enjoy some tunes while you guzzle down all this emo content

Showing posts with label body. Show all posts
Showing posts with label body. Show all posts

Monday, May 28, 2018

after the flower moon party, on judy's porch

i find that i literally don't have the words taht i need.
this is nothing new. i've said it 10000 times. that's part of et problem. i say it for so many situations. it is true but the nuances are hard to me to define.
right now. i want to sincerely say oh i hope you're having a good time and that's why you might not want ot talk to me but everything i try to say think of saying comes out passive aggressively in my mind, in my type. how can i be kind? can i never be graceful?
maybe i should go and work on a letter instead of waiting for a call.

other thoughts.

i came out onto the porch to find myself in the window of the full flower moon. she's behind a tree now, i can see the peeking but before, my timing was bperfect. we were aligned. i could feel her looking at me. (yes i'm that selfish.)
i have the impulse to clamber up stairs with all four limbs and i do it as often as possible - in homes only - usualy alone and unseen. so no, not as often as possible. my exaggeration makes me a constant liar.
it is the closeness of the floor and the fully body movement and
better than when i run up on only two feet, the too quick pitpat of bouncing hair and breasts.
clambering they swing, as they should, if they must exist at all.
then comes the part where i try to define my feelings about my breasts and find it imposssible because of the shifting shifting thougthts and how hard it is to think about them at all sometimes that there is no way to make a true statement. sometimes i remember that women name their own, that their connection to them is more than inconvenient sacks, and it shocks me into the remembrance that my dysphoria exists, is real, runs deep, despite how i push it to always away.

i try calling again. i'll give it two. three. four rings. i hang up and feel like a fool. why does this power have to play? why can't i feel rooted and honest in the way i feel in so many of my other close friendships? what sets this apart? what teh fuck is wrong with me?

for some reason i'm smoking and drinking. for some reason i can't quite remember.

Saturday, March 03, 2018

keyculator speak

today is friday march 2, i guess it's just after midnight so. i'm drinking beer and i just had my first cigarette after 2+ weeks without. i'm trying to understand teh impulse. i know part of it is teh moment itself but what's teh feeling that leads to it and the feeling that hapens afterwards? tonight i thought i would write some messages to friends inviting them to teh movie at SXSW and maybe even post on some groups about the screenings. or do some research. or even just read my book. but there was a shift, a switch flipped. and none of that productive stuff is what i want anymore. i have been filling this void for years this way - beer, smokes, drown it. i use the time too to connect, talk with friends, hang out. if i'm alone i can SING or listen to music in a devoted way that i don't normally allow myself to. or this- I WRITE. is that what i really need to be allowing myself? the smoking and drinking is the excuse for the thing i want. the honest, the open, the art, the silliness.

and so now i'm on beer .. 4 and cough syrup (the prescribed dose thank you) and the friends somehow suddenly disappeared, as they always seem to do once i decide to lay down deep in teh groove, and i see that i'm alone, and i become terrified. look at this fucking hell i've wrought, look at this mess i am. i can't figure what eh trigger was. why did they leave? what have i done?
jerel jerel jerel i love you. what can i do for you. am i a horrible person for you to be around. am i the worst influence. am i the whitest cis lady asshole. i want to be better. i am sorry. i am sorry. i want to love you i want to hold you i want to keep listening. i wish i could cat scratch my own hands. i wish the pen pierced deeper in the palm. you're 6 nyquil down and i'm 6 states away and i can't fucking stand it, i'm drinking to fill the space. come here, come home. if you don't know what you're looking for it's okay. if you think you might fail it's okay. there's nothing worse than not trying.
do i just want you to love me?
am i so
so so so so
so so
so so
pathetic ???
i can see the love that will ignite between the webs, i see how you will fit into the fold. the connection is not just mine.
if i have no other purpose in this world i don't care as long as i can connect us. i'm proud of the fires i started. to leave the people in a room and see the light turn on.
i want to be so much better than i am.
i have been so bad at getting better.
i create impossible goals. i fail i fail and i grieve the failure. i drink, i smoke, i tell myself i was meant for it.
my breasts feel heavy with regret. days i hate them, only visualize slicing them loose. be free!
i want anything more than these pink claws, flesh sack, milkless bags of misery, all this pink raw hell, the nebula of pain on my thigh, the twitching curl back the WHY the WHY i can't speak bodies i can't handle them i can't encase them i can't comprehend.
more reasons to be celibate! a few more of which i attempted to articulate to jerel earlier today-- i think it felt good to just spew toward him when he wasn't there, just typing typing putting my thoughts down. it's always good to do. i'm always glad when i've doen it. even when it's terrible it's good to get it out. i got it out to him. i felt like it was maybe good too because it said with definity, finally, i am not looking for your sex, when i say i love you, i am not sexing at you. it is not the feeling of now. so i felt like okay i probablky overshared a bit. i always do. but conveying that i think was important. maybe it broke some tension. even if it was just my tension. like what i told him - being celibate right now is partially about releasing the tension of sexual expectations. if they aren't there to begin with we can find new ways, maybe old ways, to communicate, to hold, to become intimate. i miss it i miss it i miss it. i think even i miss the imitation of sex from childhood, what it was in my fiction before it became stagnant and hard and painful rough fixed performed dissociated.
how sleepy am i
how tingly am i
what is my body for
there is this twiddling pain to the left of my spine in the middle of my back, just licking a little this week. what have you come here for? or the tight knot in my gut, and the little pinching pain next to my belly button that grips when i laugh or cough. the pain i ignore. is that what the body is for?
last night i thought i would explode. maybe it was these last two weeks of illness and mostly lying in bed and just routine and nothing and slugging and feeling like an alien just leaving the house once and having to pretend to be a human in front of normies. i thought i would burst. i had the moment where i saw the mirror and the tension exploded. where my eyes went fire and my limbs went wild and my fingers had to fierce explode and gesture strong and my face talked to itself in the mirror without any words that would mean anything except to itself. where i'm nearly clambering up the counter to mash back into myself, unlike usuually where i avoid that shape altogether. who is that creature who comes out? who wants to play? does it have to happen when i'm drinking? (i know that isn't true but how can i invite it out otherwise? where is the space?) WHERE IS TE SPACE WHEREI S THE SPACE.
i've otld myself i've told myself
but how ca ni carve it when i can't start it
i need more loves i need comrades i don't know thati can go it alone. i lose so easy.
i wish i could

Sunday, January 21, 2018

do you remember the children's book "frederick" by leo lionni?

the good feeling i've been riding took a dip last night and i'm worried it'll run away and i still won't have pinned it down at all. it's so hard to even believe it enough to say it, or if i manage to find the words, they'll become only that, and the feeling will fade. but now that it's a question it's better to just do it... right?

i can already feel myself overthinking this. that is the last thing i want to do. what do i have? i have these fast fast fingers and i can type my brain better than i think! i can write the words my mind makes up! i can sound like a real me in text! (i know because laylee told me that 15 years ago and rex told me so today and so i have to BELIEVE or what if i lose it or what if there's something important i could be doing that i miss because i haven't done anything about it. you know.)

it's so hard to believe. it's so hard to let myself remember what i'm good at.

BUT after xmas after snata craws and rodent carols and another round of GREAT GROUP i was near convinced, i clowned for myself in the mirror and i was able to get there which surprised me - but why should it? donna said not to look at ourselves to practice our turns and i totally understand that advice. but so often when i look at the mirror and i see this strange face and i think this can't possibly be me or be real or be anything at all, and i just shut down. for so long i have turned away i have pushed my nails into my palms to unsee i have gritted my teeth and pushed breath through to see to be anything else. now i find that in the times in the late night in the mirror i can explore and see what this body can do. i can see how to find the biggest expressions of the face, i can elasticize.


i forget. i forget who the body belongs to. i froget we frog together. the mirror thing, with the perfect dissociative cocktail, surprises and delights. the mirror thing becomes elastic, electric, fantastic.

the thing that hurt to look at, the thing i could never understand how to belong to, i find this thing, when stared down, goes wild. it can't behave and doesn't want to try. it wasted a lot of toilet paper.

this is only partially a new discovery. the feeling is in the body, some of it is already memorized. it's burning embers in there all the time, even though i forget.

i guess i'm rambling now. the important part is -- i have gotten so tired of beating myself up for being bad at stuff. of course that sounds very reasonable written down in such a way. but the things i'm bad at are things that many people find necessary to function - eating, sleeping, organizing belongings, remembering information, simple math, wearing clothes, forming words, etc. i don't really want to care about being bad at all that mess. it happens or it doesn't. i can't remember the names of important people or pretty much anything i learned in school. i can't remember why i hate mother teresa until i look it up on wikipedia (and promptly forget the facts again, but i remember the feeling).

i remember the feeling i remember the feeling i remember the feeling

i am toying with the idea of applying to physical theatre school. i am considering how to make my body into a rubber band or flower. i want to be able to squeeze everything out of the present moment and explode it out of myself. i want to roll around and jump and shriek and freak and confuse the fuck out of people. i want to present another way to be.

if not me, then who? if not a someone with hardly any logical memory but great arches, then what am i even around for? surely someone out there is gonna do it. surely they could stand some company.

this was all made abundantly clear, several times in fact, right around the winter solstice. as it turns out, that was right when i was completing my first saturn return - and perfect timing to say fuck you everybody, i don't care what you think, i can see so clearly what is important. (reminder of what is important: friends, love, art, magic. this is an incomplete list but you get the idea.)

morgan got back in town for the holiday and wanted to go out to the bar with friends. she picked the so-called irish pub, not knowing that a bunch of us had gone there for trivia the night before (don't worry, we lost) so many of our group didn't come along this time. and it ends up me & brett (& later kat) in the weirdos corner with morgan's most type A segment of friends all crowded into the booth on the other side and all i can say is "YEP here i am again indeed, oh and what now? i'm doing an in depth study of mental health, now that i'm back from the loony bin" and there's nothing like a night like this to remind me how much i don't want that life, with the husbands and the babies and the business casual luncheons. UGH writing that is so obvious i could just spit on myself but no no that is most of the world and i think i can be allowed to write it down occasionally. the important part here is that i maybe felt a little embarrassed at first and especially trying to explain wtf i'm doing with myself, yes back in memphis, yes living with my folks, yes again, but more than ever, i feel like answering this questions is more a nuisance than anything else. i don't really care if they judge me for the answers. i don't really give a fuck what they think, truly. are they judging me for being practically unemployed and living with my parents at 30 and oh ordering another drink this late? yes they definitely are. and am i judging them for being salaried breeders who always vote democrat? yes i definitely am. so we're even.

i'm tired of the waffling shuffling pretending i can play for both sides. when i lived in baltimore i felt like 2 people in 1 body-- a demure, polite, if slightly eccentric, part-time librarian with sensible shoes and nothing but patience, and a barefoot feral drunk at the local anarchist commune / urban farm (except not even totally that because i still had to make sure the bills got paid and be The Sensible One which is not me at all and was boring as fuck).

i'm tired of fucking around with that world pretending i can play along. i just can't hack it.
i know i know i don't have it. i'm far from it. it's been six months now since i got out of the loony bin and came home. it doesn't feel like that long but i know my folks are getting antsy for me to figure my shit out and get a move on. meanwhile i don't want to rush making a decision because that is what keeps getting me into messes, it seems like. but i think i'm getting somewhere this time. maybe.

when i was a kid we lived in a small bungalow house in the artsy neighborhood of town, before it got gentrified. the dining room in the center of the house had 8 walls, branching off to the front hallway, our bedrooms, the kitchen, the bathroom, the back yard. "the octagonal room" was the true center & the heart of the house. at that table, my mama accidentally served us inedible cake decorations at the table. at that table, we grew crystals for SIX WHOLE WEEKS on plastic toys & charcoal for a science fair project. and under that table, most importantly, we made our own world. no fort could compare to the one on the persian carpet, table cloth on all sides, and pillows snatched out of beds. what did we do under there? i'm not quite sure but it was all magical, always, because it happened there, in the secret sacred space.

that's the space i want to create for people. if i am not here to take people under the table, i'm not sure what i am doing at all.

***there are other worlds there are other worlds there are other worlds* and they are all around us**

now i've got 3 glasses of wine in me and i still haven't packed so. i'm annoyed bc i dont think i even said what i was trying to say. or it all come out wrong. fuck all. the point is, i am frederick. (or i wish i were.)

Tuesday, December 08, 2015

sometimes i think i ought to charge

lately, everywhere i go, all these men's eyes.

at east wind, there's a male majority, and the closest town with a bar is 20 miles away. commies in the ozarks get lonely too. from out of the autumn night rain, i shuffled into the cramped sunnyside commons, bumbling with my bags and beer and too many coats, sloppy smiling, and i became meat. the freshest sort, from one or two communes over, but as yet unclaimed. a dozen people crammed in this small room, and i felt them mentally undress me, i saw them puff up against each other for a piece. but it was so far under the surface that maybe i'm the only one who saw, because they were really all so kind, not creepy at all, just starving.
could i blame them?

i don't know what to do with men's interest in me. i guess i'm a little flattered but mostly confused by it. they all like my dimpled smile, they like that i think, they think it's cute that i'm awkward, they always like it when i'm nervous.
do you think your presence caused this? your power?

my confusion takes the lead in the dance of the flirt. i refuse to believe that this is what's happening, i thought we were friends. i didn't expect him to take it there.

how did i end up again against some him?

his room is its own circular structure, right by the dribbling creek, falling down, half whole, mysterious, broken. is this how you saw me? how did you see me at all?

i will entertain the conversation, i will drink his dandelion wine. i'm a sucker for the bottom of the barrel, let me keep going till i find it. finally i'll stop my awkward talking long enough for him to ask to kiss me.
thank you for asking.
for a moment everything feels sweet and giddy, almost innocent.
why not say yes? why not anything? why not see if i feel?

the first time kissing is always the best. (maybe i am better when i'm nervous.)
it will start on the couch with our mouths until his hands start to wander, why not? he will want to move to the bed or turn out the light, why not? he will squeeze my tits like lemons, kiss suck pinch pull push hard harder hurts.
most of this will be uncomfortable.
i will go into a certain type of subspace: silent, riding, object, use me.
some things feel good but others i will just let happen.
what's the point in trying to correct his too tongued kissing, his hard hands?
what am i doing here, where have i gone?
what can i ask for that i will get?
he won't know until after he's done it that i like pain but he won't understand what kind. he will have already had his hands inside me and will have bitten my meat until the blood vessels pop and the bruises flower up.

Monday, October 21, 2013

i tried to go to sleep at 12:30 tonight and haven't had any luck. last night i got home from work at 12:30, ate a piece of alfredo pizza from papa john's, had a glass of wine, took a benadryl, and went to bed around 2. i woke up at 3:30 in the afternoon then went to a potluck party on a farm. i had yummy veggies and macaroni and lots of good beer. i got too much food and had to throw it in the woods because they had taken away the trash can by the time we left. i am sad that i didn't get to eat my hardboiled egg, but i hope a possum finds it. i wish i could sleep. i took a half a bendadryl around 5 so hopefully it will kick in soon. i wonder if my pills are keeping me awake or if it's caffeine or anxiety or what. i've just been thinking about the cats all night. and itching itching itching. i need to find out if kelly got itchy when she was staying here. i just keep thinking that it's somehow self-contained and as usual my body is a mutiny and maybe it has to do with being a mutant. next week i have an appointment to find out whether i am eligible for sliding scale health services and then maybe i can afford to go to a dermatologist. my body feels like it's breaking down entirely. i hate doctors but i don't know what else to do. i feel guilty that i haven't taken my cat to the doctor in so long. i should make him a doctor appointment while i'm in memphis for the film festival. i feel like the worst cat mama ever. i wonder if i can bring him back with me on the plane. i miss him but i still don't know where i'll be living next month. everything feels so up in the air and impermanent and sliding and i don't like it. not that things are bad in general. i do like my job, but i need to learn not to work too much. i might have a date with a lady tomorrow. i have never been on a date, so i don't know if this is one. i might be too scared to show up. i might go to a show with a band from memphis and get drunk instead. i might go get the kitten with the broken tail and bring her to my room. i wanted to bring home jekyll but i couldn't when kelly and dill were staying here. i was going to bring her home on wednesday but laylee gave her to another foster and i will never see her again. i'm sad but i shouldn't be. story of my life. tomorrow maybe i'll get minerva and maybe won't be so lonely. maybe soon i'll fall asleep.

Friday, September 21, 2012

crumb + crime

some lines tapped out drunk on my phone and high in my room, in a
matter of minutes over a handful of days--

(i'm sorry, you asked.)

carrying you
the broken doubloon
pockets of deception
full and heavy with treasures
cherished or forgotten

funny how we came together as it fell apart
broken from the start, but now scattered
at least a fourth gone forever
and the other smooth slivers tried to lose
but somehow i never do manage to

how much was i holding in?
how long will it take to wash away
near nine years of constant chemicals?
no one warned me:
waves of unchecked estrogens, enzymes wreak havoc on every piece
of my system and knock me off what little stability i rocky rode,
cysts crunch tight ovaries twisting, wrecked
weeks of white knuckles, eight days of thick black blood
birthmarks bleeding and browner than ever
so sore, so much, so tired, so sad
so so done
get me gone

shedding it all
getting rid
the sticky slickness of newly opened fruit
it pains and pours
cant keep anymore
i feell down

couldnt contain it and split my sense
on the pavement spilt my whisky and my mess
but not a drop for you
and fingers that beckon but do not ask
split sick open wide
spilt self all over
cant contain--
i didnt want to
i disjt mean to
he did not ask to take the fruit

they usually dont

and where did i lose you?
between the unealked streets of our interchange
without negotiating the borders of this new land
under a haze of confusion in the cloud of uncertain substance
so how could i find you?
why shouldnt you float
in and out
to and fro
up and down
i coukdnt ever hope to stay
a mess of indecision
a cobweb tangle heartsore

that heart was whole
in my pocket all along
it missed the chance to sing our song

and now my fruit is rancid, rotten
under wilted odor of noxious lovers
who sucked on my spirits and promptly forgot them
greedy plundered all sweet offers

tasting and taking the higher they climbed
entwined in the dance called the rape of the vine

they took as they tasted the best of my wine
they took me down dancing the rape of the vine

why did i assume it was all in the mix?
that the music would speak where the silence kicks?
that they'd stay to sleep when the fruit was picked?
why i’d rather not ask than take the risk
when at every end i’m trapped and tricked

how hungry did you have to get
to try a night with me?
look past the sagging sacks and
maneuver the tangles to get the fruit
this is no courtly quest
there was no love story

and so pulled out the clot and held in my hands
nine years of clear caught love, spent seed
everything i tried to keep
a ball of blood and mucus down the drain
sent off without ceremony
now what do i do with all this feel?
without a stopper or a net
and now, not even any eyes
dumb and blind and come and cry

and what we saw on the deep dark highway
were roads of stars through layers of heavy trees
all that hanging life and sweetness
and there, ahead, still and silent in the middle of the road
the fawn, the wandering grazer, small shy and calm
not the deer in headlights
not a thing but trust
we slow to let her finish, turn and cross back towards us in the dark
not running
not away

the beauty leaves a bitter taste
i want to scream, to get her gone
don't look at us, don't believe
you can't stay here girl
you won't have time to learn

two dead doe
and there it is:
every sister, mother
splayed in center
the white lines
straight through
legs broken
necks cracked
i try, but i cant take it back

now the cat in my lap and the wine in my hand
hurting and working without a plan
i won’t tell you how it really ends
you’ll do your best to understand
but wonder why it’s back again

^this is lucha's contribution
can't say i don't agree
you asked
i'm sorry

Sunday, September 05, 2010

can you see the means without the end in the random frantic action

violent dream. beat up (or maybe just verbally abused?) brandon's girlfriend, then went to someone's house where i got shot, then went off and proceeded to slice up my own tongue.
last night i just sat at home after my horrible day and moped by myself. i ended up hanging out with my parents, who were watching wonderfalls and drinking dad's beer of the month club beer. more correctly, my dad drank the whole huge 9.3% bottle by himself, except for the half glass i snatched for myself. i got jealous and started drinking white russians. we proceeded to get more ridiculous until we were all talking to the tv and dad could hardly follow the show. brock appeared suddenly while we were standing in the backyard pointing mom's ipad at the invisible stars. it almost feels like true fall...
blah blah blah. in the end, i was up till 6am yet again. and cutting my own hair, which looks awful. i need something

listening to: amanda palmer - astronaut

Wednesday, October 07, 2009

here's to our wings, not knowing why they wilt

fuck my heart in my throat for choking my voice and letting it linger. fuck this feeling all the time.
today i worked for six hours on a bibliography of criticism, reviews, and articles about margaret cavendish. it was intense and i'm glad i'm not working tomorrow.
tonight, the full circle group met for the first time this semester. it was morgan, four of my close friends, plus hannah and luna, who seem to be organizing, and kelsey from recycling. i felt a little out of place at first, but i think it does make sense for me to be there in some ways. the group is talking mostly, i think, about relationships between body and food, but i think that other body issues will enter the conversation as well.
since the meeting, i've been screwin around in morgan and aimee's room with them, eva, and renee. we are ridiculous. very little homework was done. which means i need to go now and finish studying for my world cinema midterm tomorrow and also do my history reading, in my newly tea-christened textbook. i think it is the fate of all my textbooks to be covered in tea this semester. at least this spill was green, not black.

listening to: why are we building such a big ship? - vultures

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

why put the light on at all?

today at yoga i arose from deep relaxation surrounded by leaves, in my hair and even in my hand. during the class, a cold front came in, and the beautiful day turned into real fall, yellow leaves and all.
each time i go to yoga, the class feels shorter and easier than the week before. i think that it feels shorter because i'm getting used to the pacing, but i think that it is really getting easier, and not that i'm getting stronger, like i wanted to. partly, i am not pushing myself as much as i perhaps should during stretches, because i keep thinking the hard stuff will be next, but it never comes. i might try a different yoga class this week if i have time. don't want to limit myself..
especially since monday is now the meeting day of the new radical mental health collective! today was the first meeting, and in my opinion, it sorta sucked. we were basically just talking about what we want the group to look like, and one dude in particular (who is a nice guy) dominated the whole conversation. i'm nervous about what this is gonna be like... i dont think i could discuss my realest shit with a group of 20+ kids, only some of whom i know. but i'm definitely gonna go next week to see what happens.. mostly what i'd like to see is shared strategies for coping with madness, and more than talking about everybody's personal problems, discussing mental health as a whole: what it means and what we do with it.
i think someone is drinking my soymilk. i think this because tonight, there seemed to be *more* than last time. i think someone is drinking my soymilk and replacing it with water. i put a note on my soymilk. they better not do it again.

listening to: kristin hersh - glass

Saturday, September 19, 2009

gotta keep it kind

the peal open mic last night made me wish i was writing again, or that i could write at all.
right now i'm brewing chinese tea given to me by my new friend, qi. she's says it's green tea infused with jasmine. i followed her directions perfectly but i still feel like i've done something wrong. i probably wasn't supposed to stir it. i was probably supposed to let it steep untouched for half an hour, while singing it a lullaby. this inspires me: i would like to read a book about tea.
yesterday my legs stopped being so sore from yoga on monday, and i could flex and stretch them and start to feel muscle. i was so excited i kept kicking my legs around last night and telling morgan and renee how strong i want them to be. so strong!
i planned to finally get my passport today but apparently they're not open. i'm a fuckup.
(actually this tea is really sweet and soothing and good. maybe it will fix my cramps.)
i plan to do laundry, refill my pills, dye my hair, appeal a parking ticket, write a letter, go out to dinner with morgan, wear a mustache, and dance the night a'gay. oh yes, and write this fucking paper.

listening to: thao with the get down stay down - know better learn faster

Sunday, December 30, 2007

a wish your heart makes

I don’t normally remember anything from my dreams, and then when I do, it’s just snippets and a couple of images. Everything is blurry and far away and impossible to explain despite my efforts. For the past four nights, I’ve been attempting sleep on the beds and couches of my Georgia family. As comfortable as they’ve tried to make me, I can’t seem to get a good night’s sleep. Whether it’s because of the pills I’ve started taking regularly, or my subconscious missing my regular bed, or the pleasantly unusual weather, every night I find myself awake at 4am to hear the first crows of the roosters... and plenty more after that.
The only good thing that’s come from my wrecked sleep schedule is the dreaming. If I only sleep for a couple hours at a time, it’s a lot easier for me to remember my dreams, so I’ve been enjoying the experience. Of course, as each night passes and the fresh shadow of a dream is impressed upon my memory, the visions from previous nights start to fade and in the end, I’m left with nothing.
So before I forget any more than I already have, I wanted to tell about some things I remember from last night and this morning, because these seemed particularly relevant. I’ve already forgotten so much of it, but I’ll begin when I ask a girl if I can bum a cigarette. She gives it to me and we start walking and talking. It’s like the bell just rang on Friday afternoon and we’re part of the after school crowd, with the nearly palpable excitement and kids running everywhere. We turn right and I realize that my cigarette is unravelling, although it still retains its shape. Instead of tobacco inside, it’s this reddish-purple gauze that may have had some glitter in it. As we approach a group of kids, much younger than us, I ask her if my cigarette is alright. She says of course it is, and I watch her light a cigarette-shaped piece of purple gauze and start to smoke it. She’s sitting on a ledge next to a young boy, who promptly pulls out a long, skinny joint and lights it. I’m surprised because he’s so young and we’re right in front of the school, but I start wondering how I can get these kids to pass it to me. I turn forwards, toward the school, where an enormous mud and rock ledge rises before me. I try to start climbing it so that I can sit up there with the other kids, but I can barely lift my legs. It’s like my body refuses to listen to what I tell it, and my legs are nearly impossible to move. I can’t make it onto the ledge, so I suppose I leave.
Now one of my friends from Loyola has shown up and we’re off to find the philosophy department or something in this enormous school where everything is white marble. No one else is around. We start to walk up the stairs but my legs give up again, so we decide to take the elevator. It’s taking a long time to get to the floor we want, so my friend suggests that we go to the floor above it first, and then go down, as if this makes totally logical sense, and of course I agree. The ride up to the fourth floor is normal, if I recall correctly. We get off there and then get on another elevator to go down to the floor we need. I suppose it’s still taking a long time to get there because we both sit down against the back wall. Suddenly I’m on my belly, rapidly rolling over and over and over, unable to stop myself, my body out of control. Me and him hadn’t been sitting very far apart, but it feels like it takes forever for me to finally roll into him. My body and mind are completely disconnected, so my mind feels like it’s spinning and turning out of control, and my body seems to be doing the same, although I can’t be sure. I am not totally sure of what my body is doing, despite what it feels like, which is an unstoppable tumble that only ends when he grabs my wrists. I’m looking at the bottom of the elevator, and through holes in the floor, at some bright colors far below. I’m seeing multiples of everything and I still feel like I’m turning, even though I now know for sure that I’m not. I lie on my belly, breathing hard and my head still spinning. My friend leans onto my back and puts his arm around me, holding me steady so that I know everything is alright. I relax into his arms, staring into the elevator hole until the colors begin to sort themselves out, and I slide my hand into his. Then I wake up.

Saturday, November 22, 2003

i think my head's in heaven

today was pretty damn good. school felt sort of silly and very far off, like i wasn't actually there. the day wasn't that long. i think i did better on my math test than i was anticipating. i think i failed latin though. oh well. after school, brock and i had decided to just sort of walk around and hang out for a bit. ezra wheeler turned around and waved to me at the crosswalk. it was nice. he loaned me a pencil in algae. brock and i ended up going to the mall to get some food, because we're just that punk. right as we were walking in, the gratzes pulled up next to us to drop off lydia. it was funny. we talked to william for a couple minutes. he was on his way to have his wisdom teeth pulled. i am so lucky with no wisdom teeth... but it doesn't really count because i still had TERRIBLE oral surgery last summer. shudder. all i remember is amelie and organic macaroni and bubble fish. the point is. while we were eating, robin and katherine w showed up to steal brock's cell phone. it was nice to see them. we sort of loosely talked about doing something later, but robin never called us and we never called her. so i don't know. maybe tomorrow... after they left, we walked to davis-kidd. it was really really nice. we were there for quite a while. there were adorable japanese girls, two cute little boys, and even an eileen mushroom. it was great. we looked at language books, art magazines, photography, muscle men. we talked and split a piece of "chocolate spoon lovin'" cake. we also called laylee and becca to see if they wanted to hang out, but becca's sister was coming into town and they had to eat dinner as a family. they were supposed to call us back later, and forgot to, so we didn't see them or hear from them at all. somehow i feel like brock and i did a lot MORE at davis-kidd, but i guess not. it was very nice at any rate. i love the boy. his mom picked us up, took us to blockbuster, and then back to their house. brock translated some french magazines to me and we looked at gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous pictures (people). we were looking at this article on like. sex in cinema. and since i couldn't read it i could only comment on the pictures. then we started just discussing the models in the ads. then brock was like "oh oh oh" and got out this like. french fashion magazine, saying "there is one guy in here who you are going to love." so we flipped through the whole magazine very carefully, studying everyone scrupulously. near the very end, brock pointed to this totally androgynous little guy and says "this is the one i thought you'd like" and i squealed to death. partly because the man was beautiful, and partly becuse brock knew i'd like him. it was nice. brock said he'd never had anyone to look at his magazines with before and i was glad that we did. i love talking about people with brock, because ... we're both so damn bi. it's completely perfect. then we went downstairs and i started to get some ice cream. i noticed brock watching me, doing that adorably sheepy smile. and i was like "what?!" and he made fun of how i use the ice cream scoop. ahhahahaa. well. he does do it much better than me. we were being really silly and i think i was probably loud, and i think we were disturbing his parents watching some nuts sci-fi scary fillum. sorry, terwillegers. we had to watch our movie (venus beauty institute, featuring the adorable audrey tautou) in wesley's room. it was funny. as i've said, brock and i are very intense in movies. it's too much fun. it makes movies so much more entertaining, when you're really into them. to the extent that you're gripping someone's arm and biting pillows. and we're not talking about thrillers. speaking of. allison did her michael jackson impression english class today. it was fucking awesome. after the movie, we sat around and listened to music and whatnot. then we watched degrassi and some music videos and whosits. my dad came at like 12:45, which was awesome. today was such a great brock day. i really hope he had as good of a time as i did. but i think he did. it was pretty perfect. i didn't mind that much that we didn't get to see anyone else. i think i enjoy brock's company more when we're alone. maybe it just depends who else is around. but everyone knows i get jealous so fucking easy... oh one bad thing was that with all the beautiful models and everything, and brock's newly voiced extreme confidence about his appearance, i felt so ugly all night long. i mean, it wasn't like every five seconds i whined about being a hag. actually i didn't say anything at all. but i didn't THINK it every five seconds either, it was just a general feeling. which i obviously didn't really like. i guess i should be prettier. i started thinking 'well what the fuck alanna you sit there and whine that youre so fucking ugly and you dont do anything about it. you STILL don't buy clothes ever or wear make up or shave your legs or brush your hair. so what the fuck do you expect?' and that's about it. but it makes me feel really silly anyway. oh yeah, but brock and i did the great thing we do a lot where we both start singing the same song at the same time. like 203597 times. i like it that we are doing that again. it's insane and it amazes me every time. god i love brock. man i bet that is all i talk about. well. shit. laylee, if this every becomes what brittany and i lovingly referred to as 'the kyle blog' please let me know. shit guys. i know you guys want to read about it. fucka.
listening to: tattle tale - take ten

Saturday, August 02, 2003

so i'm not as lonely tonight as i was last night. part of it is knowing that i'm not the only one who is lonely. (thank you, brock. i love it that i'm not the only one. wahaha is that evil?) i started a post earlier today but it has disappeared.... oh yeah, i'm home now. elise came to visit me for a few minutes on wednesday night when we got back, because she left the next day for new orleans to visit brandon for a few days. i hadn't seen her since last monday (psuedo sonic poetry night) and then of course the day after that, the power went out. and yes, my power is back now. some kids i know still don't have theirs, though, which is just AWFUL. i think zoë got hers back only this afternoon, am i right? it's a crime. but let's see. yesterday was thursday... i went to a sale at lost in paradise with my mom, where she bought me a skirt. she literally forced me to try on a lot of things, including short (well, to me they were short) skirts and girly shirts and a DRESS. it was weird and i felt girly, in the imposter sense. i make for the shittiest girl ever. it's disgusting. so after we left there, mom wanted to go to the junior league and look for uniforms for school. she said she'd drop me at home, but she FORGOT. eck. anyway, the junior league has closed forever, which is a shame. i liked it there. so instead she took me to tjmaxx to buy a *BRA* and it was the worst thing in my life. i don't even know what fucking size i wear, and i was supposed to sift through miles and miles of lacy undergarmets and know what i'm doing. (i told you i make the shittiest girl alive.) it was horrifying. i basically just stood there. so mom was like "IF YOU'RE NOT GOING TO LOOK, WE'RE LEAVING!" and i was terrified so i said "okay" and then we left that aisle, but unfortunately did not leave the store. oh well. anyway. soooo we got home and i got to page 150 in grapes of wrath, and right as i did, LAYLEEEEEE came!! it was marvelous. she's beautiful, and makes me way happy. then dad took us to open-mic. it was pretty empty... just us and zoë. (brock is very much out of town. did i mention it? well, he is. but he emails me LOTS so it's okay.) morgan and paul were there as well. yay! the five of us escaped outside when tilden got to read. paul was cutting his own hair (in random snippets) but he couldn't reach the back, so he let me do it. it was VERY exciting and i stole some hair off the sidewalk. it's now forever going to be spread around in my purse-thing.. it was stuck on laylee's phone too ahhaah. sigh..... i cut a lilla bit of my own hairs, and it was incredibly fun. i should do it every day. anyway, amber and will also came. amber's improv was nice this week too. there was a table of kids i'd never seen before. they didn't read, but they were definitely there specifically for the poetry. they left before morgan read, though zoë and i tried to stop them. stephen showed up for a few minutes. then william and becca showed up at the very end, just to give paul a cd and talk to layleekins. but becca played with my hand while morgan read, and hugged me a lot lot lot, and it was beautiful just like she is, and the night was nice overall. laylee came back to my house afterwards but had to call her mom to come get her right away. LUCKILY, we had a few minutes to talk before she got there. i love to talk to laylee...... she's my favorite thing in the world.
today i didn't do much of anything. i watched fight club again, but i have already rambled to brock about that and i am not really prepared to do it again. i think i liked it better the first time, but this time i was paying way more attention to the cinematography because i knew the story already. and it's a really really really well done fillum. i love that part of it. and i love edward norton. *cue the music*
edward is the man!
i am a norton fan!
.... FUCK! ... ME! ...... NORTON!!!!!
when he comes a'courtin,
edward is my norton!
.... EDWARD! ... NORTON! ..... FAN!!!!!!

listening to: changing names - unsatisfied