How I love you.29 June 2007
23 June 2007
concord grapes
leaf wings fluttering through You,
Swimming through Them,
Shifting and Swaying Thousand Foot Tree
I'll climb to the top of you
and kiss you good-night
and it was a good night
You silenced the flesh searing
light.
If I were Henry David then I'd
build my cabin on the Wood
and I'd try to remember the good-days
mornings
when you gallavanted over the
Red Wood Forest
and into my Red Wooden spirit
--You carved it with the air, My Dear
and widdled away my fear--
If I were Mr. Thoreau,
or Silly Billy Burroughs
I would have said, "Make peace with your
helium-inhaling brothers,"
But I'm not and I didn't!
and the balloons (made them) convulse,
fall out of their oak-holes
Where the Owls paid them no attention
and six Clocks later, the gas guzzlers
smashed them with their black rubber hearts
No one rescued the Rangers,
and they were too busy
Rescuing the Endangered
to peir into the Looking Glass
to see Your blonde Cat Cross their Path,
so they catch koalas
--until the day the Ko-alah Supply runs out--
and save them in the drawer.
The Cat runs up the Tree,
Clock lives forever more
The Owls drink their tea.
Swimming through Them,
Shifting and Swaying Thousand Foot Tree
I'll climb to the top of you
and kiss you good-night
and it was a good night
You silenced the flesh searing
light.
If I were Henry David then I'd
build my cabin on the Wood
and I'd try to remember the good-days
mornings
when you gallavanted over the
Red Wood Forest
and into my Red Wooden spirit
--You carved it with the air, My Dear
and widdled away my fear--
If I were Mr. Thoreau,
or Silly Billy Burroughs
I would have said, "Make peace with your
helium-inhaling brothers,"
But I'm not and I didn't!
and the balloons (made them) convulse,
fall out of their oak-holes
Where the Owls paid them no attention
and six Clocks later, the gas guzzlers
smashed them with their black rubber hearts
No one rescued the Rangers,
and they were too busy
Rescuing the Endangered
to peir into the Looking Glass
to see Your blonde Cat Cross their Path,
so they catch koalas
--until the day the Ko-alah Supply runs out--
and save them in the drawer.
The Cat runs up the Tree,
Clock lives forever more
The Owls drink their tea.
18 June 2007
" I too had woven a kind of basket of a delicate texture, but I had not made it worth any one's while to buy them. Yet not the less, in my case, did I think it worth my while to weave them, and instead of studying how to make it worth men's while to buy my baskets, I studied rather how to avoid the necessity of selling them. The life which men praise and regard as successful is but one kind. "
Walden, Henry David Thoreau
Walden, Henry David Thoreau
08 April 2007
Lemonade
I really, truly hate them sometimes... destroying every little bit of peace that I try to create in this house, and I just exploded today. Gladly enough, Mom was around to see, and finally came to her wits and told them they have to move out. I'm so ready to live somewhere again where I'm not battling with everyone around me.
Existence, well what does it matter?
I exist on the best terms I can.
The past is now part of my future,
the present is well out of hand.
[Ian Curtis]
The cold has hindered me from riding my bicycle and getting out of the house lately, but I hear that it is supposed to clear up by tomorrow. I'm definitely ready for Spring to begin and to be happy again. It's sort of difficult when most of the people around you are self-centered battlers until the end. I'm thankful that I've had Matthew around through this shit, and the knowledge that Dan will be coming soon. I'd lose my head without them, I think.
Since I left Providence, most of my uncertainty about life has also left. I had this lurking feeling that I was not doing the right thing, that every step on every little crack was going to break my Mother's back. Always. Not any more. I am no longer so fearful about how I'm living my life; I'm free, and hopeful.
Behind every light; however, is a shadow to accompany it. My cousin, Alex, just passed away a few days ago. He's been sick for quite awhile and has had MS his entire life. I really hope that Death doesn't pass the Domino Effect on my family, like I've seen in so many others. I'm not afraid of dying myself. I'm not afraid of dealing with Death. I'm afraid of what it is going to do to my fragile family that is already in pieces, each and every one of us, from other Unspeakable Facts of Life.
All of the talking about food that Thom Cat and I did in P-rov has finally opened my eyes up to how much happiness I can bring somebody with just a little bit of time in the Kitchen. I'm definitely addicted to baking at this point, and I've been spending way too much time on the internet looking at recipes. I need to get a fucking cookbook. Whenever Danbaery comes to visit on Hitler's birthday, I'm going to cook until my eyes pop out, I really can't wait. He ate up all of the cookies I made for him for his birthday in about a day and a half. I don't know if I've ever boasted about anything before, but I'm going to keep working on these recipes until I have something to boast about.
- Speaking of Thom Cat-- I wanted so much to go to his house and bake bread, but like I said, the weather was ill-permitting. It would be so fun though. Baking parties are definitely the best idea that I've heard of in a long time. Also, I have a premonition (maybe it is just a hope) that there will be many, many campfires this summer in Sarah's back yard and our Spot in the woods near Superior Street.
- Speaking of Danbaery-- I can't say anything except thank You, thank You, thank You [to the Universe.]
I'm reading the Beautiful and Damned again, and I feel that this insert could accurately describe life right now
Silence crept down again over the wet country; the faint dripping resumed, and suddenly a great shower of drops tumbled upon Gloria stirring her out of the trance-like torpor which the passage of the train had wrought. She ran swiftly down a descending level to the bank and began climbing the iron stairway to the bridge, remembering that it was something she had always wanted to do, and that she would have the added excitement of traversing the yard-wide plank that ran beside the tracks over the river.
There! This was better. She was at the top now and could see the lands about her as successive sweeps of open country, cold under the moon, coarsely patched and seamed with thin rows and heavy clumps of trees. To her right, half a mile down the river, which trailed away behind the light like the shiny, slimy path of a snail, winked the scattered lights of Marietta. Not two hundred yards away at the end of the bridge squatted the station, marked by a sullen lantern. The oppression was lifted now—the tree-tops below her were rocking the young starlight to a haunted doze. She stretched out her arms with a gesture of freedom. This was what she had wanted, to stand alone where it was high and cool.
[F. Scott Fitzgerald]
15 March 2007
conundrum
He's looking at me
eyes bluer than the skies, sunshine beams cutting through my fantasies
Baby Blue Eyes and California Golden Poppies,
woven floral decorations in the curtains
that I can't see,
I'm blind
And you're leading me through the masses.
Mosses
Inchworming over Our bodies,
Through Them and They're painting Red X's
on us,
Burning holes with their magnifying Eyes.
Nonetheless, His fish are dead
My chair is broken.
My cheek is Pressed against
the glass of His Dodecahedron.
We're trying to lookout,
but it is frosted over and we're fingerdrawing
Smiling faces.
Fingerpainting
red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet.
I just learned
how to tie my Shoes,
You don't remember teaching me do You?
Two rabbit ears and a loop
loop loop
loop looploop
Point A and He's looking at me
Eyes bluer than the sea, pool.
Than I can see.
He says he isn't Perfect,
but what is the difference
when you subtract Zero from One?
I still can't see
but I know he's looking at me.
eyes bluer than the skies, sunshine beams cutting through my fantasies
Baby Blue Eyes and California Golden Poppies,
woven floral decorations in the curtains
that I can't see,
I'm blind
And you're leading me through the masses.
Mosses
Inchworming over Our bodies,
Through Them and They're painting Red X's
on us,
Burning holes with their magnifying Eyes.
Nonetheless, His fish are dead
My chair is broken.
My cheek is Pressed against
the glass of His Dodecahedron.
We're trying to lookout,
but it is frosted over and we're fingerdrawing
Smiling faces.
Fingerpainting
red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet.
I just learned
how to tie my Shoes,
You don't remember teaching me do You?
Two rabbit ears and a loop
loop loop
loop looploop
Point A and He's looking at me
Eyes bluer than the sea, pool.
Than I can see.
He says he isn't Perfect,
but what is the difference
when you subtract Zero from One?
I still can't see
but I know he's looking at me.
28 February 2007
Pay No Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain
Tomorrow at 3pm I am going to board the Greyhound, and after 3 layovers and 26 hours, I'll be back in Fort Wayne. Whenever I'm in Fort Wayne, I'm going to get a job and finish the application procedure for IPFW. I'll save money for a car, pay Thomas, and start my life.
I decided years ago that I was going to go into the field of Fine Art, and a few weeks ago Thomas listed all of the reasons I should go into Art History, and they all seem to be correct, so that is what I'm going to do. Since I dropped out of school senior year and went to San Francisco, I've been floating around looking for every possible option that wasn't Indiana or Fine Art. I never wanted to be "stuck" in Fort Wayne, like Sarah and Angie and all of my high school friends, but my perception of the situation has changed. I probably could have gone to some amazing school on the East or West Coast, but dropping out of school ruined those opportunities; it is only now that I have accepted this fact.
Coming to Providence got me away from most everything. I’ve been left with a lot of boredom, time to think about who I am and what I’m doing. I’ve said all of this before, but I was never forced myself to be optimistic enough to change the path that my life was on. A complete change of heart and mind was necessary, and I really do feel like a different person than when I left Indiana two months ago. I thought I was done riding the Train Wreck, but it still followed me. I’ve been around Dan enough for the past month to see how people of Integrity live their lives and I have to say that the feelings I had in Boston were enough to crush my Dreams. They are rebuilding and I’ll be stronger than ever.
Before I left, I read Bright Lights, Big City by Jay McInerney and I could definitely see the same defects in myself as in the main character’s ex-wife: Midwestern girl that knows so little about who she is that she loses herself in the glitz and glam of the City, after years of yearning to do the opposite in the same City. I could see them, but after all it is just bad fiction, so why acknowledge the fact that McInerney had my character down 20 years ago? This is the point when I’m going to step back and use my head. (No, I didn’t leave it in Michael’s pocket in BFE, Rhode Island a year ago.)
Addictions
I don’t know how or when, but I’ve decided that I’m going to quit smoking. Every time I open my pouch to roll a cigarette, I get a little bit more disgusted with myself. I can’t do anything without getting winded, I cough all of the time, and I am always cold. Not to mention: both of my Grandmothers are slowly dying from this (one with emphysema, the other with emphysema and lung Cancer) and, I might not want to live to one-hundred, but I’d at least like to have sixty comfortable years of life on Earth. I want to be able to ride my bike without huffing and puffing. I want my constant heart burn to go away. I don’t want to feel like every hour I’m gradually committing suicide and that my soul might possibly pay for Eternity for it. Addictions suck.
Boston
Boston last weekend was awesome. Dan and I rode the Bonanza out and wandered around on the Historical Path for awhile, visited Boston Common where there was a memorial to Robert Gould Shaw and the Mass. State House. We saw the graves of Paul Revere and Samuel Adams and a deeply depressing Holocaust Memorial. A giant clock, a million people and pigeons, dinner at Cheers, and the best pizza I’ve ever had. We took the Commuter Rail to Concord, Massachusetts and stopped in at a very quaint decor shop on Thoreau Street and asked for directions to Walden Pond. The 2-3 mile trek to the Pond (we underestimated how cold it would get) didn’t seem so bad, only took forty-five minutes or so, and was well worth it. I guess he really did live in a "Shanty", if the replica of it was similar to the original. The Pond itself was picturesque and frozen over, with a perfectly blue sky to go along. We got there around Dusk, and it seemed that nothing else existed anywhere on the earth. Right in front of the place we decided to sit, written in the snow was "I Love Jeff,"...odd...We froze our asses off of the trudge back to the yuppie town and plopped into the Starbucks (one of seven tallied), drank coffee, and defrosted for an hour, and back to Boston. Dan surprised me with a hotel room at a Hilton in some middle-of-nowhere town, where I got to sit in my first "hot tub" (not actually hot, just piss-warm) and we spent most of the next day at the Museum of Fine Arts (also my first museum [besides FWMOA]). The Italian Renaissance sculptures were amazing, the Monet was less than I expected, and there were too many other pieces to make a comment on every single one, but I will say: there were too many people. Back to Providence for beers and cheeseburgers at Trinity, and I couldn’t have been more satisfied with the whole experience–unless, perhaps, it was a few degrees warmer.
I decided years ago that I was going to go into the field of Fine Art, and a few weeks ago Thomas listed all of the reasons I should go into Art History, and they all seem to be correct, so that is what I'm going to do. Since I dropped out of school senior year and went to San Francisco, I've been floating around looking for every possible option that wasn't Indiana or Fine Art. I never wanted to be "stuck" in Fort Wayne, like Sarah and Angie and all of my high school friends, but my perception of the situation has changed. I probably could have gone to some amazing school on the East or West Coast, but dropping out of school ruined those opportunities; it is only now that I have accepted this fact.
Coming to Providence got me away from most everything. I’ve been left with a lot of boredom, time to think about who I am and what I’m doing. I’ve said all of this before, but I was never forced myself to be optimistic enough to change the path that my life was on. A complete change of heart and mind was necessary, and I really do feel like a different person than when I left Indiana two months ago. I thought I was done riding the Train Wreck, but it still followed me. I’ve been around Dan enough for the past month to see how people of Integrity live their lives and I have to say that the feelings I had in Boston were enough to crush my Dreams. They are rebuilding and I’ll be stronger than ever.
Before I left, I read Bright Lights, Big City by Jay McInerney and I could definitely see the same defects in myself as in the main character’s ex-wife: Midwestern girl that knows so little about who she is that she loses herself in the glitz and glam of the City, after years of yearning to do the opposite in the same City. I could see them, but after all it is just bad fiction, so why acknowledge the fact that McInerney had my character down 20 years ago? This is the point when I’m going to step back and use my head. (No, I didn’t leave it in Michael’s pocket in BFE, Rhode Island a year ago.)
Addictions
I don’t know how or when, but I’ve decided that I’m going to quit smoking. Every time I open my pouch to roll a cigarette, I get a little bit more disgusted with myself. I can’t do anything without getting winded, I cough all of the time, and I am always cold. Not to mention: both of my Grandmothers are slowly dying from this (one with emphysema, the other with emphysema and lung Cancer) and, I might not want to live to one-hundred, but I’d at least like to have sixty comfortable years of life on Earth. I want to be able to ride my bike without huffing and puffing. I want my constant heart burn to go away. I don’t want to feel like every hour I’m gradually committing suicide and that my soul might possibly pay for Eternity for it. Addictions suck.
Boston
Boston last weekend was awesome. Dan and I rode the Bonanza out and wandered around on the Historical Path for awhile, visited Boston Common where there was a memorial to Robert Gould Shaw and the Mass. State House. We saw the graves of Paul Revere and Samuel Adams and a deeply depressing Holocaust Memorial. A giant clock, a million people and pigeons, dinner at Cheers, and the best pizza I’ve ever had. We took the Commuter Rail to Concord, Massachusetts and stopped in at a very quaint decor shop on Thoreau Street and asked for directions to Walden Pond. The 2-3 mile trek to the Pond (we underestimated how cold it would get) didn’t seem so bad, only took forty-five minutes or so, and was well worth it. I guess he really did live in a "Shanty", if the replica of it was similar to the original. The Pond itself was picturesque and frozen over, with a perfectly blue sky to go along. We got there around Dusk, and it seemed that nothing else existed anywhere on the earth. Right in front of the place we decided to sit, written in the snow was "I Love Jeff,"...odd...We froze our asses off of the trudge back to the yuppie town and plopped into the Starbucks (one of seven tallied), drank coffee, and defrosted for an hour, and back to Boston. Dan surprised me with a hotel room at a Hilton in some middle-of-nowhere town, where I got to sit in my first "hot tub" (not actually hot, just piss-warm) and we spent most of the next day at the Museum of Fine Arts (also my first museum [besides FWMOA]). The Italian Renaissance sculptures were amazing, the Monet was less than I expected, and there were too many other pieces to make a comment on every single one, but I will say: there were too many people. Back to Providence for beers and cheeseburgers at Trinity, and I couldn’t have been more satisfied with the whole experience–unless, perhaps, it was a few degrees warmer.
09 February 2007
End of an Era
My era of unhealthy relationships is over, finally. I have never felt better and more optimistic about what life can be, about what I can make it, and who I can become. It is kind of disappointing that Providence didn't work out, but I guess that's life. I can stop running from it now. I've learned a lot about who I really am and about what matters.
Hello, I'm Jessica, it's nice to meet you. I am quite eccentric and a lot less normal (whatever that is) than I thought I was. Way too melodramatic, but I don't cave under pressure. Hand me anything to do and I can get it done, no matter how ridiculous it is. I have this amazing ability to adapt to anything in only a short amount of time.
My goals since senior year have been, at best, off-the-wall and way too idealistic, and I've realized that if I put more thought and planning into my life, it could be something interesting and amazing. Dropping out of school and going to California was the first attempt at ruining my life. Continuing in that insane relationship (up until yesterday) to end up 860 miles away from my family and my stability, after a year and a half of driving myself fucking crazy with failed plans and psychoanalysis, was the last straw. I always thought that, for life to be interesting, you had to be doing something extreme but that is just not the case.
I don't feel guilty this time. I'm nineteen and I did what I knew: I chased a guy around the country hoping that he would love me as much as I was obsessed with him. I justified it, made excuses, and hurt a great many people in the process. Maybe now I'll stop repeating my mom's life and get started on living my own.
I am completely satisfied with the idea of living in Indiana and going to IU and doing whatever I have to do to find some sort of psychological, spiritual, and physical stability. I know that is what I need; I've talked Thom's ear off about it. I'm satisfied with making art and finding out more about myself and also with giving travelling and moving around a break for a couple of years, until I can honestly say that it is what I wanted to do.
Hello, I'm Jessica, it's nice to meet you. I am quite eccentric and a lot less normal (whatever that is) than I thought I was. Way too melodramatic, but I don't cave under pressure. Hand me anything to do and I can get it done, no matter how ridiculous it is. I have this amazing ability to adapt to anything in only a short amount of time.
My goals since senior year have been, at best, off-the-wall and way too idealistic, and I've realized that if I put more thought and planning into my life, it could be something interesting and amazing. Dropping out of school and going to California was the first attempt at ruining my life. Continuing in that insane relationship (up until yesterday) to end up 860 miles away from my family and my stability, after a year and a half of driving myself fucking crazy with failed plans and psychoanalysis, was the last straw. I always thought that, for life to be interesting, you had to be doing something extreme but that is just not the case.
I don't feel guilty this time. I'm nineteen and I did what I knew: I chased a guy around the country hoping that he would love me as much as I was obsessed with him. I justified it, made excuses, and hurt a great many people in the process. Maybe now I'll stop repeating my mom's life and get started on living my own.
I am completely satisfied with the idea of living in Indiana and going to IU and doing whatever I have to do to find some sort of psychological, spiritual, and physical stability. I know that is what I need; I've talked Thom's ear off about it. I'm satisfied with making art and finding out more about myself and also with giving travelling and moving around a break for a couple of years, until I can honestly say that it is what I wanted to do.
22 January 2007
Lack
Everything is dreary today, with the Unicloud pumping out tiny flakes of snow. It threatens to kill us all if we don't do it ourselves. And we are, slowly, depriving our minds and souls of any possible Joy with our petty
(in)differences. Stick in the mud: that's what You are. He came last night and I now know how impossible it is going to be to find the happiness that I'm searching for. It isn't something that searching will find, because it can't be found. Wandering the bad neighborhoods in my mind, in the streets. This place really is a reflection of what has been going on (since I became old enough to realize that something was going on). The many times wondering "is that so much to ask?", silence answering that Yes It Is too much. Because you can't ask for happiness and asking for anything, for me, is just contradictory to what I'm doing here.
I thought, "If I can find happiness in Providence, where the people are dreary and the streets are cold.... I can find it anywhere, No Matter What." I found it here. Is that why I doubt it so much? Because I know that what I'm looking for can not be found so if I find it then it must not be what I was looking for. Nomad. Fucking emotional nomad. Being content with what I'm doing in my life is so difficult, why does it have to be, why do I make it so? Pick up and leave and start over again? I'm not getting anything done, and it is sad. I wonder why other people don't think about things this much. They're happy with their stuff and their goals, but I can't be. I wish I didn't use the word happiness so many goddamn times.
Maybe drawing pictures wasn't enough and that's why I've given up so many times. I suppose I can do it now without thinking. Read without really forcing myself. I always wanted to be able to do these things, but doing them seems so meaningless. I'm not getting my point across about how much I value interconnectedness and how I know that I'm taking it for granted. I'm not really saying what I mean. What do I mean? What am I saying? I want to be a part of everything, but I think that want is fucking me, because I'm not really a part of anything if I'm a part of everything; or maybe my philosophy of the whole situation is just fatalistic. Fuck. No, not that. I know that I'm not fatalistic because I realize that if everything were this way, that....
more Idealism.
Shave your head and throw it all away. I want to start fresh, but I think that's impossible isn't it? I don't mean socially; I want to unlearn everything that I "know" and start with a clean slate. Really, all of my inner dillemmas and all of everyone's are based on what we have learned, and when we learned it. Whether we were looking for it or not, we'll all become more human (flawed and flawless) every time we learn something of any value. But what is the string that connects these contradictory beliefs that are all really true?
What the fuck is truth anyway? Truth, to me, is just something that fits in to what life already is, something that I can believe. Usually it helps if my physical body can actually experience it, because that tells me that is isn't breaking the major laws of Science, which is really the Dictator for what is truth and what is not (even if I'm not referring to Science as it is currently).
Maybe there is no string and it is just the fact that I, myself, believe them that makes them seem like they all connect in some way.
But I don't believe that.
I should really figure out how to explain what I'm talking about, because as it is, the words that I know how to use are lacking.
16 January 2007
means to an end
I've been trying to avoid this, because I don't want to say things that aren't true.
This won't be long, I'm at the library.
Living here is really showing me just how much stress I can take, and just how happy I can be. I'm ecstatic. The past few days have been the best of my life for no apparent reason. Routine. Pigeons in the park, Starbucks, "Legendary service", fuck them. Keep looking. Don't settle. Walk faster. See everything. I have...
I realized the ora or the energy or the feeling of the city the other day, I'm not in Kansas anymore. Living here is so much different from just existing here.
It's hard. Not many friends, stress about how I'm going to find money and how I'm going to go to school. What do I want to be when I grow up?
I'm still not quite sure.
I feel good though. I know it will work out, if not here, then somewhere. Life really isn't that difficult afterall. Life, in general. People become lazy and impatient and wonder why nothing ever happens for them, why life isn't as idealistic at they imagine. Mine is as idealistic as I imagined, almost. It is getting there. I don't enjoy listening to Thomas's bitching, and I hate sleeping on that uncomfortable couch, but
those things are so trivial that it doesn't matter.
I'm not riding the trainwreck anymore.
This won't be long, I'm at the library.
Living here is really showing me just how much stress I can take, and just how happy I can be. I'm ecstatic. The past few days have been the best of my life for no apparent reason. Routine. Pigeons in the park, Starbucks, "Legendary service", fuck them. Keep looking. Don't settle. Walk faster. See everything. I have...
I realized the ora or the energy or the feeling of the city the other day, I'm not in Kansas anymore. Living here is so much different from just existing here.
It's hard. Not many friends, stress about how I'm going to find money and how I'm going to go to school. What do I want to be when I grow up?
I'm still not quite sure.
I feel good though. I know it will work out, if not here, then somewhere. Life really isn't that difficult afterall. Life, in general. People become lazy and impatient and wonder why nothing ever happens for them, why life isn't as idealistic at they imagine. Mine is as idealistic as I imagined, almost. It is getting there. I don't enjoy listening to Thomas's bitching, and I hate sleeping on that uncomfortable couch, but
those things are so trivial that it doesn't matter.
I'm not riding the trainwreck anymore.
23 December 2006
Slimeball
I'll try again. Try something new, slimeball.
With Providence only 10 days away, a few words come to mind: excitement, anxiety, optimism, fear... I have my boxes packed and my head cleared, a-ok on the apartment and a U-haul, a probable job opportunity; what more is there? Still, it seems like something is missing, and I'm not quite sure what it could be.
I've been reflecting on my life for the past seven months, trying to piece together what exactly just happened. I know that there was a point where I had hit bottom, maybe a few. There were times when I was somebody else and when really living was too much to handle. There is a thin line between spiritually aware and mentally insane. I worry a lot about just losing it, of course gradually, and not being able to see truth again-- to see what is real. Whatever "real" means. Real is subjective. Reality, that is.
Family gatherings always give me a glimpse at generations of insanity, repeated. It all scares me half to death, when I think about it. Thinking that life really can get so unmanagable that we conjure these phantom needs (sex, money, food, drugs, social acceptance and lack thereof) in extreme ways. I don't know why I'm so afraid. I know that anyone could be diagnosed with some disorder or other, and that even though some facets of life are out of my control--life is mostly predictable and I decide what I am going to do and who I am going to become. I know all of these things but the thought of being homeless and strung out, forgetting who and where I am, why I am....why I would ever do that to myself.... it has to be a lack of security within.
Why do I analyze myself so much?
I hope that in Providence life continues. It will, but I'm saying... I hope that I don't hit the ground face first. Hope that I can keep it together. I've moved so much that it should seem like second nature, but it really is just the opposite. I'm so sick of moving, and at the same time, I can't see my life any other way. I already know that I'm a nomad and nothing is going to change that. I almost wish that it would just get exhausting and that I could actually see myself staying in Providence for the rest of my life. Or even a chunk of my life, which also seems unlikely. I know that I shouldn't think so far ahead.
Ugh.
This whole entry is littered with stress. I'm not stressed out about Providence; that is cake. I'm thinking: What can I do (in Providence or elsewhere) that will help me to be more secure as a person? What can I do so that I don't get so paranoid about becoming crazy or a drug addict or ending up cold and alone with no place to sleep? Wasn't that the point of college? It all cycles back around to my wondering if four years of debt is even worth the things that could come of it. Which comes back to wondering what I'm going to do in this world to earn a living and still manage to retain some creativity and to help people. And that in turn makes me impatient. Impatience takes away all of my self-respect (hasty decisions) and turns me into exactly what I don't want to be: a crazy, cold drug addict with no place to sleep.
I don't know why I don't want to be that, but I'd suppose that the Family gathering had something to do with it. They've all been there, done that. Try something new, slimeball.
Something will come around, I just know it. Providence seems like it is the right thing to do and really I just hope that it works out for Us.
With Providence only 10 days away, a few words come to mind: excitement, anxiety, optimism, fear... I have my boxes packed and my head cleared, a-ok on the apartment and a U-haul, a probable job opportunity; what more is there? Still, it seems like something is missing, and I'm not quite sure what it could be.
I've been reflecting on my life for the past seven months, trying to piece together what exactly just happened. I know that there was a point where I had hit bottom, maybe a few. There were times when I was somebody else and when really living was too much to handle. There is a thin line between spiritually aware and mentally insane. I worry a lot about just losing it, of course gradually, and not being able to see truth again-- to see what is real. Whatever "real" means. Real is subjective. Reality, that is.
Family gatherings always give me a glimpse at generations of insanity, repeated. It all scares me half to death, when I think about it. Thinking that life really can get so unmanagable that we conjure these phantom needs (sex, money, food, drugs, social acceptance and lack thereof) in extreme ways. I don't know why I'm so afraid. I know that anyone could be diagnosed with some disorder or other, and that even though some facets of life are out of my control--life is mostly predictable and I decide what I am going to do and who I am going to become. I know all of these things but the thought of being homeless and strung out, forgetting who and where I am, why I am....why I would ever do that to myself.... it has to be a lack of security within.
Why do I analyze myself so much?
I hope that in Providence life continues. It will, but I'm saying... I hope that I don't hit the ground face first. Hope that I can keep it together. I've moved so much that it should seem like second nature, but it really is just the opposite. I'm so sick of moving, and at the same time, I can't see my life any other way. I already know that I'm a nomad and nothing is going to change that. I almost wish that it would just get exhausting and that I could actually see myself staying in Providence for the rest of my life. Or even a chunk of my life, which also seems unlikely. I know that I shouldn't think so far ahead.
Ugh.
This whole entry is littered with stress. I'm not stressed out about Providence; that is cake. I'm thinking: What can I do (in Providence or elsewhere) that will help me to be more secure as a person? What can I do so that I don't get so paranoid about becoming crazy or a drug addict or ending up cold and alone with no place to sleep? Wasn't that the point of college? It all cycles back around to my wondering if four years of debt is even worth the things that could come of it. Which comes back to wondering what I'm going to do in this world to earn a living and still manage to retain some creativity and to help people. And that in turn makes me impatient. Impatience takes away all of my self-respect (hasty decisions) and turns me into exactly what I don't want to be: a crazy, cold drug addict with no place to sleep.
I don't know why I don't want to be that, but I'd suppose that the Family gathering had something to do with it. They've all been there, done that. Try something new, slimeball.
Something will come around, I just know it. Providence seems like it is the right thing to do and really I just hope that it works out for Us.
10 December 2006
09 December 2006
fuck you, Julia: the fish: dead: the chair: broken
it could be my period, or the fact that I got off of work from my longest slowest day half an hour ago.
it could be, that might be the reason that I feel so lonely and listening to alison talk about her boyfriend all day didn't help. it could be the reason that I can't complete a fucking sentence and I just feel like crying because , like everyone else I am: wanting someone to love them for who they are.
I get sick inside every time I think of all of these pretty girls who are really ugly inside and everyone wants them and everyone wants to be with them and yeah: that's life, right? well, I'm bitching about how life isn't fair again. I know. Nonetheless; the fish are dead and the chair is broken. I'm sick of these beauty queens and how the people I love are always in love with beauty queens and even if they love me it isn't going to make me pretty and perfect and skinny. It isn't going to make me them, and they'll always compare it because
fuck.
I'm not saying what I'm thinking about because it is too much deeply seeded shit that I should deal with but can't.
You know those things?
You just can't deal with it.
It's not that you don't know how, because you do. But you don't want to. You do want to but wanting to is not enough to actually deal with the thing.
And that's this.
I hate it that every time a man sings a song about loving a woman he talks about what she looks like.
it could be, that might be the reason that I feel so lonely and listening to alison talk about her boyfriend all day didn't help. it could be the reason that I can't complete a fucking sentence and I just feel like crying because , like everyone else I am: wanting someone to love them for who they are.
I get sick inside every time I think of all of these pretty girls who are really ugly inside and everyone wants them and everyone wants to be with them and yeah: that's life, right? well, I'm bitching about how life isn't fair again. I know. Nonetheless; the fish are dead and the chair is broken. I'm sick of these beauty queens and how the people I love are always in love with beauty queens and even if they love me it isn't going to make me pretty and perfect and skinny. It isn't going to make me them, and they'll always compare it because
fuck.
I'm not saying what I'm thinking about because it is too much deeply seeded shit that I should deal with but can't.
You know those things?
You just can't deal with it.
It's not that you don't know how, because you do. But you don't want to. You do want to but wanting to is not enough to actually deal with the thing.
And that's this.
I hate it that every time a man sings a song about loving a woman he talks about what she looks like.
05 December 2006
(lonely) Automotive Repair Manuals ex-mass
I'm very tired right now but I was nervous and I was just typing about this to somebody. I had a dream last night that I met Bukowski on a beach and gave him a pork chop (the same one I ate for dinner last night) that was wrapped in gift wrap. I had a dream the night before about a house where I was searching for michael and there were all of these people sleeping in beds, people I knew, ex boyfriends mostly and I kept waking them up and it was the same four rooms over and over again and I kept looking for him but I knew that he wasn't there. At the beginning of the dream we were together then I think I watched him escape through the ceiling and that was how I knew. His body was strange like the idealistic body I have in my mind, only with fleshy pectorals. He is always this iridescent salmon-orange in my dreams.
Maybe I've been smoking too much pot lately.
People, in general, are ugly.
It is really absurd how everyone in Hollywood gets the funding to put out these miraculously stupid books but a writer that actually has something to say can't even get his work out there. It isn't really absurd, it's life; I'm just saying, I just skimmed through this book by Macaulay Culkin who I always loved. From Home Alone to my first vibrator. This stupid fuck got published though? It makes no sense and I have half a mind to burn the book or lift it so no one can read it.
But I won't do that.
I'm turning into Bukowski.
Maybe I've been smoking too much pot lately.
People, in general, are ugly.
It is really absurd how everyone in Hollywood gets the funding to put out these miraculously stupid books but a writer that actually has something to say can't even get his work out there. It isn't really absurd, it's life; I'm just saying, I just skimmed through this book by Macaulay Culkin who I always loved. From Home Alone to my first vibrator. This stupid fuck got published though? It makes no sense and I have half a mind to burn the book or lift it so no one can read it.
But I won't do that.
I'm turning into Bukowski.
30 November 2006
I have 46 minutes to write this, and that is quickly turning to 45.
I'm tired and I hate this transition weather. I'm thirsty for something new, someone new, someplace new. All of the people around me and my daily routine are draining the life out of me, I can feel it. It isn't just Indiana, it isn't just being this close to Chicago (Hell), and I can't blame it all on stress either.... it's like I have a magnetic pull to empty shells of human beings; boring tedious people that have nothing better to do than make everyone around them feel guilty and stressed out. I'm not talking about one person here. Everyone I have met so far in South Bend has had this effect on me. It might be me, but I really doubt it. I remember being at the Peak of....I don't know, I felt like I was learning a lot and like I was satisfied. Peak of Spirituality? I remember being there, and I didn't have friends, didn't need any. I started meeting people, and now I just want to leave all of this behind.
I will, soon enough.
Reading:
The Secret History by Donna Tartt
The Last Night of the Earth Poems by Charles Bukowski
Ariel and other Poems by Sylvia Plath
Thinking about Reading:
The Hobbit
I'm tired and I hate this transition weather. I'm thirsty for something new, someone new, someplace new. All of the people around me and my daily routine are draining the life out of me, I can feel it. It isn't just Indiana, it isn't just being this close to Chicago (Hell), and I can't blame it all on stress either.... it's like I have a magnetic pull to empty shells of human beings; boring tedious people that have nothing better to do than make everyone around them feel guilty and stressed out. I'm not talking about one person here. Everyone I have met so far in South Bend has had this effect on me. It might be me, but I really doubt it. I remember being at the Peak of....I don't know, I felt like I was learning a lot and like I was satisfied. Peak of Spirituality? I remember being there, and I didn't have friends, didn't need any. I started meeting people, and now I just want to leave all of this behind.
I will, soon enough.
Reading:
The Secret History by Donna Tartt
The Last Night of the Earth Poems by Charles Bukowski
Ariel and other Poems by Sylvia Plath
Thinking about Reading:
The Hobbit
01 November 2006
4, 18, Halloween, Thanks Giving, and a happy new Year
I'm not completely sure why I'm writing. I worked at the Cafe until 7:30 or so for Halloween and I was on my way walking home when the Beautiful Eliana offered me a ride, and being the Romantic that I am, I accepted. What a mistake. I was fully aware of all of the energy in the air and I wanted to enjoy my Cinnamon Stick coffee with a feeling that it might be okay. Already after only 10 minutes of being outside, I received a gift from above and had to ruin it with sitting in Eliana's 2 door shiny sportscar. I'm somewhat infatuated with her. Her eyes are black and she has something.... something below all of the superficiality that living in the h-o-h most of her life bred her. She is amazing, and she doesn't even realize how so. We had a probable date set to watch Sleepy Hollow and smoke, but I knew I'd end up falling asleep early. I knew that riding in that car would ruin my night. I knew, also, when I got home that I shouldn't call Michael, because he would say something to depress me. I knew that I shouldn't get online and chat with people. I knew that I should have gone to Indianapolis with Jeff to complete the circle, but I didn't. I should have. But didn't.
It might be okay.
All of my admissions garb is in to the College and now I'm waiting for them to send me my packet of stuff to fill out. Everyday is one day closer to my being gone. Every year, on my birthday, around Halloween, sometime before Thanksgiving and Christmas Hell is born, I come to conclusions about the year that just passed. I realize who my real friends are this year. It's funny how it is usually the same people every year, but this year, there is a new name. I wonder if he is my real friend, and I wonder how much he really cares. I'll see. This is not a test. He says that I am his best friend, and if so.... he'll call me on my birthday. To wish me good luck for my 19th year on earth. I already know that I'll call him to wish him luck on his 29th year of existence. Good luck. Not the kind that four-leaf clovers bring, but the kind that having 3 people on your list brings. That's all you really need. 4 corners, 4 elements, 4 people. 25%. 25. 3-22. ?.
I might just be very Borderline for saying this, but maybe it is permanent.
We are truly friends.
TS CS
We have our ups and downs.
I probably experience less of them, being in the middle, but it doesn't change.... anything at all.
So hypocritical. I never come through on 3-22 or 5-29.
Never.
I'd come through on 9-9 and 11-18 and 1-10 and 6-20 and probably even 7-10.... but.... not....
I'm sorry.
I really am.
I try so hard to be the kind of friend that I'd want to have. I try to treat other people the way I want to be treated. To cushion the truth when it will be harsh. Don't stab me in the back, stab me in the heart. I'd do that for you.
But.
I didn't this year.
I was more selfish at 18 that I had been at any time before. Hopefully, 19 will be better. I couldn't have asked for more adventure or emotion or Spiritual Growth. I couldn't have asked myself to use my time more wisely or to waste more of it.
Waste what?
Time?
No.
What I'm trying to say is.....
I know who my real friends are.
I have 3.
Maybe a few more.
But I have the 3.
This year, I'm thankful that I have friends at all, after the year of hell I've put them all through. I'm grateful that I have a mother and a father and 2 brothers that haven't disowned me. I really am. And then, there is the obvious, I'm also thankful that I can still push a pencil across paper, that my eyes haven't turned brown, and that I can still empathize for and love people.
I'm glad I'm alive.
Today.
I am.
That I didn't allow myself to drown in alcohol or dxm and that I didn't pull the fucking cord at 18, when I knew for sure that I would.
It's kind of funny how you know for a FACT that something will happen.
That you'll do something.
Then, because of the smallest thing, you don't.
It might be okay.
All of my admissions garb is in to the College and now I'm waiting for them to send me my packet of stuff to fill out. Everyday is one day closer to my being gone. Every year, on my birthday, around Halloween, sometime before Thanksgiving and Christmas Hell is born, I come to conclusions about the year that just passed. I realize who my real friends are this year. It's funny how it is usually the same people every year, but this year, there is a new name. I wonder if he is my real friend, and I wonder how much he really cares. I'll see. This is not a test. He says that I am his best friend, and if so.... he'll call me on my birthday. To wish me good luck for my 19th year on earth. I already know that I'll call him to wish him luck on his 29th year of existence. Good luck. Not the kind that four-leaf clovers bring, but the kind that having 3 people on your list brings. That's all you really need. 4 corners, 4 elements, 4 people. 25%. 25. 3-22. ?.
I might just be very Borderline for saying this, but maybe it is permanent.
We are truly friends.
TS CS
We have our ups and downs.
I probably experience less of them, being in the middle, but it doesn't change.... anything at all.
So hypocritical. I never come through on 3-22 or 5-29.
Never.
I'd come through on 9-9 and 11-18 and 1-10 and 6-20 and probably even 7-10.... but.... not....
I'm sorry.
I really am.
I try so hard to be the kind of friend that I'd want to have. I try to treat other people the way I want to be treated. To cushion the truth when it will be harsh. Don't stab me in the back, stab me in the heart. I'd do that for you.
But.
I didn't this year.
I was more selfish at 18 that I had been at any time before. Hopefully, 19 will be better. I couldn't have asked for more adventure or emotion or Spiritual Growth. I couldn't have asked myself to use my time more wisely or to waste more of it.
Waste what?
Time?
No.
What I'm trying to say is.....
I know who my real friends are.
I have 3.
Maybe a few more.
But I have the 3.
This year, I'm thankful that I have friends at all, after the year of hell I've put them all through. I'm grateful that I have a mother and a father and 2 brothers that haven't disowned me. I really am. And then, there is the obvious, I'm also thankful that I can still push a pencil across paper, that my eyes haven't turned brown, and that I can still empathize for and love people.
I'm glad I'm alive.
Today.
I am.
That I didn't allow myself to drown in alcohol or dxm and that I didn't pull the fucking cord at 18, when I knew for sure that I would.
It's kind of funny how you know for a FACT that something will happen.
That you'll do something.
Then, because of the smallest thing, you don't.
11 October 2006
my dream began in a victorian house of some sort and I remember being kind of rich and I was going off to travel and a man that was somehow my mom's friend, with a motorcycle, handed me something-- some kind of business card or wallet-- and said that if I ever needed anything at all that he would make sure I had it.
I woke up and thought about astral projecting but went back to sleep and continued my dream.
I remember being in a house with these 2 hippies a boxy little crap house with green or blue paint chipping off of the walls. I met them, I don't know how, but it was in Nantucket, which in the dream and maybe in life, is a city in Rhode Island near Providence.
The female hippie gave me a pap smear.
I remember thinking about asking them if I could just live there, thinking about how close to m it was.
I went to the library and I was standing on the second or third floor looking down onto the ground level and I saw a very abstract, far-away michael standing by some sort of fountain while a bunch of other people, scattered, were trying to make their way to see something in the sky.
I tried to go very quickly to see michael but I came to this hole in the floor that was covered over with a very flimsy curtain and there was another kid just standing on the thing. I remember when I walked out onto it, I got really afraid that I was going to fall, and there was a security guard standing there and I asked him if he could lead me to another way out...
he led me to this ramp made out of a rock like material.
I can't remember any more right now, but if I do later I'll post more.
I woke up and thought about astral projecting but went back to sleep and continued my dream.
I remember being in a house with these 2 hippies a boxy little crap house with green or blue paint chipping off of the walls. I met them, I don't know how, but it was in Nantucket, which in the dream and maybe in life, is a city in Rhode Island near Providence.
The female hippie gave me a pap smear.
I remember thinking about asking them if I could just live there, thinking about how close to m it was.
I went to the library and I was standing on the second or third floor looking down onto the ground level and I saw a very abstract, far-away michael standing by some sort of fountain while a bunch of other people, scattered, were trying to make their way to see something in the sky.
I tried to go very quickly to see michael but I came to this hole in the floor that was covered over with a very flimsy curtain and there was another kid just standing on the thing. I remember when I walked out onto it, I got really afraid that I was going to fall, and there was a security guard standing there and I asked him if he could lead me to another way out...
he led me to this ramp made out of a rock like material.
I can't remember any more right now, but if I do later I'll post more.
22 September 2006
the animals scream
Everything is a blur. It all seems so unreal, but not frightening. What is the word? I stayed up until 6 am, after Jeff gave me an amazing massage that felt like waves in the ocean rinsing away all of the bad energy and tension. It was a full-body massage, and as he moved onto each new section of my body it felt like it was being cleaned. All of the quirks and inconsistencies in my muscles flattened out and I really feel like... I don't know. Just so much closer to... I don't know, I just really don't exist and it's somewhat strange. It's like I just don't fucking care. Indifferent. I know I do, but the volume has been turned down, all except for the droning of this computer and the cricket right outside my window. I rearranged my room so that the energy flows throughout it more evenly. I closed the portal. It was bringing such bad energy into this room, but I'll probably just end up opening it again when I project. My eye sockets are searing.
We sat in some parking lot the other night, and I touched on a new layer of spirituality. I saw his life source. His moon. And it was pallid periwinkle fading into bleach white. Jagged around the edges. I could see the inconsistencies in it, just as he could feel in the massage. There were a lot of tiny ones that needed smoothed out, but 2 major ones that I could tell would take a lot of work to heal. Two holes in his soul. I'm not kidding. 3 others that were noticably different from the texture of his moon, and the tiny spaces. Those 3 didn't really worry me though. There was a line going straight through the middle not quite to the end. A line parallel to it for only a second in the center of the moon.
I've had 2 dreams in the past few days that seem to stick out in memory. In one, I could see someone's soul, and it was someone I know in life. It was an old man, and we combined-- spiritually, that is. In the other dream, I has a bunch of animals: a snake, a tiny yet fullgrown cat and dog, 2 weirdo fish, and a bird. All of the animals were dying, I remember that. They were all really sick, ecspecially the fish, so I called up my friend Dannie Davis to ask if he wanted them because I knew he liked snakes. The next scene, I was in a car and there was a crowd of people that were angry about my proposition to Dannie, for some reason.
In my next astral projection there will be a chair. I just looked over and there is a chair in my room, in the corner and that corner looks like it might be penetrable through projection. I drew pictures with white charcoal on black watercolor paper of projection, and in one there just happens to be a green stickly chair. The figure is bent over seeming to be focusing or crying and there is another figure ascending out of her. Spins. The alligator spins illustrated, I think, are necessary to my cause.
We sat in some parking lot the other night, and I touched on a new layer of spirituality. I saw his life source. His moon. And it was pallid periwinkle fading into bleach white. Jagged around the edges. I could see the inconsistencies in it, just as he could feel in the massage. There were a lot of tiny ones that needed smoothed out, but 2 major ones that I could tell would take a lot of work to heal. Two holes in his soul. I'm not kidding. 3 others that were noticably different from the texture of his moon, and the tiny spaces. Those 3 didn't really worry me though. There was a line going straight through the middle not quite to the end. A line parallel to it for only a second in the center of the moon.
I've had 2 dreams in the past few days that seem to stick out in memory. In one, I could see someone's soul, and it was someone I know in life. It was an old man, and we combined-- spiritually, that is. In the other dream, I has a bunch of animals: a snake, a tiny yet fullgrown cat and dog, 2 weirdo fish, and a bird. All of the animals were dying, I remember that. They were all really sick, ecspecially the fish, so I called up my friend Dannie Davis to ask if he wanted them because I knew he liked snakes. The next scene, I was in a car and there was a crowd of people that were angry about my proposition to Dannie, for some reason.
In my next astral projection there will be a chair. I just looked over and there is a chair in my room, in the corner and that corner looks like it might be penetrable through projection. I drew pictures with white charcoal on black watercolor paper of projection, and in one there just happens to be a green stickly chair. The figure is bent over seeming to be focusing or crying and there is another figure ascending out of her. Spins. The alligator spins illustrated, I think, are necessary to my cause.
18 September 2006
caffiene withdrawal
I went back to Fort Wayne for a few days, and it didn't feel like home, and now South Bend doesn't feel like home, but that doesn't mean that I wanted to stay there, because it didn't feel like home either. Home is where the heart is, right? Where is my heart? Well, I could say that it's with the people I love, but they're scattered all over the country. I could say that it's inside me, but I'd just be fucking fooling myself really, because I know that my heart is scattered all over the country just like everyone else that I love, just like I am mentally and emotionally and spiritually. Spiritually, I'm already gone. That's to say, I'm not here. But I'm not in Providence yet either, I'm kind of just on my way there. Like in the way that, physically, matt is on his way to Arizona (prison). I'm not sure what attracts me to that city. Is it Michael? Do I miss starving, maybe? Maybe I just feel like I didn't get to experience it completely, for what it was worth. Maybe it is the ghosts of HP Lovecraft and Poe lurking about that really attract me to the place. Maybe it is the fact that Jack Kerouac was born not too far away, that I could ride the T to new york city and boston every weekend if I had the money and the urge to. It really is all of these things. Maybe it's just that it isn't here. I don't know why I feel like I have to justify it to myself. I'm not wishing anymore. I've done all I can, I've taken the steps. I have a couple of stupid things left, and now it is all in someone else's hands.
If this was the last day of my life, what would I tell people? What would I say to them. For starters, I'd want to tell michael that the whole reason behind the red letter was just that I want one more chance. I need it, because I really don't feel like it's over. I feel like there is something still there. I'd want to tell him that he doesn't have to try so hard to impress upon people the idea that he is intelligent, because he is. I'd want to tell Carly that if she would just stop trying to be original and unique, that she might be, that she is when she isn't trying. When she just is who she is, without trying, those are the times that she really makes me feel like I could just cry forever because she really is beautiful. I would tell Sarah that it is okay. That it is going to be okay. That life makes itself okay, but if she really wants to be happy, she going to have to not accept okay as enough. She's going to have to face that fear of rejection......
I faced my fear of rejection. It does seem so childish. This basic human fear. It is the root to all of the lacks that we have as we grow up, that I had growing up. Lack of self-confidence, lack of self esteem, lack of grip on reality, lack of self identity. That's what the red letter was. I wrote it, and I knew that he'd say, "Jess......." and he would tell me that it was never going to happen. He'd reject me, but it didn't matter, because he knew that I knew. But I don't think that's it. I might have a fetish for rejection. Maybe I just don't want to hear the truth, if it means to hear some things about myself that are actually good.
No I'm not that fucked up.
.....But really, I'd want to tell her that I love her, but I haven't always. That she isn't my best friend and she hasn't been for a very long time. I'm not learning from her anymore, just like I'm not learning from Angie. They're both teaching me how "very bad men are", but not really. More like... how very bad turning into your parents, into white trash, can be. I think the phrase originated in the South and moved to the Midwest. I'd want to tell Thomas... what? What would I want to say? I've already said it. I don't really have anything to say to Sarah. Carly... yes I have something to say, but it isn't important. Thomas... I might have something to say if he were here. Michael, I don't really have anything to say until I see him again, because anything that I say is meaningless at this point. It all could very easily be based off of my idolatry of the man, my idealizations, and not on the actual person.
I don't really have anything to say to the world right now, today. Except that I have a headache, I'm cold, and I really just want to go hang out with Jeff, I want a connection, but I should draw. I'm not going to. I'm sick of drawing, I'm not giving it up, I'm just waiting for there to be... that real feeling like I can create.... to pick up the pen again.
If this was the last day of my life, what would I tell people? What would I say to them. For starters, I'd want to tell michael that the whole reason behind the red letter was just that I want one more chance. I need it, because I really don't feel like it's over. I feel like there is something still there. I'd want to tell him that he doesn't have to try so hard to impress upon people the idea that he is intelligent, because he is. I'd want to tell Carly that if she would just stop trying to be original and unique, that she might be, that she is when she isn't trying. When she just is who she is, without trying, those are the times that she really makes me feel like I could just cry forever because she really is beautiful. I would tell Sarah that it is okay. That it is going to be okay. That life makes itself okay, but if she really wants to be happy, she going to have to not accept okay as enough. She's going to have to face that fear of rejection......
I faced my fear of rejection. It does seem so childish. This basic human fear. It is the root to all of the lacks that we have as we grow up, that I had growing up. Lack of self-confidence, lack of self esteem, lack of grip on reality, lack of self identity. That's what the red letter was. I wrote it, and I knew that he'd say, "Jess......." and he would tell me that it was never going to happen. He'd reject me, but it didn't matter, because he knew that I knew. But I don't think that's it. I might have a fetish for rejection. Maybe I just don't want to hear the truth, if it means to hear some things about myself that are actually good.
No I'm not that fucked up.
.....But really, I'd want to tell her that I love her, but I haven't always. That she isn't my best friend and she hasn't been for a very long time. I'm not learning from her anymore, just like I'm not learning from Angie. They're both teaching me how "very bad men are", but not really. More like... how very bad turning into your parents, into white trash, can be. I think the phrase originated in the South and moved to the Midwest. I'd want to tell Thomas... what? What would I want to say? I've already said it. I don't really have anything to say to Sarah. Carly... yes I have something to say, but it isn't important. Thomas... I might have something to say if he were here. Michael, I don't really have anything to say until I see him again, because anything that I say is meaningless at this point. It all could very easily be based off of my idolatry of the man, my idealizations, and not on the actual person.
I don't really have anything to say to the world right now, today. Except that I have a headache, I'm cold, and I really just want to go hang out with Jeff, I want a connection, but I should draw. I'm not going to. I'm sick of drawing, I'm not giving it up, I'm just waiting for there to be... that real feeling like I can create.... to pick up the pen again.
12 September 2006
Still
this could possibly take forever to write, since I jammed my finger in the door today.
I feel like things might work out for once in my life. From the beginning of my spiritual journey, the question that really started it all was, If we have free will, then how does god know what is going to happen? Well, I came across an answer to that question through hoping for it. God created us, and she knows us better than we know ourselves, so he knows through every fork in the road which path we are going to take. We all die. We go into eternal sleep, where the dream just doesn't end. Death is just a continuance of our dreams, so how bad could it be? It is the inevitable end to this life... so how can that be so bad? Everything will work out, because we'll all die and we won't have to wake up and face hell for another day. Another... days, time don't exist in dreams. Whenever I project, it sometimes feels like hours and hours. Technology doesn't exist, and that is why the furniture, computers, and art in my room doesn't exist.
When I read a good writer's writing, it is so conversational that it feels like they're just talking to me, telling a story. It feels like they're just talking to theirself. I do this at night. I talk to god, to myself, and this speaking turned inwards turned into an image is really what the truth is that I've been wondering about. The Truth. I realize that with every drawing, every doodle of my hand, every smear of pastel, I really am just talking to myself, and talking to god at the same time. God is inside of me. I'm not god, don't get me wrong. But he created me and just like I seem to show up in all of my paintings, I'm sure I reflect him somehow. Her, it. Whatever.
Autumn brings with it for me, not just Aenima and the cool moisture frizzing my hair, but also the cool warm humidity of California Dreamin'. Robitussin-flavored cigarettes, a mixture of permanent ink and tar, in Cleveland, Ohio with the feeling of absolution. The feeling of moving a hundred-twenty miles per hour while opening doors by pushing a button and also static, unchanging spaces on the train. Divorce in Utah followed by the greatest of squiggly kisses in the rain. It's hearing the leaves crunch under my shoes, feeling like Popsicle tripping on DXM, skipping school hoping to leave, leaving. Smoking a joint out the window of the hotel room across the country from the place where I bought the pot and smoked the same green stomachy plant with my pet, stumbling off of the Citilink bus, and waiting for the Greyhound while riding the trolly to North Beach (like the beats?) and conning the RIPTA driver into taking us downtown, where I'd update my journal at the library, where I'd update my journal in that stuffy e-bay room on Suttenfield, while I update my journal in the lower Haight and right here...right now, in the Basement.
In your dreams, whatever they be, dream a little dream of me.
I feel like things might work out for once in my life. From the beginning of my spiritual journey, the question that really started it all was, If we have free will, then how does god know what is going to happen? Well, I came across an answer to that question through hoping for it. God created us, and she knows us better than we know ourselves, so he knows through every fork in the road which path we are going to take. We all die. We go into eternal sleep, where the dream just doesn't end. Death is just a continuance of our dreams, so how bad could it be? It is the inevitable end to this life... so how can that be so bad? Everything will work out, because we'll all die and we won't have to wake up and face hell for another day. Another... days, time don't exist in dreams. Whenever I project, it sometimes feels like hours and hours. Technology doesn't exist, and that is why the furniture, computers, and art in my room doesn't exist.
When I read a good writer's writing, it is so conversational that it feels like they're just talking to me, telling a story. It feels like they're just talking to theirself. I do this at night. I talk to god, to myself, and this speaking turned inwards turned into an image is really what the truth is that I've been wondering about. The Truth. I realize that with every drawing, every doodle of my hand, every smear of pastel, I really am just talking to myself, and talking to god at the same time. God is inside of me. I'm not god, don't get me wrong. But he created me and just like I seem to show up in all of my paintings, I'm sure I reflect him somehow. Her, it. Whatever.
Autumn brings with it for me, not just Aenima and the cool moisture frizzing my hair, but also the cool warm humidity of California Dreamin'. Robitussin-flavored cigarettes, a mixture of permanent ink and tar, in Cleveland, Ohio with the feeling of absolution. The feeling of moving a hundred-twenty miles per hour while opening doors by pushing a button and also static, unchanging spaces on the train. Divorce in Utah followed by the greatest of squiggly kisses in the rain. It's hearing the leaves crunch under my shoes, feeling like Popsicle tripping on DXM, skipping school hoping to leave, leaving. Smoking a joint out the window of the hotel room across the country from the place where I bought the pot and smoked the same green stomachy plant with my pet, stumbling off of the Citilink bus, and waiting for the Greyhound while riding the trolly to North Beach (like the beats?) and conning the RIPTA driver into taking us downtown, where I'd update my journal at the library, where I'd update my journal in that stuffy e-bay room on Suttenfield, while I update my journal in the lower Haight and right here...right now, in the Basement.
In your dreams, whatever they be, dream a little dream of me.
08 September 2006
mechanics
I can feel all of my dreams and all of my goals, fantasies, and drive imploding . I can feel the lightning and sparks of electricity from above, from around, shocking me like an endless seizure and I wonder when I'm going to wake up from it...... snap..... out of it..... and have that feeling like I've been crushed by a Dumpster truck. None of this is mystical. I lost my job today. My cat ran away about 2 weeks ago, matt left. I'm taking these things for what they are. What do I do? I mean, obviously if my finances don't come together because of this, I can't go to Providence. I can't stay here. If I do, I'll turn into an alcoholic, or worse yet.... my parents. If I don't have a partner, it's not like I can go travelling. Would I want to? no. I'm not 17 years old anymore. I'm just going to keep hoping that my finances come together, that I can get a counselor reccomendation, that a dorm clears itself up, that these things all happen. Only time will tell.
In the course of 72 hours, I've realized that I can see. I have eyes. I can see what is really there, and what is really going on. I am who I was then, fitter happier. I'm not in doubt of who I am as a person. I doubt whether that person can function in society. Whether society will accept her for who she is. I won't change. I won't let my eyes become gray and dulled, nor my pencil, from the lies that this Hell seems so eager to force into them. I can see how much 'fitter happier' than I was then, at 5 years old, but it is really only a matter of introspection and exploitation. The more I find about myself and the world, the easier it is to exploit their weaknesses. As a society, I realize how very little people know about one another. How little art there really is. How very little leeway there is for real, genuine obscurity.
The more I find out about my true self, the more I can exploit these corruptions- fitter happier-
I already know that I'm never going to fit in anywhere. There are a few people I feel comfortable with, and vice versa, but people as a whole do not understand. They don't get my adversion to a car, a cell phone, take a shit, eat your dinner, television. Tele-vision is really just a distraction from intro- and extro-vision. I can't read someone's ora that is on tv. I can't feel the living breathing essence of that person, so if They just decided to replace people with robots, most people wouldn't know anyways, but I would.
No, Pat, our chemistry doesn't work out. I'm sorry I'm not mundane and numb to the fucking core, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm a lot nicer to people than you are. Here is your change. You didn't even smile at that guy. If you're going to be a fake piece of shit salesman, selling your soul, then you could at least do a good job of it.
I just learned how to take off the mask, I'm not putting it back on. I know there has to be some place, some person, in this world that will accept me for what I am-- not how well I can cover it up. Everyday is Halloween. Keep moving.
In the course of 72 hours, I've realized that I can see. I have eyes. I can see what is really there, and what is really going on. I am who I was then, fitter happier. I'm not in doubt of who I am as a person. I doubt whether that person can function in society. Whether society will accept her for who she is. I won't change. I won't let my eyes become gray and dulled, nor my pencil, from the lies that this Hell seems so eager to force into them. I can see how much 'fitter happier' than I was then, at 5 years old, but it is really only a matter of introspection and exploitation. The more I find about myself and the world, the easier it is to exploit their weaknesses. As a society, I realize how very little people know about one another. How little art there really is. How very little leeway there is for real, genuine obscurity.
The more I find out about my true self, the more I can exploit these corruptions- fitter happier-
I already know that I'm never going to fit in anywhere. There are a few people I feel comfortable with, and vice versa, but people as a whole do not understand. They don't get my adversion to a car, a cell phone, take a shit, eat your dinner, television. Tele-vision is really just a distraction from intro- and extro-vision. I can't read someone's ora that is on tv. I can't feel the living breathing essence of that person, so if They just decided to replace people with robots, most people wouldn't know anyways, but I would.
No, Pat, our chemistry doesn't work out. I'm sorry I'm not mundane and numb to the fucking core, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm a lot nicer to people than you are. Here is your change. You didn't even smile at that guy. If you're going to be a fake piece of shit salesman, selling your soul, then you could at least do a good job of it.
I just learned how to take off the mask, I'm not putting it back on. I know there has to be some place, some person, in this world that will accept me for what I am-- not how well I can cover it up. Everyday is Halloween. Keep moving.
05 September 2006
goddamn it, joshua
fuckers. this is going to be a real fucking struggle. to not change my mind stick to my guns.
tramps leave me alone
tramps leave me alone
29 August 2006
autumnal equinox
as the autumnal equinox grows nearer, I wonder more and more about what the coming year will hold. I really don't want to idealize everything down the hill of hopelessness. at night before I sleep, I try not to picture the way that things will be... I plan, and I really hope that just hoping is enough, because it is all I can seem to do anymore. I can say every night to myself that, tomorrow, I will try to rise above whatever today's shortcomings were, but the only way to really know whether the catalyst for them has disappeared is to wake up in the morning and let time tell.
He really was right when he said that "Only time will tell," but in more ways than he could ever possibly know. I always had a million questions, and the answer to them was always just this simple. Now that I have it, does that stop depression from coming over me? Does it make me love him any less? Or become more patient? No, no, no.
He really was right when he said that "Only time will tell," but in more ways than he could ever possibly know. I always had a million questions, and the answer to them was always just this simple. Now that I have it, does that stop depression from coming over me? Does it make me love him any less? Or become more patient? No, no, no.
10 August 2006
(m)(m)
I finally wrote the letter and mailed it. It took 4 months, 14 shots of gin, and 92 insect bites... but I really think that I may have actually used words to express myself truthfully (at least 92% so).
05 August 2006
muse
okay this is what is going on with pumpkin spoon, that stalker-chic girl:
- applying to RISD and some other places
- working on my portfolio of course
- quit my old job and now I have a new job at the zoo
- haven't been sleeping much, summer insomnia, so I've been studying and reading, thinking about things to incorporate into my art, taking pictures, thinking about the issues and problems I have had/ am having in life and pondering different solutions to these such dilemmas
- doing spiritual exercises as much as possible what with the idealization of M haunting my mind and soul
- looking inside; continuing to search for truths within a girl whose entire perception of life is loosely based on nothing (lies).
Jean-Paul Sartre's Essays in Existentialism
Kerouac's Big Sur (yes, still)
Deliberate Prose/ Selected Essays 1952-1995/ Allen Ginsberg, Edited by Bill Morgan
studying:
Egon Schiele Drawings and Watercolors by Jane Kallir
The Origin of the Gods: A Psychoanalytical Study of Greek Theogonic Myth
may i feel said he poem by E.E. Cunnings; paintings by Marc Chagall
Lucian Freud paintings
Lawrence Ferlinghetti
20 May 2006
Ellipses (...) (...)
I'm not sure what to think about this whole thing. It really doesn't feel permanent at all. It feels like, hey, I'll be home in a couple of days... when I know in reality that is not going to happen. My last few days with T.S. were... I don't even know how to describe it. They made me not want to leave at all.
Needless to say, the fantasies of Michael have been replaced. Not really replaced, but they're kind of competing with these others as of now. I'm really hoping to get a job at this trendy diner by my house that's open 24 hours a day. And I'm going to start looking for a library and checking out the scene here in the Bend pretty soon. I'll also check out the train system, and maybe go to Chicago for a day or something. I don't know. I think I'm just really trying to keep my mind occupied, and it's quite difficult. This city is not at all what I want it to be. For being just a mini-Chicago, it should be more....ummm, hip? Is that the word?
I really need to figure out this camera situation also. That will give me something else to do.
I'm not at all unhappy, just missing You.
Needless to say, the fantasies of Michael have been replaced. Not really replaced, but they're kind of competing with these others as of now. I'm really hoping to get a job at this trendy diner by my house that's open 24 hours a day. And I'm going to start looking for a library and checking out the scene here in the Bend pretty soon. I'll also check out the train system, and maybe go to Chicago for a day or something. I don't know. I think I'm just really trying to keep my mind occupied, and it's quite difficult. This city is not at all what I want it to be. For being just a mini-Chicago, it should be more....ummm, hip? Is that the word?
I really need to figure out this camera situation also. That will give me something else to do.
I'm not at all unhappy, just missing You.
05 May 2006
Equilibrium
Feeling pretty good right now, and have for the past few weeks. I am absolutely content with my life and my plans at this point.
Celibacy is... fulfilling. I am done searching and waiting. This is my life, and I want it to be one that I can look back on and smile. I no longer have to look forward to ____.
I have become myself.
Celibacy is... fulfilling. I am done searching and waiting. This is my life, and I want it to be one that I can look back on and smile. I no longer have to look forward to ____.
I have become myself.
25 April 2006
Matt dropped dirty for his last probation meeting, and is now travelling. He called me last night from somewhere in Ohio. He's already hitchhiked further than I did on my entire trip. I'm beginning to wonder what would've happened if I would have just gone on that trip by myself. No Amtrak, no bullshit. I think that if I tried again, I would make it. I get this whole different feeling about travelling now. It's not so much of a fear as it was before, maybe it's hope?
23 April 2006
Crossroads
It's amazing how the tiny little inhibitions can quickly turn into my basis of decision making. The scabs have been torn back open, despite taking it with a grain of salt. I really do know what unconditional love is now.
I feel very lost right now. I just don't know what to do with my life. I know that I do not need to have everything figured out, but I do need a goal. I don't think just waking up is a big enough goal.
My options are:
Stay here in Fort Wayne, go to college, room up with Sarah and Small Hobbit.
Work to save up enough money to live in Boston, live with Michael, maybe go to college, depending on if I have enough time in the day after working to make rent and trying to maintain a relationship with him.
Move to South Bend, go to IUSB or something like it, get to know my dad.
Save up money here, not much, find someone here in town or the whereabouts to travel with, and be a drifter.
This is what happens to people when they don't have a rolemodel. If I could meet someone who was 25 years old and genuinely happy, interested in art, and remembers what it was like--I would take their advice. I really just want some guidance. All of these things seem possible to me, they all seem like they could harness my happiness, and I could learn a great deal from any of them.
I feel very lost right now. I just don't know what to do with my life. I know that I do not need to have everything figured out, but I do need a goal. I don't think just waking up is a big enough goal.
My options are:
Stay here in Fort Wayne, go to college, room up with Sarah and Small Hobbit.
Work to save up enough money to live in Boston, live with Michael, maybe go to college, depending on if I have enough time in the day after working to make rent and trying to maintain a relationship with him.
Move to South Bend, go to IUSB or something like it, get to know my dad.
Save up money here, not much, find someone here in town or the whereabouts to travel with, and be a drifter.
This is what happens to people when they don't have a rolemodel. If I could meet someone who was 25 years old and genuinely happy, interested in art, and remembers what it was like--I would take their advice. I really just want some guidance. All of these things seem possible to me, they all seem like they could harness my happiness, and I could learn a great deal from any of them.
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