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d*land fast asleep 2002-02-07 @ 11:30 a.m. i caught H watching me sleep this morning. ....... and, the other day, my mom told me, i've been trying to figure out the meaning of life, and here you are living it random access 2002-03-18 @ 8:52 p.m. i told everyone that i�m going to have party hair all week... mostly because i�m grumpy and it makes me feel better crash and burn 2002-04-17 @ 12:48 p.m. when everything is going at a speed that seems unbearable, always, a stone will be thrown in your way. i feel smashed. chalk up another fucked year 2002-05-21 @ 9:25 a.m. it's my birthday. que the fucking marching bands. time. 2002-06-04 @ 3:58 p.m. my watch says 6:04 pm. i don't have the heart to change it back. My watered down grace. 2002-07-30 @ 3:52 p.m. Preface: This just is. Spelling and all. It seems there must be some day in the future when it ends. Anxiety over cigarettes and the number of them... (I went outside to smoke here) A bad car wreck. You can't look. Holding your hands over your eyes, you spread your fingers open, and peak through the cracks between them. Knowing you shouldn't, but that shot glass in front of you. Gold. Wet. And you toast, throwing your head back and feeling that burn all the way down your throat. SLAM! Glass back on the table. You spin. Wishing you hadn't, but your pants are laying next to the bed. Fingers splayed across your thighs, and breath in your ear. Gold. Wet. Your heart pounds, base in your ears, throwing your head back and feeling that heat... yes. Just this one time. You look. There. Still. Today. Instead of that lucid moment, you want a day full of it. Clear. Clean. People give you what you need every day. They give you what anyone would die for. People pray for the kind of shit you've had from me. I would pay eighty dollars a bag for you. Yeah. You said God. And what good does he do you there? Just. This. Once. If I was a religious woman... yeah. If. I'm just no good any more. Just one day. One clear day. One day without. Could you give me one day? Twenty four hours. It's such a small price to pay. For anything. If someone asked you for a day, what would you say? ---------------------------------------- I cannot feel sympathy. I cannot empathize. I cannot understand any other way to live but mine. To contemplate someone else's life depresses me. I do a fine enough job of that on my own. I am drawn to pain. I seek out the most hurt, the most tortured place. I take responsibility for misery. Even that of other people. It's always my fault. Always. Never. Forever. You can't get as high as I can... not with out that screaming, ripping pain in your chest. Not without the tears. I am guilty. Of only God knows what. Thank him that you don't know what I've done, or seen, or heard. I'll make myself fall in love. I listen to music for that rush. I can be obsessive with a CD. It doesn't care if I call it 50 times a day. I wear headphones because I can't share. Hearing music outside, a greater proximity, makes me feel cheated. I'm sorry, Carie. I really am. I just... didn't... I can control my relationship, if it's with something I can control. And, that's why we listen isn't it? To hear those words no other human will say. Ever. I can crush, date, love, and lose in an hour. If all you want is sterile. If all you want is intellect. If all you want is what you're missing. And, what is it you're missing? That quiet know? The silence. Yes. I had that. You weren't there. Maybe I wasn't. Maybe I was falling in love with that CD playing in the car. Maybe I took a key to my tights on New Years Eve, 1999 because I couldn't wait to take my boots off. Maybe it was in a car, maybe it was off Mission, maybe the highway. Maybe. I got high with my roommate on a cliff, looking out over the ocean. It was cold, colder than I've ever been here. That's the thing about San Francisco. The water is pretty, but you can't get in. I would pay my dollar, and ride the bus to Haight. Watching people walk. I would buy my coffee from the guy with the fucking Dodger hat, smoke cigarettes outside in the rain. I wonder if he wonders where I went. He had my coffee ready every morning at 6:30. Ash and I singing to the 80's station on the way to work. You're a fucking liar. If you ever loved me, then why would you hurt me? I knew intentions. Yes. They never matter when you're on the floor, when you're screaming in the car, or after you've slammed the door for the last time. Did you intend to fuck me? Did you intend on raping my mind? Well? I'm sorry. I can't hear you. I've got my headphones on. Someone's going to have to clean up this mess. 2002-08-16 @ 10:47 p.m. What would you let me get away with? Where would you draw the line? Would you? There are checks and balances in people's brains. Pain causes you to stop and look around, make sure what ever bit you before isn't going to bite you again. I'm off. I have lost my balance. I'm everything but afraid of you. It's never that you are scary. What makes me afraid is that you'll think I'm crazy. And, if you think I'm crazy, I have to wonder if I really am. After Just Rumors 2002-09-22 @ 12:11 p.m. This is just to let everyone know that my mother doesn't usually read this thing... not before this trip. And it's funny really. I think some of what she said has happened, but in really mysterious ways. Christ. I'm tired. And sore. Sore in body parts I didn't know existed. But, I think that's what happens when you sleep in weird angles. You're a Cars song. r e : Popularity Breeds Contempt. 10.22.02 @ 7:37 am At some time, you have to stop caring about what you've created, what you started, what you alone can finish. At some future, you can't worry about links, or credit, or respect. At some past, you can go back and look at who fumbled, who grasped, who actually found. I don't sign things on the front because it ruins the design, wrecks all of the effort you've put into it, by pissing on the lower right corner. But not you. You've signed your big goofy signature dead center in black magic marker. You'll ruin your own beauty all by yourself. r e : You know. I've got to tell you something. 11.11.02 @ 3:02 pm With baited breath... Circles. Patterns. Three years disconnected. How do you put your life into words without containing every bit into a compartment? Make it all legible, coherent to those involved. Leave out the time lines and the details. Make it as vague as possible. Cut the part where you feel left and abandoned by fate, and destiny, and all of the hocus pocus bullshit that runs your life. Leave out the details. I'm leaving as scared of my life as possible. It would have been so easy to keep it up. It would have been so easy to lie, and cry, and lie again. It would have been so easy to take a ticket to any where but here. I was a grown up. I was mature, and in this I am so proud of myself, for realizing what I want. For knowing that this was just a taste of happiness for both of us, but that we couldn't continue to devour each other, there would have been nothing left. And we both saw this. It doesn't mean that I'm not crying now more than I would have before, because I've always said it's harder to live with knowing than to live in ignorance. Friday saw me surprised. Saturday saw me hysterical. Sunday saw me in calm and happy. Today sees the mess I am. I'm not saying this to throw him on the pile of men that have watched me get undressed in half light. I'm saying this because as walked out of the airport, I saw the sky, and the sky is always blue. He is of another place that I will never know... he is of the same place my husband is. I saw the same road. This time I took a different turn. I took the turn I should have taken three years ago. And in all of this circles have been closed. Threes have been counted to three and finished. My beauty lies in something that will never be looked upon by your eyes. Now I have someone who knows what my bed feels like, where my porch is, how my cat meows, what my toes taste like. He's watched my tattoos move, and my face grin in an early morning light. At no point in time will I regret letting him into my heart. He knows he couldn't keep it. This will be worth all of the pain it will cause. . . . And so there is but one piece missing to my drama. That is someone coming back to me. I don't know who it is, and I'm afraid of seeing this, as I want it to be closed and it can't be. Until that phone call comes, until that email is in my inbox, until that car pulls in front of my house. What frightens me more is the reality that it will not happen. That a month will be spent walking on my toes, based on premonition. Quietly waiting for the other shoe to drop on my roof. Nothing will happen, because I want it so badly it scares me.
12.11.02 @ 8:34 pm All you'll ever have to do is say |