10.19.02 2:09 am Hypocrisy 101: -i would NEVER make a website. especially not with tripod. -i fucking DESPISE graphic design. -i would NEVER be sarcastic. it's just so fucking cool to be sarcastic.. riiiight. -eww, like i would EVER allow myself to use a computer! -what kind of fucking retards have feet at the ends of their legs, anyhow? that's soooo lame. that's all for today, kiddies. feel free to use this information as a cry for attention! HiNT: don't forget to smile, because being sad is definitely not allowed! they're on to me. note the advertisements that now sit atop this lovely page. it's revolting, i know, but i know NOT how to remedy it. my prior plan has been deconstructed, somehow. ah, but that is life. exemplification of "the teenage years"-- late-night denny's run, a friend honking the horn to the tune of jingle bells in the driveway as a sibling arises groggily from slumber to open the front door, and the hapless planting of cacti after throwing the open bag of seed across one's lawn. the way the world appears from the back of a car, and looking backwards into oncoming traffic. how an m & m-colored building in the poorer side of town looks, fading into a mess of angles as the vehicle leaves it behind. counting the miles till each exit on I-95 without knowing what a half mile looks like, tipping the waitress when you shouldn't because the service is bad but you know you'll be a waitress someday and you believe in karma, being loud loud loud because it's after midnight and people are staring and so they all will be informed that hitler was into scat, recounting glorious concerts of days gone by, driving past his house and falling a little into reticence, a little into remembrance, but resisting the urge to cry. 10.15.02 4:21 pm i swear that if i ever put my hand to a paper for another love letter i'd think it much better than to take with a pen, to take with a pencil, if i take time for one again, so that maybe later all the script can be revoked if i find out that everything was meant to be a joke and not a funny joke at that; in case my words lose all their meaning, they are easily erased and the looseleaf is recycled with my sentences replaced and everything i meant to write and everything i didn't say can be scrubbed away with a piece of pink rubber so i promise if i ever, if i ever write another, every love letter will be written with a pencil, in the hope of assuring that nothing is fooled into forever, because impermanence is the only thing enduring. 9.29.02 9:39 pm it's funny that it takes a mere two months to erase the world, it's depressing how he makes me almost like a happy girl, and when all the bridges are torched and every empire has fallen, it's all i can do to avoid you, to keep myself from calling, but some things are simpler than others: written words are easy to hold, a verdana hello is not so bold as my quavering voice through a speaker in your phone. feel blessed that i'm too scared to call, feel blessed that my random insanities are small, feel blessed that i still care at all. 9.28.02 1:33 am since the apparent theme of this layout, or shoddily concealed graphic-design-to-the-rescue layout attempt, is passion, let me tell you: a) there WAS passion, but now b) i am passionless. there was passion as long as there was the moon, that bastard smirking crescently in a navy blue sky. there was passion, but there was tenderness, too. we would wake up, and the morning would be dewy, lowly lit, rosy, a gardenia blooming unbeknownst, a secret kept from the world. outside, people walked dogs and went to work and ate breakfast in sunny kitchens with tile floors but we-- no-- we put a damper on the sunlight, we put the brilliance on hold, we swallowed all the sunlight and held it in our slender bones, greedily, needily, happily. there was his breathing, the outline of his ear, tracing it with my fingers-- perfect, a shell, the proof. his cheek to my chest, blankets like clouds, all of it white, mockingly pure, all of it saintly, holy, a dream. his feet, impossibly soft, against my feet, my legs; his fingertips making abstract designs on my bare back; strands of my hair twirled around his fingers, strands of my hair splayed out over him as we sleep, our bodies locked together as we slumber. there was tenderness. i try to sleep now, but i'm too hungry, and there isn't a thing worth eating or a thing worth thinking, and i guess i'll supplement my hunger with a tylenol, to ward off the impending headache i'll get from undereating and overthinking and, of course, the lack of sleep. as i said before, i have lost all passion, for everything. i have given it all away. 2:10 am in case you were concerned, i have surpassed my own record as far as the quitting of jobs go. exactly a week later than the day i began employment, and with four days' work pinned to my collared polo shirt with the other KB Toys regalia, i called up and said, "yeah. i have to quit." i am, however, still the only person with a job living under this roof. and since you all can guage just how responsible i am, isn't a lesser amount of responsibility in an adult parent a frightening concept indeed? i want out. i want out now. 9.21.02 3:45 pm the lyrics on this image are from the sublime song, "new realization." no more positive/negative; i'm too lazy. i will write more later because my mother is evil and i'm bound to have a nervous breakdown if i stay here with her for a moment longer. 8:33 pm over the treetops and maybe a little diffused by the streetlight there's a heaven; i solemnly avow it's there, the sun flings its arms out all over the sky, the world is pink and shiny like a scar. in an easter-plaid, members only shirt, the old man in the sunset 7-eleven down the street is clutching a pack of spectrum flavored lifesavers in a wrapper made from trees, and the lady is telling him he needs to eat, her voice is frenzied and he doesn't know he's alive, she takes the money and takes her place at his side, puts the capital on the counter like one defeated, looks in sorrow at her man, "so you're not eating again?" and outside the world changes, so it's different every day, and every day is worth the breath it takes, the pain you spend, the effort you make and under the trees in the halfway breeze my sister asks me what i feel about the ones who need help to die, and one who won't push the button and i have to think, the sky is blue and gray and pink and there are people without will and there are people who don't eat but there are ways to get around it if you find the right street. fuck you and your black black heart that moves so slow over the paved paved road; i have to look away and it tears me apart, but you and i know that's the way this goes, so i walk and i walk and i maybe drag my feet and you look and you look till the looking's complete and it's okay, we'll finish later, it's an ongoing game i think about how touching you left me insane and in chairs i can't sit still and i sculpt you with my pen and you preside over the carnival of thoughts in my head, get yourself to the stop sign but please don't halt, you'll go right through because you're you, and part of that's my fault. the strength you took from me doubles in your flesh and i fade a little every time i let these things collect under the ceiling that's too white, i fade a little every day and i can't get to sleep at night, i fade a little when you glow and i know it's not right. if i had the proper tongue to call you corazon i might; your black heart moves so slow, and then moves slowly out of sight. i guess i'm the barefoot heathen, no religion, but you know what? i love judaism, but i can't go in and trample it over, dragging my muddy christian roots. i can't be a part of a greater scheme, i'm only a part of a flimsy dream. so i watch them walk, absorbed in holiness in an unholy world, down the modern saturday streets, dressed all exquisite for the God who sees, and seeing them walk makes my life a little lighter. once again, i am the only member of my household who has a job. and not one job, but two, one of which is soon to be underway. is that normal/legal? so who here is happy that i overcame the laziness and lack of inspiration to modify slightly this hole-in-the-wall equivalent of a website?