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Tuesday, November 30, 2004

*rubs eyes and looks around* 

wow.

i feel like i've been exorcised.

goodbye, inner demon. you will not be missed.

Monday, November 29, 2004

tee hee. 

i like the idea of me "spilling all over the internet". it sounds messy. everyone look at my mess.

my eyes look like a week long pill binge and i fell asleep watching Wayne's World and The Warriors. i have little recollection of what i do from day to day. i only know that i produce a moderate amount of shoddy work.

i'm cold because i have to be.
everyone agrees that it really has to be this way.

he's sleeping behind me and i envy him. he doesn't have to spread himself so thin that he can see the dark nothingness peering through the holes. sometimes it's all i see. i want to look back to my trip pictures, find the one of me against the train window with a fat, orange sun setting over a micellaneous province. i want to transfer that smile to my face and be moving again. leaving behind. everything.

tomorrow i'll be gone. i'm whisking myself away this time.
(it would take weeks before the change would be obvious)

i need a hot cup of tea.
i need a bubble bath.
i need someone to listen without it just being a segway to talk about every little detail in their life. (*ahem*)

i need a hug.

Saturday, November 27, 2004

last night. the sticky dinge of a university bar. that perfectly cool feeling of sitting around a yard of beer with your friends. tom was making me laugh. he has this look that he gets on his face that always makes me laugh. i like his girlfriend. i hope for everyone's sake that she likes The Warriors. otherwise: shunning. do or do not. there is no try. did i just quote yoda? awesome.

i remember when i used to pretend to like whiskey. i used to hate it. just like i used to hate coffee and pretend that i liked it in order to feel grown-up. i wish i could pinpoint that moment when i stopped pretending. when i crossed that little line drawn on the floor from which the swallows were to be long and greedy from now on. it's fascinating how malleable human tastes are.

(lying in bed this morning with you was what i needed.)

i called my landlord to try and get out of my lease. she was not terribly sympathetic. i need to find a subletter. it's a good building. any takers?

(do i get to feel normal again soon?)

i'm learning some new songs. it's a way of staying sane i suppose. mike suggested that i learn some -not- sad songs. i realized that i have few in a very large repetoire. i'm working on it. i'm working on a lot of things. you'll all be surprised won't you? when i get up and play nothing but happy, fun, condusive-to-smiling-type songs. i'll be a positive center of attention for once.

(someone get satan a parka. tell him it's going to snow.)

my nerves are on edge tonight.
too much whiskey. not enough whiskey?
i need your hands, slowly rubbing my back, brushing hair off my face.
i need your love, no matter what costume of insanity i happen to be trying on.
i need you to hold onto my hands whenever i try to push you away.
(and you always do. you always do. love me.)

i need some fun tonight. let's get something goin'.
"if the scatman can do, you can you."







Friday, November 26, 2004

Peeking through my fingers. 

when was the last time that i wasn't getting myself into trouble? really?

i think it's obvious that i love trouble.

and who cares anyway? not anybody. not me.

You know, ever since yesterday afternoon i've been in a really good mood.
I am capable of happiness. who knew? not me.

(my mother called because she thinks everything i say is a cry for help. i appreicate the concern. i really do. i'm not an alcoholic. i just love whiskey more than most people love their kids.)

Oh man.

last night.

James Brown.

Concerts like that just don't happen anymore.

Wednesday, November 24, 2004

With hands over my eyes and mouth. 

dinner with my mother and sister. a non-stop filthy-humoured laugh-fest. they subtly encouraged my plot to kidnap the virgin mary and paint her face like a member of KISS. blasphemy equals laughs, even if i go to jail for break-and-enter, theft and destruction of property. doesn't it?

it's strange to hear my mother tell me to stop worrying about school. she has diagnosed me with post-traumatic stress disorder. is that what this is? well it's unpleasant. you've had three traumas in a row. all in a row. no time to recover. the first one i won't even mention his name.

guess which one?

She said she would dance to my words, just like she danced to her voice. i always wanted to be a part of it. the family-art-machine. usually, i'm on the periphery, doing my own thing. creating the unrelated. i want to see my poetry in the movements of her body. from page to person. word to wonder.

(i took two internet tests tonight about drinking. two nameless studies have dubbed my alcohol consumpsion "harmful" and leaning towards "abusive".)

where did my life go?

my book is still there, clawing at my heels like a neglected child. i keep having to regretfully kick it aside. it will be ruined before it is realized. that's how everything seems to be. over before it begins.

i really wish i cared about all of this.


Tuesday, November 23, 2004

I got my second extension of the term (and of my life) today. My geeky protective walls are crumbling around me. I can't keep up. I can't. Everything falls apart, just when you think it's back together again.

I'm tired.
I don't want to do this anymore.
I don't want to be this anymore.
Everything that I obsess over is a complete waste of my time.
Everything else teeters between impossible and irrelevant.

I am so sick of me.

Sunday, November 21, 2004

Miss Crooks, if you're nasty. 

Things were said at this week's Geek Beer that left me with a rather nasty taste in my mouth. (no. it wasn't just the whiskey.) It would seem that, whether it serious or not, I have a reputation that truly precedes me. I find this unsettling. I feel that this role i have been given to play is unwarrented. Therefore, I leave it to you, dear bloggers, to either confirm or dispell my fears.

Am I known as being a little "slutty"?
Am I the token slut of the group?
The closest thing to it?

I'm not angry at anyone. Just curious as to how such infamy came to be attached to me. If it's all for fun...I'm not having any.

Last night's triple header concert was amazing.

Nathan Wiley was sweet and mellow. A crooner from the Island.

Ron Sexsmith astounded me. He's like a younger, less Gin-soaked and smoke-tinged, Leonard Cohen. His lyrics are pure poetry, some of them, timeless. Everyone in his band played at least three instruments and they all sang. At one point, the four of them stepped away from the microphones and and played a straight up country, fourpart harmony, dueling banjo (only one) type song. It was so awesome. Anyone who can rock out solo on a Ukelele (spelling?) gets my applause. The songs he played with just him and the piano were so beautiful. I closed my eyes and felt the music in the tips of my fingers, like gathering electricity.

Sarah Slean was the most sensational of them all. Her band began to play first, and she snuck onto the stage after a few bars and started wailing into the mic. ("armies and ice and dirty green...")

When she plays the piano, she doesn't just play. she writhes over the keys. She breathes in major, minor, suspended, augmented. She sucked the air out of my lungs and whispered it into her songs. she told whimsical, sparkling stories to us. she held me in the palm of her hand and for one hour...she made me feel perfectly whole.

"and I've got all the courage i'll ever need. i wax poetic on my enemies."

when she sang those lines. i felt utterly helpless. it took everything in me not to sob like a hysterical, crazy person.

At the intermission, she came out into the lobby and I got a chance to tell her how great the show was. I wasn't a complete stammering fool, but I wasn't far off. I introduced myself and told her how completely fabulous i think she is. She was really sweet...and signed the inside of my cd jacket. woot.

Best twenty bucks i ever spent.

Saturday, November 20, 2004

last night was fun...but when mark wood says he's never seen you this drunk before...is that a bad thing?

i think i told tom he was cunt because graeme told me to. did i scream offensive warriors' quotes again? i hope so.

drunken puppetry.

i don't remember the walk to the bar.

i do remember the apple barrel....fuck......ew.

everything makes sense after a vat of whiskey. it's in the bible. look it up.

tonight is sarah slean and ron sexsmith.

my boyfriend looks hot in a pin striped suit.

that is all.

Friday, November 19, 2004

On a more serious note... 

whiskey.

whiskey!

WHISKEY!!!!!

whiskeywhiskeywhiskeywhiskeywhiskeywhiskeywhiskeywhiskeywhiskeywhiskeywhiskey.

Whiskey + Whiskey = Whiskey.

whiskey: whiskey whiskey.

whiskey?

whiskey.

Wednesday, November 17, 2004

math for english students 

two units of Tylenol 3 + six units of caffiene + potential sickness + one unit of motherfucking paper + infinate units of procrastination + one unit of rapidly approaching deadline = temporary madness and a whole lot of bullshit.

okay. okay. i successfully got out of bed early. now, to write a compare essay about 'waiting for godot' and a "brilliant" irish novel that purposefully makes little to no sense.

i can do that.....

Tuesday, November 16, 2004

I've been thinking a lot about language. About how the biggest and most meaningful words have been stipped away and hollowed out. What once was a deep expression of sentiment now echoes noisily and irrelevantly, empty substance on the air. I've been thinking about Bush and his speeches about the war in Iraq. He always uses those enormously vague words. Words with huge expectations that lumber clumsily and say nothing. People like Bush are linguistic pirates, pillaging the dictionaries and pocketing all the towering, abstract words in sight. Evil. Good. Freedom. They are leaving us with nothing to say. They are ruining language for everyone.

Should I Be Concerned? 


My life is rated NC-17.
What is your life rated?

Monday, November 15, 2004

God Save Us. 

I'm into the wine.

Presents From The Alcohol Fairy. 

the girls left booze in my apartment from our bitch-fest on friday.

i'm drinking smirnoff and writing an essay about samuel beckett.

it's slowly going from "fuck. i have to write an essay." to "woot! i love essays! and vodka. and mike. but especially vodka."

there's also a half-bottle of white wine in there.

i'll save that for the conclusion.

why. am. i. not. w.o.r.k.i.n.g.?

ramblings and music 

I found out today that I'm not getting paid for another two weeks. partly my fault. mostly not my fault. starvation? this sounds familiar. *remembers the stints of abject poverty last winter* yikes.

worn me down like a road
i did everything you told
worn me down to your knees
i did everything to please
but you can't stop thinking about her
no you can't stop thinking about her

if I were to drop everything (yes, everything) right now and run. would you think less of me for doing it? I wouldn't say goodbye. that would only make it sad. the sun would come up and I would just be gone. Trust me when I say that I would be happier. Only question is which direction? I'll meet you at that crater on the moon.

And it'll be just as quiet when i leave
as it was when i first got here.
I don't expect anything.

Someday I'm going to be all the things that people say about me. I'm going to be the writer, the singer, the sister, the daughter, the girlfriend (my god, you are patient and understanding). I'm going exceed myself. Someday I'll stop reducing myself to a single problem. Imperfections do not define me. A molehill is not Everest and I'm no fucking mountain climber. I am not a collection of personal failures.

You simplified me down to slogans on the wall.
I took offense, but you were right about them all.

I guess it all comes down to me. down to you. down to fear. I'm terrified of disappointment. I'm building a sheild to protect me out of chewing gum and bad song lyrics. I want to let you in but I can't stop looking through the little peephole and thinking about how distorted everything looks. I'm afraid of the other side. I'm more afraid of my own. I guess it all comes down to me. down to song lyrics.

And they say that alcoholics are always alcoholics
even when they're dry as my lips for years
even when they're stranded on a small desert island
with no place in two thousand miles to buy beer
and I wonder 'is he different? is he different? has he changed what he's about?'
or he just a liar with nothing to lie about?




Sunday, November 14, 2004

I'm rediscovering the joy of markers and crayons.
I'm staring intently into my disco-glitter-ball light.
I'm still in my work clothes.
I'm still giggling about tonight's episode of Arrested Development.
I'm miffed that no one watches that show. It's fucking funny.
I'm letting Mike keep a pair of my pants?
I'm disgusted by the American Music Awards.
I'm wondering why Sheryl Crow doesn't retire.
I'm thinking about fireball.
I'm thinking about a possible conspiracy.
I'm wondering why Yasser Arafat and Old Dirty Bastard both just died mysteriously.
I'm wondering what they might have known.
I'm glad we talked.
I'm glad I'm doing this instead of my essay.
I'm an idiot.
I'm not going to graduate. Ever.

Friday, November 12, 2004

i'm excited for today. it's been a long time since i've been really really excited for any day. i'm meeting melinda at noon. we're hanging out. she's filling me in on the greek house gossip. i'm filling her in on...everything. she asked me if i was still a torrent of misery. i guess i'll have to tell her yes. it's so funny how things work out. we're going shopping. we're eating sushi. i'm excited.

but then. oh then. the true reason for today. a old fashioned girl's night bitch fest with my favorite bitches in the whole fucking world. i really need this. total stress reliever.

have i ever told you guys that you're totally cathartic for me?

do i have enough booze?

enough of these cock waving antics.



Thursday, November 11, 2004

This is what happens when you read too much Flann O'Brien 

I am an ancient rune.
I am a disco light show.
I am my own worst enemy.
I am the 25th hour in the day.
I am the walrus.
I am a broken kite in a tree.
I am a child's tin can telephone.
I am not trying hard enough.
I am at fault for everything.
I am self-destructive.
I am Jessica Rabbit.
I am a sex goddess.
I am the best you've ever had.
I am the million you never made.
I am my own parasite.
I am sober?
I am indesperate need of a cup of coffee, a hug, a smoke, a laugh, a Caper, a friend, my friend, a new cd to listen to, a sense of self worth, a better excuse not to be doing work.

fuck.


Wednesday, November 10, 2004

Don't Upset Kitty 

For the last fucking time:

I'm dealing with things in my own way.
I'm dealing with things at my own pace.
I'm dealing with things the best I can.

If it hasn't been efficient enough for you, I'm sorry.
But you've been snarky about this from the very beginning.
If you think I'm a melodramatic, snivelling baby that's fine, but there is no need to inform me.
Your opinion is valid i'm sure, but unnecessary and unappreciated.


Snide remarks about the way I feel are hurtful.

You hurt my feelings.

Comment on that.

I'm trying on all my sisters and mother's pretty sparkly dresses today.

I'm pretty!!

I'm doing this for the Snoball, but I promise nothing....NOTHING!!!!

Monday, November 08, 2004

i look for the big picture and i only see a disfigured reflection of myself, but i believe you when you tell me that it's there.

i cry because it's the only time that it has any meaning at all. cry harder. cry harder. maybe then it will mean something. maybe then you won't have wasted so much time. cry harder. it will mean something.

This doesn't seem right. I'm too stressed for what's actually going on in my life. Except maybe the present is including all of the recent past and then maybe in that way it's all too much. Too much. I never thought it would be me teetering on the precipice of a complete nervous breakdown. As in a freak out. As in a tantrum for adults.

my hands are shaking.

I saw Kelly in class. I remember the day she saw me crying. She smiles a special smile for me now, because she knows and I know that she saw me crying, so now we have a bond but not by choice. I felt so violated at the time, but now I'm glad. it's never good to indulge yourself in frivolous emotions. Never good. Indulge. Frivolous. Never.

my hands are shaking.

I'm not going to the Snoball. I'm just not. I have one dress that doesn't fit like it should and no money for another one and no time to shop and no mental capacity to stress over a what is essentially a Prom in geek's clothing. ( I know it's hard to be with me because when i don't want to smile you can't make me. I haven't smiled yet today. You asked for one and you instantly gave up. Experience told you to. I am beyond hope.)

All I want to do is write my novel and all I have time for is everything else. What if this is my only chance? What If i'm kidding myself again? What if all those "warning signs" that help columnists and tv therapists talk about are ringing clearly. Like crystal. Nothing is perfect and that's the point. We are most beautiful where we come up short. The world loves a tragedy.

I would rather look upon a broken rose, neck bent and petals crushed by clumsy fingers than one that is intricately opened, in perfect, unblemished bloom. Likewise, it is the chicken pock scar, that strange and jagged indentation in the corner of her mouth that gives her smile its particular radiance. Without it, it would simply be lips stretched over teeth, turned upwards at the ends. Conventional and Unremarkable.

Mike, you know that kinder chocolate I saved for you? I ate it.

My hands are shaking.

"Can I have a smile before I go? It's ok if it's not a real one."


G. U. I. L. T.

Thank-you Samuel Beckett 

"One day we were born, one day we shall die, the same day, the same second, is that not enough for you? They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more."


That's exactly the problem. It's all at once. The good and the bad. They're tangled and entwined. They're breathing the same air. They're all at once. If you could even succeed at separating them you'd only discover that they're the same thing.

The blackbird walks in front of me and behind me.
It was snowing and it was going to snow.

And the answer is no. No. No it is not enough.

Saturday, November 06, 2004

i'm pathetic.

i'm more pathetic when i'm drunk. make way for the self-pity express. next stop: self-analytical hell.

i have too much work for this.
too much.

Friday, November 05, 2004

I've had too much whiskey. I'm living up to my "Ernest Hemingway Lifestyle". Death in the afternoon. Or early evening.

I'm angry all the time.
I'm sad whenever I forget to be angry.

Why don't you ever write about me? I write about you. But you don't write about me. You don't need to, because you don't care. I have a hard time dealing with that.

Thursday, November 04, 2004

you and i have "historic" moments, both because everything we do is somewhat ridiculous and because we are obsessed with our own importance.

so we talked. we didn't "fix" anything. we didn't even try. i'm not sure yet that there is anything left to fix. there was no crying. no apologies. no rekindling of friendships and no forgiveness. just a lot of laughing. we sat on wet sidewalk smoking cigarettes with the cold air blasting against us, ripping the grey tendrils from our mouths violently. anytime it felt too natural i averted my eyes to the ground, picking wet leaves, pressed flat, off the concrete. it's a matter of self-preservation. you understand. we laughed at all the filthy humour that had been saved up in two months of silence. it wasn't sad. it wasn't happy. it wasn't necessarily a step in any particular direction. it was just funny. i laughed harder than i have in a while with the new wintry wind sucking the breath right out of my lungs. i was gasping for air the whole time.

i hugged you called you a piece of shit. i meant it, but i still hugged you. i walked home laughing like a hyena in the cold.

Tuesday, November 02, 2004

Taking Back Beautiful 

Morning blinks colder
while vibrant light sinks levels lower,
muting the sharply-lined crest of my cheek.
My feet, numbed, exposed to the ankles
from under a dissolving sheet.
I searched for you again.
And again you eluded my grasp
like a fistful of seeds slipping through my fingers...
stars....lips....burning....
I buried my hands in warm, wet earth up to the wrists
to allow for your awed and objected presence.
But I was alone.
When darkness drops your life is snuffed. Unknown.
You were an empire
spread across the world.
Now you are a patchwork quilt,
moth-eaten and discarded,
forbidden as though dirty,
used too often: Whore of my expressions.
Which impossible peak is next to crumble as you did?
You who held stars in your pockets
and tiptoed in the hushed breath of lovers with mocking
fingers entwined. Burning.
And all cupped in the palm of a soft, sleepy evening.
When shall we gather our untarnished remains,
line them neatly against the wall
and make a true bloody massacre out of language?
I will not watch.
Tomorrow I will search again.
Stars. Lips. Burning.

Monday, November 01, 2004

When the heat turns on in my apartment, it makes a sharp, crackling noise, like splintering wood. It what it would sound like if the fabrics of reality were splitting at the seams.

This term has been weird. It's like I've been living someone else's life since the end of august. Nothing matches up. I love and hate all the wrong things and all the right things all at once. I'm perpetually scared but at the same time, I've never felt stronger. Sometimes when I'm walking alone I exude enough confidence that it's like I'm shouting out for all to hear:

mess with me. i fucking dare you.

Maybe it's silly to feel this way. Maybe it's the only way for me to be sane.

Today I got free coffee from *my* work.
(I still almost giggle every time i say that)
I found out that Chloe and Brad have been "raving" about me.
Apparently, I'm a fast learning, coffee-serving bitch.
I'm working alone on Thursday. Woot.
I still have no sense of taste or smell.
I ate a sandwich anyways, but it felt like i was chewing on a wet sock.
Mmmmmm....wet sock.
I got out books on Ethel Waters for an assignment due in two weeks.
I passed in my final poem for my creative writing class. (I was told never to use the word "beautiful", because it is "cliche" and a "throw-away" word. Well. Call me foolish, call me rebellious, call me just plain dumb. I wrote my poem entirely -about- the word "beautiful", but only actually used the word in the title. Tell me, is this a sign of genius, or madness? Maybe both. Maybe they're actually the same thing with different labels.)
I met my mother for coffee.
(I caught you looking at me from the espresso machine. Then you left.)

Now....to read two entire novels in the span of a few hours...

...what?


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