Not at Home at Home

So, back home and things were okay for a few days, but now I am desperately sinking and feel like I'm back in an old hole that I thought I had broken out of a long time ago... Only now I realize that I never really broke out of it, I only went away for a little while.

I am screaming and screaming inside and even so, I recognize that it is all futile.

Nobody hears. There is nobody to hear. (I mean, what would I say even if I wanted to?)

And there is that same familiar friend-- that choked weight in my chest. I feel as horrible and loathsome as ever and it is uncontrollable... even when I tell myself to get a grip. And meanwhile, all I want to do is go back and stay in the city... I feel like I am not myself here... and all of the same values shower me and spill over my shoulders.

I began to think that the world extended beyond the edges of this 3x5 photo...

Anyway, I played piano for hours today to keep myself from crying. I want to scream and I want to get out of here and go somewhere where I can1 Oh god...

Meanwhile, it's 10:04 PM, my mom's not home, BigSis is at Bro-in-Law's, LilSis is upstairs, my stepfather is seeing his kids...

I went to the high school today and wanted to fold myself into my eyes...

I have to get out of here soon!

The Colors of Emptiness

The nylon sticks to my skin and my hands turn orange, all reminding me about myself and my padded numb toes and this emptiness emptiness emptiness leaving my cheeks hollow and marked by the yellowed linens of my bed.

White seems tea-stained and my eyes have grown cloudy. I desperately whip my head around, eyes scanning for an exit, but I only end up rubbing my sore neck and dilating from the swollen red that floats around me on every side... This kind of emptiness never lies and never forgives...

On Train and Boat

God... such a headache!

On the LIRR back to Manhattan, but derailed in Port Washington... And my mind tastes like the stolen German coal reserves in the aftermath of WWI. Purple hoods and rimmed eyes... And the greens outside today sparkle-- almost as much as the leaves on the tomb of US Grant and the sky laces in shades of Ferris Bueller. It is too much to write... to think... with such enticing and delicious treats right outside the window.

*************************************

So, here on the Circle Line, cramped between the corners of the world with silver sun and the gray shadows of diamonds painting the pages. The breeze and the mystery of their laughter and my baking arms all set the tone of anticipation of a great joy... if only not for the crowd!

-Gramercy Park (Edith Wharton territory)
-Orchard Street
-The Staten Island Ferry at night (free)
-Barge Music (SS Seaport--chamber music cruises)

Reaching

At Dr. B's (voice) again... done with school, and it is all so odd. To think that daily life can disintegrate that way (stolen pen) and I wonder why GoldenFinch never called me back. And it makes me worry and hate her all at the same time.

Anyway... things, of the past few months (weeks) seem to have all been erased, and I know, in my heart, that they never happened.

I am seeing my grandparents today. They just got back from Florida... Anyway, I hate the idea of leaving school, but for St. Petersburg which will change my name and make me cry. (Now everything I fought for is at stake.)

I hope that I get to go on the Circle Line tomorrow. Anyway, I don't really have anything to say, and that frightens me. (Clean, condition, shine with just three pads, he said in the infomercial)... Well I pause for the blank...

****************************

Well, later later later... And in a Victorian beaded gown... Lamplight and X-Files and aged lace and an aching back. I will close myself into the soft cloth and comfort of this time...

Laughing with the Ghosts at the Cloisters

...So, time goes on and another book...

Wedged against rotting red stone and Spanish tiles, laughing with the ghosts... And it is almost 5:00 PM, the heat has been merciful and the birds sing their thanks... The Cloisters...

And I feel as if I could be anywhere... I have no country and no time and imagine the rich fabrics and folds of my skirts. And the rapidity with which I must deliver my message as I rustle through the narrow passageways of my home. Or, Several hundred years have passed... It is the eve of the French Revolution and this place is dead... a barn, put home and history so alive because it is a natural part of the landscape of my memory-- the human memory.

I want to be here, without motion for eternity. Without time or place, now, I feel like I am in eternity... I am kissed by these ghosts and almost believe that i have been right all along... that memory doesn't die and that I am them and they are me.

And that ache ache ache (!) returns with a bittersweet sigh of calm and (?) (content?) nearness. Adam and God so close on their clouds. No, we have not touched, but I see them. I know that they exist, and I wonder what it will take to scoot two inches closer-- if it is possible at all.

I feel a surge of time and see the truth. Even though I know that it will be erased from memory as quickly as it was revealed. I see your rosy lips! The smallness of your frame and pulled hair!

I see!

Death and the Little Girl

I just got off the subway where I saw death in a bright blue shirt. Her hair was a golden orange, stiff and stringy. Her harms were brown and white, punctured at the joints. Her teeth were gone and her cheeks wee sunken and she had a stroller with her, holding a fat cheeked little girl in a yellow sundress. She was sweet and loved her and told her to wipe her hands, feeding her little bits of hot-dog and giving her paper and a pencil to color with.

But when she kept dropping them on the floor, death started to cry and clutch her stomach, yelling at the little girl, "Stop making Mommy bend! You know that it makes me bleed when I have to bend!"

And I sighed and got off at 59th Street.

The little girl clapped her hands and wiggled around in her stroller, kicking up her white buckled feet in oblivion.

Now I am on the crosstown bus.

The End of "Seinfeld"

Done! Done! Done! (Well, almost!)

And it is Thursday, but I haven't gone to sleep since Tuesday night and vomit everything that I eat...

But the sun is shining, here on the sleeve of the Hudson, and this breeze paints me with wide strokes. The dirty neck of a bottle and a pigeon... a red checkered girl and these waving shadows. And I, peering out at this renewal over my sleepless ringed lids, shiver and wonder why it can't be mine today... even in a jean-jacket.

And today is the last episode of Seinfeld and the sky spits Seinfeld at me from everywhere. And I am cold and my stomach hurts, but I wonder if home will be better...

I will go... I will try...

Rosy Black

Went to the Museum of Natural History today with B. (And Thais dies!)

On the LIRR, the LIRR, the LIRR!

And that bulging repulsion has returned with each heaving breath, leaving my flesh marked... I have to remember to get my Bill Viola book back from KSing... Tomorrow is Mother's Day...

Anyway, before I was filled with overwhelming affection for him, so that i almost forgot all of the disappointment. And i think that I should call ChoirMan. I think that I should... (grow!)

It's raining today and I have kissed the wind (and so!) and the sky is a rosy black--mixed with the glow of reflections and rose-cut raindrops mixed with the industrial orange which colors my very core... I am scared of that orange!

But I love staring at my image threaded through night and motion. I love the thick and stuff sweeps of eyelashes and the soft shocking whites that are part of the aching red "Sheraton" sign and the "Golden City Bank" and the gloss on my lips begs to merge with the rain and the very spirit of night and breath.

Rusted screws blink back at me and I remember the sad pegged clown face of the girl's bathroom... Nailed by the cheeks, nose up-turned, and eyes-- forever stitched closed in sorrow...

("Why then brawling love, oh loving hate...")

To enter... to enter... kissed on the eyelids... Lights like swellings burst from blisters suspended i my hair and the quiet of void (Stride la vampa!).

But now I am cold and wonder if I have been betrayed. And I wonder what he wanted (me) when he called me...

And I think of how much I will miss them all when I am gone... I wonder if there will be postcards there... I wonder if my eyes will still be white (eggs) and if Billie Holiday echoes in the courtyards... (The sudden smell of burning flesh!)

Lights on bridged horizons now-- and blue hair flaps in the wind...

Prud'hon Eyes

In the Met and exhausted, staring at a pale green and golden brown stretch of body with hair, like vomit, over his head and falling from his cheeks. And the Prud'hon drawings stunned me... (But the book cost $75)

And I want my eyes like that-- agonized in pink and brown... ringed with sleeplessness in a golden robe... And I am surprised that I don't collapse now... and I am glad that they are always here, even if I am not. My eyes ache and ache and the wood floor entices me, rather than the concentration of contemplation...

tiny little lines... (In black and white chalk?)

Preparing the Mask

Okay, so in another OLLIE'S, (on 82nd? I think), and dry-mouthed and pressed on... It's the end, the end, the end! A Wednesday without choir and without Elvis and the ring of courtesy is as precise as a surgeon's scalpel, only they have removed my heart and there is no donor... And my hands smell and tongue-yellowed. I want to break this table, break this glass and their necks will snap like the beady eyed ducks that I know are hanging in a window here somewhere... Only, I haven't the energy or the audacity to do it. And I wonder how I will reverse all of this when I go home.

(Four weeks for the blood, eh said, but how long for the flesh?)

And worse of all... worse of all is he to whom I gave me heart and he couldn't even be polite!

Blind, blind, blind to what I take so much care to press inside and then cry about the pressure of...

God, it hurts!

And they all fade into the background of the end as I prepare to transform... prepare to end myself (for now) and take off this sweaty, uncomfortable mask... To hand it on a rusty peg, rinse the dirt and let it gather dust until another season.

Time, time, time washes whether I want it to or not.

And Is cold my spelling and wonder about the stains I see all over.

How will I get them out? And who will be there when I spill again?

Crushing Tylenol

THE TRUTH WILL SET YOU FREE

Tuesday morning... still in bed at 2:20 PM with One Life to Live and I swell at myself. GoldenFinch and NiS... and I should recognize these cycles by now... of importance and priority... and BigSis played the same game and I want to fade into this desperate frustration. I don't know what the hell I'm getting myself into... but I need something... I need something... show's back on...


-h-

Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god! Have I lost sight of all sense? What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing!!!!

************************

Later... 12:26 AM and in bed, listening to Patsy Cline (I Fall to Pieces). And VJ is in the shower. I acted to GoldenFinch like I would give her the rest of the bag, but I really did the rest and then refilled it with crushed Tylenol. I really don't know why I went through the trouble. (And that look of disgust on Eunie's face when I asked her about the razor last night).

"(I can't believe it's just a burning memory!)"

Oh God, I am so tired and I can't fathom why... I am SO not up for all of the work in these coming two weeks. Tomorrow is the "ear training" final. I hope to God that I do okay. I wish that B would call me back... I really feel like talking to him while VJ is still in the shower...

I am so worried lately, about all of the scars and my tainted blood and what I will do in a few weeks from now when I have to pretend that none of this ever happened, while still living with the marks.

"(I've got these little things, she's got you!)"

I am too tired too tired too tired! Too tired to do anything, too tired to think my way out of this mess! And I don't understand... I don't think anymore at all. It's like i have gotten so tired and so numb that all of the real pain and all of the precision of being inside myself have dissolved and disintegrated.

I lost myself... I have lost myself and am a robot, mixed in this routine of endurance and relief, a great Venetian clown with eyes protruding beneath a striped mask of black and white silk...

I want to go to sleep. But I feel like it's ridiculously early. Maybe I should just go to sleep anyway.

Whatever... I can't think... All of these lies have swallowed me and now they are true... they are true... and I can't believe how far I have gone in this. Especially when I think of how I screamed at BigSis a year ago when she told me that she smoked pot.

Whatever, whatever, whatever... (joey)

I am sooooooooo SOOOOOOOOOOOO tired.

h

The Night I was Mugged (on Coke)

Okay, so home from Mainstreet, Venue, and West End and high off my ass and the balls of my feet burn and E-the-R took me home and I bought my own, was mugged $20.00 and fucking did my own shit-- own money and own buy and now I spin and collapse and I only want to pass out and I can't see, I only want to fucking pass out for a while I was so high that I was perfectly fluent in Spanish and French and now I am going to pass out my heart yes so fast and I owe BH $40.00 and I told E-the-R too much and my nose burns burns burns burns!

SHIT! It hurts-- my eyes swell and burn and I want sleep want to die, pass out, fade away, eteint into blue and go away now with no alarm.

Good night

h

Jekyll vs. Hyde

On the LIRR, coming back from voice with yet another dry throat and burned eyes and packed nose... I lost myself! I lost myself and I don't' now which one I am anymore... I don't know which one I am...

I am so disoriented always lately. And I wonder what it must look like (apreçu) to their eyes when I get like that... Headache, always, again now...

Anyway, thinking too hard now... I think I'll just gaze (longingly?) out the window.

Remnants of an Autobiography

1. Keep the Faith speech-- alone/split
2. Crazy (Patsy Cline)-- madness
3. Driving out West-- trapped on the road of life
4. Duchamps- how he settled the problem and why I can't handle it that way
5. Life without Cadence-- waiting
6. Becoming a statue-- painting with a purpose, history, escape
7. My name etched in stone
8. Death in parentheses- alone, purpose
9. Eric Clapton- tears in heaven, religion, dad
10.Why opera- escape, time, history, madness
11. Russia- escape, time, history
12. Grandma Lily and life on the lower east side
13. Corner of the Sky- piece of sky and paradox
14. Religion- closes me from the past
15. Gethsemane- escape from the road of life
16. Average vs. extraordinary- happiness, purpose.
17. Superiority/Inferiority complex
18. Why I hate the mall- the world is rotting, alone
19. Why I hate sports
20. Why I hate Disney- the world is rotting
21. Why I hate romantic comedy- alone
22. "Art is calling for me"- ambition
23. "All Flesh is Grass"- religion
24. Blaze of Glory- ambition/trapped on road of life.
25. Sola, Perduta, Abandonata- alone
26. Alyssa Milano and Teen Spirit- alone
27. Nirvana and the Spice Girls- alone
28. HISTORY
29. Stars and their meaning- religion
30. Not even a brick in the wall. alone
31. Why I'm addicted to shopping
32. Catherine di Medici
33. WWI as the end of the world
34. Blake G. and perception
35. Proof of my thought
36. The most sane/ the most
37. How to be Mozart and insane Bogart
38. Don't want to shut my eyes (Kant- mirror)
39. Throw Mama from the train (of life)
40. Slavery and Freedom
41. On our own or in it together
42. Kokoshka- -embody limbo
43. Harfenspieler
44. Insight on Vampires
45. The barbie down the stairwell
46. Why I don't want to be a blood doner
47. Why the obsession with death and the gothic?

Summer of projects unfinished-- hapr, sweing, italian, etc.
Longig to skip the process-- being able to do without the learning.

Catherine de Medici-- long forgotten?
WWI as the end of the world
Nicole and the Titanic
Why I hate Disney
Why I hate sports
Why I hate romantic comedy

Scared of my thoughts-- why? who cares?

Having to most (sane and insane together)
Scared of Mozart (Amadeus)
Cool as Bogart
Don't want to shut my eyes on the day

The Seavers and "Saved by the Bell"
You can't be Mike and Carol
Mike wa sfree to be off the path because he couldn't be on it. Carol was stuck.

VC Andrews- Heaven and Audrina-- out of time, out of reality. Didn't belong in her world and it was obvious. But everyone loved her for it.

Longing to be carved in stone. Hamlet and Ophelia.

Jamie Burn's ice blue dress. Don Quixote and Sancho wrapped in one. The apocalypse and the environment.

The fabulous story of Henry Sugar.

The moth and the flame

Slavery and Freedom-- born together in the US. My own freedom depends on slavery. Work to make money to give it up. The Prarie Fire.

Oskar Kokoshka

ANECDOTES

Queens vs. Bellmore
Politics in High School
Losing Birdie/ Losing BigSis
Infinite new wardrobes
Jail loves me and goats
Dreaming about the MS dance (flipping in air)
Straight A+ in 7th grade
Horseback Riding
Sweet Sixteens and why I hate to dance
The Wedding that will never happen
Puerto Rico
Trick or treating
Elizabeth and Pable
Rick in the Cornfields
Why didn't I cry when I found out?
Lies, lies, lies
Playing dr. with Katie
Hiding in my room and passing notes
Annie
Cleopatra and Anthony
Superiority/Inferiority complex
Losing as Board Rep