Well, I'm still at AIR7's and it looks like I'm staying over again... My mom doesn't want me taking the train back too late..
The exhibit at the Whitney today was really great-- Duane Hanson. It was super-realism. Statues. Every piece had an air of melancholy and each figure was trapped in its station and life. Also, the people looking at them seemed to become art themselves and it allowed everyone to be seen in a different way.
I'm just so damned exhausted that I can't even really express what I mean...
Saturday, January 9, 1999
That Night on the Carpet
Well, once again I am writing in the absolute blackness of night, only this time it is more like early morning (around 7:00 AM) and I am with AIR7. Things are getting stranger and stranger and stranger. He still says that he loves me but I wonder if love is really need. (And this whole room smells of sex). I guess I'd rather not analyze what is going on. (Is this pen running out? I can't see in the darkness, but it feels that way). And five times is enough to even wear me out, although AIR7 is definitely asleep and I'm still not the slightest bit tired. I suppose I will pay for it tomorrow...
It sucks that I have to go home tomorrow and be reminded of everything...
Well, maybe I should try to sleep at least three hours before the morning. AIR7 and I are going to the Whitney with his Aunt Rochelle tomorrow...
It sucks that I have to go home tomorrow and be reminded of everything...
Well, maybe I should try to sleep at least three hours before the morning. AIR7 and I are going to the Whitney with his Aunt Rochelle tomorrow...
Monday, January 4, 1999
Florida Nightscape
I am writing in the pitch blackness, trying to sleep here in Florida and I can't sleep at all. Ten million thoughts tumble through my head. I remember when ChoirMan told me that he buys his wife emeralds (the night at Carmine's when his daughter came and so did Contessa). Also, wanting to talk to B SO badly... God, how I miss him! I wonder if he's thinking of me at all... Remember the last night I saw him and I said that I might come back a blond? I really meant it.
Which leads me to the question-- what color should I make my hair and how can I make a drastic change?
There is so much that has happened in the past week. I'm scared of AIR7 too. I mean, I know that he said he's the one that loves me, but why do I feel like it's my heart that's vulnerable? And how will I ever translate any of this into a novel? I want a STORY. A small plot an not this crazy broad one.
(This is not a dream my friend and it will never end. This one is the nightmare that goes on!)
Waving the red flag...
(I'll live inside you forever.)
Write about fat... nobody would read it, but you would be brilliant. Trapped. Trapped in your own body.
April sat in the room... rocking back and forth... She didn't know how she got there, but somehow this room had always been hers and she loved it because it was hers and nobody could take it away from her, but she could never leave.
Which leads me to the question-- what color should I make my hair and how can I make a drastic change?
There is so much that has happened in the past week. I'm scared of AIR7 too. I mean, I know that he said he's the one that loves me, but why do I feel like it's my heart that's vulnerable? And how will I ever translate any of this into a novel? I want a STORY. A small plot an not this crazy broad one.
(This is not a dream my friend and it will never end. This one is the nightmare that goes on!)
Waving the red flag...
(I'll live inside you forever.)
Write about fat... nobody would read it, but you would be brilliant. Trapped. Trapped in your own body.
April sat in the room... rocking back and forth... She didn't know how she got there, but somehow this room had always been hers and she loved it because it was hers and nobody could take it away from her, but she could never leave.
Sunday, January 3, 1999
Storms
Still in bed, and with a stiff neck. BigSis is in the shower. Today we are going to lunch, the flea market, home for rest, dinner, movies or the mall. What a life!
Remember when "Haven Avenue" was really a "haven?" Now it is part of the insanity and I have only escaped it here, although he follows me in my mind and in my dreams.
Last night there was a terribly violent thunderstorm that woke me and BigSis up. Electric lightening brightened the room and flashed and screamed and the thunder roared.
But tomorrow that will be a week ago and my breast is stills scarred.
BigSis is coming out of the shower in a minute and it will be my turn to go in...
**********************
Later, and sitting outside. I wonder if he is thinking of me...
Remember when "Haven Avenue" was really a "haven?" Now it is part of the insanity and I have only escaped it here, although he follows me in my mind and in my dreams.
Last night there was a terribly violent thunderstorm that woke me and BigSis up. Electric lightening brightened the room and flashed and screamed and the thunder roared.
But tomorrow that will be a week ago and my breast is stills scarred.
BigSis is coming out of the shower in a minute and it will be my turn to go in...
**********************
Later, and sitting outside. I wonder if he is thinking of me...
Saturday, January 2, 1999
New Year's Fallout
So, in Florida now and life goes on. Spent the day going to brunch, the mall to see Stepmom, and now back at the house at 10:00 PM. I'm just glad that I got out of New York after New Year's Eve. God, that night was an absolute disaster. BigSis knows everything. She saw everything. But at least it's out and we talked it though. Things will be fine with her.
As for AIR7, well, that's the letter I am sending, so I guess the best thing is to just forget all about it for now, although I don't know if I'll be able to. I wonder if my mom is right and if he set up that situation with Brandi on purpose, even if it's on some subconscious level.
God, I have a really stiff neck! I need B at a time like this!
I am still exhausted form that night though. (God, I can't stop thinking about him!). Why does it change everything that he told me that...? BigSis is talking to Bro-in-Law on the phone right now. I wish I could call him but I can't and I shouldn't want to.
Life is so different without being at school. I am going to stop with the cutting. I think that's what scares him the most. (By the way-- note to tell him about the perky waitress that called me "hon" and was our age).
Well, I have to force myself to forget him and work on myself. I can't though... Six more days until I see him again.
As for AIR7, well, that's the letter I am sending, so I guess the best thing is to just forget all about it for now, although I don't know if I'll be able to. I wonder if my mom is right and if he set up that situation with Brandi on purpose, even if it's on some subconscious level.
God, I have a really stiff neck! I need B at a time like this!
I am still exhausted form that night though. (God, I can't stop thinking about him!). Why does it change everything that he told me that...? BigSis is talking to Bro-in-Law on the phone right now. I wish I could call him but I can't and I shouldn't want to.
Life is so different without being at school. I am going to stop with the cutting. I think that's what scares him the most. (By the way-- note to tell him about the perky waitress that called me "hon" and was our age).
Well, I have to force myself to forget him and work on myself. I can't though... Six more days until I see him again.
Thursday, December 31, 1998
That New Year's Eve
(But written a few days later! Obviously...)
Stolen kisses and screwdrivers were what colored the night. He held my waist in the kitchen and I laced double and triple shots of vodka with cranberry juice. Brandi was there, and couldn’t understand why he didn’t respond to her sliding hands and pathetic whimpers.
"What should I do?" She whispered to me, in confidence.
I told her to forget about him and that he didn’t care about her. His anxious eyes darted rapidly, as he tried to read our lips from across the room. I smiled with a slur, and her smile was the same.
And then we were in his bedroom and he was kissing me again. Murmurs of laughter and the violent clacking of quarters against the coffee table muffled through the walls. I don"t remember what we fought about, only that I was miserable and confused. Did I love him? Could I love him? Did he love her? And if not, why was she there? And what about my sister... how much did she see? How much did she know? The panic began to ride the waves of alcohol, vehemently denying any relaxation that it might have brought and rising in my heart until it pumped so hard that I was sure I would die. The blood poured too fast through my veins and there was much too much of it. I could feel it sloshing against the walls of my body, and sure I would drown, I needed to release it. I reached for the razor blade that I had left there, months before, carefully hidden in my rusting Russian cigarette case inside his upper desk drawer. I needed that release in a way that I know most people will never even begin to understand. But he was fighting me, trying to pull it from my fist, and fearful that he would win before I would bleed, I began to squeeze it tighter in my palm, pressing my soft plump finger tips against the gleaming blade, not aware, in my drunkenness that it was too old, too dull and had sliced through my numbness too many times before to do any real damage.
He twisted my wrists back and forth, and I laughed beneath the rush of pain, until it became too much and my palm sprawled open. Ever the quick thinker, I dashed around him and into the bathroom, locking the door in relief, frantically grabbing at the blue Gilette on the sink’s edge. It wasn't as ideal as the blades that I usually buy, but I could figure out a way to make it work. And so I scraped it up and down my fingers, bits of flesh spraying against the wall, mixed with dripping blood and dripping tears. I spit him out onto the tiled walls and I spit out my heart in the dripping and sweet red waters that spilled from my palm and onto the crusted bathroom floor. Relieved and determined, I elbowed the door open with a drunken slam, wobbling into the kitchen, leaving a delicate trail of crimson droplets behind me.
And my mind slashed through the air that was suddenly so thick. The tangy rusted tap water blurred my eyes and then my sister was there, and her boyfriend. And I laughed, imagining my blood to be mixing with vodka and not water. And in a flash, they were gone. And between black holes, my sister's contorted face, twisted in pain hangs before my own. And then he was back and we were kissing in the elevator. I slid to the floor, purple with tears and insisted that I was not a tramp. But my chronology is wrong, still. And smiling Indian faces that I did not know, and the long and narrow smelling hallway. And my sister cried and I struck her with my words and my bloody fleshless fingers, and then we were back inside, where all was quiet. And who would be in his bed that night? The blue carpet stretched on endlessly, and I only knew that it couldn't be her. And the jagged patterns of the wooden bookshelf fell into the mirror, where I caught the reflection of my blackened mascara-streaked cheeks and burning pink eyes, as I spun around in endless circles in some imagined gypsy dance. And their anxiety was everywhere... they surrounded me like vultures... all of them against me! And I felt myself falling from hundreds of miles above. I knew it was coming, and anticipated it somewhat orgasmically.
"I am going to pass out now," I said.
I wondered what year it was. My face was scarcely two inches from a book. The book was blue and it matched the carpet. I counted that it was the third one on the shelf, and my head swayed dangerously closer and closer. But wait! It was the carpet, and my cheeks scraped against it in blackness. My mind had abandoned me when I needed it most; or rather, I had killed my own mind to numb my heart.
The next morning, I awoke to the hell of consequence.
Happy 1999.
Stolen kisses and screwdrivers were what colored the night. He held my waist in the kitchen and I laced double and triple shots of vodka with cranberry juice. Brandi was there, and couldn’t understand why he didn’t respond to her sliding hands and pathetic whimpers.
"What should I do?" She whispered to me, in confidence.
I told her to forget about him and that he didn’t care about her. His anxious eyes darted rapidly, as he tried to read our lips from across the room. I smiled with a slur, and her smile was the same.
And then we were in his bedroom and he was kissing me again. Murmurs of laughter and the violent clacking of quarters against the coffee table muffled through the walls. I don"t remember what we fought about, only that I was miserable and confused. Did I love him? Could I love him? Did he love her? And if not, why was she there? And what about my sister... how much did she see? How much did she know? The panic began to ride the waves of alcohol, vehemently denying any relaxation that it might have brought and rising in my heart until it pumped so hard that I was sure I would die. The blood poured too fast through my veins and there was much too much of it. I could feel it sloshing against the walls of my body, and sure I would drown, I needed to release it. I reached for the razor blade that I had left there, months before, carefully hidden in my rusting Russian cigarette case inside his upper desk drawer. I needed that release in a way that I know most people will never even begin to understand. But he was fighting me, trying to pull it from my fist, and fearful that he would win before I would bleed, I began to squeeze it tighter in my palm, pressing my soft plump finger tips against the gleaming blade, not aware, in my drunkenness that it was too old, too dull and had sliced through my numbness too many times before to do any real damage.
He twisted my wrists back and forth, and I laughed beneath the rush of pain, until it became too much and my palm sprawled open. Ever the quick thinker, I dashed around him and into the bathroom, locking the door in relief, frantically grabbing at the blue Gilette on the sink’s edge. It wasn't as ideal as the blades that I usually buy, but I could figure out a way to make it work. And so I scraped it up and down my fingers, bits of flesh spraying against the wall, mixed with dripping blood and dripping tears. I spit him out onto the tiled walls and I spit out my heart in the dripping and sweet red waters that spilled from my palm and onto the crusted bathroom floor. Relieved and determined, I elbowed the door open with a drunken slam, wobbling into the kitchen, leaving a delicate trail of crimson droplets behind me.
And my mind slashed through the air that was suddenly so thick. The tangy rusted tap water blurred my eyes and then my sister was there, and her boyfriend. And I laughed, imagining my blood to be mixing with vodka and not water. And in a flash, they were gone. And between black holes, my sister's contorted face, twisted in pain hangs before my own. And then he was back and we were kissing in the elevator. I slid to the floor, purple with tears and insisted that I was not a tramp. But my chronology is wrong, still. And smiling Indian faces that I did not know, and the long and narrow smelling hallway. And my sister cried and I struck her with my words and my bloody fleshless fingers, and then we were back inside, where all was quiet. And who would be in his bed that night? The blue carpet stretched on endlessly, and I only knew that it couldn't be her. And the jagged patterns of the wooden bookshelf fell into the mirror, where I caught the reflection of my blackened mascara-streaked cheeks and burning pink eyes, as I spun around in endless circles in some imagined gypsy dance. And their anxiety was everywhere... they surrounded me like vultures... all of them against me! And I felt myself falling from hundreds of miles above. I knew it was coming, and anticipated it somewhat orgasmically.
"I am going to pass out now," I said.
I wondered what year it was. My face was scarcely two inches from a book. The book was blue and it matched the carpet. I counted that it was the third one on the shelf, and my head swayed dangerously closer and closer. But wait! It was the carpet, and my cheeks scraped against it in blackness. My mind had abandoned me when I needed it most; or rather, I had killed my own mind to numb my heart.
The next morning, I awoke to the hell of consequence.
Happy 1999.
Tuesday, December 29, 1998
AIR7 Declares His Love
Oh God, the weirdest things have been happening! Yesterday I spent the whole day with AIR7. We went to the mall where I exchanged the watch that BigSis got me (it broke) and he got Brandi a Christmas present (a silver bracelet) and then we went to "Play it Again Sports" where he bought a golf club. Then we went to the bank and then drove to the city. I dropped him off at Haven and then went to my appointment with Dr. G. After that, I went back and cleaned my room for three hours and then AIR7 and I met to go out.
First we went to the Heights for dinner and then I walked him through the reenactment of "the arrest" night. Then we headed down to Cafe Wha. It was really crowded there, though, and I had to pea, so we went to a nearby bar called Off the Wagon. We were there until about 2:30 AM (on screwdrivers and Long Island iced teas).
Anyway, it gets king of blurry from here on in. We took a cab back and somehow it was worked out that AIR7 was coming back to my place. I think we were "comfortable" in the cab. Anyway, when he came up we fooled around for four hours straight and I gave him a blow job. It was so weird. He told me that he has been really, really in love with me for at least two months now, but that he couldn't say it. He said that he had dreamed so many times about being with me because he really loves me.
God, I don't know what to think... He asked me if I love him in that way too and I didn't really answer. I don't really want to think about it... He asked me if he kissed me in the morning if I would kiss back, and he regretted that I was drunk.
Anyway, we slept from 8:00 AM to 11:00 AM and then fooled around for another hour (sober by now).
I don't know what I'm doing or what I'm getting myself into. We spent the rest of the day together and it was very "holding-hands"-ey. And we saw The Prince of Egypt, leaning with hands the whole time. When I finally drove him home, he gave me a kiss goodnight and then dashed out of the car.
I wonder if ti's really me, or if he just likes the idea of being the one who can make me happy. I"m really not sure what I think of any of it.
Oh well... I'm exhausted now, so I'll go to sleep.
Ironic life...
First we went to the Heights for dinner and then I walked him through the reenactment of "the arrest" night. Then we headed down to Cafe Wha. It was really crowded there, though, and I had to pea, so we went to a nearby bar called Off the Wagon. We were there until about 2:30 AM (on screwdrivers and Long Island iced teas).
Anyway, it gets king of blurry from here on in. We took a cab back and somehow it was worked out that AIR7 was coming back to my place. I think we were "comfortable" in the cab. Anyway, when he came up we fooled around for four hours straight and I gave him a blow job. It was so weird. He told me that he has been really, really in love with me for at least two months now, but that he couldn't say it. He said that he had dreamed so many times about being with me because he really loves me.
God, I don't know what to think... He asked me if I love him in that way too and I didn't really answer. I don't really want to think about it... He asked me if he kissed me in the morning if I would kiss back, and he regretted that I was drunk.
Anyway, we slept from 8:00 AM to 11:00 AM and then fooled around for another hour (sober by now).
I don't know what I'm doing or what I'm getting myself into. We spent the rest of the day together and it was very "holding-hands"-ey. And we saw The Prince of Egypt, leaning with hands the whole time. When I finally drove him home, he gave me a kiss goodnight and then dashed out of the car.
I wonder if ti's really me, or if he just likes the idea of being the one who can make me happy. I"m really not sure what I think of any of it.
Oh well... I'm exhausted now, so I'll go to sleep.
Ironic life...
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