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| rest in peace, xanga.......
because we all had to be stupid, inexperienced teens at some point or another.
i'll still drink to elliott smith, though. the past ain't all bad. but damn, it's the fucking past.
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| madre madre madre,
you had once glown on walls, silver heels and nylons,
your sad stories are written in among my thoughts and i will never
forget your walks in the mud and trips and rocks, basket with books and
father
horrible
bulls chickens brothers dead
horrible
you were tortured and it's all you know. i scavenge your elegance and
grace, i snatch it up and study, copy. the way you drink that coffee,
black liquid burning your lips and caught so tight in your fingers,
those fingernails, your thinned, concentrated eyes as you line your
lips. that silk dress,
you can't imagine why you wore such a conservative wedding dress but i think you are so beautiful,
you cupped my face in your hands and it was linda linda linda linda
but you are so scared and you hate me, or don't have strength to love me;
cars and irons, pans stoves sockets children people crowding talking breathing suffocating -
i can't sleep anymore this summer and i lay perfectly awake and i hear
your snoring choke up, i hear your breathing stop and you are put on
pause, and i stare at my ceiling counting seconds until you breathe
again, abruptly raspy gasping air.
i've never been so fried in such an odd way, i lock my door and count
days and days, i am a cobra and i rock my persona in my arms and slowly keep time with time
once in conversation he said that maybe she was good and it got to her, it all got to her and she fell into the dark side,
maybe i think that's true because that's the only thing that makes sense to me,
she looks so different in those projections.
now she hates them.
she tells dad to take them down.
they're a special treat for me.
listening to elliott all day
like he's the only guy who understands
laying on the carpet nodding yea yea yea
thin ten person whisper
and i took the time to read his biography,
him tripping down cliffs and
writing great riffs.
felt emotionally sick most of the day
like i was going to vomit up my heart all over the carpet.
putting ink all over, calligraphy for good sir
drown it out
lazy, lazy
too expensive this
worthless that
too thin here too fat there
jealous worried better i/you/we don't understand
for some reason at the end of the day, it all didn't matter.
if i keep thinking about your words i'll die
and i have to survive.
wanna go deaf
,no, no more put downs.
someone's always coming around here trailing some new kill
says I seen your picture on a hundred dollar bill...
cuddle your hemingway to your chest when you curl in bed,
....add up all the cards left to play to zero...
and words, words feel damn good; something else for your head.
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| This is in honor of everything beginning.
I feel in an asylum. Why can't I just pack those bags of mine, already?
They're a sly set; dusty, tea-time blue. French blue. I even have to
personify my luggage. I have to personify everything I wear, too.
Today I wore orange lipstick and green jade beads. Of course, I didn't
go anywhere. I just wandered around my room, walking in perfect circles
amongst all the junk on the floor, and I pretended to have a pack-a-day
clove habit. I threw my arm out, and pinched my index and middle finger
together, just so. You have to give me credit - I wore coral colored
lipstick to every single day of the eigth grade. Sometimes, I think
about that kind of thing, and I get really really proud of myself, as
opposed to embarressed. I think it all has to do with how much coffee
I've had that day.
I am trying to go vegan. Just to experiment, you know? I don't think
it'll last more than a few years, but I'm not too concerned, just as
long as I'm vegetarian until my dying day. I figured out that toast
with jam is vegan......right? I'm afraid that they're slipping cow
parts into everything these days. Diet coke is vegan, coffee is
vegan........ I can live, I can live.
I will chuckle and play solo George Harrison records the whole night through.
Apples, those are vegan. No sheep in them. Pears, too, I have a
pear-shaped body, but......I am olive colored. Confusing, right? You'll
live. I hate the taste of olives, but the color is suiting. Yes, a suit
that covers every inch.
We can't escape ourselves. And why would we? I told my sister bitterly
over the phone today that I am never spending another summer with my
parents. She asked why. I thought it was sort of obvious. Two days post
graduation, and I am in excrutiating pain!!! She thinks I can't get out
of them. Oh come on. Thanksgiving, Christmas, okay, whatever. Summer is
for screaming, and standing on top of cars, though. They're not for big
dinners and family bonding - they're about breaking away, and sucking
big fluffy clouds into your lungs, and wearing obnoxious sunglasses.
They're about promiscuous bathing attire, and french kisses in copious
amounts, and taking photographs of places you've never seen before.
They're about the misconception that with youth comes immunity. Why
have I never felt the golden immunity of youth? I want to feel it.
Theft, crazy theft! But not from stores, I don't steal from stores. I
just steal my mom's best picture frames, so that I can take out the
pictures of our dogs and put in pictures of me and my friends flouncing
around in Venice, or in front of Hotel Bethlehem.
A few good moments.
A few good people.
"Maybe I'll just keep growing younger with you, and you'll grow younger, too."
The ceremony, it was a lovely ceremony. Pomp and Circumstance was lovely, writing a harmony line to The Star Spangled Banner with S.J. was lovely, the fact that he called off work to come even though I insisted that
he not was lovely. I almost cried, twice. Once, when Curtis remarked on
how familiar and yet how far away all the bells and whistles of
childhood are........another time, after I had crossed the stage. As I
sat in contemplation, names rattling past.....I all of a sudden felt as
if I had accomplished something. I really felt it in my heart, really felt as if I had achieved,
and my eyes became watery. For years, I have had a problem with
genuinely believing that I have really completed anything of value. I
turned to the girl next to me and said,
"Why?"
"Oh, I don't know....you know...I mean, you know......"
She laughed at me, and said that she loved me.
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| I'm feeling very modernist poetry, right now;
J. Alfred Prufrock and I have a date at the bottom of the ocean.
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| This is in honor of everything ending.
My parents are moving out of the house that I've lived in from age
five. They're leaving my hometown behind in favor of living in a very
uncrowded community that will soon become quite, as evidenced by the
surplus of construction equipment laying around at random. I toured the
house today and it was fresh and empty; just built.
Nobody cares about the Steel anymore, it's being torn down.
Everything's being whitewashed. My educational community is not mine
anymore. The building itself is in a state of chaos, undergoing a
remodeling. I will recieve souvenier breakfast, diploma, tassles,
awards. After this summer, I will never again live in my hometown,
where I stumbled around, made an ass of myself, made a lady of myself,
constructed a self.... confronted failure and success, fell in love,
snuck around, felt ugly and gorgeous at turns, cultivated a persistant
longing to enter the art world, held grudges, laughed until my belly
hurt, experimented fearlessly with fashion, established certain persons
as mentors, developed a coffee addiction, sat at picnic tables in the
dark, penned love letters, slowdanced in a parking lot, kissed in a
quarry, made my first paintings.....
I feel nothing. I have looked forward to my future far too much to feel
any sadness; I am too sentimental to feel happy. Blank slate blank
slate blank slate. I have white eyes and white guts.
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