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[16 Apr 2007|05:25pm] |
fastfoward 6 months -- only because you are too lazy to recount your inbetween (right now)
friends are now best friends.
you are family, he is family. the space in between is dense with love and trust. he is yours, you are his. all is platonic. all is balanced. all is fulfilled. all is perfect. all is comfortable.
he introduces you to her. you feel comfortable with this. she is not us -- not me, not you, not him, not our friends. this is okay.
you dive into her. she feels good. in turn you feel good. he feels good. he feels okay. he feels bad. he feels good. she feels bad. they both hand you rides on their emotions. you are the middle man. you hate this.
fastfoward 12 hypathetical paragraphs
fuck you hate this. you hate her. you hate him around her. you hate her around him. you hate the trio deal. you feel threatened. you feel competetive. you feel nauseas. you consider the possibility you are in love with him. play out a relationship - a marriage - children - old age in your head. feel indifferent. feel confused.
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[16 Apr 2007|05:16pm] |
fastforward 3 weeks. acquintances are now friends.
he is sad. you are sad he is sad. sad is an understatement. every hopeless conversation leaves you hopeful. every empty word leaves you filled.
he needs you; you are there. you need him; he cannot be there -- it is not his fault.
he is alone. you are with him. he is still alone. he is alone and you are lonely. you are alone and he is lonely.
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[16 Apr 2007|01:30pm] |
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sit in the library. hate the library. hate the sterile, cold, conformist library. stare at your algebra text book. hate numbers. numbers are nonsense - pish posh, rick rack, beep bop. hate numbers. feel alone. feel empty. sigh. you want to scream. you want to hurl each number like a blade accross the room and laugh as flesh slices. laugh. a boy walks up. he stops. he sits on the table in front of your open textbook of demons. you remember the boy this time. an army of butterflies attacks your stomach. you feel shy. look down. look up. he tussles his hair to cover up a shared glance. it's quiet. you sift through the floating numbers in the back of your brain in search of something to say. it's quiet. he speaks. his words are soft and slow; fast and mumbled. he is rambling on about some book. pretend you're interested and scribble the title down in between the nonsense numbers. stop listening. he leaves you alone.
take a cigarette break on the library steps. watch the boy appear once more. feel good inside. exchange numbers. feel glorious inside.
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[15 Apr 2007|12:08am] |
see him strolling the west lawn; his figure tall, his posture pretentious, his eyes locked away in dirty blonde sweeps. his left hand holds a filtered camel, his right an open book -- feel intrigued as he turns each page. divert your attention to someone calling your name, foget him.
go to work. hate work. hate work. follow bosses orders: sample pralines on st. george. you don;t even know what pralines are. hate pralines. people swarm you like bees. hate tourists. hate bees. fuck bees. feel angry. throw pralines bits at the wall. crawl inside of yourself. laugh as you picture punching them all in the face. laugh as you imagine poison in the pralines. stop laughing. return to the external. you are still at work. fuck work. decide to take your ninth cigarette break; you'll lie to your boss later when you tell her it;s only your third. lean up against the wall. let your body slide down so youre sitting flat on the cold concrete. light up. inhale. thank God for cigarettes. exhale. Hear a familiar voice as a friend appears. behind him is a boy. remember this boy. he doesn't speak. he takes a seat beside you on the floor, lights cigarette, opens book. you can't help but look at him. it's silent. you're still looking.
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[19 Nov 2006|09:32pm] |
My thoughts keep returning to one person. Everything seems to surround him these days. and for some reason, now more than anything I am hurting with everything that happened. I messed up, entirely; I faulted. I took all feeling for granted, I acted too impulsively, logic and reason directed me and I failed to credit the emotions that mattered most. I miss him like I've never missed anyone or anything before. When he said he'd move to Florida I wanted it to happen so badly. I wanted to see him and be with him, but I was scared. I didn't want to be with him and then fuck it up again, putting him through everything all over again. I care for him too much to have risked that.
Now he's getting married to someone I've never even met. He has a life I know nothing of, he has a life vacant of everything we used to be. He's getting married, James Gitchell is getting married.
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| sleep school |
[13 Nov 2006|11:19pm] |
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music |
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Regina Spektor |
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As I sit up in my rigid hardwood desk I feel as if I have been swallowed up in a sea of jaded faces. Not surprisingly, this classroom is just like any other; rows of obstinate desks face toward the sullen chalk smeared, everest-green wall that is the front of the room. Why do I feel as if I’m spending the prime of my youth wasting away in a series of monotonous lectures such as this one?
I'm still sick, and I continue to smoke cigarettes even though I know it's doing awful things to my body. It's doing great things to my mind though. ha, if only that were true.
I've decided I'm pretty sure I'm going to stay in St. Augustine. From the moment I got here, I hated it, and since then I've been so obsessed with the idea that I will be leaving, I will be transferring, end of story. I haven't really actually given it a chance, each time I consider it, consider actually liking this place, I stop myself as I have this fear of settling. don't ever settle for anything, but really I'm not settling, I'm living, I'm loving, I'm making an effort.
Last night we had dinner at the boys' house. We sat in the warmth of the house, cross-legged on the checkered floor, our plates resting on our laps. We listened to jazz, talked, laughed, screamed, and ate 'till our bellies were full. After dinner we made coffee and ate tasty treats. Then we all bundled up in fabulous layers and headed outside for an epic game of red rover on the streets of lincolnville. I realized sometime in the course of the evening, that right then, in that moment, I was perfectly happy with my life. And in truth, my life here is full of moments like that. I love my friends here, I love the opportunity there is to create and go on fun adventures.
I have all of a sudden through all of this become so eager and invigorated to learn everything and anything that I possibly can. I don't feel like school is doing it for me, and I guess that is where the idea for The Good Times Club comes from.
This movement is going to skyrocket. it's going to be so amazing. I know it will...
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[09 Nov 2006|02:24pm] |
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1. i've been super productive lately; it's boring.
2. my advisor told me I was wasting my time at Flagler today
3. I'm in love with Ram Das' Be Here Now
4. if I move in with Jen and Mallory I think I will have to stay
5. I have dino rap
6. this weekend: warehouse, pearl, jason's bday, jacksonville party, tampa show, the pearl again, and a little bit of work in between.
7. I'm writing a paper about dance parties.
8. Jen and I are writing a book on Will Turner; which will one day be published and by that time we'll be living on a yacht with our lesbian lovers travelling to counsel people while riding the twins tandums around in circles.
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[29 Oct 2006|09:47pm] |
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music |
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The Moldy Peaches |
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Why is Kento ferociously angry with me in every single dream I have of him?
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[27 Oct 2006|02:47pm] |
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music |
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The Matching Cubes |
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parents here. weekend's here. halloween's here. I'm here.
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[12 Oct 2006|11:28pm] |
it's 2:30am. I am awake.
I have lost my cell phone. the lack of being able to communicate with the outside world is playing at me.
life is difficult, and i;m confused at too many things that I can't explain.
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[17 Sep 2006|09:18pm] |
I'm lacking:
creative energy
spirituality
space
a spaceship
passion
love
passionate love
red-like-the-wagon spray paint
jealousy
a good book/look/cook/nook
steadfastness
feeling comfortable
my friends, lovers, and my haters too
any determination
maths skills/kills
the desire to be here
I'm gaining:
the dollas [i make sweet sweets]
a nicotine addiction
spontanuity
settlement
aggravation
homesickness
( remember when i looked like this in this room )
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[17 Sep 2006|09:12pm] |
I don't feel much these days... except for these fellas,
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[06 Sep 2006|08:48pm] |
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I want a home that isn't here.
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[03 Sep 2006|01:44pm] |
i'm feeling really fucking homesick.
I am all of a sudden appauled by my choice to be here. maybe today is just a bad day. there are always bad days, especially when going through a major adjustment. but still, i'm hating it. i haven't been eating much. not because i don;t want to eat. i guess i just.. forget? I no longer have an appetite. for anything. i have to make reminders for myself to eat. i can't remember the last time I was really, truely hungry. I;ve lost weight, which is unfortunate because most of my clothes don't fit me the way they used to anymore. I'm frustrated living in the dorms...it wouldn't be so bad if it was like Maxwell. Here it's all so cold and unwelcoming. My roommates and I don;t speak much. and as for everyone else, theyre all pretty much hidden behind locked doors.
I smoke too much.. i'm rather disgusted with it actually.
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[23 Aug 2006|01:08am] |
this summer is ending.
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[11 Jul 2006|12:54pm] |
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fuck parents and road trips
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