*


no assistance in sadness
i can't help you
behind the murmur
of numerous voices and conversation
only able to deal with myself
with such an ugly face
the quivering muscles of my chin
sitting and feeling more awkward
than i've felt all night
beyond my social panic attacks
extending multiple layers of depression
i am incoherent
i am incapable of creating solace
and the silence of your thoughts
my nose wrinkles with failure
no one can help anyone
you talk too little
i talk too much
and the other way around
it's cancelled out
and all is for nothing

there's your laugh
the white of your teeth
the squint of eyes
and why did i even try
when you never needed help
fuck the both of us
for ever caring
we don't know anything
and we didn't help


********************************** * ****


left alone and undesirable
screams and cheers don't mean a thing
when together we set, but
you've walked past a million times
all alone
look no hands
who's screaming now
we should bask in psychological solitude
never doing anything
dogs scratching at the door
for our own
heaven sakes
drink this, sit here, and wait
boy and girl together
i had hallucinations of love
how is this emotion imaginably pretendable
all that i know is i cried
that's tangible, right.
that's sincere
you've walked past a million times
while my stomach turned
maybe you kept moving
so that i would.
all the yelling still
told to sit and help, lend a hand, i didn't
i sat,
proving to myself that i have no point
why didn't we land on our feet


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ =+= +++


again this happens
it drips down the walls
tastes like limes and alcohol
reciting my life is all i do
why are these people here
who are they, talking always
loving people, -i do,
but shut up, please.
because now i'm crying over your voices
sounding so sweet
and content with life
i lost that feeling
years ago, it went
out the car window, automatic
six months it feltso nice
my faith in emotion is gone
nothing is reliable, like love
for instance, never knowing
its pessimisms
except in the lovely faces, the new, the fresh
that look so true
and happy for this and that
over something i've never
fully tasted, never will
stop talking
the sounds of security
kill me, cutting deep

do you mean it.
please do.
give me false hope.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~ ~


i've been hit
like a ton of falling bricks
questioning the silent ones
i think they're picking
my brain apart
but full of misinterpretations
can't stand the smell of it

there's the hollowed sound
of rain hitting snow
i love the fresh air
when it's filtered by smoke
there they are picking
at guitar strings
i am an oyster

we sift through the gutters
i'm all too green
these dark days so great
i want to drive into
a solid brick wall
i've been hit
i've done it again
all too cool and casual
tired and hysterical



*

i don't know what i'm saying
i hit my head
my brain swelled up like a leech
the blood the throbbing
pound pound
(um) tell me everything
whadyu say about me (ahk)
when we wore tweed
in the winter weather months
when the walls where falling in
held up by a box spring mattress
and the cats burrowed in em, tore em apart
the ceiling was stained brown and yellow
by sick pipes
bad water
beer bottles- tops, tabs- cigarette butts (what..)
cushion change
in the vacuum bag
i found an entire smoke and five dollars
the cats don't have food or water
litter what litter
it's already been filled to the rim with waste
i'm scared most of the time
especially of the bath room
i'll sit on the couch alone
and try to ignore everything that's moving
in the corners of my eyes
but here i am
here we are

at times i wish that i could display the interior of my brain
to the world
and show them how great it is
but right now, i am so glad it's only mine
i'm glad i can be so secretive
my inner dialogue is a friend
i talk to myself
so i guess i'm never alone.

Irrational ridiculous
Absurd
Horrible
Melancholic misery
and
Glum

******************************************** * **

I have so much to say.
And no way to communicate it.

More often I feel
My self-indulgent rantings mean so little.
I question the points and reasons
Knowing I’ll always line up letters
In an attempt to do something or
Dictate

I wouldn’t say that I feel sorry for myself
And maybe that’s because I’m just stupid
I feel diseased
I feel crooked and confused
Always by this two-timing thought process
There’s the ignition
A match that lights the wick
Which is only inches long
Patience isn’t necessarily important
It has nothing to do with sparking brainwaves
I should avoid fire altogether

So here’s the rationale;
The raison d'être:

Well I can’t think of it right now
I had an idea, but forgot



Oh shit.

It seems I’ve done it again



******************************************** *



blah blah and blah.
I'm having a really hard time.

i've taken to staying in bed. i've taken to sleeping while the sun is out. and it begins to rear its ugly head around seven o'clock in the morning. i don't really know what my deal is. i've lost a lot of desire for things in life. and in order to maintain the most significant affections i have requires me to work really hard to press through all the garbage in my brain. to find the goodness. however, this state, despite it irregularity and emotional cacophony, is almost creatively treating me better than if i felt absolutely fine. it seems that the reasons for living have manifested themselves, and when i do get out of bed, all i really want to do is write or draw or read. i am neglecting a lot of responsibilities. but not really. it could be worse. all of my clothes need cleaned. my fish is still dead in his fishbowl at my other home, and i know that today the owner of the home's sons had to go into my apartment to clean it. i wonder how that went. maybe i'll simply sleep until it all works itself out. i'll socially shut down. i'll make a tent.


***************************** *

{here's some crap}

***************************** *


we know we love
choking eachother down endlessly aimlessly
for the sake of everything bright and beautiful
all clarity all serenity
hands holding on for a final touch
eyes blink to death
at separations sight
isn't it enough
we know we love
to stand rigid in affection
like it’s so desperately serious and necessary
laughing at life's tricks
laugh at its hope

i'll smoke sinister cigarettes
i'll drink darker coffee
caffeinated and sedated
to become a horribly concentrated truth
those stupid acts i resent and perform
(i do too.)
greeting lady lazarus
with a warm handshake
i'm gathering strength
from anticipating misery
sing myself to sleep
a smoker's lullaby
the notes don't come as simply as they used to

mom dad
(motherfather)
i'm fine
oh dear love
remember when
the future took place
in my dreams
day and night, wake, sleep
the finest of lives
so you have always been here
forever stay forever

the death of a dreamer
playing pretend and assembling stories
creating lives to love
and be loved in
forgotten forever in a years time
some have stayed
inhabiting treasured compartments
marching madly in and out of vision
two-timing thought patterns and number nothings
sometimes it produces

wondering when this day will end
to see if the next is better
like most days
like all days
why was i asleep
when did i awake
what happened to the weekend


********************* *


the next part is a bunch of rubbish that the computer made up, but seriously read it. it turned out pretty awesomely peculiar. thyroglobulin.

{look down}

********************************** * **


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i press into my thighs
where bones should be
i consistently assume so
the delectable melodic euphony of
tendons and moving muscular tissue
florescent pulsing white lights
and she is all mine
designed for no one else but me
i consistently assume so

*****

all the things that sound

so much better
in my head (?)

contaminated
by a form of tangibility
the inevitable flaw of text

i’d like to see through equivalent
eyes, if you don’t mind
me
perpetually going in and out
the revolving doors
of your brain

*****

we are so frail
so fragile
i am self-sufficient
i am self-reliable
-indulgent
and i don’t need anyone

why are you knocking
why aren’t you knocking harder
for every breath i take
i should hear some sort of sound
the pounding of a heart
the grinding and gnashing of teeth
we are strange carnivorous creatures
licking our chops
with such a taste for red meat
soak up the blood with my bones
and devour them too why don’t you
take as much as you like
i don’t need it or anyone
everything bleeds itself dry eventually anyway

teeth aren’t for smiling
they shouldn’t sparkle
they shouldn’t be so white
only assisting in the fallacies

i forget to breathe
i forget where i am
i forget how to blink my eyes
at times

live alone,
i say
i will

i seem to have misplaced my memory of
how to do the things that people do
on a regular basis
and all i ever wanted was some sort of affirmation
to know that things arewhattheyare and hereiswhy
and thisiswhatwearegoingtodo about that
and this is where i stand on the issue of you
my attitude

don’t forget why i took a precious breath against your forehead
so that you could feel who i am
your skin cells grazed by a product of me
so that i would leave an infectious mark
it seemed so real and sincere
to me anyway

i’ve lost myself
i don’t know where i went

everyday i continually question this person in my head and
(kindly)
ask them to leave me be
i don’t know who you are
i don’t know what you want from me
i did ask once, but you said nothing
i know what i have to do
and i don’t need anyone

often times
i question who
i am ranting at
and why
only knowing now and then

*****

i have resumed
the perpetuation of pulling out my hair
and strand by strand
delicately selected by fingertips
it all falls to the ground



********** *



oh-

here comes the day.
so we meet again.

i just watched this delightful documentary about martin scorsese. it was really interesting. i have a lot more of an appreciation from him now. him and robert denero, is that spelled right? because i watched "raging bull" tonight. wow. i knew they were marvelous, but that just gave them a bit more. if i have a kid someday, i want to name it lazlow. girl or boy. i think that'd be great. today has been absolutely terrible, but really inspirational. it seems that there shouldn't be anymore toying around with individuality. if that makes sense. there's so much to do. there's so much to get done in life. we need to make sure these things happen. you know. it's so easy to forget or neglect. sometimes i don't know where i am, or what's going on. i feel like i don't know how to live sometimes. and i question the "okayness" of that. but quite honestly, i don't know what it takes. uuuhgh. i'm so caught up right now. it's great. i'm so caught up. i don't even know what i'm talking about. get me out of here. i need to get out of here. that's all.

smoke creates suspended ghosts


it forms the destructive paisley
casting spirits out of lungs
i watch manifestations
as they take shape
sliding down the roof
spiraling, springing upwards
lifting off
hovering and staring me through
with sincerely evil eyes
like demons and deadly omens
or a heavenly host
watching over every sinful act
i perform late at night
reminding me of all things
that are so tenderly horrible

as momentary as an exhale
these visions fester like the liquid in my lungs

electric staplers?
well. i'll bet that the person who invented that didn't feel like a waste of space. some day i will get it right. i'll make an automatic stapler. i'll have it all laid out.

DREAM THE HOPES OF AWKWARD OVERLAPSES OF TIME SEPARATING NIGHT FROM DAY

old men sleep in their cars
waiting for wives
in the far corners of parking lots

and the most insecure of us
run at night
in XL sweatsuits
in order to hide our clumsy shame
from the rest of the
beautiful world


how many of you use hairgel.
you know,
your hair is never clean.
with the exception of
that instant you exit
the shower.
button-up shirts
all the way to the top. please.
and suit pants.
shine your shoes-
you sons of bitches.
you've gotta look sharp
to stay
all the way to the top.
please.

i've forgotten
where i was going
with this.


oh ya.
it's a distraction.

For the past few days I've been sustaining my nutritional existence with coffee, diet pop, and peanut butter. At the moment I'm sustaining my emotional existence with The Moon and Antarctica. And it is a great psychological existence. It's great because it is so incredibly sad and happy and everything I ever could have imagined to feel this past summer. It is Delta. It is warmth. It's a flop house. It is the smell of too many cigarettes and the beer I didn't drink. It's a bipolar episode; the pinnacle of joy and the deepest aspects of sadness. When I listen to it I don't exactly know how to feel besides nostalgic. I feel heartbroken and this immense sense of anticipation for something that already happened. I look down from a balcony and then up at a cinema ceiling falling apart next to clouds of smoke. I feel the remnants of an incredibly painful and necessary developmental transition. I see insanity. I see the windows rolled down, and the corn isn't even up to my knees; the yellow lines of the road passing by the wheels of a shitty car. Like every second falling through my fingers that I tried so hard to cherish. Memories aren't good enough. We always forget the moments that so horribly mattered. And I so desperately want to smell particular summer air again.

Yesterday, I read a 'journal entry' from my old computer, circa May 2002. It made me laugh so hard at life's delightful tricks that I started to cry. How marvelous to think of past thoughts. Pull them out of their filling cabinets and cupboards. But in reference to what I read, I realize that my heart was never fickle, which is the most charming part of it all. I always knew what I felt, but multiple personalities, insecurities and plain stupidity seem to consistently get in my way. One of the most interesting aspects of this past writing is it was almost a prophecy. I would say it was. I really would. A marvelously ignorant and insecure prophecy. I love myself. I love that I love. I wish I were better at manifesting it. But my goodness, do I get in my way. I am absolutely the best and worst person I know. I am an enemy. My beautiful body and mind are berated by my repulsive body and mind. I have such a delightful body. I have such a delightful mind. More and more, whenever I am feeling disgusting, I'll just take off my shirt and stare at my bare torso to make myself feel human and lovely. I do love my body. I love touching the hooks of my pelvic bone. I love feeling the groves of my chest cavity and the concave divot underneath my ribs that slowly ascends to a fleshy stomach, then back down to a valley between my hip bones. I love the scent of my shoulders, running my thumb across my jaw line, curling my toes around the folds of sheets, and kissing my knees when I'm in the bathtub. I love my swollen eyes in my morning. They look so unaware and old and sad and worn out. I love my cheekbones. Last night, before I went to bed, I took a bath, and when I took off my shirt and stared at the sides of my stomach, the veins leading upwards (downwards? either/or/both) were extremely pronounced, and it was delightful. My upper body was like this intricate living, breathing map. Aside the arteries were my stretch marks and my ribs, and I inhaled and exhaled, and it was this beautiful, linear living piece of art. It was nice. I was pleased. But if we were to look closely, to x-ray, everyone would see black lungs and angry intestines. So my body is a physical interpretation of my mind. In both cases it's completely my fault, and I could fix it if I really tried hard. I could mend the bad respiratory system and the torn up insides just as I could eradicate the ugly, insecure and pitiful thought pattern. Or maybe this is just how I am. I could do better. I know I can. But. - It turns out that?s all I have to say about that after sitting here for a few minutes contemplating that thought.
In that case:

it's hard to remember we're alive for the first time
it's hard to remember we're alive for the last time
it's hard to remember to live before you die
it's hard to remember to that our lives are such a short time
it's hard to remember when it takes such a long time
it's hard to remember
...
my hell comes from inside
comes from inside myself
why
fight
this

everyone's afraid of their own lives
if you could be anything you want
I bet you'd be disappointed
am I right?

All of those words seem so simple, but they aren't easily considered or digested. My God, I love this album. It is too good for words. It's almost too good to even listen to, at times. If that makes sense. It does to me.

i've thought about this a thousand times. i don't think there is or will ever be anything like it. i think that a lot of what i'm emotionally going through right now has to do with hormones, however, tonight, while in the midst of these tears that came from nowhere, i decided to listen to lucky, and sometimes life is so pure, i don't know how to deal with it. i cry so many different tears, these were the combination of everything. mostly the manifestation a deep sense of affection. but they were nice, and relieving. just too pure and honest. i don't know if the rest of the world can make this connection. i don't know if i'm the only one who has to handle this complexity. i know i'm not. but why don't we sit and talk about these strange and bewildering emotions that pour out from time to time? why don't we secretly tell eachother about these instances? because they are indescribable. because we can't. never ever. not because they're are secrets, but because there aren't words to place upon such emotion. i really wonder. i really really wonder who feels this. and i don't think i'd ever want to attempt to verbally express it. it would cheapen anything i was feeling at the moment. it would just cheapen it. the other night i watched myself break down. and i don't know who that person behind that mirror, staring at me was. but whoever it was that i saw expressed such pure and utter beautiful brokenness. and i don't know if i will ever witness such sincerity ever again in my life. but either way, the images that i saw made it so much easier to accept the way i feel about life, and continue to live it, understanding so much more. realizing so much more about who i am, and creating a sense memory of appreciation, and the location where i do not want to be.

sunday afternoon dumpster drivers


tissues on the dashboard
dried out sinew at the wheel
there are skeletal frames hiding
beneath layers
of cellulite and fat
there’s the calloused viscera
the absence of a glandular problem

and wire frames are bent or broken
prescription’s still the same
too old to change anyway

carpeltunnle and spiderveins
guardian angel on your visor
you know who you are
bible in the glovebox

getting fast food
for an after-church lunch

Jump out of bed as soon as you hear the alarm clock!! You may also find it useful spending five minutes each morning saying to yourself: "Every day in every way I am getting better and better" Perhaps it is a good idea to start a new day with the right frame of mind.

i7yci7cyi**let down.


transport. motorways & tramlines. starting and then stopping.
taking off & landing. the emptiest of feelings. disappointed people.
clinging on to bottles. when it comes it's so so. disappointing let down and hanging
around. crushed like a bug in the ground.
let down and haNGiNG arouNd.
shell smashed. juices flowing. wings twitch. legs are going. donT geT senTimental.
it always ends up dRRiveLLLL. one day. i am goiingtogrow wings. a
chemical reaCtion. hysterical & useless. hysterical &let down and hanging around.
crushed like a bug in the ground. let down and haNGiNG arouNd. you know where
are with. you know where you are with. floor collapses floating bouncing back annd one
day youlLL know where you are .

i don't know why i never think to instantly reach for ok computer on my psychologically irregular days. plah_plah-plah_plah-plah. i've listened to let down numerous times already, and intend to listen to it at least two dozen more times. what a fabulous song that is. i neglected it for a long while for whatever reason. that was dumb. i often times forget how good it is. but then i remember. and it's great. well. here are lots of poems:


(=)


i tried to fight any urges
or just go numb
during the songs ive refused to listen to
i drink wine so well
and cough so wholeheartedly
sometimes it seems so poor
to think
that most would criticize the life ive chosen
a supposed snob
im so particular about pictures
and my only sources of comfort are cats
with red hair
they leave dead halfeatenmice
and piles of organs by the back door


(+)


"attempting to be ok"
was discovered lying in an empty
bathtub
faceup, following the fabric lines
of the shower curtain
to the ceiling covered in black mold,
the kind that kills you
wondering why everything outside was so disgusting
but enjoying the natural growth
of fungus above
and the trails of smoke
leading upwards from a fresh
cigarette


(-)


after the things you say
stick in my head for days on end
(we could wallpaper the world with the things we write)
and i'd love to believe that
every
word passing through my brain,
every second of every day,
constructs beautiful architecture
throughout my brain’s interior

i'm building my house out of
phrases and the strange life
encounters
there are so many walls to fill
with pictures and flashbulb memories
every chapter seems so short
especially
ours which is why i say yes
consistently to any inquiry

because there are countless walls
and i so desperately want to hang
your face and words
the sense memory of your hands and breath
on as much space as i possibly can.
do the same for me.


(?)

m.e.h.

E.e. cummings i love you
because of your misuse of the English language
the idea that you have the ability to overtake
punctuation because of some form of poetic

license and i often wonder
if you thought that you
were so much more creative than the rest of humanity
so superior and better educated because
of your old harvard alma mater

E.e. cummings i love you
sitting there with your head at a tilt
in your fine linen shirt untucked
the first three buttons undone (revealing

a grizzly bear chest)
you leaned on the table and smoked a
filterless cigarette sporting your trilby hat
looking particular and exaggerated

E.e. cummings i love you because
youre consistently showing and standing
me up everyday of the week
as I sit by the telephone

waiting
for the calls that never
come because you don’t give two
shits about me E.e. cummings

i hate you

e.e.c.

Humanity i love you
because you would rather black the boots of
success than enquire whose soul dangles from his
watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both

parties and because you
unflinchingly applaud all
songs containing the words country home and
mother when sung at the old howard

Humanity i love you because
when you're hard up you pawn your
intelligence to buy a drink and when
you're flush pride keeps

you from the pawn shops and
because you are continually committing
nuisances but more
especially in your own house

Humanity i love you because you
are perpetually putting the secret of
life in your pants and forgetting
it's there and sitting down

on it
and because you are
forever making poems in the lap
of death Humanity

i hate you

i think people are consistently placed in the same situation under different circumstances all throughout life and sometimes they never get it right. that's what i just decided. it's like this never ending test. what fun. this extremely dolled up couple just walked out of grounds, and i stared at them until they saw me looking, then i looked away. but i was thinking about that after i turned my eyes away and thought, "they deserve to be stared at. look at them. that is some crazy hairdo, and i think it's interesting to see how other people look and dress and carry themselves as human beings on this earth. and i want to imagine who they are, or if they just came from church, or if they dress like that every day of the week. how much did she pay for those nails. how much did he pay for that suit. why is it that when people wear really nice work suits i think it's stupid, but when they wear second-hand suits i think it's marvelous? that's something to think about." so whatever. i'll stare if i want, and if they think it's rude, than that it just fine. because i don't know who they are anymore than they know who i am. i've been feeling very strange for the past couple days. it's been simultaneously pleasant and wretched. i'm just very confused by myself. i'm sure it's a combination of understandable things, for instance, the loads of things i have to get done by the end of this semester, which is rapidly approaching, my upcoming menstruation, which has caused my boobs to swell up, the fact that thanksgiving is over, and i ate a lot of food, so my body generally feels like shit, not to mention fatter, which is so disheartening. i've found that i'm only content with myself when i'm barely eating. whatever. i don't deny that i have a terrible complex, which i blame on society and my mother. and this whole birthday thing. i just hate being a spectacle, but it was so nice that everyone took me to dinner, and kelly gave me that beautiful print, which overjoyed me. i just feel really out of it at the moment. and i've been trying to be prudent with my income lately, but on my birthday i spent a lot of money on things. five dollars was spent on these two roses. the story behind that involves standing in front of the cla-zel and having a toothless man walk up to me asking if i wanted to donate money to homeless children. i can't say that i believed him, but had just been crying, and wanted to be left alone, so, i gave him the money and gave the roses to Lauren. the note i left her was the best part though, what with the toothless man story and everything. i wrote that i hoped they made her smile because then i wouldn't have wasted five bones. kelly and i just talked about minimalism for a while, it was nice and refreshing. i am just dying in school right now. it is so bittersweet for me to hear people talk about their projects and assignments and whatever pertaining to art. i long for my actual classes to begin. it will be nice. i've been making a lot of little paintings lately, but the thing about it is this: i have a project to be for school, so i sit down and try to do it, but get inspirationally distracted by something and paint or write or whatever about that neat thing that i am interested in. i finish that painting or whatever, look at it pleased, and feel very fulfilled, however, a moment later i realize that i still have that paper to write or that thing to do for class, so i stop feeling fulfilled and regress to feeling like a shit who is irresponsible all the time and never gets anything done. so the ideal idea is that my homework assignments will coincide with my love and i will be happy and making things and doing my assignments, and not feeling like a shit because i'll be getting everything i want to get done, done, while still feeling fulfilled and like i'm progressing as an artist. and that will be the beginning of my life.

my eyes
are these tiny slits
about two inches above my nose
to the left and right

my right eye
left to you
has this extra line
of scar tissue
on the innermost part
it creates a weird fold
this wrinkle
that other eye doesn't have
it creates a divot
on the right eye
the part closest to my nose
no one can see it
except me when i look closely in the mirror

there is also a scar on that same eye
right on top of the lid
it's about half an inch long
you can't see that one either
it makes it difficult to put on eye shadow
so i don't usually

i have another scar directly between
my eyebrows
a fine, smooth line
that crinkles when i am confused
it's fairly clear to see

on the bridge of my nose
closer to the right side
or left
is a swooping scar
the skin around it
bunches when i wrinkle my nose
it's the most obvious
the one i have always seen
and always remember
i didn't realize how big it was
until about a month ago

the last scar relating to the others
is at the edge of my eyebrow
above the right eye
left to you
it's about half an inch long
mostly hidden by hair

there's the one under my right eye
small and ordinary
left to you

then there's my chin
where i sport
two, inch long scars
both from falling
both had five stitches
once on rollerblades
once from standing on a stroller in Kmart

then there's the one on my arm
i don't know what that's from
on my left bicep
right or whatever

i also have this weird smile line
that doesn't make sense
because i know i didn't get cut there
on my cheek
left side to me

i think that's all of them
apart from the little ones
that cover my hands and knees
and my elbows
knuckes
and feet

i can't remember where those came from
ya, this isn't a poem
i'm just writing

I don't really have much to say. today is weird. it's my birthday, and this day tends to freak me out. i don't understand it; i'm happy, but at the same time dreadfully depressed. and i am trying so hard to let today be just a day, like all the others. but it's hard. i am just so overwhelmed with emotions right now. as stupid as it sounds, all i actually want for this day is to be vulnerable and held, wrapped up in a huge, down comforter. that's it. and a bottle of wine. maybe this day just makes me question my accomplishments, and where i'm going. i am really torn up lately about what i'm going to do in life. i need to make some executive decisions. i need to figure out what i want out of life, presently, not necessarily for the years to come. i can’t make solid future plans. i’m not exceptional at that, and have no desire to. i won't say, "i want to be an art teacher or an art curator." that's silly to me right now. i hate it when people tell me what i'm good at, and how i should apply that to a future career. it kills me inside. i know what i really want to do, but i'm trying to be realistic, and consider what other people say, while still understanding what i want, what i'm willing to do to achieve that, what i'm willing to give up, and how i'm willing to live my life. if that makes sense. i know what i want, it's just the process i need to figure out. but for now, i can either continue school, and wait for the good stuff to come around, which it will in the next year, or quit school for a while and focus on what i really want to do. but it's really a struggle for me to work through this lack of creative thinking in the classes i’m taking now. my poetry class is a delight (despite its small size and intro class subject matter, it’s still motivating) but as for psychology (intro class = the absence of learning), cultural anthropology (apparently, even when it’s not an intro class, the same basic material covered in an intro class is really all that is “studied”, expanding very little upon it), pop culture (don’t even get me started on the hollowness of this class), and art history (which is interesting, but also on a saturday, so that’s a trip) there isn’t much substance to my education right now. it is excruciating for me to sit in these classes. but once all of this crap is over and done, which will hopefully be at the end of next semester, i can anticipate the commencement of doing what i love. i guess the summer isn't too far away. so let's vote for continuing with this shit, and hoping that it will all be over before i know it. yes. wow, writing all of this nonsense down made it so much easier to contemplate. how about that. and now i’m feeling a little better. apart from all of this school talk pertaining to my "struggles," i consider how privileged i am and whatever, but i while trying to appreciate that i keep thinking about how useless all of this is right now. i'm paying $300 a class to not learn, but still having to be responsible enough to get good grades and turn in bullshit assignments that don't mean anything to me. so yeah, i'm blessed in life, but this education system has gotten to me for so many years it's ridiculous. i was talking to this girl from France in my cultural anthropoloogy class, who explained to me that in Europe you go to college instantly doing what you set out to do. Not taking these stupid classes that help turn you into a more "well-rounded" individual. stupid. life is just too weird for me, i think. too weird to try to solve. thanksgiving (i think that is the stupidest name for a holiday) was alright. over the past few years, i have found myself feeling so strange and different and awkward at family dinners. i start to have these slight panic attacks and get really nauseous and feel like i’m in a parallel universe. it’s worse now that all of my cousins are in california. i love my family so incredibly much, but i don’t think they will ever understand me, which sounds melodramatic, but whatever. for the first time, i feel okay with leaving ohio. i have often worried about moving far away from them, but i think it’s finally getting to that time where it wouldn’t be too big of a deal. i have quite a family connection. more so than most people i know. apart from family i’ve always been a loner. for as long as i can remember. i think that recently it’s been a matter of accepting that this is how things are going to be, and i will forever be strangely separated from the rest of the world. i hope that doesn’t come off sounding superior or pitiful or martyristic (not a word), but that’s how i see things, and this is how it’s always been, through elementary school, junior high, high school, and now college. whatever. it isn’t a big deal, and i’m not at all trying to turn it into one, which i think i have been doing lately. it’s just a matter of accepting the facts, i guess. if i were to analyze the last twelve months of my life, i would say that this is why everything has been pretty fucked up and transitional, because of this overwhelming sense of solitude that has been eating away at my brain. and i’m beginning to see myself clinging to people who give me this feeling that i connect with other humans. because at times, it seems there are so few out there. but i’m sure there will be more, and I can’t predict the future nor have I ever tried to, but that sense of mystery tends to scares the daylights out of me. there’s no point in dwelling upon any of this crap. alone is okay. letting selected people in is okay. life is generally okay. and music is great. i love it so much, and i often feel that without it i would be dead. because i love it. perfect combinations of words and sounds. or just sounds. i think it’s so funny that a phrase could mean so much to me, and it would simply be words to someone else. that’s a riot. some pretty girl just watched me stuff a pastry in my mouth. ha. that must have been funny to watch. i love redheads. i’m glad you have the hair you have.

in a delicate second
bright blue eyes received an introduction
wherein perspectives pertaining
would change so many times
from blue to gray to green
there are places
in my mind
where no cerebral finger can touch
no other eye could ever see

tiny feet
at one point took the first steps of billions

memories aren’t good enough
and why didn’t I say then
(let the hours be hours and the days be days)
memories aren’t good enough

I’m the most interesting person you’ll ever meet
I laugh
during a speck moment of love and intimacy
cells have multiplied twenty years worth
and only twenty more
until blindness takes me back to wherever it is that I came from