is this the city of angels or demons?

Bye

2006-01-11T15:09:00.000-07:00

I hardly ever talk to real people anymore. Really talk. I don't know... I guess I just haven't been interested. To be fair, I haven't been especially interesting either.

Anyway.

Last night was awful in an absolutely ridiculous way, and I have decided to stop whoring my life over the internet.

Bye.

2006-01-08T15:17:00.000-07:00

My boots alternately squish and crunch over the brownish sludge covering the sidewalk. To the right, past the parked cars wearing coats of snow, the road is clear and black and wet. To the left, a vast plain of untouched whiteness marks a construction site. Squish, crunch. Squish, crunch. The metro ride had been hot and sweaty underneath coats and scarves, and everyone had pulled off hats and gloves for the time being. The outside air with its thin confetti of snowflakes feels cold and clean against my skin. It leaves flecks of white in my dark hair, miniscule flakes clinging to my lashes. Squish, squish, crunch. I wait at the intersection of a street to cross, stamping a little bit, blowing puffs of steam from my mouth, feeling like an impatient horse. To the left, a XXX store. To the right, a tattoo parlor. I cross the street and keep walking. Past the DVD rental shop, past the hair salon. I pause at the entrance to the familiar alley near the apartment. Tire tracks and footprints scar the frosted ground. The wooden steps at the end of the alley that lead up to the next street are wet and almost black - a stark contrast to all the washed out whites and grays of the earth and sky. Just half a block further. I keep walking, jingling the foreign change that isn't mine in my pocket. A girl around my age walks alone on the opposite side of the street. It is almost like we aren't alone, walking like that. I count the doorways on my left. Two more. One more. Here. I fumble with the keys until one slips into the lock. Kicking snow off my boots, I step into the apartment stairwell. As I turn to close the door, I see the girl watching me as she walks away.

2005-12-26T19:07:00.000-07:00

tomorrow i head north, beginning a three and a half day process that will eventually lead me to montreal. my suitcase is packed and sitting next to the front door, just waiting for me.

i am afraid to go outside tonight. i dont think i could stand how beautiful it would be. and beauty can be the most depressing thing in the world.

sometimes, i feel like im just floating.

why is everyone celebrating?

2005-12-25T20:28:00.000-07:00

the thoughts in my head - they shouldnt be there. and the memories i have - i shouldnt have them. the things that i feel - they arent the right feelings for the holidays. sometimes i think my life is irrevocably corrupted. maybe it is. maybe i can never feel the peace of redemption.

but i know now, as i didnt before, that it doesnt matter.

the things that i do now are generally decent things to do. the motives for doing those things are far more questionable. maybe nothing i do in this life will ever be perfect or pure.

that doesnt matter either.

whatever my thoughts, memories, feelings, motives... it doesnt matter. the only person those things affect is me. it is action that affects others. and above anything else, it is actions we can control. above anything else, i want to affect others in a positive way.

if i move in with a 92 year old woman out of the motive of free rent and end up helping her by moving in... what does it matter why i moved in?

it doesnt.

in other news... im still in love.

2005-12-19T12:19:00.000-07:00

there is a song called "misery is a butterfly" but i think thats a lie. i think happiness is a butterfly.

today is beautiful. i want to feel this forever.

on telelvision, a twelve year old boy is stabbing a radiology patient.

2005-12-15T23:53:00.000-07:00

i am the tree in the foreground of the picture in the heading of this page. you are the bench. or the trees in the background. or the footprints through the snow.

it is 1:56am. it could be any time of night or day as far as the artificial lights in the ceiling go. and the hallway leading to the door of my room gets more confining every day.

i dont feel like ive felt much of anything in a while. except disappointment and frustration and love and lust and generosity and selfishness and satisfaction and pity and adoration. and a million more. i spend nearly all of my time in bed, limp, propped up by pillows, computer in my lap. i hardly study. i go to the library and tell myself its fine to lean back in the chair and close my eyes just for a second. or for ten minutes. or for an hour. its fine to pick up the bookbag that you never even opened, and to leave the library, and to catch a bus home because the ten minute walk would be too much effort. well, it is fine. except that at night i lay here propped up on my pillows and try not to think. i try to smile, because things are going well and people are all right and everyone is friendly and the semester is ending. but i dont. i dont smile. and then that dreaded moment comes when i cant resist picking up the bible that i leave on the windowsill next to my bed. that moment is the worst of every day.

maybe when earth hugs you its not really a hug. maybe shes just grabbing hold of you before she tosses you out into the irrationality of space.

why must we divide life into day and night when the substance is the same

2005-12-08T23:39:00.000-07:00

skin that smells like lavender and hair that smells like green tea. people are moving in the bathroom. i hear drawers open and close and get the crazy idea that if they stay open, my eyes might stay open too. my head is a melt of cutting videos in the basement, peter godber running from hong kong, whale sex. my body is a melt of lotion and scent and comforters. im completely alone in the room, and i feel like Earth is hugging me. i dont know how to hug it back so i just go limp and smile. i smile and imagine an armadillo dancing with a skunk in the reading room of the undergraduate library...

i mean, i guess sometimes you just feel good.

minute self reflection

2005-12-04T21:57:00.000-07:00

i cry when i get frustrated. i drool all over the place. i cannot for the life of me keep my shoelaces tied.

i snuggle my stuffed pig to sleep. i take naps at least 3 days a week. i play with my food and mix it into disgusting creations.

i correct simons spelling online. i despise people i dont know. god help me, i absolutely cannot ask a professor for one on one assistance without tears in my eyes.

in retrospect, i am not at all surprised that i was so disgusted with myself for so long.

but as for the present, i am not at all surprised that i amuse the hell out of myself.

2005-11-30T00:55:00.000-07:00

rain slick brick walkways.

white truck in red-brown mud.

emily knowing her poems were bullshit.

every word of every conversation with you.

fruit cut so that each edge of each piece was rippled.

stumbling on uneven bricks as strangers walk toward me.

and, that girl in my class whose face is the most beautiful, in profile, ive ever seen, but whose face is not nearly as spectacular from any other angle.

2005-11-18T22:41:00.000-07:00

i kept noticing things today and just sort of zeroing in on them until that was all that was in my head. like watching the movements of my untied shoelace as i walked. i dont know, it was amazing. i kept seeing all these tiny things and it was amazing. the flecks of gray on a squirrels white belly as it stood on a stone wall with an acorn in its paws, its giant black eyes like the eyes of the statue that sits on my desk. i couldnt stop grinning about that squirrel and i let out a couple of involuntary giggles too but i tried to hide them. i dont know if this is allowed but i went in the student store and read a book for a while and then put it back on the shelf because i already own it. when i was reading i glanced down at the floor next to me and there was a yellow piece of paper taped there that read, "smile, you're on candid camera!" i looked around for a camera or something but i didnt see one. i felt bad thinking that if i was on camera, id have been boring to watch. my inside self is a lot more active than my outside self when im sober these days. im not sober now. it helps my fingers move to type out all these words. i dont know if this is what college is supposed to be or if this is what im supposed to be. just sitting around drinking rum and coke and not feeling responsible for anything. god i just dont know. its just all these tiny little things like the movements of your shoelace. its fucking beautiful. i wish i knew how to show it. but my outside self can be so unexpressive. especially of joy. its crazy. my inside self is in a constant state of frenzied action and sometimes the joy is so overwhelming that you cant even distinguish it from the sadness anymore. do you know what im talking about? you take any emotion to a certain point and you hit this plateau where everything just IS and its beautiful and its nothing all at the same time and you just sort of go numb and nothing feels real at all. its moments like that you could just die. from happiness or from pain, it doesnt matter. you could just die and it would be all right. i wish i was just a little bit more drunk because its wearing off pretty fast now but i think itll be ok. it doesnt matter if i drink or not, really. because everything is fucking beautiful just the way it is. and i could just die because im so happy that i cant even feel anything anymore. i dont know what is going on in my head.

2005-11-15T18:38:00.000-07:00

i feel kind of like the dali poster on my wall. completely relaxed, melted into some sort of limp, dripping mess, but with pieces just flying off me. maybe i should be worried. im not.

when you cant get your mind off of the things you dont want to think about, just make yourself focus on something stupid. stare at your foot. play pinball on your computer. try to count your eyelashes in the mirror.

everything is a mind game. i think i can win.

Once again

2005-11-10T17:01:00.000-07:00

I've posted this before, but apparently there is renewed demand. Having run out of ice cream flavors and badass wrestling maneuvers, I've changed number 3 to the more conventional liquor shot.

1. Reply with your name and I'll respond with something random about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll pick a liquor I'd take a shot of with you.
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me.
5. I'll tell you my first memory of you.
6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.
8. If I do this for you, you must answer the question I ask you for #7.

Receiving a package of homemade brownies and a $100 check in the mail from my grandmother today came pretty close to balancing out the expletive-inducing news that my phone bill with simon, due to some confusion over our cellular plan, amounted to $800... yipes.

2005-11-06T20:05:00.000-07:00

im not quite sure what it is about nighttime that leaves me in such a lousy mood, but every night by 10:00 its the same old thing. the daytime is all right though, and i guess you cant have it all. and maybe eventually these iron pills im taking will give me some damn energy.

2005-11-01T23:21:00.000-07:00

Today I gave a presentation in front of a class full of upperclassmen without even feeling uncomfortable, I took a 4 hour nap, I played my first ever game of intramural innertube water polo and had more fun than I realized was possible in a swimming pool, I spent an excessively long time shaving my legs and just plain soaking in the shower, and now, lying in bed feeling warm and clean and sleepy, talking to Simon and listening to my iTunes on random, I am completely content.

I think that this must be how Sophie feels when she lies on her back in a patch of sunlight on the carpet with that goofy, happy look on her face: as though just for this moment, nothing can go wrong.

We live in a beautiful world...

2005-10-30T19:11:00.000-07:00

His eyes met mine briefly, wide and dark and unfathomable. I soaked in the sleek brown fur and black markings, shimmering gold like a hallucination under the autumn sun. It's like a drug to me, the way it fills my heart to bursting just to see something so beautiful and perfect and living. Watching the squirrels and chipmunks getting ready for winter makes me feel more alive (or at least more willing to be alive). Their jaws stretch wide to hold acorns as their paws claw furiously at the pine straw covered ground. I want to help them, to bury little gold mines of acorns for them to find later, but I don't think it would work. So I just watch and it's impossible to suppress a slight smile because it feels like the warmth of alcohol rushing through my veins, only ten times better. If you just watch closely, noting every twitch of every muscle and every piece of shining fur, it is miraculous. I don't understand how people who believe in god don't marvel at least as much as I do at the absolute perfection of animals. I would think they'd be even more inclined than me. But regardless of anyone else, I will continue to melt into pure wonder every time. And it's things like that which keep me going beyond the nightmares that wake me up in a sweat with images of car wheels and animals impossibly entwined in my head. It's ironic that the same things that make me feel the worst are the things that make me feel best. Situational irony, I guess. The second I fall in love the camera angle changes and I'm back in the world of my nightmares.

But if I walk outside with my iPod playing the most beautiful songs I know, watching the world in all of it's beautiful colors, it feels like walking through a movie. The music highlights every single indescribable detail and nothing has ever looked so good.

This is how I deal with not being with you right now. With so many beautiful things, with green parks and goofy faced dogs, with autumn sunlight on autumn colored trees, and with the sculpted body of the praying mantis on the sidewalk outside, it is impossible not to believe that everything will work out.

2005-10-27T22:38:00.000-06:00

On the wall next to my bed I've got the strip of paper from my fortune cookie taped underneath the picture of you with lettuce hanging out of your mouth: "Relax and spend some time with a loved one." If I could, I'd find a bar here exactly like the one we sat at in Montreal. I'd sit with my elbows on the dark polished wood and marvel at the different types of glasses hanging above me. I'd get a margarita and a cosmopolitan and drink them all by myself and maybe I'd be so happy I'd laugh and talk to the bartender all night about you. Maybe I'd be so sad I'd cry and smoke a cigarette and talk to the bartender all night about you. I can see it going either way. Lying in my bare bed with all the sheets and blankets and pillowcases in the wash, with my throat aching from my (our) cold, it feels like I'm in some sort of infirmary. A visit would be nice. And some warm food. It's been hard to eat since I've been back. You spoiled me permanently with those sauteed portabellos and homemade baba ganouj and pancakes. A spoonful of peanut butter here, a paper cup of smoothie there, and I poke at some cold, oily noodles on my tray and feel sick. I want a hot sandwich, and fresh bananas with pure maple syrup, and homemade pasta sauce. I want your nice wide, low to the ground bed instead of the narrow, raised one I'm in now. And oh my god do I want you. I can't imagine any sort of perfection beyond what I imagine next year will be like. And what I imagine next year will be like is almost exactly how I remember last week. With a little bit less of your mother. (Maybe there will be more of mine, though.) It is 1:13 am and I know you're on your way home from work. It's late and I'm hungry and I wouldn't mind going to sleep, but the anticipation is building inside of me as the clock keeps moving. And I guess you know I love you.

neon golden, like all the lights...

2005-10-24T22:34:00.000-06:00

Looking down through thousands of feet of night air, Montreal is heavenly. Everything is gold crosses melted into the black sky, with the river cutting a shining, shivering black gash across the land. My heart continually swelled farther up into my throat to correspond with every inch the plane sank towards the earth.

Five days later the city disappeared behind me under a sick, clouded sky and I closed my eyes, refusing to believe it was gone.

Back here, everything is colder but otherwise identical. The buses inhaling and exhaling students, the asphalt smeared with construction dirt, the flickering yellow squares of the parking garage windows, and the half-finished building outside my window offer nothing new to look at. There is only the same gray-white tile floor, the same yellow-brown furniture, and the same blank concrete walls. It is suffocating.

I walked the same path today that I walk every alternate day of the week. It already feels surreal that I was ever gone. The whole process of the day felt as though it was melted over me, holding me, covering me - a quicksand of routine dragging on me at every turn.

But tonight, remembering how real our laughter was on Saturday night, remembering how grateful I was that you held on to me when your mother was visiting, remembering the ridiculous restaurant hunt and the way my cheeks stung with the cold, I felt overwhelmingly happy.

In spite of everything in our way, I've got more hope than I've ever had before.

2005-10-18T22:17:00.000-06:00

she has a way of tormenting me with her words that makes me feel so helpless to retaliate that i cant stand it.

and i wish i could be alone right now but i cant, and that leaves me feeling helpless too.

it is 12:24 am and officially wednesday. thank god im leaving today. i hope the break will give me time to let go of it but i have to admit, its gotten well under my skin, pricking at me every time i try and make a move.

its too bad the time to drop classes is over.

my suitcase is packed and zipped up and ready to go. i want to walk out the door right now. i dont want to come back.

at the very least i want to attack the rest of that pint of ben&jerrys in the freezer, but its 12:31am and there is some guy in the room that i dont really know.

so ill just lie in bed and bitch to you, because i can.

2005-10-16T20:04:00.000-06:00

i am pretty much living for wednesday...

2005-10-14T16:40:00.000-06:00

Raleigh Charter didn't prepare me for having uptight professors who don't give a shit about me. I suddenly miss high school like crazy.

2005-10-13T11:02:00.000-06:00

I'm sitting in class sucking on a Berry Lime Sublime smoothie and listening to the professor talk about crystal meth and Buddhist gangs in his soothing Australian accent. It is completely surreal, especially in the setting of this gorgous high-ceilinged room with its hardwood floor and the sun-bathed tree limbs brushing their still-green leaves against the panes of the four windows lining the far wall. Outside, you stand in the shade and shiver but when you get into the sun you sweat. My solution is just to stay inside, wrapped up in blankets and feeling sleepy. This is especially easy to accomplish with the new addition of the television in our room (thank you, Trevor). The class is now talking about holes in the brain and mixing methamphetamines with Red Bull. I'm starting to feel nauseous. Yesterday after computer class I talked to a very attractive boy for quite a while after class, and I just felt even better about my relationship with Simon. I'm leaving for Montreal next Wednesday and the simple thought leaves my hands shaking with excitement. Wanting nothing further than friendship out of the boys here is an indescribably comforting feeling. And I used to be so afraid that I would be tempted... it seems funny now.

2005-10-12T20:09:00.000-06:00

jamie is kept in a reverse prison down in georgia
where she doesnt have to worry about being touched
back in carolina the kids who knew her
say they miss her, but they wont say how much

and when everyone else's backs are turned
they whisper rumors and fairytales of her demise
but jamie's not gone, she's just down in georgia
and she doesn't have to worry about prying eyes

that girl in her reverse prison in georgia,
the one i haven't really known in years,
inspires dirty words from kids back home
and she occassionally inspires me to tears

thinking about jamie down in georgia
it has a way of minimizing all of my own fears
and i wish i could tell her i miss her, but
i dont really miss her. we havent spoken in years.

2005-10-11T18:03:00.000-06:00

a cement box with a girl inside and music filling it up with the kind of feeling you wouldn't expect to associate with a place like this. the street below the window looks strangely distant through the cloud-shaded unblinded triangle of the window on the fourth floor and everything has a half-second life span. last night the music in my ears blurred the night in my eyes and every street light, every brick, every bicycle was distorted and surreal. the ache in my legs after the hour in the echoing heat of fetzer gymnasium slurred and stuttered my movements. my collapse into bed was less than graceful but i was well beyond caring. i felt sleep curtaining my eyes and the dreams i slipped into were malicious and frightening and i ran for my life, choking for breath through tears of terror and clutching my cramping sides as i stumbled forward. i woke up well past class time and the day was gone just as quickly as it had come, a rush of disappointment and stupidity that faded into a sense of not caring. so im lying here in bed in my cement box and the music is filling me up with the kind of feeling i wouldn't expect to associate with a place like this.

2005-10-05T22:46:00.000-06:00

sometimes its 12:47am and you just dont feel like doing much of anything. not even sleeping. so you lie in bed and just... be.

I dare you.

2005-10-04T23:26:00.000-06:00

1. Reply with your name and I'll respond with something random about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll pick a flavor of ice cream to wrestle with you in.
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me.
5. I'll tell you my first memory of you.
6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.
8. If I do this for you, you must answer the question I ask you for #7.

2005-10-04T23:20:00.000-06:00

i changed my template without thinking about it and thereby deleted all my links. if i forgot you and you want me to add you just leave me a comment. or something of the sort.

jesus christ

2005-10-02T11:06:00.000-06:00

i dont understand how this quiz does it but....

Rachel's Existing Situation
Unwilling to extend herself or exert undue effort (with the possible exception of sexual activity). Feels that further progress requires more from her than she is willing or able to give. Would prefer reasonable comfort and security rather than the rewards of greater ambition.

Rachel's Stress Sources
The tenacity and strength of will necessary to contend with existing difficulties has become weakened. Feels overtaxed, worn out, and getting nowhere, but continues to stand her ground. She feels this adverse situation as an actual tangible pressure which is intolerable to her and from which she wants to escape, but she feels unable to make the necessary decision.

Rachel's Restrained Characteristics
Willing to participate and to allow herself to become involved, but tries to fend off conflict and disturbance in order to reduce tension.
Clings to her belief that her hopes and ideas are realistic, but needs encouragement and reassurance. Applies very exacting standards to her choice of a partner and wants guarantees against loss or disappointment.
Circumstances force her to compromise and to forgo some pleasures for the time being. Capable of achieving physical satisfaction from sexual activity.

Rachel's Desired Objective
Longs for a tender and sympathetic bond and for a situation of idealized harmony. Has an imperative need for tenderness and affection. Susceptible to anything esthetic.

Rachel's Actual Problem
The tensions induced by trying to cope with conditions which are really beyond her capabilities, or reserves of strength, have led to considerable anxiety and a sense of personal (but unadmitted) inadequacy. She attempts to escape into a substitute world in which things are more nearly as she desires them to be.

Take the ColorQuiz yourself right now!

2005-09-28T23:54:00.000-06:00

I want to write this post to remind myself that things can turn around. Sometimes it's unbelievable how hard that is to remember. The fact is though, you take the time and the actions to turn things around and it's not easy but you'll do it. And when you do you'll find yourself sitting in a room that has never felt so comfortable, smiling like an idiot at your computer screen while you talk to the person you love online, while other kids try to study all around you.

Yeah.

I think I could stay up all night long just to keep feeling like this.

2005-09-26T23:28:00.000-06:00

daniel melted his hand at work. literally. second degree burns from 180 degree water left his skin in ripples. today: emergency room. tomorrow: plastic surgeon. a lot of days: physical therapy.

suddenly the fact that my whole computer was erased just doesnt matter so much.

2005-09-21T14:00:00.000-06:00

when the bad gets going its pretty much unstoppable. you just have to kind of wait for it to wear itself out. and then you can start shovelling that huge pile of bullshit out of your mind.

i am trying to give away my life to make something better but i cant even do that. i cant do it because my fucking body cant handle living. and i walk around in a fever and god knows how long ive been doing it because i cant even feel it anymore. i thought i felt good until they told me otherwise but i guess the heat and the sweat werent the fault of the sun after all.

and i thought it would all be ok once i fell in love but i relied too heavily on other people's acceptance. so i hang up on my own parents just to stem the tide of "suggestions" and i hide concerned letters where i dont have to read them. i throw my keys across the room just to hear them crash into the cement walls.

once upon a time i thought i could just get into life here and be ok. but ill tell you what, if you try and get into something youll just get fucked over. you can spend a few hours and five pages trying to get into something but youll just get your effort tossed back carelessly onto your desk with a 5/5 written on it. and it wont count worth shit.

and all these people i dont know want to talk all the time. but i dont want to talk. i wish there was a decent way to tell them to fuck off. there isnt. i pretend to have conversation until enough time passes that i can successfully lie my way away.

well frankly all i can think to do about it is lie in bed when i should be in class, feeling sick and staring at the poster of open windows on my ceiling. so thats what im doing. and i write my troubles out on the internet in a desperate attempt to get them out of my head. well its a pretty stupid way to live but i think its working.

and i havent even resorted to the bottle of vodka in my refrigerator. and based on past history i think thats pretty fucking admirable.

2005-09-19T09:41:00.000-06:00

it's 11:42 am and i dont have my first class for another hour and 18 minutes.

i like to lie in bed with my cell phone balanced against my ear, talking to simon until i fall asleep.

i like to eat dinner with my parents when they come up here for the evening.

i have succesfully wasted 18 minutes coming up with the previous three sentences.

which means its time to go get lunch and then go pretend i did the reading for my next class.

2005-09-14T17:56:00.000-06:00

ups and downs, ups and downs. ups. ups and ups and ups. sometimes i get these intense feelings of emptiness that last for about 10 seconds and make me feel like my body is collapsing in on my heart. that's from missing you. then more ups. ups and ups and ups.

im happy again. one week happy, one week sad. back to happy. i would be ecstatic if you were here. but im ok with being happy.

i like this library. i like the smooth orange brown wood of this cubicle that forces me to interact only with my computer. i like the nice cool air of the building and the silence apart from the tapping of computer keys. i kind of wish i had brought some headphones so i could listen to music, but then i wouldnt be able to hear the music filtering in through the closed window. some sort of bells it sounds like. its nice.

my stomach is full and warm with coffee from the bagel shop and i hope itll wake me up enough to kick me into work mode soon. its so easy to just sit here and enjoy where i am instead of reading page after page on the computer screen. ah, well. ups and downs.

i rode the bus for about 45 minutes today without even knowing which bus i was on. i think that was probably the best part of the day.

2005-09-11T10:23:00.000-06:00

Painted walls around me and it's the best way to live. Nothing like the cement blocks stacked around us back at college. And everything here is mine. Not like the things back at college that so many hands have already touched and claimed for their own. When you're home and walking down a dirt path with a great friend, not sure where you are or where you're going, tall crazy grasses piled up around you so you can't see - that's when you realize that manicured grass and groomed trees and brick pathways aren't enough. You realize it isn't enough to be surrounded by people you don't know, to get lost in a crowd, to be surrounded by man-made nature. There was about a week there when I thought it was enough. Now that I'm home, I know why that feeling faded.

I'm home and every flaw of the furniture, groan of the floor, hiss of the air conditioning is familiar. The fat blue cushions of my chair, the small soft body lying on my bed with her huge eyes and her underbite pointed in my direction as I type, the quiet calm of the neighborhood outside my window is all familiar.

It's hard enough to be here, in comfort and quiet solitude, without the person you love. I don't know how I'll do it when I get back to the crush and crowd of school. How I'll do it when all I've got to look at are cement walls and used furniture. Remembering the way we lay with only the rose colored light from my pig lamp, the way we turned the air down as cold as we could just so we could wrap ourselves in each other and blankets - I don't know how I can stand to go back. It's hard enough to remember it when I'm here.

All the pain of it is twisted until I can hardly tell the good from the bad. Which feelings are stronger - the walk through the arboretum, the concrete bench under the tree, the hours spend just lying in my bed; or the simple fact that those things won't happen again for god knows how long?

It's all mixed up into something crazy that I can't define. But the simple fact is that life is a twisted mix of good and bad and they aren't separable all the time. Maybe they aren't ever separable. So I'll take my bad with my good. I don't know how I'll stand to go back, but I've got all the memories of the good to push me through.

There is all of this good and bad feeling twisted up inside of me right now. Unlike a few days ago, there is also all this hope. All this hope soaking into the good and bad together, loosening them out of the hard knots they form inside me.

I guess a relationship is only long distance if the feelings start to fade. Because you are with me right now. I know that much. I know it.

2005-09-01T15:17:00.000-06:00

parents and counselors tell you to focus on the good things in life. not to let the bad things get you down. as if willful ignorance, or, worse, willful callousness is a solution to anything but your own personal misery.

of course, once you have tried it, you realize how strong the temptation is to relieve your own personal misery at any cost.

there are days when all i feel is grateful for having this medicine, for having no tv, for having no news. there are days when i forget that there are other people and places in the world.

2005-08-30T19:44:00.000-06:00

It's so easy to be happy here, despite the constant loneliness of being surrounded by people but never seeing you. It gives the happiness an edge, but I can't deny that college life is better than I expected. Better even than I had hoped during my most desperate high school moments.

At the same time, it's so easy to be unhappy here. I am desperate to share everything with you, to be with you throughout this time. I think that would be my personal definition of perfect. It's easy to be unhappy just because I'm so happy without being able to show you.

I've joined Pirate Club and Fever. I've gone to Fall Fest, I've gone to frats. I've been to the cafeteria and to restaurants, where I ordered off the children's menu and felt delightfuly cheap.

Walking back to the dorm this evening I stopped to pet some guy's dog. I hadn't petted a dog in four days. It felt like four years. I need to get a fish or a plant or something. Something to lavish affection on.

I have a lot of unused affection right now.

2005-08-22T09:14:00.000-06:00

In compliance with Angela's wishes, I will update.

I have violent dreams. I dream about Sean kicking Brad's ass and writing insults on him in his own blood. I dream about my brother trying to murder me. I dream about breaking people's arms with a metal rod. I dream about stalking people through the woods. I dream about shooting out the gas tank of a car to make it explode in the face of my pursuers.

When I wake up, I'm still tired. Sometimes it entertains me to think that these images aren't dreams at all, but a secret secondary life that even I am not fully aware of.

I fell asleep on the couch with Simon yesterday afternoon. Dreamed of crazy things. I woke up with his fingers clutching mine and his eyelashes two fine black slashes across his sleeping face. I figure nothing but that is real. And I mean nothing.

I fell asleep last night in my bed with my arm around the stuffed pig that my grandmother gave me. When I woke up at 5am the pig was on the floor and I was caught in a twisted web of blanket. Twice recently I have fallen out of bed, waking up to the sudden impact of my face against the floor.

What does all of it mean? It means nothing. I already told you what is real. Everything else, it means nothing.

I feel good today.

2005-08-18T22:24:00.000-06:00

It's been so long since I've been here that I had forgotten my password to log in. But that doesn't really bother me. There are a lot of things I'd like to forget.

Today has been a dream. Sometimes it's easier to reject reality than to accept that what is confronting you is true. I have been fighting life with lies but they all crumble away sooner or later and then the people you lied to are just pissed off and you've got nothing left to fight with.

I guess my problem is that I lack some important qualities: respect for authority, love for what I'm told to love, worry regarding what is supposed to be important, and hatred for what I'm told to hate.

I guess I don't have a problem at all. I don't even have a problem with people having a problem with that, or with me.

I've been slapped in the face with a beautiful past and it is nearly as surreal as the present. Kids from Durham days that remember my name and face and want to see me again. Kids who used to be the same stupid kid that I was. Kids who are older and more attractive now. Ah oops I'm not supposed to be concerned with physical attraction, am I?

I love you, Simon. Regardless of anything and everything that has ever happened or will ever happen, or maybe because of anything and everything that has ever happened or will ever happen.

I can't believe how much I love you.

Those kids in Durham, me included, were like some crazy idealistic image of childhood. Or at least that's how my memory plays it back. Like it was too good to be real. Must have been man-made. And probably it was. Probably I made all this up in my head.

Probably I made up the construction of shelters in the woods, the yellow school bus rusting in my back yard, sailing through the air on the neighbors' hammock, flying across the creek on a rope tied to a tree branch, water balloon wars, and day after day of riding our bikes through the hot streets. Probably life was just as flawed and ridiculous as it is now. I just don't want to remember it that way.

These names that keep popping up, they hardly make sense. Jonah and Ryan and all those Magellan kids. I feel like I can't touch them, like the second I try they'll just evaporate. I kind of feel that way about everything.

Except you. I desperately want to hold on to you right now. I don't know what else to do. I guess there isn't anything else to do. Just hold on.

Why am I here writing? Why am I doing anything? I don't know. I haven't got any answers. All I've got is this massive, heartwrenching, possibly foolish love for you.

So stupid I've got to write it on the internet where no one gives a shit about reading it. Where no one gives a shit about anything at all.

in a bleak, helpless sky, i saw the sun rise

2005-07-09T16:56:00.000-06:00

His white and receding hairline curls away from his sun-reddened forehead as if in fear of coming into contact with the flaming skin. I read the standard red-cursive name label on his blue work shirt: Emmett. I am momentarily afraid: a subconscious reaction to his unsteady grin, his bug-eyes, and his unfortunate lopsided walk.
"Amy here?" he asks, leaning heavily against the checkout counter. "Nope. Maybe later this afternoon." We speak in sentences that might be short, might be clipped, but for our southern drawls. Mine, incidentally, becomes far more pronounced at work. He-ey, how yoo doin?
His vacantly cheerful expression is unaffected by my reply. "I loaned her a DVD and CD. Thought I might get 'em back." I nod and say "Mmm" to show my understanding of this unfortunate situation. This noise can replace almost any word in almost any conversation and therefore I have long since mastered its swift and smooth production. There are hours and sometimes even days when I will go to great lengths to avoid using actual words, for whatever reason. Usually for no reason.
"Nice store ya'll got here."
"Mmm. Yes. Thanks."
His gaze pans around the store, absorbing the brightly colored books, magnets, rolls of Scotch tape, posters... millions of objects that might be considered practically unrelated outside of the teaching profession.
"I wash windows," he says. "Been washin 'em here for 13 years." His eyes take a glance at mine to judge my reaction.
"Mmm." I attempt to keep my face neutral, because that's about how I feel, but I have no way of knowing if this is accomplished. Am I supposed to show surprise? Dismay? Pity? Jealousy? I do not have a clue what he expects to find in my expression.
We are silent for a moment and I find it even more uncomfortable than the one-sided conversation. I search for words that could potentially add to this dialogue. So, how'd you get into the window washing business? Clean any really dirty windows lately? What kind of cleaner is best on glass? I feel idiotic just thinking these things, and I wisely remain silent, leaving him in the leading role. He picks back up before long.
"Got a sale goin, huh?"
"Yep." I tell him that it doesn't actually start until Monday, and then I detail it for him. This is familiar territory. I tell this to pretty much everyone who comes in the store. The information is prepackaged and ready to be dispensed at this point. But either he isn't listening to what I'm saying or he just doesn't comprehend it.
"So the sale's goin well, huh?"
What do you say? Do you start all over with your explanation, thinking you made the mistake? I don't want to patronize him. I don't want to embarrass myself, either. I just nod and smile and say, "Mmm."
He walks outside and I'm momentarily relieved. It is an awkward conversation, at least for me, and I'm ready to end it. I perch upon the tall gray swivel chair and cross my legs. Through the glass storefront, I can see that he hasn't left at all. Instead, he's browsing the tables labeled "Sidewalk Sale 75% Off" that Marcia, Amy, and I drag outside every morning and back inside every evening. Usually, one or more of the tables collapses mid-carry and I wind up with bruised feet and ankles where they fall on me. My feelings towards the sidewalk sale are somewhat negative, to say the least. But by now I know the contents of the tables fairly intimately, and I'm confident that there is nothing on them that would interest an aging window washer. I expect him to glance at the items disinterestedly before moving on. His glancing, however, appears to contain quite a bit of interest.
Two or three minutes later he's back in the store with a t-shirt in hand. He gives me an almost proud smile as he lays it on the counter. I look down at the shirt. It is decorated with a picture of bunnies on a playground and says something like "Running a daycare is a hare-raising job!" Miraculously, I do not laugh. I say, "What a cute shirt!" with as much enthusiasm as I can muster, and I smile with my lips pressed tight to keep the rising giggles from exploding in his face.
He agrees, and his enthusiasm is clearly honest. He talks for at least five minutes about how much he likes the shirt, how he has no affiliation whatsoever with any daycare except he drops his dog off at a doggy daycare, how he buys stuff from Amy's store all the time and keeps it in his office even though he isn't a teacher, etc etc. I make my invaluable noise at appropriate places in the conversation and continue to smile. It is about as friendly as I can manage at 1:45 in the afternoon with no food inside of me, 4 hours of work behind me and 3 more to go, in the face of this bewildering man.
Eventually he allows me to ring up the sale, eventually he stops chatting long enough to pay me (he tells me he doesn't need a receipt; "No way I'll be returnin this shirt!"), and eventually he moves away towards the door. I glance at the clock and judge that my pizza is about 15 minutes from arrival. My stomach makes a noise similar to the sound, "Mmm."
Emmett pauses at the door and leans against the half wall around the window displays. He peers into the display. Don't start talking again, please don't start talking again.
"Would ya look at that poster!" he laughs, and then quotes, "'Being different can be GOOD!'" The poster has pictures of oranges all over it. One of the oranges is "different" from the others. He talks for another several minutes about the poster and the window display in general. No response is even necessary from me at this point.
Finally he puts one hand against the door and with the other fumbles for his sunglasses. As he slides the glasses onto his face and begins to open the door, I call after him, "Have a nice day!"
He turns, looks at me. Gives me a vacant smile.
"Yup, it sure is a hot day! Oooh boy is it hot!" He shakes his head good-naturedly and wanders out into the heat. As I watch his lopsided walk carry him across the parking lot, I wonder if he ever even saw me. I wonder if I entered his consciousness at all.
Moments later, one of the best pizzas I have ever had the pleasure of eating was handed to me across the blue counter.
Goodbye, Emmett.
Hello, Dominoes.

2005-07-06T19:17:00.000-06:00

ive been in a strange mood all day. apart from about an hour spent playing computer games with my mother this afternoon, i havent felt much like talking or moving or doing anything. i feel kind of like im sleepwalking. like my eyes arent really open. like everything is so far away from me that i cant touch it or even really think about it. i didnt even bother to feel amused or annoyed when a woman came into the store today asking for things shaped like boogie boards. i didnt even mind laminating 150 feet of pages ripped out of decorating magazines. it took three hours. i was almost glad to have to do it. at least i didnt have to think. just stand in front of the machine with the heat almost melting your face and slide page after page into the thin mouth. you dont even have to talk to the customers. when i got home i didnt feel like doing anything so i sat at the kitchen table and ate ice cream until i thought i was going to be sick. its about all ive been eating this summer. my stomach is still aching from it. i dont really care. i feel the ache, but i dont feel it - it is separate from me. something that i can evaluate from a distance without being connected to it. there is Me, and there is My Stomach. and they are very different. god, what am i talking about? im lonely and bored but i dont feel like talking. im tired but i dont want to go to bed. im restless without wanting to move. i feel like drinking. i feel like having so much alcohol that i just lay on the couch without even being able to move the muscles in my face, like i did that night a few months ago. or maybe drinking so much that i fall down the stairs again. really i just want to drink enough that i cant feel anything but good. that is my only goal. and god knows i dont feel good right now. but i suppose i ought to stick to my resolution to stop getting drunk. i suppose it will do me good in the long run. besides, who wants to get drunk when there isnt even anyone around to make out with? ahhhh goddamnit... what a night.

2005-07-03T17:07:00.000-06:00

so kit did this thing on her myspace where she listed 100 facts about herself. i thought it was kind of neat and i wondered what the hell i would say if i were to try that. so i decided to try that.

1. I do not know what meat tastes like.

2. I have moved 3 times but I have always lived in the same area.

3. My favorite animal is the pig. I want to own a pig one day.

4. I have a great job with an amazing boss, but I still hate working.

5. I am [slowly] recovering from mono.

6. I'm good at word games. Jumbles, Scrabble, etc. I really like that sort of thing.

7. I just finished the book "Cat's Cradle" and I'm think I'm a Bokononist.

8. I still like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I watched one of their movies today.

9. When I was younger I wanted to be an architect because I liked playing with Legos. It took me a pretty long time to figure out that building Lego structures and being an architect are very different things.

10. I used to be very painfully shy and paranoid. I still am to some extent, but I make up for it by acting like I'm outgoing. It works pretty well, I think.

11. The story "Guts" by Chuck Palahniuk made me feel physically ill, but I still thought it was an awesome story.

12. I need to clean my room.

13. I have post traumatic stress disorder.

14. I am in love.

15. I enjoy watching the TV guide channel more than I enjoy most actual TV shows.

16. Last night I named my strawberry daquiri "Rosatia."

17. I avoid returning phone calls, regardless of who it is that I'm supposed to call.

18. I always wish I could be friends with everyone I meet.

19. I am amazed by the number of friends I have that I really, truly consider "friends" - people I can talk to openly, who care about me, who I care about. I used to think that friendship was a shallow facade used solely for selfish gains. I think I've grown past that.

20. I am amazed by how little I desire male attention from anyone else, even now that Simon is away.

21. I thought I would find it difficult to hold on to a long distance relationship. I was both right and wrong. It is difficult to be apart, but easy to remain in love.

22. Perfectionism is a weakness of mine, but one that I am [very] slowly beginning to overcome.

23. I spend too much time on aim without talking to anyone. In fact, I often put up away messages without going away so that I can be online without having to talk to anyone. I'm still not sure why I feel the need to be online if I don't want to talk to anyone.

24. Everyone always tells me, in regards to my depression, that I don't need to feel bad about myself, be hard on myself, etc. I always respond, truthfully, that it is not myself that I have a problem with. It is other people. I am more or less content with myself.

25. Sometimes I think that I have a huge ego problem. Sometimes I just think that I have a huge ego, but that it isn't much of a problem.

26. Usually I don't think that I have a huge ego, but that I have a realistic self-view. I know generally who I am, and I have made myself into someone that I am not uncomfortable with being.

27. I'm surprised by how difficult this is.

28. I am afraid to be too open about myself in making this list, because I do not trust the internet.

29. I may get my learner's permit this week. This would be a huge step in my progress towards driving, as I completed driver's education 2.5 years ago but never got any further.

30. I love melon balls. I think the melon tastes better that way, however illogical that may be.

31. I find it nearly impossible to talk meaningfully over the phone.

32. I like peanut butter to an unnatural extent.

33. When in a group situation where I don't know anyone, I instinctively move towards and attempt to befriend the more attractive people in the group.

34. I used to be humiliated to admit to anything at all negative about myself.

35. I am no longer ashamed of the vast majority of my own flaws. Experience has taught me that nearly everyone is just as strange and imperfect as I am.

36. Even though I'm personally not a big fan, I firmly believe that everyone should watch porn at some point in their life. I think it's a good life experience.

37. I love to lie in bed, whether I'm tired or not. I find it comforting.

38. I am much, much more open than I used to be. Even my parents used to say I was mysterious.

39. I once attempted to kill my older brother by smothering him beneath a blanket. When I eventually released him, his face was bright red and he was gasping for air. I did not feel guilty.

40. I used to pile blankets and pillows at the bottom of my staircase and then slide down the stairs inside a sleeping bag. It was definitely worth all of the bruises I got.

41. I have given myself two black eyes, a broken bone, and at least one concussion purely through my own clumsiness.

42. I love the color green.

43. I find my own dreams extraordinarily boring, even while I am dreaming. I often laugh at myself after waking up, because my dreams are so pathetic.

44. I hate feeling intellectually inferior, but at the same time I despise school.

45. I hate feeling intellectually superior. I find it awkward.

46. I am often unfairly judgemental.

47. I do not know if I spelled judgemental correctly, but I am too lazy to check my own spelling.

48. I have never mowed the grass and I hope I never will.

49. My head aches.

50. I love shopping for school supplies and/or office supplies. Why??? I do not like school or working.

51. I do not control my temper well.

52. I thoroughly enjoy violent video games.

53. I cannot stand the name "John Vanderslice" even though I love his music.

54. Although I'm not religious, I feel closer to Judaism than to Christianity.

55. I am terrified of having children. I cannot imagine feeling so responsible for the creation of another life.

56. I wish I was better at pool. I love playing, but I'm not very good.

57. I love to read. I even love reading books assigned for school.

58. I cannot remember the last time I did not feel tired.

59. I am not musically talented.

60. I am eating ice cream as I type this.

61. I just finished the ice cream. Damn...

62. I love my dog, and I definitely spoil her.

63. I am currently listening to the song "Poison Oak" by Bright Eyes.

64. I often feel guilty without knowing why. I think this is probably because I used to lie almost constantly, and I got in the habit of feeling guilty whenever I spoke. I don't lie much anymore, but I still feel guilty when I speak, whether I tell the truth or not.

65. I used to have 2 pet newts. One lived for 8 years, the other for 10. I loved them, and I cannot believe that they lived as long as they did. I miss them. I used to talk to them whenever I was feeling bad.

66. My mind often feels detachable from my body. I tend to feel somewhat distanced from physical pain. It still hurts, but it also amuses me.

67. A couple months ago I started getting hallucinations. I switched medicines and they stopped.

68. I am no longer afraid to talk about my depression. I used to refuse to admit, even to my brother, that I took medicine. After I finally told him, he was impressed by how well I had kept the secret. He told me that he had never suspected.

69. I feel very lucky to have such a good relationship with my brother.

70. Family gatherings stress me out and put me in a rather negative mood, despite the fact that I truly like everyone in my extended family.

71. Fireworks are ok, but I'm not crazy about them.

72. I am indecisive.

73. I like to get on InkLink and deliberately piss people off.

74. I like to create fake email addresses, ages, names, and birthdates to use online.

75. It annoys me when people pray before a sporting event. If there is a god, he probably has more important things to worry about than who wins a soccer/football/baseball/basketball game.

76. I don't like watching or listening to the news, or reading the newspaper. My parents say I need to be informed, but information usually depresses me badly.

77. I like to attend dance performances every now and then.

78. I do not like to dance unless I am under the influence.

79. Ever since my trip to France earlier this summer, I cannot think about omelettes without feeling horribly ill. Like right now... ugh.

80. I wish I could go to jail without having to get a criminal record. I just want to experience what it's like.

81. I have a bad habit of making fun of other people, sometimes aloud and sometimes just in my own head. Like the girl in the mall who was wearing a shirt that said, "This bod belongs to god."

82. I lack patience. I severely lack patience.

83. More often than not, I do not answer my cell phone when it rings.

84. I like the smell of gas stations and of car exhaust.

85. I cannot stand it when my parents argue. They argue a lot less now than they used to, thank goodness.

86. I love hot tubs if there is a regular pool nearby to jump into after a few minutes. If there isn't, I get way too hot and I don't like it.

87. The only people I actually know in my neighborhood are my two immediate neighbors, one on each side of my house. I do not associate with anyone of my own age who lives in the neighborhood.

88. I don't dive off a diving board unless I'm under the influence. I'm too scared to do it sober, because my mother used to tell me I could break my neck.

89. I'm afraid to jump really high on a trampoline. Again, I was frequently told that I would break my neck.

90. I love the smell of clean laundry.

91. When I get nervous, I either talk way too little or way too much.

92. I make a wish every time I see that all of the numbers on my digital clock are the same, like at 5:55.

93. If the question, "Are you in the mood for evil, or pie?" was posed to me at this exact moment, I think I would choose evil. Pie sounds pretty good too, though.

94. I always slouch down in the computer chair and prop my feet up against the wall when I'm on the computer. This involves twisting my entire upper body sideways in order to type.

95. I dislike checking my email, but I like receiving emails. I like receiving messages in any form, actually.

96. Sometimes I hope and believe that I'll love college next year. Sometimes I hope and believe that I'll hate it.

97. I love my parents.

98. Almost every day I work, I get a Lime Rickey to drink from Goodberrys.

99. I love Annie's Goddess salad dressing.

100. It is dinner time.

2005-07-01T21:35:00.000-06:00

i dont know what to say. i feel lost without you and yet everything else about my life is better than its ever been. so i sit around and stare at computer screens and i just dont know what to say.

2005-06-28T20:05:00.000-06:00

i got the best schedule for next year that i had even considered hoping for. i needed this. im finally getting the slightest bit excited about college. although it still lacks certain essential things... or people...

but here is the beauty of my schedule:

spanish 4 / 1:00 - 1:50 / monday, wednesday, friday
english 92 - british american fiction after 1945 / 2:00-2:50 / monday, wednesday, friday
comp 14 - intro to computer programming / 3:00 - 4:15 / monday, wednesday, and 3:00-3:50 on friday

asia 51 - sex, crime, and corruption in southeast asia / 12:30-1:45 / tuesday, thursday
clar 20 - ancient cities / 2:00-3:15 / tuesday, thursday

do you SEE that? not a single class that starts before 12:30. AND not a single class that ends later than 4:15. granted, im waitlisted on spanish 4, but im first on the waiting list so i really hope i can get in. because this schedule is IDEAL.

life would be ideal if you were here.

2005-06-24T18:15:00.000-06:00

"but i guess fear has a way of making sleep unbearable
and the days seem dark and long
but we cry and we dance
and we stumble into love with perfect, awkward grace
the moon is gone and the sun has took its place"
~bright eyes, a celebration upon completion

dunbar was not in love. this certainty winds snakelike through my brain,recurring with a venomous stab every few hours, while time and i move at identical speeds: s. l. o. w. i dont know what to attribute the varying sensations to. the sharp stab behind my stomach, maybe its just one more manifestation of mono. i wish i could transform time into a snapshot. i would hold a lit match to the corner and it would curl and disintegrate into nothing and when the last ash slipped from between my fingers you would be standing in front of me again exactly as we were before. i have never known a loneliness so acute, just as i have never known an exhaustion so overpowering. i dont know how to speed the time. i dont know how to force your return. i am afraid to force my departure. please dont leave me to the mercy of this sharp stab behind my stomach. this certainty winds snakelike through my brain: i cannot do this alone.

2005-06-22T19:16:00.000-06:00

today i sat out on the screen porch for a while, just doing nothing. drowning in the heat. i could hear everything. it was amazing, really amazing. i could hear the click of a squirrels claws on the pine tree in the back yard, and every crunch of sophies feet on the pine straw in her pen. i could hear about a billion birds, each with a different voice, and the playful interactions of tree leaves in the wind. i could hear dogs barking on the opposite side of the neighborhood and somewhere someone was slamming something with a hammer. car doors crashed back into their sockets, kids squealed, and some sort of wasp buzzed around the ceiling. it was really amazing.

sometimes things like that are just enough. do you know what i mean? they dont make you happy or in love with the world or willing to believe in religion. they are just enough. they satisfy. its as if there was an emptiness, a hunger, and you finally filled it. you can stop worrying. you can stop searching for that missing thing. its done, full, finished. enough.

i miss simon so much that sometimes i stand behind the counter at work and look out the windows at the parking lot and pretend i see him walking up to the store. i cut myself off when the imaginary conversations start up. im not getting paid to make up words inside my head. so i save that for the nighttime when im lying in bed.

2005-06-13T06:33:00.000-06:00

lying on the couch with your head in the lap of the person you love, knowing that everything about each moment is slipping away one atom at a time - it hurts. and you can squirt some salt water out of your eyes to try and fill the emptiness that is taking over, but you will never fill anything up. knowing that so many people are pleased that this is ending, knowing that they cant see that this is the happiest you have been in the longest time - it hurts. but you know they are doing their best, and youve just got to forgive. so i lay on the couch with my head in the lap of the person i love and felt everything slipping away. i wanted to run upstairs and grab my camera and crystalize everything about every moment that passed, keep it caged and on display permanently, but my legs are too weak to run anywhere after all the sickness that has been gutting my body. so i just watched your face, every particle that makes up your face. every piece of hair, every freckle, the lines that make up your silhouette. im sorry im too sick to kiss you.

lying in bed after you left, i let everything i associate with you flow through my head in a disorganized, chaotic stream. just words and ideas and images. like cloud chamber, here comes the airplane, messing with my hair, terrible godawful miserable direction-giving, sorry about calling you puppy kicker it was my fault, the beach, starfish, monkey face, cookie monster, the bridge over I-40, hey i like your lip ring. thanks, want to make out?, art lord vs spader, punching me in the jaw, all the fights we had just to make up, eating inside the house of branches, sin city and scarface and kill bill and donnie darko and fight club and scotland pa and noi, throat healing third place tea, driving, every red light we ever hit, ninja turtle toes, and oh jesus so much more. i slept really well last night. i slept great.

there is so much about this that hurts right now. god knows that this hurts in a way that even the breath clogging, saliva blocking, raw, bleeding pain in my throat cant challenge. but at the same time this is the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me. this is beautiful in a way that even the most beautiful heartwrenching music ever heard in the history of the world cant challenge. i dont regret anything about anything we ever did. not a second of it. i promise you i never will. it would be so easy to let myself become trapped in the pain of this right now. and we all know how easy it is for me to let myself get sucked into those kinds of feelings. but right now i think i would rather let myself become trapped in the indescribable beauty of what has been, and what i desperately hope will still be. the happiness - its more representative of what we have had.

i love you. so much that i do not know how to go about putting it into words, i love you. with everything in me, from the bottom of my heart - i love you. i hope neither of us ever forget that, even if time brings changes. i hope these memories remain as glorious as they are right at this moment, this one instant in time. even if i dont dare hope for anything more, i will hope for that.

2005-05-27T07:09:00.000-06:00

What You Really Think Of Your Friends

Emily Murphy is your soulmate.

You truly love Annie Butler.

You consider Kemp Dunbar your true friend.

You know that Brooks Morgan is always thinking of you.

You'll remember Angela Schebell for the rest of your life.

You secretly think Ilona Harabin is creative, charming, and a bit too dramatic at times.

You secretly think that Eric Branting is colorful, impulsive, and a total risk taker.

You secretly think that Sean Mckee-Griffin is loyal and trustworthy to you. And that Sean Mckee-Griffin changes lovers faster than underwear.

You secretly think Jake Hartley is shy and nonconfrontational. And that Jake Hartley has a hidden internet romance.

What Do You Think of Your Friends?

2005-05-25T17:32:00.000-06:00

parents sometimes dont understand things. like when you really need to talk to your friends about things that are important, things that cant wait, and all they want you to do is clean the house for your grandparents. as if the cleanliness of one four day visit will compare to the things i will feel if i dont get this shit out of my system immediately.

she says "it's only in my head." she says "shhh... i know it's only in my head."

2005-05-21T22:04:00.000-06:00

its bad the way i stay up at nights afraid to go to bed because i might hear and see the things i know arent even real. and its bad the way i lose it in the middle of the day with the sunshine on my face and friends on every side. so i walk with measured steps to the restroom and lock myself in a metal stall where my eyelids turn my vision black and i dont have to be real anymore. nothing is real anymore. its bad the way i hate so many people and ignore so many people and love so many people. i cant figure out who i am or who i should be or who i want to be. its bad the way i sit here in the darkness of this sleeping house and i dont care shit about anything except myself. something inside me cant bring itself to believe in the existence of anything besides myself. maybe something inside me doesnt want to believe in anything besides myself. that would involve accepting truths that i have spent years refusing to acknowledge. sometimes i just sit around in my bedroom and think about all the things that terrify me, just to get myself into that worked up state. at least then i know im awake. sometimes i feel so alone i cant breathe. havent you ever felt that? that feeling of being nothing, of being relegated to the background for forever, of infinite insignificance. well sometimes i figure if i cant be anything, then nothing can be anything to me. and i have no faith in anything. and i am often unfair. and i am rarely right. and i am almost never happy. so i sit here in this sleeping house and i find it impossible to care shit about anything except myself, and maybe not even that. maybe i just dont care about anything and it turns me bitter towards the whole world. like watching everyone crying after the soccer game that we lost yesterday and feeling the dark blue fabric of my jersey clinging rough and cold against my skin after being soaked by unseasonably cold rain. wishing i could just get away from everyone because i cant feel their tears. i cant care about things like that. all i can see is their insignificance. or maybe its just that i care way too much about the big things. things like life and death and hate and love. so much that i cant stand it and it turns me bitter towards the whole world. and everything else just seems so... insignificant.

tomorrow i will wake up and tonight wont have existed. tomorrow i will wake up and be alive and energetic and in love. tonight will not have existed. i will read this back to myself at some point and i will be sorry i ever wrote it out - be sorry for the words that come from me - be sorry for the feelings that are in me. i will understand that this is not fair to you. i hope you understand that. i hope you leave me before i hurt you.

2005-05-05T21:20:00.000-06:00

i wrote this earlier in the year for english class. i was in a pretty strange mood at the time so watch out.

Jesus and the Wine Fire

Jesus had always hated short stories. That was why he had fought so passionately when God had suggested spreading His word through a series of short stories.

“Dad, come on,” he complained, “There just isn’t enough closure in a short story. There isn’t enough room to work. And we both know how few people are really willing to take a short story seriously.”

At long last, the two of them had settled on a compromise: The Bible. God felt that people would be more willing to accept Him in bite-sized chunks, and therefore had remained adamant about the format of using several different books through which to spread His word. However, Jesus had managed to convince him to compile the collection of stories into one larger book, which he felt would add more weight and severity to the laws of God than a bunch of little anecdotes ever could.

So why is it, Jesus wondered as he lay on his back in his cot and stared at the ceiling, a pad of paper resting on his stomach and a pencil wedged between his index and middle fingers, that I’m lying here trying to write a short story? He shoved the paper to the floor and rolled onto his stomach with a sigh.

“Man, prison really sucks,” he mumbled aloud. He pondered the fact that being locked away never seemed to get any easier, despite the frequency which with he had been arrested and persecuted over the past couple millennia. Then he blew a spit bubble with his saliva, scratched vigorously at his grease-patterned hair, and closed his eyes in an attempt to sleep. The rough pillow scratched at his bare cheek and he shifted uncomfortably atop the uneven metal springs. Before they had forced him to shave his beard, the pillow hadn’t been a problem; he hadn’t even been able to feel it through the soft cushion of hair. He tried not to place any blame for the incident, for he knew it was only prison policy, but at the memory of the way the guards had pinned his flailing limbs and scraped the razor blade across his skin his eyes moistened with tears. He blinked rapidly to clear them away as he heard the steady thunk thunk thunk of a guard’s feet smacking the concrete corridor’s floor, approaching his cell.

With a scrape and a rattle, a key was inserted into the metal lock on the metal-barred door of his chamber. The door swung open and the surrealistically large shadow of the guard’s body erased the light from the cell’s interior.

“On your feet,” he growled at Jesus. “You got a visitor.”

Jesus stood and allowed himself to be handcuffed.

“Is it St. Peter?” Jesus asked the guard, recalling the many adventures the two of them had taken together. The guard snickered.

“Unless St. Peter was reincarnated as a lawyer, I guess you’re out of luck,” he laughed.

Hollow buzzer after hollow buzzer opened solid door after solid door. Jesus was completely lost; had the guard released his hold on Jesus’s elbow and told him to beat it back to his cell, Jesus would not have known which way to go. He walked through the prison docilely until the guard opened one final door, pushed him into a room where a stranger in a cheap suit sat at a cheap metal table, and then left, locking the door. The stranger stood quickly and extended a smooth pink hand toward Jesus.

“Hey buddy, nice to meet ya. I’m J. Richard Forrester, public defender extraordinaire,” the man spouted jubilantly. “Now I’m here to tell ya that you’ve got the number one public defender in Spencer City working on your behalf. How about that, now?” Without waiting for an answer, the lawyer plowed forward. “Now I’ve studied some on your case file, and here’s the deal: ya screwed up pretty big. But I hear you believe in miracles, so let’s just get the party started and see where we wind up. First things coming first, I’m gonna need a legal name from you.”

“Jesus,” Jesus said. “Son of Mary, child of God.”

“They told me ya might say that,” the lawyer nodded mysteriously. “But that don’t sound too hot in court, so how about we just call ya Mr. X? Ya know, spelled e-x-x: Mr. Exx.”

Jesus traced an “x” in the dust on the tabletop with his pinky finger. The insults to his name had been so numerous during his lifetime that he had almost grown immune to them, but the idea of going by the name Mr. Exx stung his pride.

“My name is Jesus, and I want to be called Jesus.” Forrester held up his hands in a gesture of innocence, palms facing Jesus.

“All right, buddy; all right. I got no problem with your name, anyhow. It’s the court that’s got the problem. But we’ll just let the court deal with that.” He reached underneath the table and dragged a ratty-looking briefcase to the surface. With a clunk he dropped it onto the table top and flipped it open, extracting a legal pad and a pen.

“Now how about you just tell me exactly what happened, all right?” Forrester suggested. He leaned forward across the tabletop, resting his weight on his elbows, his pen poised above the yellow lined paper expectantly. Slowly, Jesus raised his eyes to meet the lawyers’. What he saw did not particularly impress him, but neither did it particularly repel him. He began to speak.

“It gets cold in this city. The weather is cold and the people are cold. You lay down in a doorway for the night and the most you can hope for is that you don’t get stomped on or sent away or stabbed. And you stand on the sidewalk in the morning while people walk past, all these egos covered in overcoats running past in every direction. They swerve out of their way just so they don’t have to touch you. Just so they don’t have to breathe the same air as the air you’re standing in. That’s what this city is like. No one meets your eyes, and no one listens to God, and no one gives you anything when you’re hungry and in your time of need.

“But I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten in a long time. And my stomach was empty and growling and it was so cold I could see my breath freezing in the air when I exhaled. So I walked into this little dive (it didn’t look too crowded) and I slipped a menu off the counter and started looking through it. It was warmer in there than I could have hoped for, so I just sat for a while and looked at that menu. But the descriptions of the food were more than I could take. So I picked out a dish that looked good, and I went back up to the counter where this girl was standing in her little black apron and her little black shoes, and I asked her to give it to me.”

“For free?” the lawyer interrupted.

“For free,” Jesus said. “She said, ‘We can’t just give away our food like that.’ She said, ‘That’s an expensive item. We would lose too much money if we just gave it away.’ So I picked a cheaper dish. She said the same thing. I asked for anything, even just a piece of bread or a cup of coffee. But the dietary dictators running that joint wouldn’t give me a thing.

“Well, everyone ought to know by now that greed pays. I happened to have a little bit of wine in the inside pocket of my jacket. I’ve got a thing for wine. So I popped that open and soaked the place. And then I set it on fire. A couple of guys jumped on me as I went out, and they kept me there on the sidewalk. Everyone was running out of the place, and people stopped to watch as they were going past. The big window in the front wall exploded. The glass cut my forehead.”

He rubbed the scab on his forehead with the tip of one finger and sighed. The lawyer had stopped writing and was sitting with his elbows on the table and his head propped in the curves of his hands, hair streaming through his spread fingers.

“Let me get this straight,” Forrester said. “They wouldn’t give away their food, so you burned their place down. Is that what I’m hearing?”

Jesus nodded. In his mind, the world was clear and his actions were even clearer. A sense of calm settled over him as the weight of the previously untold story lifted. Forrester shook his head.

“Well, I knew we didn’t have a chance in hell anyway,” he said. “Good news is you’re plumb crazy. I’ll file some motions about that straight off.”

“While we’re at it,” said Jesus, ignoring Forrester’s comment, “There’s another sinner awaiting his punishment. An officer by the name of Bender was the one who arrested me. Handcuff Hitler would be a better name. This guy pushed me around like a shepherd on shearing day. Stuck his foot out when he pushed me into the cell so I tripped. Put his elephant knee on my back and pressed down so I couldn’t breathe. He used me for his personal entertainment. It was greed of an undeniable form. I want him sued. I want him to pay. God will help us win.”

The lawyer stared at him. He shook his head slowly.

“Officer Bender is dead, buddy. He got shot up on a drug bust. I can’t believe you didn’t know it.”

Jesus smiled contentedly.

“Perfect,” he said. “I knew it would be something like that.” He closed his eyes and thought, God, you rock.

He smiled all the way back to his cell.

2005-05-02T13:31:00.000-06:00

a car door slams outside underneath the obese sun. soon someone will come inside. i cant fucking wait.

2005-04-28T17:19:00.000-06:00

"ive been confused, and hurt, and baffled, and there is a feeling without a name, that goes between hating yourself, and confused at the world"

a friend of mine said this to me over aim just now in response to the question "what have you been up to lately?" i think his answer more than explains what so many people are going through and what so many people refuse to admit to those around them. this is how we are feeling but we dont want to talk about it. i dont want to talk about it either. thats why i have to write about it here, where there is no immediate response. where i can ignore you if i want to. where i can be alone. well buddy i think youre pretty fucking brave to say that straight out.

great expectations suck

2005-04-28T16:57:00.000-06:00

if people would just let go of their expectations, i think we would all be a lot happier. as it is, we just build ourselves up for disappointment. waiting for things to come that dont, wanting people to be what they arent, all that bullshit just detracts from the reality of things. it detracts from what good there actually is because we focus on the good there might have been. well, i dont suppose its that easy to give up on expectations, because ive tried but im disappointed even in that. but i can look back with hindsight and see what good there actually was in things. and maybe i can appreciate it even if its after the fact. this is all so easy to type out, so difficult to do most days. but at least its an idea and at least i feel a little better about myself for writing it down.

2005-04-26T16:42:00.000-06:00

cara cicatriz con simon y miranda. que divierto.

me duele la cabeza como si fuera atropellado por un coche.

estoy mas o menos contenta.

2005-04-24T11:49:00.000-06:00

ive been reading the bible to try and figure out what life is all about. so far all ive discovered worth mentioning is that i am utterly lacking in faith.

no words, only dreams

2005-04-20T14:34:00.000-06:00

a few years ago i woke up in the dark of the morning with the air still black and wet and clinging to my window. holding on to the metal railing of my loft bed with one hand i extended my body into the air, my other hand groping for the light chain dangling from the ceiling. that moment seemed to last forever as i hung there, suspended in midair in the dark, feeling weightless and surreal. then out of nowhere came a startling blow to my head that flung me backwards in a violent explosion of pain, the back of my skull crashing into the metal bedframe. i lay on my back in stunned silence with a hand clapped over the wound. it wasnt until a few moments later that i remembered that i had put the fan on before going to bed. i leaned out into the air again, keeping my head lower this time. finding the chain at last i tugged on it until the lights burst into action. one of the fan blades had a red mark on the edge. a red mark that exactly matched the blood on my head. i cleaned it off with a tissue.

i dont have that bed anymore. now my bed is low to the ground and it screeches like a pissed off cat every time i move. yesterday i lay on my back in that bed with its soft lumps of mattress padding pushing against my back, with the dog sitting on the pillow next to my head, with .s. by my side, and i watched that fan spin its endless shadows across the ceiling as the sun scorched the world outside.

these words - maybe they cant describe anything for anyone but me. maybe im just putting my own dreams and memories into one more unrecognizable form for the benefit of no one but myself. but words arent so important anyway. because you dont need words when youve got dreams.

2005-04-14T16:56:00.000-06:00

i guess there are two main reasons i like the book Riddley Walker.

1) arga warga

2) the idea of everything crumbling into a nonidentifiable mess of ruined civilization

in that order.

2005-04-13T16:14:00.000-06:00

life needs a pause button to control this insane pace. i want more time to savor the good things.

The truth is that gossip's as good as gospel in this town. You can save face but you won't ever save your soul.

2005-04-12T16:45:00.000-06:00

ugly grey day and cold. made me feel like falling into a little heap of grey ashes and just laying there on the ground. im sick of doing what everyone else wants me to be doing. i want to do what i want to do. seems like everyone wants me to think that their big deal is my big deal. teachers and coaches and parents and everyone. jesus christ sometimes even friends with their constant temptations to skip the things i ought to be doing, so we can go have fun. i want to have fun but i dont want the consequences, and sometimes i wish they would just let me be boring and busy and inaccessible. sometimes i really wish that. most of the time i want to just drop everything and go sit around with them and not even do anything. like we do at lunch. just sit around and not do anything and talk. but i am boring and busy and inaccessible. its getting to me. some days i think everything will be better next year, just keep hoping for next year and trying not to think too much about the current one. ugly grey days like these i dont think anything is going to get better. not next year or the one after that or ever. just more of the same and never content. but at least im not depressed anymore. oh no, not that. these days im much more like bipolar. because the bad moods are still there but the up days are way up, uncontrollably so. so much that it worries me that i am out of control. but fuck it all anyway and forget control for once. its still better than it was before. much better (believe that, dammit, would you just believe in the words you write). besides, im sick of everything being in control. i think it would be best if we could all just let go and let things take their course. its not like it will change much in the end anyway, whether we struggle or whether we lay back and drift. everything ends. everything dies. some things will always be worth the struggle but for the most part i just want to lay back and drift. most things arent as important as people want you to think. the race to be best is not that important, the race to be first and on top and perfect. thats someone elses big deal. i dont want that to be my big deal. no. i dont want a big deal. i just want to relax. its unfortunate that i find that to be currently impossible.

Don't degrade yourself the way I do, because you don't depend on all the shit that I use to make my moods improve

2005-04-06T19:49:00.001-06:00

the clocks took their hour back a few days ago, reaching into my life with their slick white-gloved hands and cutting out my time with a scalpels precision. i guess i havent been paying much attention lately because the air is hot now and i sleep with the fan blades dancing it into whirpools above my bed. wasnt it this week that i woke up cold through my blankets? was it not? seems like everything was this week, like life just started and i got shoved into it without warning. some form of induced labor on the part of my subconscious that knocked the awareness back into me but left everything feeling disoriented and surreal. you wouldnt think time would be dramatic and i suppose its not, now that it comes down to it. maybe its me thats dramatic. maybe its everything and im just watching it all unfold and telling it straight - telling how its you and your life and everything touching your life thats dramatic. just everything.

ive been thinking a lot about what i am lately and what ive come up with is that we are individually both nothing and everything, and that our lives are individually both instantaneous and eternal. it all depends on the frame of reference. thats the real idea ive been playing with i guess. flipping the viewpoint on my life at every whim, systematically building up my own self-importance for the sole purpose of shattering it back down to zero. both the architect and the wrecking-ball operator. at least it fills the time. ive got to admit, i like the wrecking-ball part the best. there is something undeniably attractive about destruction.

i unlocked the front door today and walked into the house and luke was in my kitchen just like it was two years ago and he had never been gone, only he had an accent.

i find that life is easier when it is just a blur with no details to confuse who or what or where i was

2005-03-15T20:05:00.000-07:00

is it just in my own head that people are always around when you need them least? when im in a good state of mind, i tell myself that theory is unfair. in my present mood, i couldnt care less if it is fair or not. ah jesus i might as well not even try to explain it tonight because its clear that i cant even write a coherent sentence.

im thinking about quitting soccer.

this weekend was fucking terrific.

2005-03-06T10:50:00.000-07:00

ive got a premonition that next weekend is going to be wonderful. who wants to help me make that happen??

And one day we will die and our ashes will fly from the aeroplane over the sea, but for now we are young...

2005-03-01T20:11:00.000-07:00

and sometimes i wonder who controls all of the light in the world, and why everything is always so dim and reddened like the pavement under the streetlight outside my window. the color doesnt carry any of the negative connotations of darkness; its just there, an irrepressable part of the world that clings and divides and spreads until it covers everything. even the most beautiful parts of the day. standing under the clarity of the afternoon winter sky i can feel it around me and through the clamor of the girls at the gym i can hear it and sitting here at the computer i am swallowed by it. and i plead guilty to the charges brought against me: that i love this feeling. its a separation without the isolation of night; a controlled dimming without a blacking out; a softening of the edges without losing the picture. everything has its consequences though. where darkness was knowledge (however unwelcome or unpleasant), the move to light the streetlamps kills a part of the world that was once alive. darkness is knowledge. light is pleasure. they can never be wholly compatible and i suppose the struggles of the past few years, the struggles that i still fall back into when the mood overtakes me, are the result of my unwillingness to compromise knowledge with pleasure. but i plead guilty to the charges brought against me: that i love this feeling. i plead guilty to feeling good. if i knew exactly who to beg, i would beg to be allowed to stay this way.

Dear Mark,

2005-02-24T19:05:00.000-07:00

thank you for your comments. instead of taking up space or annoying me, as you seem to think youre doing, the messages you leave are always interesting and entertaining to read. especially the last one. i had no idea that peanut butter could be made into diamonds. i went and ate a spoonful of plain peanut butter after i read that (luckily im not allergic). anyway, i really do enjoy your comments. in fact, i enjoy all of the comments i get. writing is easier when you know someone out there reading it cares enough to write back. so feel free to leave more comments. that goes for everyone who reads this thing (which i admit needs to be updated more often).

ps - where can i find your blog?

instincts are misleading - you shouldnt think what youre feeling

2005-02-20T17:51:00.000-07:00

hey, could you just stop changing for a minute? just long enough for me to feel like ive got some control over this. but of course change doesnt stop for me or anyone else. it plows through the dust of our lives and sends us flying in a thousand directions. sometimes it sends us flying straight up in the air, disengaging us from reality for one blissful moment, but our heavenward trajectories always crash downward. well i know ive got no control over this. ive known it for a long time now. do i have to accept it? of course not, but i do accept it. the struggle is useless, time consuming, painful. i wish i could tell him that. i wish i could tell him not to struggle, that we are all helpless, that the dust of our lives was not meant to remain unchanged. hey, if we had been meant to remain unchanged, we would have been made of diamonds.

from that same head you have twice removed a lock of hair you said would prove our love would never die. well, ha ha ha.

2005-02-18T12:22:00.000-07:00

i dare you to tell me a secret.

pain is only a pulse if you just stop feeling it

2005-02-15T10:13:00.000-07:00

fever induced hallucinations. i would write you a letter so long you couldnt even read it, but goddamn ive just got to lay down. just got to put my head down, feel these firecrackers going off inside and laugh without sound at the inward bursts of pain and heat and color. i dont even care anymore. at least im home. at least its quiet. im in a terrific mood despite all of this physical deterioration.

im definitely shaking

2005-02-06T19:43:00.000-07:00

if i knew what it is that does this to me i swear i would tell you and every word would ring true, like a photograph. then you would know how to make me feel exactly how you want me to feel.

i saw the future once. i was drunk in a phone booth.

2005-02-03T19:50:00.000-07:00

so i tilted the chair back until its weight hit the wall and i rested my head against the cold bricks rough against my hair. the balance was treacherous and the seat slippery cold under my jeans. the jeans rubbed against the skin of my legs; my shoes kicked idly at the metal legs of the desk. i couldnt feel my feet. and i sat there and thought that the morning was shit, and then i drowned in my own selfawareness.

i woke up an hour and a half later and the wind was spitting the rain all over the place in cold pellets that exploded wetly on the back of my neck and i thought that the afternoon was great. i didnt feel anything but cold.

and these clocks keep unwinding and completely ignore everything that we hate or adore

2005-02-02T17:25:00.000-07:00

we sat on the dusty metal slabs of bleachers above the dusty tiled floor of the gym and just talked about everything : nothing : past : present : future for an hour and a half. somewhere in the world it was dark : light : hot : cold and somewhere it was day : night but none of that affects us where we sit on dusty metal bleachers. time is immaterial but i can feel it falling in waves around me like a dress falling from my body to the floor leaving me exposed but purified. and im not sure of where the past fades into the present, and i cant predict where the present will fade into the future. it grows even more unpredictable with all of these desires that are rattling around inside of me, noisy like bells. i am attracted to millions of people and i wish i could narrow my focus but at the same time i love it this way with the sense of infinite connections it brings. and of course attraction can mean many things, and, even if her father is unclear about its nature, my attraction to annie is very different from my attraction to boys, and my attraction to boys in general is very different from the specific attractions i form for boys, and those in turn are entirely different from the attraction i feel when i read james joyce or when that guy in the spanish band started wailing on that electric guitar like a reincarnation of a god. so i sit here infinitely far away from anyone associated with the earlier events of the day and type into the distance, "when are you coming back?" and i care about the answer but not so much as you might think. attractions fade quickly. things are different when you are upright and awake and without that fatal heat leaning directly against you. of course i know im leading him on but a sense of pleasure accompanies the sense of guilt. i tell myself that i dont need to worry. i tell myself it wont come to anything. i tell myself that my options are so open its vulgar.

the subway is a porno; the pavements, they're a mess

2005-02-01T20:47:00.000-07:00

isnt it funny how life can be so beautiful one second and so horrifyingly ugly the next? no. its not funny at all. cycles - its all about cycles. ups and downs and flipping head over heels until your stomach is in your throat and begging to spill its contents all over the front of your shirt in a putrid and steaming waterfall of misery. i ride the cycles like a giant wheel, a giant circle. my circle is lopsided of late, and i stay on the high ride for good lengths of time until i drop off the edge and the wheel rolls over my prone figure, crushing bones and bursting blood vessels. sometimes my body lodges under the wheel like a wedge and im trapped for hours on end, maybe days. but there are these tiny white dream pills that make me weightless and paper thin. and that fucking wheel cant get to me then. it slides right over top of me. it slides right past. and it cant get me then. oh no it cant it cant. but those tiny white dream pills aint helping now. nothing aint helping now goddamn. one second up one second down. flipped head over heels until my stomach is in my throat. got to get away from the light of the computer. got to get away from you and your no good ideas, my no good attractions. there are things that i want...

I know not who I am but I talk in the mirror to the stranger that appears

2005-01-30T10:57:00.000-07:00

maybe its true that we all get left behind at some time, but that doesnt mean we cant catch back up. it doesnt mean that no one is waiting for you, waiting for me. dont stand there and submit to the ties that bind your legs in place. this is life and we are living and it is almost as beautiful as the sharp streaks that the black-winged birds are cutting in the white snow-threatening sky. and if those streaks turn out to be mistakes, who am i to judge? who is anyone to judge? life is mistakes compounded, but all you need in order to feel alive is to be able to lie in bed and laugh out loud to yourself in the dark. you will know what i mean then, in that one flash of time. you will know that it is enough. it will be enough.

gold teeth and a curse for this town were all in my mouth

2005-01-27T19:59:00.000-07:00

winter wants you to stay with it forever. it traps you in its snow, claws at you with bared tree limbs, and stabs your heart with the kind of sunrays that are ironically warm when they hit you out of that frigid air. summer has the same intentions but it uses different methods. it uses humidity like quicksand, lures you with the waters' warmth, and pours images of hammocks and glasses of lemonade down your throat until you could choke on them. but spring and fall hate us; undeniably, without even trying to hide it, they get rid of us as fast as they can. gone faster than i can even recognize their existence. a transformation from freezing to burning, ice to fire, without any time any between. i think im the same way as the seasons. but forget the seasons anyway, okay? just as long as you dont forget the people that were in them.