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thorns through rose-tinted glasses
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| ...(silence)...(silence)... "i have a boner." |
[20 Nov 2005|10:23pm] |
This weekend I went to the Lehigh/Lafayette football game and I’ve never had so much fun at a football game before. Lafayette won, and the last few minutes of the game were so ridiculously exciting. And we stormed the field when it was over. And I was drunk. And my throat hurt a lot. It was wonderful. It felt like a college movie. I felt young and happy and a little bit stupid. All in a very good way.
The best kind of people are those who do not say “it will never be this good again.” The bets kind are those who never even think that. I’m not talking about optimism, I’m talking about certainty. In being. I knowing that it’s preposterous to assume that you will never be, say, as happy in the future as you were tonight. There is no limit to the capacity for happiness. I have learned this, finally. That’s all I’m going to say about that.
I feel very awkward lately. I feel like I don’t have anything interesting to say or if I do say something it’s usually awkward. I crash into things a lot. I feel like I’m not learning anything in my classes, and that my mind is stagnant. I have trouble remembering stupid things, and I don’t even do drugs. Like the other day I fucked up twice at a drive thru. I mean who fucks up at a drive thru even ONCE? Once I drove away without the food, once I drove away without finishing ordering. I can’t fucking remember for the life of me whether to pull up or pull down on rachel’s car’s gas thing to either open the trunk or get gas (I can’t see the directions when it’s dark.) I used the word “avert” to mean the exact opposite today, and I’m an English major for chrissake. I don’t know. I need to read more books. (in the process of doing that. vonnegut and kundera.) I should write more. I should try to have randomly intellectual conversations with people. I should probably try to get more sleep.
Today when élan was driving ponch and I home from Lafayette, I noticed that the license plate on the car in front of us said FORCE 1. I thought: that’s kind of weird. Then I looked at the car next to it, and the license plate is PEN15S. I stared at it for a second, then burst out laughing and pointed it out to ponch and élan. It was absolutely hilarious. Especially because the person driving the car looked like a soccer mom, and she had a kid in the backseat playing with a stuffed penguin. I can’t for the life of me figure out if she knows that her license plate says peniss or not. And if she does, then that’s just fuckin weird. And if she doesn’t, that’s weird too! I mean, doesn’t she get looks? Don’t people tail her for miles and take pictures of her license plate (which we did)? When she has to tell people her license plate for one reason another, doesn’t she realize when she’s writing or saying it? Has she ever left her lights on and had her license plate been announced over a loudspeaker?
i CANNOT tolerate drama. It’s always absolutely unnecessary. And it sucks, and it’s a waste of time and energy. And instead of making me angry, it usually makes me sad. And I don’t like being sad.
I love looking at people’s faces. One of my favorite lines from the movie closer is when Julia Roberts is taking a picture of Natalie Portman and she says to her: “you’ve got a great face.” And Natalie Portman says “doesn’t everyone?” and i’m not sure if that’s necessarily true, but you can get so much from a face. Some faces are so readable that you can tell so much about a person’s character just by looking at their face for a little while, their expressions, or even if you’re only looking at a picture. Others are so closed and this either makes me really interested in what that person might be like, or it focuses me to look at their face only on a physical scale, like instead of thinking “I bet this person is really sarcastic” I’d think “this person has great eyes.” And usually I can do both. I don’t like girl faces with too much makeup and that’s about the only kind of face I don’t like to look at. old people’s faces are wonderful; I like to try to picture what they might have looked like when they were young. I wish I was invisible sometimes so I could just stare and stare and stare without feeling weird about it. I think I’d like very much to photograph people for a living. If I can, I’m going to take a photography class in England. I wish I had a better digital camera, and I wish I hadn’t lost the cord that connects it to my computer. Because I really, really love taking pictures. I’m going to have to get that all cleared up before England, definitely.
I suggest reading “between time and Timbuktu” by kurt Vonnegut. It’s very short and has lots of pictures because it was originally written for television. So it’s pretty much a script with lots of pictures. It’s sad.
In this one part the main character is in a futuristic setting where the earth is so overpopulated and terrible and people are so depressed so they actually encourage people to commit suicide.
I’ll leave you with this TV commercial from the book:
“…until the day of complete bliss arrives- the bliss of blessed death. Just peace, and your nearest Ethical Suicide Parlor. Your favorite meal from Howard Johnson’s… served by our charming hostesses… in a scrumptious suicide room, where you—and you alone—can expire. Haven’t you had enough? Why don’t you call your local Ethical Suicide Parlor today? It’s the ethical way to go.”
(shudder.)
On second thought I will not leave you with that quote because although it’s genius it’s depressing and I’m not even close to depressed right now. I’m going to leave you with this one, then…
“But in a sense these days didn’t add up to a year
And you haven’t had a birthday
You have simply the joyous line of your life like in a Miro
It tangles us in your laughter.”
-frank o’hara
… which is one of the happiest things I’ve ever read.
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| i refuse to even consider the fact that i do not exist. |
[02 Nov 2005|04:10pm] |
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music |
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god put a smile upon my face by coldplay |
] |
Things I have learned in philosophy:
God exists.
God is an infinite and perfect being.
God does not exist.
God does not exist, because evil does.
God is all-loving, all-powerful, all-knowing, all-present, omniscient.
God is huge.
God exists because it is better to exist in reality than only in the mind.
God can’t not exist.
God and evil do not contradict each other.
God would not allow unnecessary and excessive evil.
God can permit suffering for the greater good.
God gave humans free will.
(There is no such thing as free will.)
God gave us understanding.
God created alternate worlds.
God is intelligent.
God is sovereign.
God has a plan.
God is not a temporal being.
God transcends time.
God knows who he is sending to hell before they are born.
God’s long-term plan can never be altered.
God is not personal.
God is an idea.
I am.
There are no absolutes in philosophy. I don’t like it. Nothing is ever proven. Nobody ever knows anything for sure.
I want to know.
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| THINGS THAT HAVE HAPPENED |
[01 Nov 2005|10:26am] |
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music |
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hickory by iron & wine. |
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WEDNESDAY
Went to work. Shelf in bar broke, spilling hundreds of dollars of alcohol and glasses, glass everywhere, nearly killed Bill. (haha. Kill bill.) very scary. Swept glass for a long time.
Went to jen’s. to tell the bar story. (bill is her boyfriend.) and to study. Read a book about the civil war. By 11:00 p.m. hadn’t finished the book, or started the paper I had to write on the book.
Went back to dorm with intention of starting paper. Rachel asks me to come drink with her. I couldn’t refuse. Well, I could’ve. But I didn’t. I decided to go drink until 1 or 2 a.m., then wake up at 7 to write the paper.
(my schedule the next day (Friday) was going to be this:
7:00 a.m.-10:00 a.m.: write paper.
10:00 a.m.-11:20 a.m.: go to astronomy class.
11:45 a.m.-2:30 p.m.: go to work.
3:30 p.m.- 4:50 p.m.: go to history class
5:00 p.m.- 9:00 p.m.: go to work.)
THURSDAY
It doesn’t matter where or with whom I drank that night. It matters that between the hours of midnight and 4 a.m., I had nearly half a bottle of wine, 2 jack and coke’s, and 3 shots of sex on the beach. Not to mention sips of lots of other drinks.
Stumbled into my room at 4:30 a.m. and passed out. When the alarm went off at 7 a.m., I laughed. I thought it was a mistake. Then I realized that it wasn’t, that I had to write a paper. Stopped laughing, went back to sleep.
Roommate’s alarm went off at 8:30. screamed FUCK jumped out of bed with the intention of writing a 6 page paper in an hour and a half. Wrote one page, at which point realized I was still wasted. Not hungover, not tired, not buzzed or a little drunk, but fucking wasted. Went back to sleep
Woke up to rachel’s phone call at 9:30:
R: “you okay?”
A: “no. I haven’t written the paper. I’m still drunk. There’s no way I’m getting it done. I’m going to fail history. I’m not going to be able to go to England. Can you pick up my early work shift?”
R: “no I have class.”
A: “alright I have to go now. To astronomy.”
R: GASP!!!!
A: What?
R: (no answer)
A: RACH, WHAT???
R: I can pick up your early work shift. I just got an email that my class was cancelled.
I nearly cried. I hung up the phone, and my first thought was “god loves me.” That in itself freaked me out. That’s just fucking weird. I’m agnostic. Plus, people have religious awakenings when their husband’s cancer gets cut out before it spreads to the rest of his body. When they see their dead relatives. When they survive a what-should-have-been-fatal car accident. I don’t know. Not when their friend picks up their hostessing shift as a favor. I mean it wasn’t really a religious awakening, but it was still a pretty weird thought to have.
So, went to astronomy. Was very drunk the whole time. Found it all very funny. The whole situation. My stupidity. Honestly, who does that? Who goes out and drinks when they have a paper due the next day that they haven’t started? When they have 2 classes and 2 work shifts?? I’m such a stupid girl. I’m ridiculous. Hopefully I’m not an alcoholic.
Anyway, I got through astronomy, afterwards had a bagel, a cup of coffee, and a cigarette with erin, was pretty much sober after that. Wrote my history paper between 12 and 3. round 3 when I finished my paper, when I was so goddamn relieved I could cry, when I was marveling at my luck in rachel’s class being cancelled, I decided to check my email. I got an email from a few kids in my philosophy class telling me that there was a philosophy take home midterm due the next day. 10 pages long. (I had skipped class the previous Friday, so emailed my class asking if we had any homework or anything.)
So when I found out about that, I totally freaked out. I started laughing hysterically. I ran outside to smoke a cigarette. I went to history and handed in my goddamn paper. I came back from history, with the intention of going to work, having slept 2.5 hours, sobered up during class, etc etc. cried only a little. Called my boss at work and told him I was sick, he said it was okay I didn’t have to come in that night. Spent 4 hours fucking around doing nothing. Because that’s what I do best. Really. Started my 10 page philosophy paper at 11. wrote 3 pages, went to bed.
FRIDAY
Woke up at 8, wrote 7 pages of philosophy, went to work from 11:30-1:45. went to 2 classes. (2-5) Went to work from 6-10. went to jen’s that night and fell asleep around 2 a.m.
SATURDAY
Woke up at 8 a.m. went to dunkin donuts to pick up coffee and bagels, woke up drunk Rachel, picked her up, went to the parking lot. 10 a.m. started tailgating for the homecoming game. Between 10 a.m. and 12 p.m. got wasted, didn’t go to the game (went to sleep instead. We lost anyway.) slept for 6 hours. Dressed up as a hot librarian, went to a party till 4:30 a.m.
SUNDAY
woke up at 9:30 a.m. to drive Rachel to work. Went to work from 12:30 p.m.-9 p.m.
Went to sleep somewhere around 2.
MONDAY
Today. Woke up at 9: 30 and couldn’t get back to sleep, I guess with the past couple of days my body has been used to not getting any.
Studied a little for history, took a shower, got locked out of my room. Went to go get a key, in my towel, ended up in the office for 40 minutes while the CA called building services to get the key, because some other CA had accidentally dropped it behind something where they couldn’t get to. Also I didn’t have my contacts in so I was blind the whole time. And cold. In a towel. It was great. Really. Also, I missed my history quiz. But whatever.
So I guess that’s an update from the last week and you may have found it very boring. It certainly wasn’t boring for me, it was stressful, and annoying, and drunk. Too much writing, too much drinking, too little sleeping.
I feel fine, though.
I’m rediscovering iron & wine. He’s so good. God he’s so good. If any of you get a chance, listen to him. And not just the garden state song, please. Woman king. Gray stables. Lion’s mane. Love and some verses. Jesus the Mexican boy. Freedom hangs like heaven. Naked as we came. Hickory. Red dust. Upward over the mountain. Evening on the ground (lilith’s song). Weary memory.
Yeah.
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| i know that god is in the radio |
[15 Oct 2005|01:23pm] |
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music |
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i'm gonna leave you by queens of the stone age |
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When I write lately it’s very random and never means anything, really, last time I wrote it was about Justin coming, sort of, it was a little about high school and two kids I was never even friends with, and then the time after that I wrote it was about wine and childhood. I wasn’t satisfied with either piece of writing.
my writing has always been egotistical.
Things have been pretty crazy lately and the best nights are the drunk ones. Went to Philadelphia a few weekends ago, we got there at like 1:30 in the morning, partied all night. The balcony and the connected rooms, and the grey goose, so much grey goose! And marwah in her dress. It was, to say the least, amazing. And then Justin coming and drinking at braff’s with all high school people. It made me happy, really did, to see them. And the other night at applebees when I got served beer and had a good conversation with this English major who I happened to be sitting next to and who I was very friendly towards because I had drank 5 shots of vodka before even getting to applebees.
I cannot WAIT to get an apartment next year. Dorm rooms just don’t do it for me anymore.
Of course the one in England will be fine because it will be in England which makes it fine, fine with me.
I’m working tonight and I don’t want to but it’s okay because Rachel and bill are working too and we’ll probably all leave around the same time and go do something satisfying, if not fun. I’ve been feeling kind of apathetic lately but apathy is satisfying. I just want to go to England. I just want to see marwah and Justin and eileen sometimes. Those are the things that I want, which I suppose isn’t apathy, but I’m by no means unhappy, which makes me automatically think I am happy, which I am, sometimes, am I seriously doing this? Am I seriously trying to figure out how I feel and when I feel? I thought I had given up on that shit long ago.
Still reading house of leaves. It’s still amazing and it still blows my mind and I wish I had more time for it.
It stopped raining today, it has been raining for an entire week. It wasn’t all that bad because everything smelled really nice and it wasn’t hot anymore, but now the sun is out and one of my walls is entirely window and I can see the lake and the trees and the sun in them is good, because they’re mostly green but a little bit yellow and the yellow hit by the sunlight is rather blinding. which right now I like.
Off now to go do something silly, like shopping or eating.
What should I be for Halloween?
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| "hey," franklin says. "We are the world." |
[19 Sep 2005|09:25am] |
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music |
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woman king by iron & wine |
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It’s 9 a.m. and I’ve been up since 7 showering and writing a paper (whenever I write showering it comes out looking something like “whoring”) and I’m so tired I feel like I’m going to throw up. I went outside after writing half a history paper, with a book and a notebook and a cup of tea and some cigarettes, thinking I’d smoke and read and poison myself with caffeine and maybe relax by the lake in the morning, I thought it would be beautiful, really, but it was terrible, it’s so hot out and I was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans and nothing else because I woke up freezing and there was this guy mowing the lawn back and forth back and forth in front of me which gave me a headache. I can’t ever remember being this tired, I’m on four hours of sleep I think, I’ve done worse, but this time it just fucking hurts. I told Rachel last night, when we were so wired at 3 and trying to sleep and listening to iron and wine, that I didn’t care if I never got any sleep, you only live once, I’d rather be conscious and tired then constantly sleeping, but I’m wondering if feeling like this is really living, it’s like I’m on a bad trip or something, though I’ve never been on a bad trip before, but I can imagine, stomach all acidic and rejecting the pop tart and tea, legs like weights, head splitting open, brain jumping a mile a minute, alternately sweating and shivering. I need to puke and sleep for hours, I need an air conditioner, I need 24 hours with nothing to do at all, and nothing to think about. The rules of attraction is the worst book to read in the morning when you feel shitty, it makes me feel even worse and it’s so addicting, and I’ve promised myself not to read any more today but I know once I’m done writing this entry I will finish it, before my astronomy class, which I’m not even sure I can handle right now. Maybe I’m dehydrated.
This is the tackiest form of complaining. I’m a little disgusted, but not so disgusted I won’t post it. Or maybe so disgusted that I will, so that I can look back and feel disgusted and laugh.
The thing is, I’m happy. So nothing matters.
Oh god, oh jesus, I crack myself up.
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| Maximus Prime is by far the coolest Transformer. |
[15 Sep 2005|10:04pm] |
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music |
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anything hootie and the blowfish |
] |
Unremarkable, as days go, but good, though I don’t know why. Woke up, dressed, undressed, showered, dressed. Drank tea, read history. Went to work. While at work washed windows so many times because big pink shirt guy was there, the managers of my managers or something, WHY does he always wear a pink shirt? Looks a little like a pig, not in a bad way though. Didn’t fuck up at work, which was good, got there five minutes late, left five minutes early, cleaned all the menus which is so mindless that it’s comforting. Drove home while listening to hootie and the blowfish (every time I write hootie it comes out hottie) although most of the songs skipped I sang and enjoyed it. Got out of the car and immediately started sweating in the stupid khaki pants, lit an unsatisfying cigarette, got a salad while carrying shoes, notebook, gulliver’s travels, and work shirt. Walked to dorm carrying shoes, notebook, gulliver’s travels, work shirt, salad, water, and fork, thought my arm was going to fall off. Stripped, ate, talked to Deanna. Opted not to read any more history. It started raining, I walked in the rain, it was good to have somebody to walk in the rain with. That’s always how I pictured summer in the winter, last year, walking in the rain, but now I know that summer isn’t like that, not at all, it’s always raining when you’re at work and you have to lock and lock things up and you can’t even be happy about the lightning because you’re afraid it’s going to hit you and all you can hear are whistles and babies crying. I’ll never picture summer like that again, I’ll picture autumn days like that, autumn rain is the best anyway. Smoked a cigarette with Rachel. Went to history, got a 40 on my quiz, didn’t care, fell asleep in class, cared more about that because I sit in the front and actually like my professor. Didn’t want him to think he was boring, it’s just that I watched the breakfast club late last night and woke up to study for a quiz which I failed. Came back to the dorm, tried to nap, it was too hot, read rules of attraction. Ordered a pizza with the roommate, they fucked it up, that was an hour and a half ago and the new one still hasn’t come. Hungry. Wish I had some wine. Wine is the new favorite alcohol. Took a shower, was surprised at the cold water that wouldn’t get hot, thought all the water would be hot, all the air is hot, all the people are so hot, it’s so hot. Not the water. Thought it would be refreshing, it wasn’t. waiting, now, for pizza, and Rachel, to do studying abroad stuff, I’M STUDYING IN ENGLAND NEXT SEMESTER, yes, I decided yesterday while slightly drunk off wine, in TGIFridays with Rachel and jen, haven’t felt so happy in a long time, but have felt very happy lately.
It’s easy to smile. the cars take you away wherever you want to go, the classes don’t matter, not really, there’s an endless supply of alcohol and cigarettes and people who say things, who say things at all. There’s lots of laughing.
Mmmmm I don’t know what happened to the school or the people in this school or me or anything but I’m glad, so glad it did.
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| o, fatal eagerness! |
[16 Apr 2005|03:05am] |
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i walked to math class today and saw that the white trees, i don’t know what they’re called, were all in full bloom. i mean completely full bloom, i didn’t see one closed bud. flowers in clumps of other clumps on branches. the same tree was everywhere i looked. i must’ve passed 10 of them on my short walk. i had never noticed them before.
i have been walking that same route for the past two weeks. not once did i notice a bud. not once did i notice maybe one flower blooming earlier than the rest. and even if they had miraculously bloomed all over night or something, i hadn’t noticed the absence the day before, and the presence the next day.
it just makes me sad to realize how unobservant i am. it makes me rather disgusted to know that i’m so stuck in my own head that i don’t even notice flowers anymore. i missed the coming of the spring.
and it’s fine to have your own thoughts. it’s fine to be a little self-centered. but it’s fucking terrible when you’re consumed so utterly that one day you wake up and all the trees are different, and you can’t remember thinking anything worthwhile in the past week, while you were missing them.
i’m not going to miss the pretty things anymore. god knows how much better i’d feel every night in the lonely minutes if i could remember one really vivid picture of beauty from that day. it’ll make the day absolutely worth it. it’ll make getting up the next morning worth it, to find another thing like it.
i wish i were a photographer. because then i’m sure i’d be able to see everything. photographers tend to be able to do that.
i guess i’ll have to try to be a photographer in my own head. snapshots of the tree today, something else lovely tomorrow. maybe i’ll write down the snapshots and turn them into the literary equivalent of a really good photograph- a poem.
the next 20 days i hope will be filled with more pretty things then i’ve seen all year. after that, i won’t even have to look.
they’ll be thrown directly in my face.
they’ll be smothering me every day.
god, how i missed beauty.
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| 20 things to do |
[13 Apr 2005|10:12pm] |
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music |
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love and some verses by iron and wine |
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1. become ambidextrous.
2. think about rust.
3. appreciate earthy colors, and that of fire hydrants.
4. count trees.
5. wonder what the guy over there is thinking.
6. be cold when necessary.
7. throw bread for birds.
8. smell things.
9. contrast nature and buildings.
10. touch brick.
11. connect the dots.
12. remember disney world.
13. lean out of windows.
14. keep dirt constantly on the bottom of your feet.
15. unravel ribbons.
16. trace faces with your finger.
17. scribble.
18. picture things with speed-lines.
19. read.
20. write a love poem.
oh, incase anybody is wondering about that last entry, i forgot that i was going to rachel's house all the next day and sleeping over there. so i didn't get a chance to write 50 poems. i ended up with 10 or something, and i haven't read any of them over yet, and i wrote them in the dark, and i can't even remember them, so maybe i'll look them over and post them. maybe i won't.
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| ho ho! hee hee! |
[11 Apr 2005|11:33pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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hysterical |
] |
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music |
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my name is jonas |
] |
LOOK!
today i shall write 50 poems! (100????????)
they will be marvellllous.
and i shall number them out of order—oooh won’t that be fun! to start at number twentyseven! to end at number two! and to middle at number fortynine!!!!
i shall start now.
and end
tomorrow before 11:30 p.m.
and
in this livejournal
i shall post them!!!
and as mary hepburn, a figment of kurt vonnegut’s imagination, would say to her class of squishy kids: Your Comments, Please!
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| four three two one |
[17 Mar 2005|04:12am] |
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music |
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barrel of a gun by guster |
] |
i think i am slowly becoming
one of those who feels the need to
write everything down
my stomach hurts and there's
ash on the stairwell
and hair on my fleece
and i am sharing the night
with frank o'hara and you
of course, always you
i touch the skin under
my collar for no reason
and suddenly remember
that skin is soft and i try
to understand how this makes
me feel i know you know
i slide my glasses to my forehead
expecting the world to blur but
there's no end to this night's clarity
the thing i don't think about
is morning the things i do
think about are scattered and plain
and the colors here are, too
greys and faded blacks which is not the same
a bit of shine and beige, always
the color of my year, i rub my lashes
to feel their slickness and it is
different than rain, i think
it should rain more here.
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| a cat may look at a king |
[16 Mar 2005|04:39pm] |
| [ |
music |
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crystal baller by third eye blind |
] |
in light of recent circumstances, i’ve had more of a motivation to write. i think, specifically, the absence of justin, and the presence of leigh. but i’m not even really sure. maybe it’s also that i’m reading a lot. that usually helps.
last night i finished watching the movie crazy/beautiful, well, i actually only saw half of it, but the half i did see, i really liked. when i was done i went down to the lower level of my school and out into that little courtyard-type thing behind my dorm, where the benches seem to be a part of the tree-beds. i do love that spot. specifically the benches, and the shade, and the shadows the light makes when it’s dark. i expected to sit and cry, but instead, i lit my cigarette, and then an inexplicable feeling came over me, it’s like, i don’t know if you’ll understand this, but suddenly it’s like when you give yourself a metaphorical slap across the face and send your mind out of your body, literally, so you’re looking from space, and you can see yourself and everything you’re thinking about in relation to every other person and everything they’re thinking about, and you’re just so fucking happy. to exist, to be alive, to be having that feeling at that exact moment. to reach the perfect perspective, when that is so rare, sometimes. so i did that, and i came back to my room and sat in the dark and wrote justin a very long letter, the first part of which has to do with my experience outside. this is it:
in the presence of passion the human body is reduced to its purest form. and not just the body, i mean, because the body is always in its purest form. so much beauty in every single muscle and hair and structure, in every shape and length and movement, every breath and scar. but in reflection of the tears and the silent, alone moments, the ones where the entire torso aches with sudden epiphany, the jolting feeling in the dark when the wind sends a shiver, when your eyes suddenly widen and you can see, you can see from the sky the tiny being that you are, the tiny, perfect, significant, silent thing beneath the screams from the windows, the oval of hair and the curve of your shoulders and those same things on every single other person in every city, every alive person touching something, a piece of grass, a heart, a molecule of air, the complexity and the absolute simplicity of it all, you know! and in that moment the rest of the bench doesn’t seem so empty. and the inside of your stomach doesn’t feel so empty. and the phone doesn’t ring, and the name doesn’t speak, but you can feel connected. to one person, to every person, to every single thing. because you are. and then you remember that this is passion. passion is love, and orgasm, and sobbing, and screaming, and laughing, but passion is also being. being alone. being able to feel a mind so far away thinking. being able to understand that nothing more is needed, in that moment. that although there is no body sitting next to you, no finger stroking your arm, no eyes glancing over you, no mouth inches away for you to kiss, that there will be. and that is passion. and then you start crying because hours ago you looked at your best friend across a booth in a diner, across disgusting food and swirling smoke, and you said that you were apathetic. and you said that you didn’t care. about much of anything, anymore. but when you remember that you do, and you always will, it makes you cry, because you know that you are so goddamn beautiful, that you feel, that you love, that as fucked up as you are, you’ll live. and you’ll love it.
okay, looking back at those things i just wrote, i’ve been thinking. why do i break down sometimes and think that i’ve got NOTHING figured out, that i’m the most confused person, that i have to be social to be happy, that i have to have justin to be happy, that i don’t love myself, when honest to god, NONE OF THAT SHIT IS TRUE. if i can have moments like that where i sit outside by myself and feel a ridiculous sort of out-of-body experience, that i can want to scream and laugh for literally, NO REASON, then my god, how can i possibly say that i don’t like the person that i am? how can i possibly say that i’m unhappy at school? maybe it’s just recently that i’ve come to terms with solitude, with thinking, and with bettering myself in my own sort of way, which seems to consist of reading and writing. honestly, what else have i to do at this point? i’ve got less than 7 weeks of school left, i’ve got classes to do well in, i’ve got a library and an internet and a computer and endless blank paper, i’ve got poetry, i’ve got a few people for conversation, i’ve got a place to sleep if i ever choose to sleep. i have NO desire to party. i have no desire to drink. i have no desire to become a bubbly, outgoing, person that i’m not at this point in my life in order to make friends that i’ll forget over the summer, and leave next year. if i come out of these 6 and a half weeks having read a multitude of great books, having done well in my classes, having discovered some great music, having written ANYTHING at all, even if it isn’t good, well then, hell, i’d say that’s better than coming out of it with a lot of drunken nights.
maybe i’ll get a job. maybe i’ll meet some people that i really genuinely like. and if those things make me happy, then i’ll do them.
and even if this random happiness is just a phase, even if tomorrow i find myself about to topple off the edge once again, i’ll still know deep down that i really do have more things figured out then i thought i did.
sometimes i quite take myself by surprise.
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| out of the back you fall in time |
[09 Feb 2005|03:45am] |
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music |
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"one headlight" by wallflowers |
] |
this nocturnal lifestyle is really getting annoying. i didn’t used to mind it, much. i do like the night. it just gets so trying when really i DO want to sleep. i’m really very tired. i’ve discovered it’s because i HATE the moments between when i lay down and when i actually sleep. even if it’s only 5 or 10 minutes. they’re the loneliest minutes of my day. i need not to sleep alone.
whenever i’m at justin’s house really late at night, i usually end up falling asleep or at least getting really tired. reason? i’m not lonely! i’m self-prescribing myself with insomnia due to lack of justin. the remedy? moving to a warmer climate. virginia, to be specific.
i ran today, and it was lovely. kind of. it hurt, a lot. but it also felt really good. that’s the way exercise is. but it still felt good to know that i was doing something good for my body, for once. haven’t been doing much of that lately. not sleeping, smoking, drinking. you know.
if i could just sleep i’d be a good 8 or 9 hours closer to virginia. damn, damn, damn.
i’ve been talking to matt, lately. it’s wonderful conversation.
i think that i should learn how to keep my emotions at bay. most of the time, there’s no good reason to cry in the middle of the night. yes, i miss justin. yes, i don’t have that many friends at my school. yes, it hurts. but jesus, there’s no reason for mountains of tears. i can deal with it. i have to. it’s really okay. and also, there’s no good reason to storm fuming out of the middle of math class because i made a stupid mistake on a quiz. there’s no reason at all to run outside, smoke half a cigarette, call marwah and leave her an unintelligible message.
it’s a bittersweet symphony. no reason to get all worked up about it every single day. i just need to CHILL OUT. sometimes, i really wish i could smoke weed.
“sing me to sleep
sing me to sleep
i’m tired and i
i want to go to bed...”
- from “asleep” by the smiths.
read “the perks of being a wallflower.” and then listen to that song. it’s very good.
going to try to sleep. maybe being so tired won’t allow for any nightmares.
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| a photograph in black and white |
[03 Feb 2005|04:56pm] |
i lay on my bed and write, i have forgotten my little notebook with the eiffel tower on the front, i like to think i’m in paris when i write. for now, this room will have to do, the paper on which i write is unbound.
it’s not much of an atmosphere, i must say, the paper is far too lonely, it’s only a little slip of a sheet, one of the many lonely ones that find their way into my bed in search of companionship and warmth. poor things. they are almost always mercilessly crushed in the twistings of my body during a bad dream, or thrown to the floor where once again they are cold and vulnerable. i bet they wish they lived in a notebook, like i wish i lived in new york city. i’d be enveloped comfortably inside buildings and all sorts of people, a happy little piece of paper in the middle of a spiral notebook, the kind you can pick up at the store for a couple of bucks.
this reminds me of my new poster, the only good thing about this room, and i look at it in hope of poetic inspiration. it’s a photograph called Poet’s Walk, New York City. and there is a woman walking away from the camera so you can only see her back, she carries an umbrella, she is alone, a statue stares at her and the trees are lovely, so is the fence. i imagine jumping into the photo, i would hide behind the statue and watch the umbrella woman, perhaps i would be distracted by the statue’s cool, slick beauty, i may even kiss it quickly and promise to come back later. i would run up to the lady and say “please, can you tell me where i am?” like all those time-travel movies, and she’d look at me, and she’d tell me, but i wouldn’t listen, because i already know. i’d only stare at her face. i’ve always wondered about the color of her eyes.
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| nine horses |
[03 Feb 2005|04:14pm] |
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music |
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"live forever" by oasis |
] |
4:02 p.m.- A MOMENT OF CLARITY!
she looked through the empty water bottle on her desk and saw a window which she also looked through. beyond the window there was air and she looked through that, too, she saw an airplane, which, incidentally, had windows! to look through, so she did. a boy sat on the plane, looking through the other side of the window. in the reflection his eyes betrayed she saw the things she had just seen through, the air and the water bottle, but she saw through them too! she became terrified at this point of never seeing anything but transparency again, she closed her eyes. when she reopened them, this time, she saw his eyes first, and second she saw herself, in his eyes, and third, saw that he saw nothing. this made her understand everything. the way that people can look at you and see only reflections, or only the tree and the rock behind you, solid and real.
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| writing inside paris |
[03 Feb 2005|01:33pm] |
| [ |
music |
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"asleep" by the smiths |
] |
1.
small hours- NIGHTMARE.
are you alive are you alive oh, you are. is he? no! the car? climbing out the window? swerving? you told him to?!?!? you’re supposed to know everything! you bastard! you fucking killed him! he was so little.
2.
9 a.m.- BREAKDOWN
the alarm goes off and the song is the first word of that song by the beatles. i shut it off and sob for three minutes.
3.
9:45 a.m.- NORMALCY
i go to class in my pajamas.
i smoke a cigarette.
4.
10:00 a.m.- CONVERSATION
“did you drop box edgar allen poe SOCS hero journey hockey practice desks moved 6 a.m. facebook essay do you have a pen hannibal lector cough i did it wrong three pages i hate what did you get i felt the point of view widow of ephesus”
5.
11:45 a.m.- DISGUSTING
open peek run run run run open close safe. urinate. repeat minus urinate. i don’t want to see anybody else today.
6.
12:50 p.m.- SOMETHING SETTLING
my mouth is dry, so
i pick up a piece of paper and begin to write, chewing
occasionally a fingernail. i’m hungry.
the computer hums like it’s trying to be a cell phone and
i wonder about technology, but not for too long.
instead my greying gaze drifts to the window, it’s closed, but
there is a car, and it is moving.
wracking with sudden pain, jesus, did i work out yesterday?
oh. no. it was the vision of motion, and the aching of wanting.
7.
1:34 p.m. THE STAIRWELL
strange the feeling of fear that creeps with the realization that i should be scared but i’m not. how backwards.
i understand the incinerator, now. it was always a bit carpeted.
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[22 Jan 2005|12:17pm] |
I just read the loveliest poem by Billy Collins, the Poet Laureate of the United States. My cousin Carrie gave me a book of his poems for Christmas. Jesus, he’s good. Look:
Velocity
In the club car that morning I had my notebook
open on my lap and my pen uncapped,
looking every inch the writer
right down to the little writer’s frown on my face,
but there was nothing to write about
except life and death
and the low warning sound of the train whistle.
I did not want to write about the scenery
that was flashing past, cows spread over a pasture,
hay rolled up meticulously—
things you see once and will never see again.
But I kept my pen moving by drawing
over and over again
the face of a motorcyclist in profile—
for no reason I can think of—
a biker with sunglasses and a weak chin,
leaning forward, helmetless,
his long thin hair trailing behind him in the wind.
I also drew many lines to indicate speed
to show air becoming visible
as it broke over the biker’s face
the way it was breaking over the face
of the locomotive that was pulling me
toward Omaha and whatever lay beyond Omaha
for me and all the other stops to make
before the time would arrive to stop for good.
We must always look at things
from the point of view of eternity,
the college theologians used to insist,
from which, I imagine, we would all
appear to have speed lines trailing behind us
as we rush along the road of the world,
as we rush down the long tunnel of time—
the biker, of course, drunk on the wind,
but also the man reading by a fire,
speed lines coming off his shoulders and his book,
and the woman standing on a beach
studying the curve of horizon,
even the child asleep on a summer night,
speed lines flying from the posters of her bed,
from the white tips of the pillowcases,
and from the edges of her perfectly motionless body.
I love the idea of that so much. Aaah. sorry if that bored you, but i love it. i'll write a real entry later.
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| nothing should be able to do that. |
[20 Jan 2005|11:48pm] |
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music |
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angelus by elliot smith |
] |
normally, here, i would say something like: sorry i haven’t written in so long, it really is horrible, here’s a nice long entry to make up for it.
however, a) i don’t think anybody really cares, except for maybe laura spencer. b) i’m not sorry, as i haven’t wanted to write and that’s nothing to be sorry for c) maybe not writing for a while will help me start fresh with some interesting things to say.
firstly, of course, i’m in school.
here is a list of what i have been doing:
reading stephen king (“‘salem’s lot” and “on writing,” for my vampires, werewolves, and witches class. both are good.)
talking/hanging out with meghan and ashley, but not all that much, really.
one night i went to a party and got very drunk. it was semi-fun, i guess, while it lasted.
another night i went home with rachel. i swam in a pool and watched sweet november.
going to class.
missing/calling justin.
lamenting the fact that my dc++ doesn’t work.
trying not to be lonely/cry/feel bad/eat too much/eat too little/not get enough sleep.
today i had my first vampires, werewolves, and witches class. it was good, like i knew it would be. i like the professor. i like the people in my class, or at least what they were saying, for the most part. i like the fact that the first thing we ever had to do was create our own definition of monster and pick our favorite monster.
my definition: a monster is something that for whatever reason, you are terrified of. not just kind of scared, but the whole sweating/clutching the blanket/darting your eyes around at every movement type thing. it can be real or imaginary. it can be an abusive parent, or a shadow in your closet. it can be physical or entirely internal. i think internal monsters can do the most damage, sometimes. and it has to be evil. also, i think, if the monster is imaginary, that it is the manifestation of that person’s fear.
my favorite monster: the monster under the bed. this may sound obvious, but surprisingly only one other person in the class picked it. oddly, a lot of people picked the jersey devil. and the loch ness monster. but i like the monster under the bed because it’s very personal. it’s a monster that everyone knows very well, but everyone’s is different. i think that’s pretty cool. because when you’re little (or maybe when you’re old, too) you can picture it. every night. waiting. mine was simply a pair of arms that would grab me and drag me through the floor.
and if we’re going by my definition, maybe that is the physical manifestation of one of my biggest fears. being dragged under or through something so that i can never get back out again. falling down, basically. maybe the arms under my bed are my own. waiting for the vulnerable moment, when i’m teetering... teetering... and then, through subconscious fault of my own, they’ll grab my ankles before i can scramble to a safe place (my bed/being okay) and drag me through the floor and i’ll never come up. maybe the arms are alcohol. or obsession. or loneliness. or depression.
thankfully, at school, i sleep on the top bunk.
for the past couple of weeks i have been having nightmares. here is a brief summary of the ones i can remember.
1. i was in a concentration camp. in the end, i was about to be killed.
2. i accidentally slit my wrist the way that makes you die, and bled to death.
3. i had to jump out of windows of houses or someone would get me.
4. i was being run over by a truck.
5. i was being shot at by planes.
6. i was about to be hanged. (did i write about this one already?)
anyway, there are more, and those are only very brief, overall descriptions of them. i find this very strange. i was never one for nightmares. ones that i can remember, at least. they are the monsters in my head, i guess, catching me off-guard. the thought makes me shiver.
it’s going to snow this weekend, and i am going to be in school, for once. i was thinking about going home or to the city or something. but i don’t really want to deal with driving or train delays. neither are appealing. plus, i heart huckabees is playing tomorrow at my school for free, and i want to see it.
plus, i have tons of lit work.
break was so much fun.
i miss seeing justin every day. i miss seeing him at all.
i never thought that loving somebody would hurt so much.
i’ll never forget the quote leigh painted for me one day. and i never understood why she painted that particular quote for me, it was years ago, and i couldn’t relate to it at all. but i always thought it was beautiful, anyway. now i understand it. it’s from sandman.
“it hurts. not just in the imagination, not just in the mind. it’s a soul-hurt, a body-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. nothing should be able to do that. especially not love.”
that quote is always in the back of my head now, all the time. like it’s on a reel or something. playing over and over.
especially not love.
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| day/nightmares |
[22 Dec 2004|03:12pm] |
i had another nightmare the other night. I was in a concentration camp. How sick is that? I mean, I haven’t thought or read or heard about the Holocaust since I don’t know how long, and all of a sudden I get this crazy dream about being in a concentration camp. And while I was there, I fell in love with a boy. And slowly every single person at the camp, not just our family and friends, but EVERYBODY, was killed. And we were in some sort of barn type area, hiding out, and we said that we loved each other, and we decided that if we ever got out of there, we were going to be married. And as soon as that happened, we heard these rough voices, and doors banging and all, and we knew that they were going to get us. And we’d never get married. And we’d never have a family. And we’d never have a life. And that the only love we’d ever know in our lives was so brief and fleeting, and from such absolutely shitty circumstances.
For some reason today I remembered something that I didn’t think I’d ever give a second thought. A month or two ago I went into the city. And when we were on the bus to get to the train station, a man came onto the bus, and he was homeless. he was wearing a million clothes on even though it wasn’t that cold, and he had this big ratty old bag that he kept clutching. So anyway, he kept talking to the bus driver, and telling the same story over and over again. About how he was so mad that his social worker wasn’t finding any place to live for him. How his social worker didn’t care at all about him. So he decided that he was going to stand on the street and bang his head on a pole over and over until he had to go to the emergency room, and then maybe his social worker would pay some attention to him. And he’s screaming this whole story for the bus to hear, and I kept looking at his head to see if there was a scar or a bruise or anything, but there wasn’t, so I still don’t know if he made it up or not. But I guess he was on the bus a lot, because the bus driver seemed to know him. And the bus driver just kept saying that really he shouldn’t do stuff like that, he kept saying don’t “bus’ yo’ head” that that wouldn’t get him anywhere and that he had to do something for himself. If he wanted a house or a job, he just had to do the best he could for himself, and always trust God and Jesus, and he would be okay. Because the lord would protect him. But if he did stupid things like trying to give himself a concussion just so that he would get noticed and pitied, then there wouldn’t be anything that God would be able to do for him. And it was really touching the way he was trying to help the man, but the man didn’t seem to listen to a word he was saying. He just kept talking about how he banged his head, and he cried, and he went to the hospital, and he “broke down crying” in front of the nurse, and all this stuff, telling the story over and over again. I felt so horrible. Longest bus ride of my life.
Last night I had a dream about having to jump out of windows in beautiful houses because people were chasing me. Why have I been having all these dreams of being chased? Or killed? Hunted?
I don’t understand it.
I’m happy. Why is it when I’m happy that I start to have horrible dreams?
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| at a stoplight in the middle of the night |
[07 Dec 2004|02:44am] |
| [ |
music |
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falling down by ben jelen |
] |
every time i talk to eileen i remember how amazingly smart she is. and though she wouldn’t think it, probably, she’s also extremely clear-headed. she can see the big picture way more than i can, and from a far more sane perspective.
our conversation last night went something like this:
me: and i just feel so alone. and i’m scared because every single day is just a wasted day, for me, it’s a waiting day, until justin comes, or christmas, or a friend, or something. and i don’t want ANY day of my life to be wasted.
eileen: but maybe it’s not really wasted. i mean, what do you do each day?
me: i read for hours, poetry or a novel, and sometimes i write. i listen to music. alone. i don’t study enough.
eileen: and do you enjoy doing this?
me: yes, while i’m doing it. but then i stop and realize that i don’t like the thought that if i wanted some human contact, it wouldn’t be there.
eileen: but i mean, you’re reading, you’re writing, you’re learning, you’re expanding yourself , etc. how is that a wasted day? how is learning how to be by yourself, and actually enjoying being by yourself, when you said that you could never do it before, a wasted day?
me: er... i don’t know. i think you’re right. i just don’t like to be lonely.
eileen: yeah, i know. but maybe all this loneliness will help you figure yourself out.
AND SHE’S RIGHT! oh, she’s right. and i think, i’ve always thought, that each day is so important. some people don’t get enough days. maybe nobody gets enough days. i’m lucky to even have a day. and i want each day to do something to me. to build me somehow, push me forward, untangle me inside, make me happy, make me cry, ANYTHING. i want each day to do that. and you know what? i really think that each day does. even if i don’t realize it at the time.
i wish i could just stop, every day, and say, “ah, yes! THIS is the reason i woke up today!”
maybe i’ll start doing that.
let’s see... what made today a day... i guess... i read howl by allen ginsberg. in class. and i understood completely everything anybody said about it. and i saw/heard ginsberg actually reading it himself. and it was lovely. also, i read sylvia plath. and her poetry was scary. and also very good.
i just read leigh’s livejournal, which i haven’t for a long time, and it’s funny, she’s lonely too. i don’t know why i always expected that leigh would be the kind of person to attract the most wonderful people and be really good friends with them, without even trying.
i know it’s my fault that i’m lonely. i don’t even fucking try. maybe, deep down, i need to be lonely for a while. to figure myself out. eileen made me think about that.
and i’m sick of learning about blood. i’m sick to death of it. i fucking hate studying for this biology final.
list of things to do:
1. get up when your alarm goes off. seriously. JUST DO IT.
2. study for biology
3. write the 9 page paper.
4. write another poem.
5. try not to wait so much. just be.
6. find out more about opera theatre and tech.
7. call ken more often.
ach, i dunno. pretty shitty list. pretty important one, though.
incidentally, two of my poems got into the literary magazine at my school, the siren, and i didn’t even send it to them. i sent it to the only literary magazine i knew of, which was the lion’s eye, and i got an email back saying, “sorry, we wanted to print your poems in our magazine, but the siren had first dibs.” which COMPLETELY weirded me out, because i thought the siren was the school newspaper. i mixed it up with the signal. so i was freaking out thinking, “why the fuck would the school newspaper take my poem and print it??? it has nothing to do with anything! it’s a strange poem about a person i made up in my head! i DON’T want that in the school newspaper!!!” and then i calmed down and eventually realized that the siren was the other, more prominent literary magazine that for some reason i didn’t know about. and i was flattered, actually, that they took my poems from the lion’s eye to print in their magazine.
i might as well put my justin poem here.
i haven’t titled it. i have a real problem with that.
here:
your crazy soul sprung as if from a matchbox screaming light me!
ablaze in your cellophane glory which allows me to see your heart beating.
(he lightly shifts away from trends and wears his hair too long, his eyes too brown
the crowd parts as for a king when they see the way he moves floating.)
it’s intense and unparalleled, screamed and secret, painful and even with
thumbtacks your face is impossible to immobilize.
i am forever falling, you are forever climbing, and we break the laws of physics
by meeting in the middle.
in the contrast of skin tones and chromosomes we are lit, churning in a december sky which is a gift and a blessing, for it’s colors are extremes and in-betweens.
solitary hours lack quivering darkness and concrete light, lack salt and sweat, lack
stimulation of intellect and symphony of emotion. like comparing candles and fingernails. impossible.
but if you want warmth you’ll wait. telephone is a poor excuse for contact,
we both know, and terribly stationary.
iciness of feet and warmth of tongues are no longer a question but a conviction,
your crushing laughter and paralyzing glance never again figments of imagination.
and it is true that what is behind every bite and scratch is what is physical, morphed into
sensation of nerves and cessation of thought, it is the means that is greater and
lovelier than the end.
i shall toil the lightening hours of the night in bed with a pen and a journey, i shall
sleep soundly when i reach the end, i shall wake with clarity and slip further underneath
your skin, while you stay so very south.
enchanting and ensnaring my insides was only, i’m sure, a brief intention, your hook,
so much sweeter than despair’s, has caught hold.
lately all my goodnights are silent, love, and they resonate within, beat in my blood, course my insides to aching trying to reach your ears.
it’s a cliff, i know, or a canyon, perhaps, two cliffs, with the wind always blowing in the wrong direction. losing our screams and pleas. but it is beautiful, as cliffs and canyons always are, all that empty flickering sky. all that space, all that freedom, and still a gilded cage from which escape is futile, until christmas.
certain that christmas will be all scorching cold and bloodred-colored ecstasy snow-covered bodies cutting laughter through shredding winds,
i wait.
there. i am crazy. and he is coming. friday.
i think i’ll go read now. frank o’hara. and maybe write. and not do my biology. fuck. fuck. fuck. biology.
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