LINKS
Yet again I need another site to hold all my thoughts. I suppose one day you will come and all this will be gone.
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My eyes are tired and I think to myself I must sleep but it seems like all I've done lately. I feel like I am wasting myself. I should clean my room but I continue standing then knocking things over because I am too dizzy to stand up effectively... so I will sleep for an hour perhaps.
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What happens when you are all gone and I'm the only one left here? .... Only one left and the last one standing, but the first one to go at the same time? You look at me like I'm crazy but you don't know. You don't know my thoughts. You just pretend. Everyone pretends. Nothing is the way it should be, if there really is a should at all. How can one person determine what "should be"? .....How can anyone at all determine that, or anything else for that matter?
****
Everything is all illusion, or so you said to me. I can't get you to understand anymore. You are like a blockade... speaking in riddles... and I never understand you. Somehow it's like another language. I wish I could understand your manner of thinking. We used to be on the same wavelength... talking, corresponding, you emulating me, me emulating you... and now it's you cutting me down, me trying to emulate you. Everything I say you turn into some smart aleck comment you seem to shoot back at me. I look at you and I'm not sure what I'm supposed to see. You say if I really wanted to help you I'd get you more drugs. If I really want to help you maybe the first thing I need to start with would be killing me.
****
I don't really understand what is going on in your mind. So I watch you just like I watch everyone. Bits and pieces only come back. I still feel like I'm in an incredible hallucination. I know in my mind that I'm not. I saw these incredible pieces of glass strewn across College last night... they were glittering under the fluorescent streetlamps like irregularly shaped orbs. I had to go back and pick them up, but once I did, they cut me. I thought that was interesting, how beauty hurts. The little pieces of glass sort of stuck in my hand and I had to let go of the glass, let it fall to the blacktop. I just wanted to hold a piece of beauty. I need to find a way to be part of it.
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I thought I should explain the image displayed at the top of this page. It's from the Levi's commercial.. I love that commercial. I kinda ripped it off... so shh.
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Seven pairs of converse and a metal shoe sandal. My lips are burning with jalapeno juice. Puffy eyes stained with shoot of red liquidate - squeezing. Bed at 10 and up at 5:45. It all seems so mundane and boring. It is interesting the people you want to see are never there. Only the ones you wish not to see or do not care about. Tomorrow we will have school. Most people rested and will be there well rested. I wonder if I am the only one who stayed up. My eyes are so tired and these lines of blood stay embedded in them, pupils dilated, two ink droplets upon an infested sea of blue. Seven hours of sleep? No, it was 8... the night before it was 7, last night 8. Or perhaps the night before it was 6... god knows. I'm tired though, and I can hear the chrome pipe under the faucet is leaking. Drip...drip...drip.....
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Everyone seems to enjoy kissing so much and I wonder if I'm the only one who doesn't? I just don't see the point in it. It seems couples kiss so they don't have to discuss things. I would much rather have an intellectual relationship with someone rather than one based upon mere physical pleasure, but at this time both of those seem out of reach. I need to find someone who understands where I am coming from, but I don't know where to look. I just keep writing and thinking when it's really getting me nowhere. I often wonder if someday someone will look back on all my journals and think that I have wasted an entire forest for nothing. I often wonder it myself. Sometimes I try to fool myself into thinking this is training for becoming a writer or something, but really, it's more of an obsession. All these fragmented thoughts and observations seem to suffocate me at times. Just the fact that I have to notice every single thing continuously gives me headaches. Sometimes I wonder if I even look at the big picture, I always seem to be focusing on the details. Perhaps if I stopped for a moment, really stopped, I could figure something out. Instead I just keep going. The world keeps going at least, and perhaps I'm the one who has stopped.
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I wish I could understand why I become so angry with you and with myself when I'm around you. I always seem to be messing up in some way. I don't know why. Sometimes I wonder if it's to impress you. It annoys me, to say the least, that I act in this manner towards you. I don't know how to change my behavior patterns yet. I should work on that.
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I often don't know what you are talking about in the slightest. I try to understand where you're coming from but really can't at all. Your words seem to mix together and form incoherent strings of words, phrases. I look at you attentively, eyes sharp, but my mind wanders. I wish I could look at you the way I used to. I'm always wishing for the way it used to be.
****
So you are going away and leaving me here. We aren't that close anymore. I suppose it's the way life goes, people come into your life, people go out. You say you have a girlfriend now and I wonder about her. I wonder about you often. We never talk but it's not as if I don't think of you. I remember our long talks, our endless charades of discussion lasting hours until the phone bills soared higher than was humanly possible to pay while earning such a meager living. "god dammit," I muttered under my breath when the last phone card gave out, when your phone card was gone and mine was gone as well. There was no goodbye, just the realization that five hundred minutes had passed by us. I thought about you often, but never contacted you. I got your pictures in the mail but never sent a reply. I had the letters written, the pictures prepped. I just never sealed the envelope, instead it sat there, it's mouth gaping open as if waiting for something to swallow, something to fill the void, but nothing ever came.
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I used to watch the fireflies, their tails glowing neon against the sticky star studded sky. I'd run alongside them, my thin nightgown billowing out behind me like a small parachute. Schheet, my hands would clap shut, leaving the tiny bug to quiver inside my cupped hands. I'd peek through gaps in my fingers, watching the bug light up. Once I put them in a jar, eight of them all together. I vowed to feed them lettuce leaves every day. The next morning when I awoke they were all laying stiff on the bottom of the glass. The windshield is a bit blurry so you squirt some window cleaner onto the glass and use your window wipers. I watch a neon line streak the windshield. the bug guts glow brightly there, a beacon in the darkened night, for several minutes and I watch them slowly fade away, blotted out by the black of night.
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Were we ever innocent? I wish I could say that I know I was at one point in my life, but all I know is that I don't know how to improve things. I look around me and things seem to be in shambles. I don't have enough time for myself. I wish I could say that I know where I'm going, what I'm doing with my life. I have an idea, but not really a direction. It's like trying to make a cake with just flour.
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I continue to consider the world as a living breathing thing that we destroy.
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There is a tiny green crystal from my candy. It's beautiful. Translucent. Translucent and transparent. They are both interesting words. I get annoyed with myself often... the way I talk, the way I act, the way I seem to use words over. Wonder, amazing, interesting. These words have become commonplace in my notebook.
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Everyone has presents.... American Eagle, Hollister, Abercrombie bags strewn across the pilled carpet.
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Am I stuck in some different era?
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My hair is different colors. One heavy thick strand is blackish. I dried my hair but that strand is still curly.
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My fingers are torn around the edges. It comes with winter, the dry air eating at my flesh. In the summer they are beautiful... I think. I cannot remember. I do not remember summer as well as I should but don't know why. It bothers me that I do not remember something so rudimentary.
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strings... golden brown, they hang from his head, not reaching, the nape of his neck is bare. The few thoughts I know interest me greatly.
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Mother cannot save you now, lock your doors and dry your eyes, father's gone to war. There's no use in taming your fears, they creep under the door. Cloud your memories, shake our hands, lace your soda with cocaine and let it all soak in.
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"so you think you an tell heaven from hell.. did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts... how I wish you were here..."
****
Things come to my head like shots of film. I picture him writing, throwing back shots of vodka, cups strewn around like a mad person. Depressing music in the background... it's a slow death, that of a mad person. Dying a bit more each day. Eventually you know it will all be gone. I wonder when... everyone seems to think I've gone mad... or perhaps they think I was born mad. I don't know if I really wish to know. I continue to be paranoid that people are butchering me behind my back. I suppose it should not bother me. Are my thoughts crazy? So different? Isn't it interesting to write someone so many of your thoughts, but not have the nerve to smile at them in the hallway? Instead I keep a safe distance, observe out of reach. I observe everything.
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I sometimes think about not talking again. Just discontinuing speech. I would write to a few people who's names I have forgotten... things would be much better if done that way. I feel so annoying to everyone.
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I will write to you in my journal. Stream of consciousness. I received your e'mail. You're always writing me when you're drunk. I am lucky to know you, if luck exists.
My cousins were putting his pet mice in the bathtub on a Lego boat. Creative, but very scary. I was afraid they would drown so I rescued them. I went outside, played guitar... sang. Basically was antisocial, watching the clouds drift across the sky...although it's incredibly cold outside and dark.
My grandfather came over and whispered to me that I should listen my mother, she will tell the truth because she's been drinking. His own breath smelled of wine.
I went outside again and was singing and R.H. heard me. I try to avoid that as much as possible, people hearing me... I've been dipping chips into the candles... into the flame. They aren't that badly burnt. Kind of a smoked taste.
My relatives are in the next room discussing my idiosyncrasies. My eccentric behavior... and laughing about it. About how when I was little I hated change. I would run into the woods a lot. I loved it there. Still do. It’s beautiful, nature is. I don't mind the changes nature makes.
Isn't it interesting that we murder trees every winter? For our own viewing pleasure. I wonder why? They are like chickens. We raise them to kill them. I wonder if trees can feel? Interesting thought, isn't it? I mean, they do not have a brain, but who is to say nerve endings connected to brains are the only way to feel?
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Maroon. I like that color... I wonder if blood can be maroon? I think if there was a lot, like a gunshot wound....
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Pulled my hair back with a manila elastic rubber band, pushed stringy hair out of my eyes, scrubbed at flushed ruddy skin and observed fat, watching tears pool at the corners of bloodied eyes. Black coat hangs loosely draped against the fat. A knife pulsates, sticking vertically out of a limp body.
****
When I think about it, I do not want to be with anyone romantically. Tired of romance, tired of thinking about men. Makes me angry that I think of them at all. Sometimes I admire the human race but more often than not I despise them, hate the fact that I'm a part of it.
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peyote - hallucinogen more than 4 oz. means a twenty year prison sentence. when taken vomit usually is induced. comes out of a cactus growing mostly in Texas and Arizona.
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Fingering thick metal strings, my callused fingertips are worn, torn, fucked. Shove the metal pistol against my temple, pressed hard against clamped lips. Try to run, try to scream, tight throat, soundwaves suffocated.
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All day I've been thinking about alternate dimensions... what if there's another world but in it things are completely different? I wonder if that would be how it is, or if it would be the same world, but in ... not 3-D like it is not, but maybe 4-D. I wonder what that looks like. Then I continue thinking that perhaps in another universe things are behind us, perhaps there are still dinosaurs, and also that humans, like dinosaurs, will probably end up dying out. What comes after us? It's interesting to think about. Perhaps that's what global warming is doing and eventually it will kill us all. I wonder what dinosaurs were even like, because we don't know what colors they were or if they had thought. We don't think they did, but can we prove it? We think they roared. I wonder what scientific evidence proves that they roared...? I think about such stupid stuff sometimes. It doesn't even matter, but I continue thinking about it.
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It's extremely cold outside. I'm extremely cold as well. I think it may because I have on no socks. I wish I was something. Right now I'm just... me. There are so many things I want to be.
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You're leaving soon. It seems crazy to think about. You've been talking about it since met. It seems like we just met a few months ago but in reality I've known you for five years. It seems crazy to think about. We've lost touch more times than I can count, but somehow we keep it together. You ask me if it'll work out between us and I realize I've never even met you. It's crazy... to know someone for so long, to know so much about them and still have so much to learn, but never to have met them. You were the first person I knew. I don't know what I want. I'm such a strange person. I suppose we all are.
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"I reach out to touch you but you're not there..."
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We sit up slowly, try to understand why we are here... what all these trials and tribulations add up to, and still nothing. If only there was some sort of message we could decode, some sort of understanding we could come to, but there is nothing. Will it always be this way? Will we ever understand what's happening to us?
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Sometimes I think about you, wondering if you're even hearing the words I'm saying, wondering if you even understand me at all. We seem to get along so well. Is it because we don't really know each other? We talk so much but yet so little. You'll leave and then what? I suppose I wait for you to come back. Where do you go? Never here....
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Sometimes I realize you are never going to be what I want you to be. You are never going to be that perfect guy. I have this weird look at relationships. I would rather discuss than kiss, rather get lost in dreams.
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I haven't written in so long. I found a brilliant typewriter in the closet, army green with off-white keys that has some ink. It's running out quickly..... I need to find somewhere to get typewriting ink really badly.
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Lying on the floor facedown, nose pressed into rose colored carpet, sniffing up dustmites and the last of the cocaine that's spilled. The hour hand sneaks past 10, the heater humming a clicking lullaby. At half past two you creep in, coat smelling of stale cigarette smoke. Five-oh-two the red sun wakes, heating the room to 81 degrees. Peeling off crusted socks, a vomit stained T-shirt, and two rainbow wristbands, the heat is still unbearable. You slide across the cracked floor barefooted, fumbling along the long wall for the fan switch. I am sprawling across the bed, arms outstretched, trying to reach the stars that have already faded when you return, peeling the covers away from my skin, slick and sticky. You are bloodying me.
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I wish that things were different. I wish I could say that there were no cliques and that I did fit in somewhere.
"Other people are excited,
as though they were at a parade.
I alone don't care,
I alone am expressionless
like an infant before it can smile."
-Tao Ching (line 20)
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God dammit. Bush was just on t.v. I don't agree with his views. The White House said that Bush's State of the Union speech was not going to be a declaration of war. It was pretty fucking close.
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War seems to be an excuse for schoolboys to swarm together like a fight. It's a need for violence almost. I don't think that Saddam is right in any way, any sane person can see that he's a horrible man. I just don't believe war is the right way to get around this.
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Lately I've really fucked things up. On the outside they look fine, but on the inside.. they are collapsing. I watch things trying to understand but I only end up more confused. I can't help thinking to myself "you've really fucked things up this time" I feel like I'm cased in... pressing my face against the glass. No one can hear my screams...
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"It's so strange, this sexual attraction"
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I don't understand it, don't pretend to understand it. I don't know what to think of it, of anything... I feel like I've lost my mind. I wish I knew how to correct this, but instead I dig myself deeper. Everything is so confusing. I look around at the world, watching snow fall, all those things you said are running through my head. I sit in the hard plastic chairs, vacant look on my face, staring at random objects. I wish I could say it is an escape. I wish I could say that I'm happier there. I am happier talking to some people... and I'm happier being alone.
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"If I'm asking for help, it's only because being with you has opened my eyes, I keep asking myself, wondering how, I want to fly to a place, nobody else, so we can be free, all the things you said, running through my head, this is not enough....and I'm all mixed up, feeling cornered and lost, the sun and the rain coming over my face, I can try to pretend, I can try to forget, but it's driving my head, going out of my head, all the things you said running through my head.... this is not enough... mother looking at me, tell me what you see, yes I've lost my mind... looking at me, will I ever be free, have I crossed the line? All the things you said running through my head... this is not enough...."
****
Maybe I'm happier with no one, happier alone. Maybe some people were meant to be alone. Maybe I'm one of those people. Perhaps some people just don't fit into the world... are too strange for this world. Sometimes I feel like my emotions are too much for this world... I'm too eccentric or something. I don't know why I am like this. I don't know how I ended up like this... why I'm so sad. It seemed like everything crashed down at my feet... started deteriorating since Florida... or maybe since life began. I don't know... it's probably my fault things are deteriorating. I need to find a way to stop them, but it's like a movie sometimes... things just continue happening... before I have time to fix one thing, another thing happens.
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There are too many commercials, too much t.v., too much materialism. Not enough imagination.
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Really need to get away lately. I've been thinking about it a lot lately, where I'd go to.. I've been wandering the hallways in disarray, trying to understand life but instead getting caught up in everything. I feel like I'm being sucked down into a black hole at times, but that would be calming.. all that darkness, silence... they say there is no noise in a black hole. I wonder if that's true... I don't think a person can survive being in a black hole, but if I could simply fall forever I would be very relaxed. I'd want to fall past movies... scenes from movies or life with good music playing. Speaking of movies, check out the Willard trailer (it has Crispin Glover in it) http://www.aint-it-cool-news.com/display.cgi?id=14347 It's really fucking awesome. If you haven't seen it... you need to.
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Everyone has a different opinion of what I should be doing with my life. I'm so scared I'll get caught up with what other people want instead of what I want. Not that I completely know what I want.. but I want to have the freedom to do whatever I want to do with my life. I can't be controlled. Controlling makes me feel suffocated and then my only thought is to escape. I suppose I feel too controlled now because my thoughts continue turning to escape.
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Sometimes I feel like I am not a part of anything. I wish I was, but I feel so far away from everything, like I don't belong anywhere. I know I am supposed to belong, but I don't feel like it.
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swollen eyelids open a half inch bruised and puffy oceans once damned are unleashed reaching fingertips out to touch glass prisms we are too far gone you continue speaking, your soft voice echoing in my mind tinfoil remnants scattered across the desk like shards of glass I step carefully trying to laminate dead stars
****
It's so frustrating when no one really understands you. I look at you and you don't even seem to see me, just look on through. The glass mirror has started to crack, tiny runs in fabric continue tearing skin from bruised knees. We fell off our bicycles one too many times. We have started our descent but it is never ended. Your eyes are vacant, staring into the distance. I cannot reach you.
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I don't know what you're thinking and all too often you don't tell me. We have the same thoughts, but I don't really know what you are thinking completely. I wish I did... though I'm scared to know what you think of... scared you might simply hang around because you feel you have to.. because you feel sorry for me. I have to let things come, not worry about things so much. Not think so much... so often it's hard not to think. Eventually when the time is right I will understand... or perhaps I never will. I don't know. ...I will sleep now. Sometimes I wish I could just sleep always. I always seem to be lost in my own little world. I don't know what I want to be to you... and I don't know what I will end up being to you, so I just end up confused.
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"Did you actually think it was going to last?" I shook my head after a few seconds. I wish I hadn't actually thought it would. Warm fall nights; sweat hanging in the humid air. I remember dancing in the grass wet from dew. I threw my head back, laughing, spinning, holding onto the tree's limb for support. When I fell to the ground, you joined me, looking up at the stars. Nothing lasts forever. I wish I had known, but the memories would not be as sweet.
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I don't want to experience anything unreal. I don't want to be in something I think is love when it means nothing in actuality. "Never fall in love" you whispered in my ear. It's too late. I am in love with the world. This love affair will end up badly, a catastrophe. I don't expect anything less from life. My eyes are open wide while they are shut and you're shouting at me while I'm not listening. I'm headbanging and standing still, flying with my feet on the ground.
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Yoko Ono, John Lennon... Kurt Cobain... Kurt Cobain has a lot of the same feelings, or had a lot of same feelings that I have. I want to be like John Lennon and Yoko Ono. They spent their honeymoon in Amsterdam. I want to be totally comfortable with someone. Things are complicated. So incredibly complicated. I don’t' know what I want, or what I should want. I'm glad I know people and am glad for knowing different people, even if simply so I know what kind of people I don’t' want to be with.
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Sometime i feel like I am too emotional, too intense, for this world. I feel really eccentric and so different than people at times. So strange how I am, how people in general are. I am not wanting to be something other than me. I hate people trying to change me. Maybe I'm happy the way I am... I embrace my low self esteem. I don't want to be the same as everyone else. A lot of people are different in the world, but in reality they are just the same. Everyone seems to have forgotten how to think. Did they ever know how?
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Crazy insane... I don't want to be the social norm. How boring. I just want to be free. Whatever freedom means... Lately it seems I am drifting from people, doubting people. I never have regained trust, not that I really had it at all. I've been looking at the word comfort... what is comfort at all except for a mask? I need something, but I need nothing at all. It's all society plaguing us. I'm tired of America. Am I the only one? Maybe I'll end up one of those people going insane. I feel like I'm slowly going mad.
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breathe in the smell of stale smoke.
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"is this the real, is this just fantasy, caught in a landslide, no escape from reality... open your eyes, look up to the skies and see I'm just a poor boy I need no sympathy, because I'm easy come, easy go, little high, little low, any way the wind blows, really doesn't really matter to me... momma... just killed a man, put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger now he's dead, momma life had just begun, but now I've gone and thrown it all away... momma... ooo... didn't mean to make you cry, if I'm not back again this time tomorrow, carry on, carry on, nothing really matters...... too late my time has come, sent shivers down my spine, bodies aching all the time, goodbye everybody, I've got to go, gotta leave you all behind and face the truth, momma...ooo... I don't wanna die, I sometimes I wish I'd never been born at all...." (Queen)
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Sometimes I wonder if I'll really make it through my entire life.
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I'm screaming at the top of my lungs trying to understand you! I'm still failing to understand you, still failing to get through at all...so I'm screaming at the top of my lungs, trying to get you to understand, when you don't understand at all... this is like a bad movie, falling in love with the wrong person at the wrong time, this won't work out in the end because I'll leave you all alone bleeding with a broken heart.. I'm screaming at the top of my lungs, trying to get you to understand. I'm not some sort of flake, I'm screaming someone shoot me but you're not listening...
***
Seems like I'm getting further and further away from whatever I'm supposed to be, wherever I'm supposed to be. I don't feel like the line "when things fall apart" is too far off. I feel like locking myself away from the world, going somewhere ...anywhere... where things would be better... though I can't say I know where that is. Everyone else seems to be getting better and better while I seem to be getting worse. I keep running until I'm out of breath, then keep running for more.
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sometimes i sit alone in my room, knees drawn up to my chest in some sort of obscure fetal position. I stroke the thin bedspread, fingering the tousled fringe and worn cotton. The snap of the clock is constant. The slender second hand bounces slightly as it lands. The hum of the fan whirring begins, suffocating the air with tiny molecules of dust. You are suffocating me. The sun sprays in from the streaked window, lighting the particles on fire.
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I used to think at least I still had you to talk to, but now I have no one. That's okay though. I didn't need anyone. I still don't. I do better on my own. People just complicate things. The digital clock blazes 8:00. The sky is black. I looked like an idiot today. I wish I could go back.
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I lie there, half naked in your arms, and realize that I really mean nothing to you. I am thinking about asking you what you are thinking, but instead we lay in silence, eyes closed, shut. 3 minutes pass but it feels like twenty. I count the bumps on the white ceiling. You are shaking against me, and I'm lying still like a corpse. I feel so dead. We don't talk much. I gather my clothes and you stand with your back to me, fingering the controls on the CD player. I feel out of place, naked though I'm clothed. You bite your lip, avoiding my eyes and I glance around, unable to fixate on anything at all.
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You say you care but you're not saying anything at all. I wonder what you are doing, if you are sitting there all alone or talking to other people. I stare at the blank screen, wishing for some sort of blank check on happiness that I could fill out at my leisure. There's rust around the trash can. Rust around everything. I want to curl up somewhere safe. I want to wipe up the blood dripping from the faucet but it keeps running. I want to keep you from hurting but I know I can't turn back. I wonder if you are winning at solitaire? Turn up another card while I tear up another layer of skin. We'll see who wins.
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I'm the only one who still remembers. It was raining, cold for November. It hadn't been so cold the day before. My mother came running up the stairs, her hair stringy and her eyes bloodshot. The wind tore at her thin jacket. The ran was piercing, little needles upon skin, saltwater on fresh wounds. My father watched reruns of Star Trek, tears streaming down his tired face. Worry lines shown prominently, a threadbare blanket around his shoulders. She was gone, and nothing could bring her back. We all searched for her, looking for signs in everything. We started making up signs, saying we heard her favorite song, when in reality no one even knew her favorite song. No one really knew her, and sometimes I wonder if anyone cared to. She was lonely, alone. We all are in a way. My father's eyes were watered down. Everything seemed scripted, but raw. The speeches came and went, and no one healed.
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I feel I don't belong here at all. Your eyes are bloodied and I'm wondering, wondering, wandering through a maze of mirrors. I am looking, looking lost. Maggots. Maggots are eating at you, at your flesh. Prepare molded cheese and try to hold it down. Your high spiked heels are digging into your feet, eyelids dark. I had wondered where you were, where you lay. You lay here, your head quiet against the dulling knife.
****
Too many nights out late, our eyes wide, strung out on nicotine, caffeine, alcohol, anything we could get our hands on. Vodka bottles line the counter, silent. It's all silent. The high pitched scream and the glass breaking against the asphalt... tearing at the pages of the black notebook, running out of breath. A jeer on your face, smirk, sides of your mouth turning up only slightly at the edges, mocking me. Silence is appreciated but not returned. Apologies prove too uniform.
