Voice Assignment (until January 6th):
Practice staccati EVERY DAY
Warm Ups:
Jaw Exercise
Hiss
Trills
Hum
Stretch-- me/meh/ma, etc.
o/ee (coming down)
Vey/Fey, Mo/Lo
aaa (flexibility one)
Wanders Nachtlied/ Am die Musik
Thursday, December 18, 2003
Tuesday, December 9, 2003
Naming Nails
Red Nailpolish-- OPI Kennebunk-port: "Mistletoe kiss"
OPI Belize it or Not: "Berry Boy"
Esse Boca Rattaned: "Soulmate Kiss"
OPI Belize it or Not: "Berry Boy"
Esse Boca Rattaned: "Soulmate Kiss"
Monday, December 1, 2003
Remembering
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DADDY!!!!
"I began with the desire to speak with the dead."
-Stephen Greenblatt, Shakespearean Negotiations, Pg. 1
"Work is the curse of the drinking class."
-Oscar Wilde
"I began with the desire to speak with the dead."
-Stephen Greenblatt, Shakespearean Negotiations, Pg. 1
"Work is the curse of the drinking class."
-Oscar Wilde
Saturday, November 29, 2003
Apart From (on the LIRR)
Why does being on the Long Island Rail Road always make me so depressed?
Maybe it's staring at my eyes reflecting specks of light of the world with my forehead pressed against the cold window.
Whatever it is, it stretches my heart too thin and my blood feels like water and my veins throb-- longing for a thickness again-- for something sweet and thick and right.
And always, it's on the return-- the return to a life not a part of anything... an isolated life that I've felt since I began to write... perhaps even to think.
My eyes looked beautiful on that video-- ringed and sinking, sparkling but glazed over. As if everything was imbued with the meaning that I've always seen there...
The train is shaking, so I have to pause.
***********************
Anyway, I just changed trains at Jamaica, but it's too cold to write!
Maybe it's staring at my eyes reflecting specks of light of the world with my forehead pressed against the cold window.
Whatever it is, it stretches my heart too thin and my blood feels like water and my veins throb-- longing for a thickness again-- for something sweet and thick and right.
And always, it's on the return-- the return to a life not a part of anything... an isolated life that I've felt since I began to write... perhaps even to think.
My eyes looked beautiful on that video-- ringed and sinking, sparkling but glazed over. As if everything was imbued with the meaning that I've always seen there...
The train is shaking, so I have to pause.
***********************
Anyway, I just changed trains at Jamaica, but it's too cold to write!
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
A New Journal (The Japanese Sea)
It's kind of strange to be starting a brand new journal (if this page will even stay straight!) but this is the perfect day to do it. It's chilly and crisp today-- in the 40's somewhere and I'm sitting on the cold marble steps of the NYPL. It's 10:40 and it's not open yet.
A lot of people are here, standing apart (like in "City of Angels" or that Prilosec commercial) and one guy keeps looking at me.
I feel the coffee and cigarettes on my breath and feel content in these, my favorite jeans, my Columbia sweatshirt and gray wool coat.
And it is good and right that I don't have to go back to K-house.
But now that I've christened this journal, I should probably try to get some reading done... Here in the morning air (perfect).
***************************
Ok... An hour and five minutes later and my eyes are already tired of reading... Or maybe it's my head. David Bell's The Cult of the Nation in France. And I should (would) like it because it's about "identity"... I don't know why I'm so tired now that I've been sleeping in a bit. Maybe that's why. Maybe it's all come crashing down around me.
It's strange to write on a page without margins... I feel like I could go on writing clear across the binding. But somehow I stop myself. Is that education?
Anyway, I want to rest my eyes for a bit before I keep reading.
A lot of people are here, standing apart (like in "City of Angels" or that Prilosec commercial) and one guy keeps looking at me.
I feel the coffee and cigarettes on my breath and feel content in these, my favorite jeans, my Columbia sweatshirt and gray wool coat.
And it is good and right that I don't have to go back to K-house.
But now that I've christened this journal, I should probably try to get some reading done... Here in the morning air (perfect).
***************************
Ok... An hour and five minutes later and my eyes are already tired of reading... Or maybe it's my head. David Bell's The Cult of the Nation in France. And I should (would) like it because it's about "identity"... I don't know why I'm so tired now that I've been sleeping in a bit. Maybe that's why. Maybe it's all come crashing down around me.
It's strange to write on a page without margins... I feel like I could go on writing clear across the binding. But somehow I stop myself. Is that education?
Anyway, I want to rest my eyes for a bit before I keep reading.
Monday, November 17, 2003
The Old Young Woman
Back at Columbia in the undergrad reading room on the ground floor of Butler. I have a horrendous knot in my neck that makes it basically impossible to read because it hurts to put my head down. It almost feels like a gland, except that I don't think I have a gland back there. And besides, I really shouldn't make any excuses about not doing my reading because I just flipped through the whole of Musical America (with the flier that IronChef and I designed still on the back).
Everyone here looks so young. They are all so fucking young, and I feel so old. I feel like the four years that I spent here were the truest age-- making the closest and most raw friendships and acting on every impulse.
I used to laugh at VJ when she said she's rather die than get old and I don't feel like my friends in their late 20's or early 30's are old at all... but now, as for myself, I feel a panic-- that I am so very old. It feels compounded by what my voice teacher said-- that if I wait too long, I'll be too old for singing too.
Going back to choir is going to be weird tonight. I'm really nervous about it. I'm not sure how to act. Now I"m extra nervous because I left my music at K-house. I'm starting to feel burnt out from this semester. I know there's only three more weeks of this reading and the papers, but it doesn't feel like anything is going to really let up until after the comps in August.
Anyway, it's almost 6:15. I suppose I should try to get through this book in the next hour and a half.
Later...
Everyone here looks so young. They are all so fucking young, and I feel so old. I feel like the four years that I spent here were the truest age-- making the closest and most raw friendships and acting on every impulse.
I used to laugh at VJ when she said she's rather die than get old and I don't feel like my friends in their late 20's or early 30's are old at all... but now, as for myself, I feel a panic-- that I am so very old. It feels compounded by what my voice teacher said-- that if I wait too long, I'll be too old for singing too.
Going back to choir is going to be weird tonight. I'm really nervous about it. I'm not sure how to act. Now I"m extra nervous because I left my music at K-house. I'm starting to feel burnt out from this semester. I know there's only three more weeks of this reading and the papers, but it doesn't feel like anything is going to really let up until after the comps in August.
Anyway, it's almost 6:15. I suppose I should try to get through this book in the next hour and a half.
Later...
Wednesday, November 12, 2003
Dreamless
Listening to this is making me miss G-school. Sometimes I miss those kids so much... It's weird. They're like the last real connections that I made. And I liked the way that teaching made me feel. Maybe that's a good sign.
Anyway, I feel weird right now... so angry at B. Like I hate him more than anything for betraying me... for betraying my trust. And every time I let it come out, he says "I'm terrible. I know I'm a bad person," and so I say "no, you're not. You're a good person and I love you." And although I mean it, I also don't mean it at all. And part of me wishes that his dreams will never come true... the way he robbed me of my dreams.
Is it possible for someone else to take away your dreams? The answer is definitely "yes" and it hurts even more =when they're what you're relying on to get you through life on a day to day basis...
And now I feel broken and it's not getting better at all.
In fact, the sinking permanence of it all is only just starting to settle-- and the vow that I will never trust anyone like that ever again. I wish I never trusted him to begin with ! I was foolish... He wasn't trustworthy to take care of my feelings, and that was clear form the start...
But by the time I saw it, it was too late...
Now I don't know what to do with him or my life and I feel it all sliding away-- everything I ever wanted is already dead before my eyes.
I HATE HIM!!!
Anyway, I feel weird right now... so angry at B. Like I hate him more than anything for betraying me... for betraying my trust. And every time I let it come out, he says "I'm terrible. I know I'm a bad person," and so I say "no, you're not. You're a good person and I love you." And although I mean it, I also don't mean it at all. And part of me wishes that his dreams will never come true... the way he robbed me of my dreams.
Is it possible for someone else to take away your dreams? The answer is definitely "yes" and it hurts even more =when they're what you're relying on to get you through life on a day to day basis...
And now I feel broken and it's not getting better at all.
In fact, the sinking permanence of it all is only just starting to settle-- and the vow that I will never trust anyone like that ever again. I wish I never trusted him to begin with ! I was foolish... He wasn't trustworthy to take care of my feelings, and that was clear form the start...
But by the time I saw it, it was too late...
Now I don't know what to do with him or my life and I feel it all sliding away-- everything I ever wanted is already dead before my eyes.
I HATE HIM!!!
Monday, November 10, 2003
A Scholar? Or a Hooker?
With Elvis in Pick-a-Bagel, using the same green pen with which I read Lefebvre's French Revolution the other day. (It's up to the part of the "Comeback Special" when Elvis kicks the "Big Boss-man's" ass!)
Anyway, I really don't want to be at work today. I'm really tired and cranky and I have the worst cramps in the world. My mind is blanking and I don't even have anything to write. I wonder-- what is the point of keeping these journals? Am I trying to capture time? To avoid loss? (Tonight will be a memory too...)
There is such a jappy girl talking so loudly in that particular voice and cursing a lot. I hope she shuts up sometime soon. Good... She is hanging up.
I can't wait to go have my hair colored and cut. It's so in a rut right now. I think my hair is thinning in general. It doesn't grow as fast as it used to. It's no longer super thick.
Ugh. That woman is back on the phone again...
The ginger from the sushi here smells good-- soothing.
(I never looked for trouble, but I never ran)
I wonder if I'll ever get to where "I said I"d get." No, really-- Why am I so defeatist? I want to be a great scholar. I wonder if I can. Am I good enough at history? I guess I just don't know yet.
(We're trapped in a world that's troubled with pain).
************************
Later...
After 6:00 PM.
That was truly the most bizarre thing. I left work and was smoking a cigarette and waiting for the bus to stop and a woman came up to me-- dressed okay with earrings and a bag, and asked me to pay for her dinner. (I was holding my wallet with the bills sticking out, looking for my metro card.)
"Well, I can give you a dollar," I said.
"A dollar?!? Look at you! You're loaded!" she replied.
"No, I'm not. I'm a student and I only have $10 to get me through the week," I answered.
Then she tried a different tactic and said-- "They're killing us! They're just killing us!"
And then she asked me if she could be my "madam." She actually asked me for my contact info! WTF?!? I got rid of her with $2.00 and a cigarette, but damn!
In other news, the crush is growing and growing... It's delicious.
In yet other news, I suck as a dieter. I can't stick to it and I deserve to die.
(Wait-- what year is it? 1995? 1997? Fuck... 1995 was almost 10 years ago!)
Anyway, I really don't want to be at work today. I'm really tired and cranky and I have the worst cramps in the world. My mind is blanking and I don't even have anything to write. I wonder-- what is the point of keeping these journals? Am I trying to capture time? To avoid loss? (Tonight will be a memory too...)
There is such a jappy girl talking so loudly in that particular voice and cursing a lot. I hope she shuts up sometime soon. Good... She is hanging up.
I can't wait to go have my hair colored and cut. It's so in a rut right now. I think my hair is thinning in general. It doesn't grow as fast as it used to. It's no longer super thick.
Ugh. That woman is back on the phone again...
The ginger from the sushi here smells good-- soothing.
(I never looked for trouble, but I never ran)
I wonder if I'll ever get to where "I said I"d get." No, really-- Why am I so defeatist? I want to be a great scholar. I wonder if I can. Am I good enough at history? I guess I just don't know yet.
(We're trapped in a world that's troubled with pain).
************************
Later...
After 6:00 PM.
That was truly the most bizarre thing. I left work and was smoking a cigarette and waiting for the bus to stop and a woman came up to me-- dressed okay with earrings and a bag, and asked me to pay for her dinner. (I was holding my wallet with the bills sticking out, looking for my metro card.)
"Well, I can give you a dollar," I said.
"A dollar?!? Look at you! You're loaded!" she replied.
"No, I'm not. I'm a student and I only have $10 to get me through the week," I answered.
Then she tried a different tactic and said-- "They're killing us! They're just killing us!"
And then she asked me if she could be my "madam." She actually asked me for my contact info! WTF?!? I got rid of her with $2.00 and a cigarette, but damn!
In other news, the crush is growing and growing... It's delicious.
In yet other news, I suck as a dieter. I can't stick to it and I deserve to die.
(Wait-- what year is it? 1995? 1997? Fuck... 1995 was almost 10 years ago!)
Tuesday, November 4, 2003
The Mover
Ok... Today's a little better. I've made right choices so far, and let's see if I can get through this month... until my birthday.
I is so fucking cold today. Patty Kiernan said it would be 68 and sunny and instead it feels like 48 and it's drizzling and I have neither an umbrella nor a jacket. AND (At!) my hair is straight...
I wonder what BritProf is going to say about my proposal. Why do I feel like I don't know how to do this? All I want to write about are historical ideas, but is that history? I think this is where I'm going to need the most training and will have to struggle to find my niche.
I am going to move things. I have to move things. I'm so tired of treading water, but it takes so much energy to do anything else but sink!
I wonder if I should go back. I wonder if Eva's waiting for me.
I think I'll head back now.
I is so fucking cold today. Patty Kiernan said it would be 68 and sunny and instead it feels like 48 and it's drizzling and I have neither an umbrella nor a jacket. AND (At!) my hair is straight...
I wonder what BritProf is going to say about my proposal. Why do I feel like I don't know how to do this? All I want to write about are historical ideas, but is that history? I think this is where I'm going to need the most training and will have to struggle to find my niche.
I am going to move things. I have to move things. I'm so tired of treading water, but it takes so much energy to do anything else but sink!
I wonder if I should go back. I wonder if Eva's waiting for me.
I think I'll head back now.
Monday, November 3, 2003
Eating
Why am I doing this to myself?
I just ate spaghetti and meatballs for lunch and had a dessert. Am I trying to kill myself? From this moment on, I'm going to be good through my birthday. Then I'll reassess.
I feel sick and I hate myself.
Here with Big Mama Thorton and hot coffee.
I feel dizzy already.
I just ate spaghetti and meatballs for lunch and had a dessert. Am I trying to kill myself? From this moment on, I'm going to be good through my birthday. Then I'll reassess.
I feel sick and I hate myself.
Here with Big Mama Thorton and hot coffee.
I feel dizzy already.
Friday, October 31, 2003
Old New York
Another Halloween.
Finished a lunch of bread, cheese, smoked fish and onions. (That makes me feel like a writer from Cowley's NY, although there's no reason why it should!)
On a lunch break and waiting for those keys to be made... And plagued by the thought, lately, that all of this is memory-- that the world is passing-- that "my New York" is passing. It's the first time I've ever felt ageing-- that it's the people younger than I who own the world. The thought makes me sad and sick. And more than anything, scared.
Finished a lunch of bread, cheese, smoked fish and onions. (That makes me feel like a writer from Cowley's NY, although there's no reason why it should!)
On a lunch break and waiting for those keys to be made... And plagued by the thought, lately, that all of this is memory-- that the world is passing-- that "my New York" is passing. It's the first time I've ever felt ageing-- that it's the people younger than I who own the world. The thought makes me sad and sick. And more than anything, scared.
Thursday, October 23, 2003
Nothingville
In Cafe Europa on my lunch hour (late) and blinking into a sty with the wind icing my left hip and leg and wanting to write because I'm not in the mood to read.
My brain is getting tired from all of this (I have to write a paper tonight) and it's hard to keep my priorities straight when all I want to do is crash after work.
God, my eye (sty) hurts!
Listening to Garou, who I absolutely adore. I would give anything to see him in concert. he sings a part of me that i don't find anywhere else. It's like opera but rough instead of sublime. It hurts, but feels good to listen at the same time.
GoldenFinch's wedding was on Saturday. It feels weird to hang out with my college friends sometimes. It's like we all have these fixed personalities with fixed expectations and I play into it and then feel stupid.
I had such a great time last night walking to the library. It was nice and cold out and I had on my hood and jacket and chain-smoked the whole way there. It was just at twilight, so everyones faces looked pale and blue with a biting pink in the cheeks and lips. I know that's how I looked and I loved every minute of it. My hair was like straw and even more brightly colored next to my colorless, flushed face.
Then I went into Sephora and had that "winter" feel of carrying a million things and sweating in my heavy coat inside the heated store and then I went outside and my damp skin caught fire in the wind, burning me all over. It was fabulous and the most "complete" moment that I've had in a really long time. I live for moments like those. They seem to only come at times when I can let myself get into that mood-- that mood I used to live in, but am not supposed to go into anymore-- where I feel strong and dizzy at the same time-- where I have a self-awareness that is almost external and where anger turns to power and the hallucinations begin. There's definitely a shift that happens in my brain when that happens. I know I can't live there anymore, but I miss that part so much. That was my strongest self. I don't think I'll ever be able to explain this to anyone else either because my words never come close to that absolute magic.
(Que l'amour est violent)
Alright. So, I finished lunch and now I'm here sipping a piping (burning) hot hazelnut coffee. I don't want to go back to work yet though because I don't have to (at least not for another 10 minutes!).
Why is my handwriting so fucking messy today? I think it's because I'm used to typing again. I remember that happened when I worked at the music management company.
So... when am I ever going to start my diet? What am I afraid of? Sometimes I wonder about what happened to me. And then I think that that's totally wrong and I just need to fill up all these empty spaces.
I still want to cry when I think about how things failed with B. That was all I wanted in the world and I feel the tears in my throat right now. It's so much easier to hate the people around you when you're not in a relationship too. I feel so weird about GoldenFinch getting married. I feel like we will never understand each other again. When I told her that i loved her that email and how I will never forget the "Be Not Afraid" night, I think I was saying "goodbye." She kept looking at me at the wedding when I was singing, but for me, I was already gone.
I am gone from so many of the places i n my life, but I haven't landed anywhere yet either. Nowhere. To be nowhere. (Or as Elvis would say, to be in "Nothingville...")
I really need a new Elvis Presley CD. All I want to do is listen to him and I"m running out of "freshness." I wonder if one day there'll be nothing left for me to hear of him and then what will I do/ He is the man-God of my previous entry. Cruel because of the distance, but merciful because he will never, ever go away.
Anyway, on that somewhat disturbing note, I should be heading back to work. As much as I want to stay here with coffee and Garou...
I hope B and I don't fight tonight. I really need that soft place.
(Especially on an afternoon with a sty-- on some level, from beginning to end, NOTHING CHANGES!)
My brain is getting tired from all of this (I have to write a paper tonight) and it's hard to keep my priorities straight when all I want to do is crash after work.
God, my eye (sty) hurts!
Listening to Garou, who I absolutely adore. I would give anything to see him in concert. he sings a part of me that i don't find anywhere else. It's like opera but rough instead of sublime. It hurts, but feels good to listen at the same time.
GoldenFinch's wedding was on Saturday. It feels weird to hang out with my college friends sometimes. It's like we all have these fixed personalities with fixed expectations and I play into it and then feel stupid.
I had such a great time last night walking to the library. It was nice and cold out and I had on my hood and jacket and chain-smoked the whole way there. It was just at twilight, so everyones faces looked pale and blue with a biting pink in the cheeks and lips. I know that's how I looked and I loved every minute of it. My hair was like straw and even more brightly colored next to my colorless, flushed face.
Then I went into Sephora and had that "winter" feel of carrying a million things and sweating in my heavy coat inside the heated store and then I went outside and my damp skin caught fire in the wind, burning me all over. It was fabulous and the most "complete" moment that I've had in a really long time. I live for moments like those. They seem to only come at times when I can let myself get into that mood-- that mood I used to live in, but am not supposed to go into anymore-- where I feel strong and dizzy at the same time-- where I have a self-awareness that is almost external and where anger turns to power and the hallucinations begin. There's definitely a shift that happens in my brain when that happens. I know I can't live there anymore, but I miss that part so much. That was my strongest self. I don't think I'll ever be able to explain this to anyone else either because my words never come close to that absolute magic.
(Que l'amour est violent)
Alright. So, I finished lunch and now I'm here sipping a piping (burning) hot hazelnut coffee. I don't want to go back to work yet though because I don't have to (at least not for another 10 minutes!).
Why is my handwriting so fucking messy today? I think it's because I'm used to typing again. I remember that happened when I worked at the music management company.
So... when am I ever going to start my diet? What am I afraid of? Sometimes I wonder about what happened to me. And then I think that that's totally wrong and I just need to fill up all these empty spaces.
I still want to cry when I think about how things failed with B. That was all I wanted in the world and I feel the tears in my throat right now. It's so much easier to hate the people around you when you're not in a relationship too. I feel so weird about GoldenFinch getting married. I feel like we will never understand each other again. When I told her that i loved her that email and how I will never forget the "Be Not Afraid" night, I think I was saying "goodbye." She kept looking at me at the wedding when I was singing, but for me, I was already gone.
I am gone from so many of the places i n my life, but I haven't landed anywhere yet either. Nowhere. To be nowhere. (Or as Elvis would say, to be in "Nothingville...")
I really need a new Elvis Presley CD. All I want to do is listen to him and I"m running out of "freshness." I wonder if one day there'll be nothing left for me to hear of him and then what will I do/ He is the man-God of my previous entry. Cruel because of the distance, but merciful because he will never, ever go away.
Anyway, on that somewhat disturbing note, I should be heading back to work. As much as I want to stay here with coffee and Garou...
I hope B and I don't fight tonight. I really need that soft place.
(Especially on an afternoon with a sty-- on some level, from beginning to end, NOTHING CHANGES!)
Wednesday, October 15, 2003
The Princess of Medici
Waiting (after work) on the floor in the hall outside my professor's office. I have to pee, but don't think I have the time. Bumped into Ana C. in Pick-a-Bagel today (and Patty J. yesterday and Amy P. and Stephen at the opera on Saturday!). I feel like all of this is some sort of sign (it really is too bizarre in my neighborly city of strangers). But I have no idea what this sign could be.
I'm really nervous about this advisor thing for my research paper. Yes-- he's a Victorianist, but business and economics doesn't seem like it would be the right fit at all and if he's really opinionated, he might pressure me into writing something I don't want to.
It's just about 6:00 PM and they're still in there talking... I hope he's not too critical. I really am just too tired to defend myself.
Today was a wasted day at work and I think Suj knows it. I think Gab knows it too and doesn't like it. But Suj basically told me to do my own work until he finished his fucking picture for the pope and he still wasn't done when I left for the day!
I like answering the phones when Eva is out. It forces people to tell me what's going on (and I got to talk to the Princess of Medici today).
Like I said-- some things are really too bizarre.
Okay, now they're eating into my time and I'm getting really irritated. Maybe they don't know I'm here. I guess I'll go knock...
Later...
I'm really nervous about this advisor thing for my research paper. Yes-- he's a Victorianist, but business and economics doesn't seem like it would be the right fit at all and if he's really opinionated, he might pressure me into writing something I don't want to.
It's just about 6:00 PM and they're still in there talking... I hope he's not too critical. I really am just too tired to defend myself.
Today was a wasted day at work and I think Suj knows it. I think Gab knows it too and doesn't like it. But Suj basically told me to do my own work until he finished his fucking picture for the pope and he still wasn't done when I left for the day!
I like answering the phones when Eva is out. It forces people to tell me what's going on (and I got to talk to the Princess of Medici today).
Like I said-- some things are really too bizarre.
Okay, now they're eating into my time and I'm getting really irritated. Maybe they don't know I'm here. I guess I'll go knock...
Later...
Monday, October 13, 2003
Overworked on a Black Night
Waiting with a headache in a black night for a voice lesson.
Crushed by this unbearable schedule. My chest feels stretched and my shoulder blades burn. My hands tremble with fatigue.
Today I left home at 8:00 AM, worked until 5:00 PM, went to the nutritionist, went grocery shopping, wrote a 6-page paper and now I"m at a voice lesson and I don't know who I am anymore.
And I keep thinking about AIR7 because ironically enough, that's the only time I remember being happy. It was before I had a broken heart.
That day at the Whitney was the happiest day of my life.
Crushed by this unbearable schedule. My chest feels stretched and my shoulder blades burn. My hands tremble with fatigue.
Today I left home at 8:00 AM, worked until 5:00 PM, went to the nutritionist, went grocery shopping, wrote a 6-page paper and now I"m at a voice lesson and I don't know who I am anymore.
And I keep thinking about AIR7 because ironically enough, that's the only time I remember being happy. It was before I had a broken heart.
That day at the Whitney was the happiest day of my life.
Sunday, September 28, 2003
Slow High
Ok. I'm high again, but not like that. This time I am really slow and I get the sense that my handwriting is very big. Will tell more tomorrow. Today is a day (entry) that needs justice.
Saw Streetcar.
Got excited.
Couldn't sleep.
This is to calm my brain and nerves and let me rest
Saw Streetcar.
Got excited.
Couldn't sleep.
This is to calm my brain and nerves and let me rest
Friday, September 26, 2003
Scary Drugs
Ok. I am so fucked up right now (and I even see myself writing messy and it's slowing me down. I see myself writing so slowly and I'm going to be mad at me but (faster)
I'm thinking so much faster and my wrists feel tingle, I can feeling I had the time to go back and write that. Oh my god, my mind is just slowed down. I feel so much more clear but my wrists are still tingling. I know I'm not writing clear. This is SO fucking hard to stay on the line.
I want to let go and be high. high. HIGH.
I want it's 12/26- 12:01 Lorai just said 10:36 3rd
I'm thinking so much faster and my wrists feel tingle, I can feeling I had the time to go back and write that. Oh my god, my mind is just slowed down. I feel so much more clear but my wrists are still tingling. I know I'm not writing clear. This is SO fucking hard to stay on the line.
I want to let go and be high. high. HIGH.
I want it's 12/26- 12:01 Lorai just said 10:36 3rd
Thursday, September 25, 2003
In the Stacks
Democratic primary debate today, but I missed it. I was at the New York Public Library with my seminar class. The best part was going down into the (normally closed) stacks and watching the slips come down through the shoots and the books go up the little elevator. I went to JJay to get some library books (where there were a lot of cameras for some Elvis Costello concert on A&E) and then home to watch Extreme Makeovers. Skipped dinner again. :)
Tuesday, September 23, 2003
Moving On
Okay.
Today is going to be a changing day in "mah life."
First I went to Dr. G. She made me ask myself-- what did I do with those feelings? How am I still friends with B? Why am I emotional with the person who has hurt me most in the whole wide world? I realized that this is all part of the way I hold myself back. I don't let myself take risks anymore. And as scared as I am of dying alone, can I live like this for the rest of my life? I don't think so...
Then I came home and called B and cried because this is still between us. And I'm sick of sitting on it for the sake of our friendship and letting it eat away at me and come out in different ways. I need to deal with these feelings, but I don't know if I can be there for him if I do.
Then I cooked lunch (yes, cooked!) and watched Dr. Phil. It was a "weight loss challenge" episode. It made me realize that I'm sick of who I am. Cutting myself or getting more tattoos or pretending that there are no problems won't put me in control or stop me from hating myself. I need to work every single day to change my life and that includes cooking, cleaning, diet, exercise and no more of this with B.
This is what I'm going to propose:
1.) No more sleeping over.
2.) No more kisses
3.) No more "tatz"
4.) hanging out limited to twice a month
5.) control acting vulnerable as much as possible.
6.) FACE YOUR FUCKING FEELINGS THAT YOU'RE PISSED AT HIM!!!
I mean, even if he didn't hurt me on purpose, he didn't have to date me or live with me if he thought I wasn't good enough for him. AND, once he did, eh didn't have to tell me that it's my flaws that keep him from being with me. He was SELFISH in that working out his problems took place at my expense.
I WANT TO MOVE ON.
Today is going to be a changing day in "mah life."
First I went to Dr. G. She made me ask myself-- what did I do with those feelings? How am I still friends with B? Why am I emotional with the person who has hurt me most in the whole wide world? I realized that this is all part of the way I hold myself back. I don't let myself take risks anymore. And as scared as I am of dying alone, can I live like this for the rest of my life? I don't think so...
Then I came home and called B and cried because this is still between us. And I'm sick of sitting on it for the sake of our friendship and letting it eat away at me and come out in different ways. I need to deal with these feelings, but I don't know if I can be there for him if I do.
Then I cooked lunch (yes, cooked!) and watched Dr. Phil. It was a "weight loss challenge" episode. It made me realize that I'm sick of who I am. Cutting myself or getting more tattoos or pretending that there are no problems won't put me in control or stop me from hating myself. I need to work every single day to change my life and that includes cooking, cleaning, diet, exercise and no more of this with B.
This is what I'm going to propose:
1.) No more sleeping over.
2.) No more kisses
3.) No more "tatz"
4.) hanging out limited to twice a month
5.) control acting vulnerable as much as possible.
6.) FACE YOUR FUCKING FEELINGS THAT YOU'RE PISSED AT HIM!!!
I mean, even if he didn't hurt me on purpose, he didn't have to date me or live with me if he thought I wasn't good enough for him. AND, once he did, eh didn't have to tell me that it's my flaws that keep him from being with me. He was SELFISH in that working out his problems took place at my expense.
I WANT TO MOVE ON.
Vindicating Liu
Later (much later... 1:31 in the morning into the day after and I'm drunk on a bottle or two of wine...)
I just feel the need to write to vindicate Liu. I'm so glad that she called me... that she was thinking about me. Maybe she is more like me that I thought... I just feel like the more time that goes by, the less alike our lives are, the less alike we are...
Anyway, it's late and I'm drunk and I have a lot of reading to do tomorrow, so that's it for now.
lots of love,
h
I just feel the need to write to vindicate Liu. I'm so glad that she called me... that she was thinking about me. Maybe she is more like me that I thought... I just feel like the more time that goes by, the less alike our lives are, the less alike we are...
Anyway, it's late and I'm drunk and I have a lot of reading to do tomorrow, so that's it for now.
lots of love,
h
Monday, September 22, 2003
College Days Fade
Just left lunch with B at Hsin Yi. The neighborhood is crazy right now. The UN General Assembly begins meeting today so there are leaders from all around the world here. The police presence is crazy. They say it's supposed to be like this until October 5th. Oh well... It's already 12:30 and I still have so much fucking reading to do. I really want to eat a muffin, but just ate lunch so know that it's just gluttony.
It's weird (and this is a totally new train of thought), but I am beginning to feel like "the college years" are in a safe and comfortable past. I don't feel like that person anymore. I feel like that can have been my youth, but who I am now doesn't have to be continuous with that. I feel like I am redefining relationships with a lot of my friends and that I see them from more of a distance. I feel like I want to open up less to people I'm not all that close to. Even stranger, I don't want to be close to so many people.
It's harder to keep friendships tight without opening up though. It just seems that everyone's lives are so different. GoldenFinch is getting married. NiS may be heading off to Germany. Who the hell knows what Liu is up to since I hardly hear from her anymore...
I think one of the reasons I feel really irritated with her is that she "aligned herself" back then because she was going through some sort of phase and then she moved on, but meanwhile that part of me was not a phase, but something more essential. I thought I had found someone who understood and was the same and now I feel like I was wrong. Nobody can be trusted to be the same sort of friend when there's a man around, unless the relationship is not going well...
Anyway, I better get reading. Like I said... I have so much fucking work to do!
It's weird (and this is a totally new train of thought), but I am beginning to feel like "the college years" are in a safe and comfortable past. I don't feel like that person anymore. I feel like that can have been my youth, but who I am now doesn't have to be continuous with that. I feel like I am redefining relationships with a lot of my friends and that I see them from more of a distance. I feel like I want to open up less to people I'm not all that close to. Even stranger, I don't want to be close to so many people.
It's harder to keep friendships tight without opening up though. It just seems that everyone's lives are so different. GoldenFinch is getting married. NiS may be heading off to Germany. Who the hell knows what Liu is up to since I hardly hear from her anymore...
I think one of the reasons I feel really irritated with her is that she "aligned herself" back then because she was going through some sort of phase and then she moved on, but meanwhile that part of me was not a phase, but something more essential. I thought I had found someone who understood and was the same and now I feel like I was wrong. Nobody can be trusted to be the same sort of friend when there's a man around, unless the relationship is not going well...
Anyway, I better get reading. Like I said... I have so much fucking work to do!
Cool Tagalog
Secret Communication Words:
maliit ako: I am small
pansinin mo ako: pay attention to me!
nakakainis- is annoying
saan ka uuwi- where are you going (home)?
kailan tayo uuwi: when are we going home?
ulol: crazy!
gago: stupid!
vastas: obscene, lewd, crass!
maliit ako: I am small
pansinin mo ako: pay attention to me!
nakakainis- is annoying
saan ka uuwi- where are you going (home)?
kailan tayo uuwi: when are we going home?
ulol: crazy!
gago: stupid!
vastas: obscene, lewd, crass!
Thursday, September 18, 2003
The Raw Life
Well, since I can't concentrate on the reading I'm supposed to do (Sex and the Search for Modernity in Fin-de-Siecle Russia) in front of an extra large cappuccino, I might as well write a few words here...
First, I'm going to make a list of all the old movies I've seen since August:
Night and Fog
Birth of a Nation
(both for class)
Easy Come, Easy Go
Change of Habit
King Creole
Jailhouse Rock
Loving You
A Streetcar Named Desire!!!
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
The Grapes of Wrath
On the Waterfront
Godfather I and Godfather II
Last Tango in Paris
Lawrence of Arabia
The Wild One
The Young Lions
Cool Hand Luke
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
A Fool There Was
Guy and Dolls
Carousel (although this one doesn't really count)
And a few more on the way...
On a totally different note, sometimes I think that I'll never be "cured" nor do I want to be. Last night I very purposefully got a little drunk and carved "EP" into my thigh. Why can't I let go of such an awful vice... so truly bizarre? I mean, I don't think it's at all rooted in the "typical" reasons for self-injury. In fact, I know it's not.
It's more about a desperate, aching hunger for beauty and finding God and beauty in the rawness of life. An aching to see things destroyed... for that's the moment of life at its most full-- to be destroyed by someone cool and in control... a life giver and taker-- a God-- but someone shaken with emotion beneath it all... a MAN!
To join God and man in a beating. To crush nature's creations and color it all with "will."
I hate this part of myself. It's always craving and it embarrasses me. I know that no one I know feels this way or could even come near to understanding without pity or fear. I wish I didn't feel this way. Or maybe I just need someone to beat the shit out of me to get it out of my system.
These feelings... these cravings are so unwelcome. So confusing... And yet they are most often the only thing in my life that seems real. It's as if everything else is just a means for killing time. And the best I can do is to be self-mocking because there's no room for anything else. But even that requires a great leap of courage.
The people sitting near me are really annoying. Some Hungarian girl who just arrived here... and some sleazy guy who's interviewing her as if she were a mail order bride.
Well... I suppose I should get back to reading because I do need to present this week...
First, I'm going to make a list of all the old movies I've seen since August:
Night and Fog
Birth of a Nation
(both for class)
Easy Come, Easy Go
Change of Habit
King Creole
Jailhouse Rock
Loving You
A Streetcar Named Desire!!!
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
The Grapes of Wrath
On the Waterfront
Godfather I and Godfather II
Last Tango in Paris
Lawrence of Arabia
The Wild One
The Young Lions
Cool Hand Luke
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
A Fool There Was
Guy and Dolls
Carousel (although this one doesn't really count)
And a few more on the way...
On a totally different note, sometimes I think that I'll never be "cured" nor do I want to be. Last night I very purposefully got a little drunk and carved "EP" into my thigh. Why can't I let go of such an awful vice... so truly bizarre? I mean, I don't think it's at all rooted in the "typical" reasons for self-injury. In fact, I know it's not.
It's more about a desperate, aching hunger for beauty and finding God and beauty in the rawness of life. An aching to see things destroyed... for that's the moment of life at its most full-- to be destroyed by someone cool and in control... a life giver and taker-- a God-- but someone shaken with emotion beneath it all... a MAN!
To join God and man in a beating. To crush nature's creations and color it all with "will."
I hate this part of myself. It's always craving and it embarrasses me. I know that no one I know feels this way or could even come near to understanding without pity or fear. I wish I didn't feel this way. Or maybe I just need someone to beat the shit out of me to get it out of my system.
These feelings... these cravings are so unwelcome. So confusing... And yet they are most often the only thing in my life that seems real. It's as if everything else is just a means for killing time. And the best I can do is to be self-mocking because there's no room for anything else. But even that requires a great leap of courage.
The people sitting near me are really annoying. Some Hungarian girl who just arrived here... and some sleazy guy who's interviewing her as if she were a mail order bride.
Well... I suppose I should get back to reading because I do need to present this week...
Friday, August 22, 2003
B: On Prostitutes
Sometimes I really hate him. I can't believe this whole fucking conversation about prostitution. I shouldn't let him sleep here anymore... a man so against my principles! I mean, it's so dehumanizing to everyone involved and so pathetic on part of the person buying... I would lose all respect for him if I knew he even considered such a thing! It's so fucking pathetic. I need to get out of this situation... to get out of this world in which a guy thinks he can buy the realness of sex. He doesn't know what sex it. She has side-railed me for long enough.
It annoys me that he's even sleeping out there in the living room after we had this conversation.
I don't know... this is stupid. Maybe I should kill myself.
(See what happens when you're drunk?!?)
And do I think that Buke is charming when he says it? So what? I can't believe B would think that way. It really makes me hate him.
But how can I hate someone I love?
Well, this time I just do...
It annoys me that he's even sleeping out there in the living room after we had this conversation.
I don't know... this is stupid. Maybe I should kill myself.
(See what happens when you're drunk?!?)
And do I think that Buke is charming when he says it? So what? I can't believe B would think that way. It really makes me hate him.
But how can I hate someone I love?
Well, this time I just do...
Monday, August 18, 2003
Summer Heat
At the end of the summer. It's cooled down a little today, but my curls are still sticking to the back of my neck.
Sitting in the Starbucks near ProfNietzsche (I walked here from the nutritionist) drinking an iced venti soy latte and listening to Garou.
I lost four pounds this week. And even though it feels good, I know it's only because I had my period last week. I really want to try to do this though.
I don't know why it's taking so long to cool down in here. Ever sine the blackout, no one wants to turn their fucking air conditioners on. I am ready to kill "Time Warner" too. I can live without cable, but not without Internet. (Isn't that weird considering that 10 years ago I had never used the Internet once!)
Anyway, it's been a week of watching gorgeous men in the movies and being obsessed with A Streetcar Named Desire. I fucking LOVE that movie. (I just watched it three more times.)
So, there was Streetcar, King Creole (twice), Butch Cassidy... etc. And yesterday in the movie theater, Open Range.
Today I'm supposed to go to Long Island to have another dress fitting with Pati. I hope the whole shoe thing works out. LilSis and I really need to plan BigSis' bachelorette party this week. Maybe I'll call Nipkins and see if she can recommend any places... or KBH. I don't feel like writing here anymore, so I think I'll read.
Sitting in the Starbucks near ProfNietzsche (I walked here from the nutritionist) drinking an iced venti soy latte and listening to Garou.
I lost four pounds this week. And even though it feels good, I know it's only because I had my period last week. I really want to try to do this though.
I don't know why it's taking so long to cool down in here. Ever sine the blackout, no one wants to turn their fucking air conditioners on. I am ready to kill "Time Warner" too. I can live without cable, but not without Internet. (Isn't that weird considering that 10 years ago I had never used the Internet once!)
Anyway, it's been a week of watching gorgeous men in the movies and being obsessed with A Streetcar Named Desire. I fucking LOVE that movie. (I just watched it three more times.)
So, there was Streetcar, King Creole (twice), Butch Cassidy... etc. And yesterday in the movie theater, Open Range.
Today I'm supposed to go to Long Island to have another dress fitting with Pati. I hope the whole shoe thing works out. LilSis and I really need to plan BigSis' bachelorette party this week. Maybe I'll call Nipkins and see if she can recommend any places... or KBH. I don't feel like writing here anymore, so I think I'll read.
Sunday, July 20, 2003
Chaos and Connection
The day after HW's wedding... It was weird for me in a lot ways... When AW said he wanted to slap C and I felt it turn in my stomach in the strangest place... where things felt mystically or spiritually root themselves. And when my mom cried because I said it makes me sad when I think of how sad my dad must have been... and she felt responsible that she couldn't help him...
(when L kissed my neck).
I felt weirdly drawn to chaos... Maybe it's not so weird, but why am I so different from BigSis and LilSis like that? I almost wish that family was even crazier so that I could release all this shit that I struggle against all the time (and smoke in the open), but I know that I would die...
And here I am... drunk again tonight and feeling deliciously connected and horribly guilty for it all the same...
"The History of the Beach" is on the history channel right now. B is in the Philippines and seems worlds away from the W's.
I so want to meet a boy to love me... I want to connect to someone... To have a partner in this chaos so I don't need to be floating anymore.
(when L kissed my neck).
I felt weirdly drawn to chaos... Maybe it's not so weird, but why am I so different from BigSis and LilSis like that? I almost wish that family was even crazier so that I could release all this shit that I struggle against all the time (and smoke in the open), but I know that I would die...
And here I am... drunk again tonight and feeling deliciously connected and horribly guilty for it all the same...
"The History of the Beach" is on the history channel right now. B is in the Philippines and seems worlds away from the W's.
I so want to meet a boy to love me... I want to connect to someone... To have a partner in this chaos so I don't need to be floating anymore.
Friday, July 4, 2003
Dream-o-Meter: Shopping and the Ghost of Nanny
My dream (as far back as I can remember it):
Walking up the huge staircase to an elevated 7-train (although I was coming from somewhere Upper, Upper West-- Harlem?) And I had no shoes on. There was a group of tourists00 a blond family on the staircase speaking German or something and I thought they would look at my feet.
I was afraid of stepping on broken glass. The cement was sparkling. I got on the Uptown side and had to figure out how to get onto the Downtown platform. I thought I'd get off at 72nd Street, but after one stop I saw a flea market below-- more like a Jerusalem bazaar.
I saw a large, magenta, velvet bag and another made of brocade-velvet tapestry. I decided to get off the train.
Once in the bazaar, I had to step over two girls looking at a tray of rings in order to get the the bags. One ring was made of garnet and moonstone. Another was made of small green tiles.
Then Is aw a stand behind me where they were selling gold. I had some gold to trade in, but the man told me that he didn't have anything 14K. He was Middle Eastern. We were seated at a wooden table. The man said something about it being "Joseph-gold" which made sense to me, being in Jerusalem.
Then a woman came over to me-- a white American "soccer mom" type. She asked if she could leave her six year old son with me for half an hour. I asked her why she's be willing to leave him with me... a stranger! She said it's because I'm white and I had brushed my teeth and I looked "safe." I felt uncomfortable, but I said "okay." I asked her for her cell phone number just in case she never showed up again. She couldn't remember the number. She wrote something down on a paper (4... 9581?) but said another thing out loud as she wrote it. She seemed to have some weird math-equation way of remembering each of the following numbers. I gave her mine instead. I think I said "288887"
Then, the next thing I know, we were in "Epic" (or my conception of "Epic") but it had all of the clothing from "Scream" and my cousin Jail was working there. The store hadn't opened yet.
BigSis, LilSis, Aunt Nin, Jol and I were shopping there. It was like we had "first dibs" there while people outside the doors were pressed against the glass trying to get in. Jail's hair was dyed bright orange, like Nipkins.
I saw a beautiful pale-green sweater that I wanted. There weren't many on the rack, even though it was a new item and there were there with a hodge-podge of pale green sale skirts.
I finally found my size (after not being able to read the tags) but when I showed it to BigSis, she said it was three sizes smaller... Then when I wanted to try it on, the sweater was black. It fit me, but I couldn't find a green one, like the one I wanted, in my size.
By this time, the store was open and crowded and I couldn't get Jail's attention to go look in the stockroom for me.
Suddenly, there were so many people there that it became some sort of party. Some sweet sixteen or something for one of my cousins being held at the store! We were walking around, mingling. I bumped into Jol and Aunt Nin. Jol looked about 13 years old.
She said: "I'm glad it was you that my mom wanted to drop me off with in the bazaar. I didn't want to say anything though because it was embarrassing."
I seemed to know what she was talking about and laughed at the memory (like that time int he islands when someone thought she was my daughter?)
Then I bumped into Uncle R. He was upset. He kept saying something like:
"Last summer we saw you guys... We were relevant to you guys, right?"
It was as if he just came from a conversation of someone telling him otherwise.
Suddenly, he turned his head. Nanny appeared-- taller than him-- in a flash, over his shoulder. It scared me. She looked healthy and beautiful for the party, but was wearing glasses with brightly green tinted lenses. I tried to apologize to her and tell her how much we miss her. Everyone else walked away. She looked at me sadly.
I woke up.
Walking up the huge staircase to an elevated 7-train (although I was coming from somewhere Upper, Upper West-- Harlem?) And I had no shoes on. There was a group of tourists00 a blond family on the staircase speaking German or something and I thought they would look at my feet.
I was afraid of stepping on broken glass. The cement was sparkling. I got on the Uptown side and had to figure out how to get onto the Downtown platform. I thought I'd get off at 72nd Street, but after one stop I saw a flea market below-- more like a Jerusalem bazaar.
I saw a large, magenta, velvet bag and another made of brocade-velvet tapestry. I decided to get off the train.
Once in the bazaar, I had to step over two girls looking at a tray of rings in order to get the the bags. One ring was made of garnet and moonstone. Another was made of small green tiles.
Then Is aw a stand behind me where they were selling gold. I had some gold to trade in, but the man told me that he didn't have anything 14K. He was Middle Eastern. We were seated at a wooden table. The man said something about it being "Joseph-gold" which made sense to me, being in Jerusalem.
Then a woman came over to me-- a white American "soccer mom" type. She asked if she could leave her six year old son with me for half an hour. I asked her why she's be willing to leave him with me... a stranger! She said it's because I'm white and I had brushed my teeth and I looked "safe." I felt uncomfortable, but I said "okay." I asked her for her cell phone number just in case she never showed up again. She couldn't remember the number. She wrote something down on a paper (4... 9581?) but said another thing out loud as she wrote it. She seemed to have some weird math-equation way of remembering each of the following numbers. I gave her mine instead. I think I said "288887"
Then, the next thing I know, we were in "Epic" (or my conception of "Epic") but it had all of the clothing from "Scream" and my cousin Jail was working there. The store hadn't opened yet.
BigSis, LilSis, Aunt Nin, Jol and I were shopping there. It was like we had "first dibs" there while people outside the doors were pressed against the glass trying to get in. Jail's hair was dyed bright orange, like Nipkins.
I saw a beautiful pale-green sweater that I wanted. There weren't many on the rack, even though it was a new item and there were there with a hodge-podge of pale green sale skirts.
I finally found my size (after not being able to read the tags) but when I showed it to BigSis, she said it was three sizes smaller... Then when I wanted to try it on, the sweater was black. It fit me, but I couldn't find a green one, like the one I wanted, in my size.
By this time, the store was open and crowded and I couldn't get Jail's attention to go look in the stockroom for me.
Suddenly, there were so many people there that it became some sort of party. Some sweet sixteen or something for one of my cousins being held at the store! We were walking around, mingling. I bumped into Jol and Aunt Nin. Jol looked about 13 years old.
She said: "I'm glad it was you that my mom wanted to drop me off with in the bazaar. I didn't want to say anything though because it was embarrassing."
I seemed to know what she was talking about and laughed at the memory (like that time int he islands when someone thought she was my daughter?)
Then I bumped into Uncle R. He was upset. He kept saying something like:
"Last summer we saw you guys... We were relevant to you guys, right?"
It was as if he just came from a conversation of someone telling him otherwise.
Suddenly, he turned his head. Nanny appeared-- taller than him-- in a flash, over his shoulder. It scared me. She looked healthy and beautiful for the party, but was wearing glasses with brightly green tinted lenses. I tried to apologize to her and tell her how much we miss her. Everyone else walked away. She looked at me sadly.
I woke up.
Monday, June 23, 2003
Disappointment
Okay. So, I'm such an idiot and not even a poetic one... You would think that I'd be able to learn from mistakes once I've made them a few hundred times! I guess not...
I just know that I've disappointed them now the same way I've disappointed everyone. And maybe that's what I wanted to do (Je le croix).
Damn.
Speaking of which, I have to make an appointment for my language exam. Maybe I can do that on Wednesday. My hand hurts from writing even a little bit, and i think it's because I'm pressing hard because this pen is running out... On Metro North on my way to the "Federalist Era!"
I just know that I've disappointed them now the same way I've disappointed everyone. And maybe that's what I wanted to do (Je le croix).
Damn.
Speaking of which, I have to make an appointment for my language exam. Maybe I can do that on Wednesday. My hand hurts from writing even a little bit, and i think it's because I'm pressing hard because this pen is running out... On Metro North on my way to the "Federalist Era!"
Wednesday, June 18, 2003
Self-Crafting on Chambord
Okay. SO here I am again. And barely removed (but SO removed) from what I was reading a few years ago (with the delicate addition of Chambord). But the stripes are bolder but hidden. I'm in a bigger room, but still alone. Free? Less so? More responsible... In a good way-- one that's wiser.
But then why am I still acting like a fuck-up and photographing it to boot!?! (Because I have no spectators.).
It's all for posterity. Like "Madame fuck-face" tossed into jail during the Reign of Terror... Why can't I remember her name right now? Anyway, my hand hurts. Too much to write right now...
***********************
Adding drugs to the mix.
Writing high is much harder that writing just drunk or depressed. Things don't seem to flow as well. Everything is stuck and creaky. Let me persist-- what is wrong with me? What am I pursuing here? Self-crafting. I think it's ALL about self-crafting.
Do you know what I mean? That's what B took from me... My ability to DECIDE who I am. That's what was so weird with those old journal entries .
And for once, I'm trusting the pen again.
I miss you.
But then why am I still acting like a fuck-up and photographing it to boot!?! (Because I have no spectators.).
It's all for posterity. Like "Madame fuck-face" tossed into jail during the Reign of Terror... Why can't I remember her name right now? Anyway, my hand hurts. Too much to write right now...
***********************
Adding drugs to the mix.
Writing high is much harder that writing just drunk or depressed. Things don't seem to flow as well. Everything is stuck and creaky. Let me persist-- what is wrong with me? What am I pursuing here? Self-crafting. I think it's ALL about self-crafting.
Do you know what I mean? That's what B took from me... My ability to DECIDE who I am. That's what was so weird with those old journal entries .
And for once, I'm trusting the pen again.
I miss you.
Friday, June 13, 2003
Cutting Flowers Bruises
The pink peonies I have here are, I think, the most beautiful flowers I've ever seen. It's been a strange day today-- one that I'm ending with cigarettes, wine, my black slip that I feel fat in and a very familiar sting on my thigh...
A weird day that began with a lack of sleep and then a rainy walk to physical therapy. Then, Rochester jumped on my back and left his claw-mark in a three punctured wound. God, how it hurt. But, I became strangely possessed to lengthen them... drawing red stripes out and around my torso... as impossible as that may seem.
Then, to my voice lesson, met up with B at "Rice Bowl" and came back here to laze around hardly doing a shred of the work that's oppressively weighing on my chest.
Then B left to go out to drinks with friends.
I feel like a different person when I'm with him-- both a lighter and heavier person at the same time. Both lovable and detestable.
Anyway, part of me is resentful that he'll never invite me out to do things with his friend,s but I still invite him to do things with mine.
After he left (and an episode of "Law & Order") I got Secretary on PPV. It both impressed me because it avoided cliches and it annoyed me with its rampant cliches.
Afterwards, I felt nothing but crestfallen and an urge to cut that I could not bite back. It's not fair that people have such a problem with my cutting! I mean... it really doesn't hurt me or anyone else for that matter, and I just love it aesthetically and feel so beautiful and satisfied when I can see the marks there.
I couldn't resist one simple, beautiful line on my thigh, although I wish it were on my calf or arm.
Afterwards, I wet the wound and smeared the blood around so it looked bruised and bigger... although I wouldn't dare do anything more permanent or noticeable.
It's because I'm always being fucking inspected! So... I've resolved to drink a bottle or two of wine to numb this frustration. Is that really better, though? It's just not visible for people to pick up on tomorrow.
Arghh!!!
I want to be painted by Heathcliff... especially around the eyes. And I want to stop thinking about my thesis, finding a job and who the fuck I am.
Just to be bruised and loved.
I don't care if people think it's fucked up. I know where the line is in my head and I"m not afraid that I'll cross it...
A weird day that began with a lack of sleep and then a rainy walk to physical therapy. Then, Rochester jumped on my back and left his claw-mark in a three punctured wound. God, how it hurt. But, I became strangely possessed to lengthen them... drawing red stripes out and around my torso... as impossible as that may seem.
Then, to my voice lesson, met up with B at "Rice Bowl" and came back here to laze around hardly doing a shred of the work that's oppressively weighing on my chest.
Then B left to go out to drinks with friends.
I feel like a different person when I'm with him-- both a lighter and heavier person at the same time. Both lovable and detestable.
Anyway, part of me is resentful that he'll never invite me out to do things with his friend,s but I still invite him to do things with mine.
After he left (and an episode of "Law & Order") I got Secretary on PPV. It both impressed me because it avoided cliches and it annoyed me with its rampant cliches.
Afterwards, I felt nothing but crestfallen and an urge to cut that I could not bite back. It's not fair that people have such a problem with my cutting! I mean... it really doesn't hurt me or anyone else for that matter, and I just love it aesthetically and feel so beautiful and satisfied when I can see the marks there.
I couldn't resist one simple, beautiful line on my thigh, although I wish it were on my calf or arm.
Afterwards, I wet the wound and smeared the blood around so it looked bruised and bigger... although I wouldn't dare do anything more permanent or noticeable.
It's because I'm always being fucking inspected! So... I've resolved to drink a bottle or two of wine to numb this frustration. Is that really better, though? It's just not visible for people to pick up on tomorrow.
Arghh!!!
I want to be painted by Heathcliff... especially around the eyes. And I want to stop thinking about my thesis, finding a job and who the fuck I am.
Just to be bruised and loved.
I don't care if people think it's fucked up. I know where the line is in my head and I"m not afraid that I'll cross it...
Wednesday, June 11, 2003
Waiting for VJ
I've been lugging this thing around for ages without the urge to write. But now, sitting in Starbucks with a toasty Vanilla Latte and waiting for VJ, I need to ward off sleep.
I feel too exposed sitting here. My fingers are heavy and there are no corners. To make things worse, the kitschy zodiac chess-board table is making me dizzy. And my fucking ankle hurts.
VJ and I are supposed to go to bartending class which starts today. And I am supposed to be reading about the American Federalists (among other things) (But God, my fucking ankle hurts!)
Physical Therapy plus going to the gym today has more than drained me. I feel like if someone spoke to me right now, I would more than love to respond in an overly cranky manner.
I think I wrote in this Starbucks on a different day too-- the one on 102nd and Broadway.
I still feel weird about what happened on Saturday night and how to act if I bump into Druggie or his brother. I hope they're not dangerous or anything weird like that... Today I had some terrible imagining of being raped on the roof.
Why am I so fucking crazy?
And my Michelle Dessler/ Todd Manning dream... How can I miss a character so much when he's just a fictional character? What is going on with me?
Maybe I need to retire with Wuthering Heights. I'm up to the part when Catherine tells Nelly that she'll marry Linton and Heathcliff overhears and storms away from the estate...
Until later...
I feel too exposed sitting here. My fingers are heavy and there are no corners. To make things worse, the kitschy zodiac chess-board table is making me dizzy. And my fucking ankle hurts.
VJ and I are supposed to go to bartending class which starts today. And I am supposed to be reading about the American Federalists (among other things) (But God, my fucking ankle hurts!)
Physical Therapy plus going to the gym today has more than drained me. I feel like if someone spoke to me right now, I would more than love to respond in an overly cranky manner.
I think I wrote in this Starbucks on a different day too-- the one on 102nd and Broadway.
I still feel weird about what happened on Saturday night and how to act if I bump into Druggie or his brother. I hope they're not dangerous or anything weird like that... Today I had some terrible imagining of being raped on the roof.
Why am I so fucking crazy?
And my Michelle Dessler/ Todd Manning dream... How can I miss a character so much when he's just a fictional character? What is going on with me?
Maybe I need to retire with Wuthering Heights. I'm up to the part when Catherine tells Nelly that she'll marry Linton and Heathcliff overhears and storms away from the estate...
Until later...
Monday, March 31, 2003
War
Laying in bed reading William Morris' "Rapunzel" and watching "The Giuliani Story" on TV. It's making me cry. It's still making me cry. The loss of life makes me cry and the face of that woman at the firehouse-- that will always be burned into my memory.
And Rudy just ended and Seinfeld started-- Seinfeld from an era that has passed. From the Clinton '90's. Not the world of war and fear, anxiety and hatred that we live in now.
Thinking about the war-- really thinking about the war-- nauseates me. All of those people whose lives are torn apart there-- all of those Iraqi families who are terrified tonight. And we are so fucking up over there! Can it be that we really so underestimated the war or has Bush's government been lying to us all along?
I want back the Clinton '90's. New York felt different then. Everyone had a job and you could smoke in the bars.
Congress was always fighting-- not lining up behind a vigilante, born-again Christian whom even I want to believe... all in the ashes of the Twin Towers.
My ankle is killing me. It is swollen, but not as purple.
The whole world hates America. Is the world order changing? Is the UN now irrelevant? How will the future remember us?
Will they know that I had love?
Will they remember love?
PS: I hate the CNN coverage. "Showdown" my ass!
PPS: I think Saddam's still alive...
And Rudy just ended and Seinfeld started-- Seinfeld from an era that has passed. From the Clinton '90's. Not the world of war and fear, anxiety and hatred that we live in now.
Thinking about the war-- really thinking about the war-- nauseates me. All of those people whose lives are torn apart there-- all of those Iraqi families who are terrified tonight. And we are so fucking up over there! Can it be that we really so underestimated the war or has Bush's government been lying to us all along?
I want back the Clinton '90's. New York felt different then. Everyone had a job and you could smoke in the bars.
Congress was always fighting-- not lining up behind a vigilante, born-again Christian whom even I want to believe... all in the ashes of the Twin Towers.
My ankle is killing me. It is swollen, but not as purple.
The whole world hates America. Is the world order changing? Is the UN now irrelevant? How will the future remember us?
Will they know that I had love?
Will they remember love?
PS: I hate the CNN coverage. "Showdown" my ass!
PPS: I think Saddam's still alive...
Sunday, February 23, 2003
Broken Ankle
Little did I know how much things would change...
Collapsed just that night with a broken ankle. And now, here I am stuck in a cast and away from myself. As much as I hate myself, I hate being away from myself even more.
I feel such a suffocated pressing on my chest. Yet, how much time has passed since I've had anyone to explain it to.
I just got a message from that kid, PianoBoy. Worse than that he keeps calling me is that without my independence, I've been castrated and there's no sense in calling him back. I can't have any kind of social life for months!
And I'm going to lose everything I had started. I can't even call that damn bouncer back.
There's not even the privacy of a phone call.
Collapsed just that night with a broken ankle. And now, here I am stuck in a cast and away from myself. As much as I hate myself, I hate being away from myself even more.
I feel such a suffocated pressing on my chest. Yet, how much time has passed since I've had anyone to explain it to.
I just got a message from that kid, PianoBoy. Worse than that he keeps calling me is that without my independence, I've been castrated and there's no sense in calling him back. I can't have any kind of social life for months!
And I'm going to lose everything I had started. I can't even call that damn bouncer back.
There's not even the privacy of a phone call.
Saturday, February 8, 2003
At the Athens Cafe
In the Athens Cafe in Astoria with B. (He just went to the restroom). It's very cool to be able to smoke here, but my stomach feels strange from the combination of Indian food, cappuccino and smoke...
The table is a pink, silver and black granite framed by an oak-ish wood. It's a strange combination. I wonder who designed it.
I wonder why I feel so different when I smoke. I love that B thinks I'm a "cool" smoker. I don't think I'll ever quit, just for the transformation it allows me. It's so unfair that there's only one more month until Bloomberg's fucking laws go into effect.
I want to be a writer. Find some kind of job researching. Not have to put on a show or get dressed up for anyone. I really hate that. It makes it hard to be myself. Hard to feel grounded in who I am. Maybe I can find some kind of job in research for the next year.
Being here makes me miss my dad. The guy at the next table has worry-beads. And all of the smoke and the coffee... I miss him. It's just so unfair. I wonder what he would think of me... Even now, I think he'd be disappointed. I guess that's kind of pathetic in a way.
I feel very exposed sitting in the window like this. There's a gray-moustached man on the payphone outside who stands very near to the window.
What kind of research job could I get? Would I be able to find something with the job market as it is? I don't know...
The table is a pink, silver and black granite framed by an oak-ish wood. It's a strange combination. I wonder who designed it.
I wonder why I feel so different when I smoke. I love that B thinks I'm a "cool" smoker. I don't think I'll ever quit, just for the transformation it allows me. It's so unfair that there's only one more month until Bloomberg's fucking laws go into effect.
I want to be a writer. Find some kind of job researching. Not have to put on a show or get dressed up for anyone. I really hate that. It makes it hard to be myself. Hard to feel grounded in who I am. Maybe I can find some kind of job in research for the next year.
Being here makes me miss my dad. The guy at the next table has worry-beads. And all of the smoke and the coffee... I miss him. It's just so unfair. I wonder what he would think of me... Even now, I think he'd be disappointed. I guess that's kind of pathetic in a way.
I feel very exposed sitting in the window like this. There's a gray-moustached man on the payphone outside who stands very near to the window.
What kind of research job could I get? Would I be able to find something with the job market as it is? I don't know...
Friday, February 7, 2003
Lunching Alone in the Snow
In the Comfort Diner. The first time I'm out for lunch for pleasure, alone, since B. I feel good about that. With Elvis' "I've Never Been to Spain" to celebrate. Today... on a day when the snowflakes are so fat that they stick in my eyes and the gray pea-coat doesn't fit but the blue one is in the cleaner. (One thing at a time).
I hope my voice lesson today is as good as it was last week. I didn't even want to write to OperaBoy to tell him that I still sing. It seems weird because he's just going so far with it. He is so amazingly talented... and I knew him when he was 16!
The green tiled specks in the counter look like miniature turtle shells, crawling along the surface, their faces suffocated in cement.
Food here. Must go.
***************************
Okay. Just finished. I think I know why I used to write in my journals so much and then stopped. I just had no one to talk to. It's just one big fat solipsistic exercise in which I become the listener as well as the speaker-- the participant and the observer. My own confessor. I think it warps things... Whatever.... It is what it is.
And Elvis is still singing... That book (the Penguin lives) makes such an interesting point about Elvis rebelling against poverty but inspiring a rebellion against the very middle class conformist affluence he attempted to become a part of. Is that the difference between Schoenberg and Wagner? Was Wagner safe on the inside while Schoenberg became "degenerate" (like Elvis-the-pelvis)? Then, once Elvis "got it," he couldn't join the '60's rebellion of people trying to get out. It's just so fucking sad... but easy to see how he made all the "best" decisions for himself but still became irrelevant.
That Michael Jackson documentary on 20/20 last night was so creepy. It's scary how life can be so distorting. Meryl Streep in Adaptation-- "I want to be new." Isn't that what we all want? To be born again? Not necessarily to do it differently, but to be no longer living with what has already been done... Like when Elvis was new... When I was still "brilliant" for my age and not just "without direction." Prodigy into mediocrity in a flash.
I didn't realize how good that music I wrote was back then. I always think I'm being on the clock. One day I will be...
***************************
Ok. On the M104 now and heading across 42nd Street, stopped at the light on Lex. The snow is falling so fiercely now that it seems like the flakes are all feeling something in the skies. They are frantically running parallel to the bus in horizontal grooves until we slow and they continue, stuck together in clusters, to rain down towards obliteration on the pavement.
I keep seeing pink in the windows for spring. I like pink. But God, do I need to lose some weight. I need to stock the fridge, eat all my meals at home and not think about it. If only it would stop snowing so I could go for the groceries.
(Elvis just finished his "American Trilogy"). We're at Madison. I think I'll close for now.
I hope my voice lesson today is as good as it was last week. I didn't even want to write to OperaBoy to tell him that I still sing. It seems weird because he's just going so far with it. He is so amazingly talented... and I knew him when he was 16!
The green tiled specks in the counter look like miniature turtle shells, crawling along the surface, their faces suffocated in cement.
Food here. Must go.
***************************
Okay. Just finished. I think I know why I used to write in my journals so much and then stopped. I just had no one to talk to. It's just one big fat solipsistic exercise in which I become the listener as well as the speaker-- the participant and the observer. My own confessor. I think it warps things... Whatever.... It is what it is.
And Elvis is still singing... That book (the Penguin lives) makes such an interesting point about Elvis rebelling against poverty but inspiring a rebellion against the very middle class conformist affluence he attempted to become a part of. Is that the difference between Schoenberg and Wagner? Was Wagner safe on the inside while Schoenberg became "degenerate" (like Elvis-the-pelvis)? Then, once Elvis "got it," he couldn't join the '60's rebellion of people trying to get out. It's just so fucking sad... but easy to see how he made all the "best" decisions for himself but still became irrelevant.
That Michael Jackson documentary on 20/20 last night was so creepy. It's scary how life can be so distorting. Meryl Streep in Adaptation-- "I want to be new." Isn't that what we all want? To be born again? Not necessarily to do it differently, but to be no longer living with what has already been done... Like when Elvis was new... When I was still "brilliant" for my age and not just "without direction." Prodigy into mediocrity in a flash.
I didn't realize how good that music I wrote was back then. I always think I'm being on the clock. One day I will be...
***************************
Ok. On the M104 now and heading across 42nd Street, stopped at the light on Lex. The snow is falling so fiercely now that it seems like the flakes are all feeling something in the skies. They are frantically running parallel to the bus in horizontal grooves until we slow and they continue, stuck together in clusters, to rain down towards obliteration on the pavement.
I keep seeing pink in the windows for spring. I like pink. But God, do I need to lose some weight. I need to stock the fridge, eat all my meals at home and not think about it. If only it would stop snowing so I could go for the groceries.
(Elvis just finished his "American Trilogy"). We're at Madison. I think I'll close for now.
Thursday, February 6, 2003
Adaptation
You are what you love
(I want to be new)
And obsession-- the world is so big sometimes we try to just whittle it away to something manageable. (Fragile...Fleeting)
YOU ARE WHAT YOU LOVE.
I have to see it again.
The flowers are meaningless. (The agent asks him-- are they special?) and proceeds to talk about fucking all of the women that go by the window as if they are nothing special.
Charlie sees the women as ghost orchids-- painfully beautiful, but elusive. (At the end-- you are what you love. He is special because he can obsess.)
Obsession is a way for man to give meaning.
The shot at the end of the film made the flowers just flowers again-- adapted to the city. (Forever blooming).
Susan, when she saw her orchid (Larouche) had to grab it. But that's just it-- we can't have our orchid because we will find that we put the meaning there ourselves (like when I tried to talk to my dad in heaven). And so, she takes drugs instead-- her beautiful, almost religious, quiet turns into a totally material experience ground out of the physical substance of the orchids to nurse her illusions. That is why Donald can't and doesn't really exist. He's the only one okay with the illusion being just an illusion and so he writes his scripts that way-- an illusion of life.
At the end of the film, Charlie is okay to let his "love" go because if you hold your orchid, you will crush it to dust and it will intoxicate you.
(I want to be new)
And obsession-- the world is so big sometimes we try to just whittle it away to something manageable. (Fragile...Fleeting)
YOU ARE WHAT YOU LOVE.
I have to see it again.
The flowers are meaningless. (The agent asks him-- are they special?) and proceeds to talk about fucking all of the women that go by the window as if they are nothing special.
Charlie sees the women as ghost orchids-- painfully beautiful, but elusive. (At the end-- you are what you love. He is special because he can obsess.)
Obsession is a way for man to give meaning.
The shot at the end of the film made the flowers just flowers again-- adapted to the city. (Forever blooming).
Susan, when she saw her orchid (Larouche) had to grab it. But that's just it-- we can't have our orchid because we will find that we put the meaning there ourselves (like when I tried to talk to my dad in heaven). And so, she takes drugs instead-- her beautiful, almost religious, quiet turns into a totally material experience ground out of the physical substance of the orchids to nurse her illusions. That is why Donald can't and doesn't really exist. He's the only one okay with the illusion being just an illusion and so he writes his scripts that way-- an illusion of life.
At the end of the film, Charlie is okay to let his "love" go because if you hold your orchid, you will crush it to dust and it will intoxicate you.
Wednesday, January 15, 2003
Star
Star
I saw you on an altar
and remember why I dreamed
of emeralds and redwoods
shot through sand-filled eyes.
You were simple, gold-stitched and pure.
A farmer's cloth.
A band of pearls.
I stood with the anticipation of song
to be soaked by your fabric
and kept as your meaning.
Your memory.
Your birthright.
Your song
from mine.
I saw you on an altar
and remember why I dreamed
of emeralds and redwoods
shot through sand-filled eyes.
You were simple, gold-stitched and pure.
A farmer's cloth.
A band of pearls.
I stood with the anticipation of song
to be soaked by your fabric
and kept as your meaning.
Your memory.
Your birthright.
Your song
from mine.
Tuesday, January 14, 2003
This day is getting off to a disastrous start.
First B proposed that we not see each other for a month. And then I forgot my wallet. I only realized it once I was on the train and had to beg the (jolly) conductor to let me ride for the $3.50 in change I was able to scrounge up. Now I'm broke with now way to buy lunch or get home. I suppose it's vindication for buying all of that whiskey last night. I'm going to make some really big ice cubes and dry the Drambuie for when I watch 24. Wait-- no... I'm having dinner with IronChef. I better tape 24 and save the special drinks for tomorrow.
I'm so annoyed at just being awake today. I wish I were somehow inspired to do something creative with all this time instead of babbling on like this. Maybe I'll make a schedule...
Today: Survive with no money, Dinner with IronChef
Tomorrow: Pedicure/Waxing, Duane Reade, Drinks!!! Clean up, Order Books
Thursday: When I'm up here order the dissertation, Leave for FL!
*********************
STAR OF THE SEA
Later and still at the desk (from a borrowed lunch sans beverage)
An idea-- to illustrate and bind Yeats.
And to start with-- He Wishes for the Cloth of Heaven.
First B proposed that we not see each other for a month. And then I forgot my wallet. I only realized it once I was on the train and had to beg the (jolly) conductor to let me ride for the $3.50 in change I was able to scrounge up. Now I'm broke with now way to buy lunch or get home. I suppose it's vindication for buying all of that whiskey last night. I'm going to make some really big ice cubes and dry the Drambuie for when I watch 24. Wait-- no... I'm having dinner with IronChef. I better tape 24 and save the special drinks for tomorrow.
I'm so annoyed at just being awake today. I wish I were somehow inspired to do something creative with all this time instead of babbling on like this. Maybe I'll make a schedule...
Today: Survive with no money, Dinner with IronChef
Tomorrow: Pedicure/Waxing, Duane Reade, Drinks!!! Clean up, Order Books
Thursday: When I'm up here order the dissertation, Leave for FL!
*********************
STAR OF THE SEA
Later and still at the desk (from a borrowed lunch sans beverage)
An idea-- to illustrate and bind Yeats.
And to start with-- He Wishes for the Cloth of Heaven.
Wednesday, January 8, 2003
French Martinis in the Nation's Capital
Just got back from drinks in the hotel lobby with English. The waiter served us something he called "French Martinis" but I don't think they were. It was a combination of Grand Marnier and Cognac and it was damn strong, but yummy.
I wish I could have stayed to have another, but he closed us out. So, I came back up here, but no one's here. I can't decide whether to go back out or call it a night. I'm kind of tired so I might just settle in.
The combination of the alcohol and the mood I've been in all day is making me kind of depressed. Even my revelations at the National Gallery seem light years ago.
My eyes sink-- shaded and heavy-- and I remember that moment of being at the top but never that he loved me as much as I needed to be loved. I feel so fucking tired right now and I don't know why I'm thinking of ChoirMan so much. Maybe it's because he kissed me right before I came to Washington the last time. And AIR7 said that he wanted to kill him. I don't think I ever succeeded in sorting through any of that. And now it's so long ago... so many fucking years ago that all of the characters are dead. When I saw ChoirMan in October, he seemed so shrunken out of the context of that drama... and I? So ridiculously scared, so impressionable and silly.
But still, I feel the same say now-- right now-- in the fog of Cognac and alone on another tour-- that I wonder if BH is still in touch with him. I know KSing felt the same way as me and that's why she caved on the election. I wish I could have talked to her about it. But we never could because of who he was... Because of what we were... And Liu...
I remember when AIR7 wanted to kill him. And then all of friends wanted to kill AIR7-- especially B. And now it's the same for B. And so, it's hard to tell if it's I who picks losers or if none of them are losers at all and maybe they've all been right and I am totally insane.
I know that I made them think that I'm crazy. and how can that not be to blame? Whatever.... there's no point in any of this... I'm just really tired and the fog is thick now.
If only Liu were here vegetating with me. It's my favorite thing in the world to do what we did on Thursday. That Ecstasy was such an amazing and incredible high. I won't ever forget it-- that miracle of red and blue and the thickness and transparency of smoke that was solid marble all at the same time. And making it better were those wonderful lips. I can't believe the way I behaved though.
Thank God for the bartender enforcing "house rules." I'm going to fucking get myself in some real and serious trouble one of these days. I don't think about the risks of that stuff enough. It just felt so good. that whole night was a miracle to me and I thank God for it so deeply and so profoundly. I only want that feeling back again. Damn...
I hope that Joseph can come through with the coke he promised-- or at least remember that he has my $100. That would suck.
I can't stay awake all of a sudden. My head is throbbing.
I think I'll turn in
(or be found dead in the morning).
I wish I could have stayed to have another, but he closed us out. So, I came back up here, but no one's here. I can't decide whether to go back out or call it a night. I'm kind of tired so I might just settle in.
The combination of the alcohol and the mood I've been in all day is making me kind of depressed. Even my revelations at the National Gallery seem light years ago.
My eyes sink-- shaded and heavy-- and I remember that moment of being at the top but never that he loved me as much as I needed to be loved. I feel so fucking tired right now and I don't know why I'm thinking of ChoirMan so much. Maybe it's because he kissed me right before I came to Washington the last time. And AIR7 said that he wanted to kill him. I don't think I ever succeeded in sorting through any of that. And now it's so long ago... so many fucking years ago that all of the characters are dead. When I saw ChoirMan in October, he seemed so shrunken out of the context of that drama... and I? So ridiculously scared, so impressionable and silly.
But still, I feel the same say now-- right now-- in the fog of Cognac and alone on another tour-- that I wonder if BH is still in touch with him. I know KSing felt the same way as me and that's why she caved on the election. I wish I could have talked to her about it. But we never could because of who he was... Because of what we were... And Liu...
I remember when AIR7 wanted to kill him. And then all of friends wanted to kill AIR7-- especially B. And now it's the same for B. And so, it's hard to tell if it's I who picks losers or if none of them are losers at all and maybe they've all been right and I am totally insane.
I know that I made them think that I'm crazy. and how can that not be to blame? Whatever.... there's no point in any of this... I'm just really tired and the fog is thick now.
If only Liu were here vegetating with me. It's my favorite thing in the world to do what we did on Thursday. That Ecstasy was such an amazing and incredible high. I won't ever forget it-- that miracle of red and blue and the thickness and transparency of smoke that was solid marble all at the same time. And making it better were those wonderful lips. I can't believe the way I behaved though.
Thank God for the bartender enforcing "house rules." I'm going to fucking get myself in some real and serious trouble one of these days. I don't think about the risks of that stuff enough. It just felt so good. that whole night was a miracle to me and I thank God for it so deeply and so profoundly. I only want that feeling back again. Damn...
I hope that Joseph can come through with the coke he promised-- or at least remember that he has my $100. That would suck.
I can't stay awake all of a sudden. My head is throbbing.
I think I'll turn in
(or be found dead in the morning).
In the Basilica
In the Basilica... It's so strange to be back in Washington again. It reminds me so strongly of the last time... even the smell of smoke on my fingertips calls back the ghosts still lurking somewhere int he L-shaped studio ceiling corners. Remembering the drive down and those sparkling eyes.
Now I feel dislocated-- like all that resides in a sealed and dusty gilded volume of fantasies that never happened. I'm not quite sure whether they did... or not... where memory stops. Anyway, I was just interrupted to sing (and stare at the mosaics of flame and gold) and so I've lost my train of thought.
I keep thinking about drinking hurricanes with PhysicsGuy in New Orleans at Pat O'Brians and I don't know why. Chain smoking and giant 32 oz slushies made from orange juice and Everclear and a sepia picture of me and GoldenFinch and the slashes and the broken wine coolers on the floor of ChoirMan's hotel room.
It's all coming back to me starting in the fall with AIR7 and Scheisser and my Washington ghosts.
Now I feel dislocated-- like all that resides in a sealed and dusty gilded volume of fantasies that never happened. I'm not quite sure whether they did... or not... where memory stops. Anyway, I was just interrupted to sing (and stare at the mosaics of flame and gold) and so I've lost my train of thought.
I keep thinking about drinking hurricanes with PhysicsGuy in New Orleans at Pat O'Brians and I don't know why. Chain smoking and giant 32 oz slushies made from orange juice and Everclear and a sepia picture of me and GoldenFinch and the slashes and the broken wine coolers on the floor of ChoirMan's hotel room.
It's all coming back to me starting in the fall with AIR7 and Scheisser and my Washington ghosts.
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