schedule officially nonexistent. i suppose that i've managed to set myself on a healthier one, considering i went to bed last night at 11:30pm, but now i'm awake at about 7:30 in the morning, which is good, but weird. at this rate i'll be able to revise a paper and write another one in time to still make it to work then be to class on time. that never happens. so this is good, but will probably be short lived. i was getting pretty sick too, what with an outrageous stay up for a few days and then sleep for a few days schedule. my face looks like shit. sometimes i forget how poor my skin is, and i'll see someone with acne and think, "oh, that person has bad acne," when in fact so do i. funny that. sometimes i've forgotten to such an extent that i look in the mirror and i'm taken aback. anyway, let's talk of other things.

You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you dies each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason. — Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast

and i feel i, just yesterday, purchased a very ideal autumn album. i'm gradually becoming more and more pleased with my purchase. worth the $10.99/$11.76 entirely. well, it's a little after eight, and i have to reintroduce myself to the world, because i'm feeling rather worthless at the moment. let's attempt production.

smells like autumn, smells like leaves
you don't know that you'll rust and not belong so much
and then get left alone

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.