be doing my new favorite laugh, which involves me with a crazy old man face, laughing slowly and "hardily" (ah-ha-ha...) from the gut, and shrugging my shoulders on each exhale. It's pretty entertaining. I like to do it, but no one ever thinks it's funny, except me, but that's usually how it goes. No one is ever amused by what amuses me. I'll show you sometime. Maybe you'll think it's funny. That's right, you. Yeah, so Lauren and I have decided to incorporate crazy things into everyday interactions with people. Yes, I know what you're all thinking, "But you guys already DO incorporate crazy things into everyday interactions!!! You crazies!" Well, you're right again, but this time it's going to be even better. Lauren and I have this game we play where we smile extremely enthusiastically at people, with big teeth, all creep like, and see if they smile back, if they do we get a point. If they don't smile and look frightened we get two points. It's the best game ever. Well, now we are going to see who can say the strangest, most pointless, and off-handed thing in a conversation. It doesn't sound as great as the smile game, and maybe it isn't, but it is. Also, there will be much more dancing on the sidewalks. Just dancing. For people we don't know. It's amazing. Maybe we'll get money. I don't know. But I DO know that I am not a normal person, and have been painfully depressed lately, and now that I have all these crazy things to do, things might pick up a bit. And maybe I won't drink myself to sleep anymore. Game on.

I just wrote a really long and interesting blog, but it's all gone now for some reason... I don't know why, the computer just decided to stop working. I'm really f.ucking pissed, but I'll get over it... 10... 9... 8... cooling, cooling. Done. Anyway, to editorialize, I saw Harry Potter. It was awesome. I'm tired. I hung out with Josh today and it was strange and bitter sweet. I can't remember anything else. I'll write a poem.

I want to give you everything beautiful in the world.
Everything you'll love.
Everything tasteful and charming.
In return I ask only
For every smile you make
To be for me
And that they always remain brilliant.