Sunday, July 20, 2008

What happened:

I felt really pretty, and confident, and I wanted to get on the train, and have some really good looking boy just fall in love with me. Really, I didn't want him to fall in love with me, but you know, to just be stricken.. But when I tried to picture him, what I'd want him to look like, he was you.

So. That was strange.

The Word.


Those are words I like, because I like the way they sound, or what they mean. My mouth likes those words.

I really wanted to say "Count up," "Walk it down," "Pick it up," "Watch the set," among various other crew related phrases, today. I wanted to be on the water. I miss the sounds of the creaky old Minnesota, shit, I even miss the Burnham's Plan. Those boats were so killer. What lovely boats, indeed. I miss the smell of the river. I miss carrying around wrenches.


I got my FOOL tattoo. I really like it. They guy who did it did a really great job. I am really excited.

Only one more week-ish.

I really like a lot of bands I had forgotten I liked.

I am going to buy some fishnets.

I need another job.


Thursday, July 17, 2008

I may be a begger and you may be the queen.

She remembers the last time she saw you, before you left, and the kisses you both kept stealing from each other's mouths. She is content in thinking you really did go inside as she pedaled away, and that you did not step back outside after she believed you gone, to watch her go, instead.

Riding, she thinks about wanting to have met you under more magical circumstances. Wanting to have met you with dirt and grit under her nails, partaking in creativity of her own accord, not turning out assignments based on prompts. (Although, it is a truth the understands, that she works better this way; having a direction, and directives, and a deadline makes her work.) She is terrible at giving herself time to make things. The only things she has made recently, albeit really pretty, were the disc jackets to mix CD's for the various boys that thrust themselves into her life. She would never do this for you. It would make her feel juvenile, and she's already so young.

She pictures it, though, this chance encounter that has never occurred, and will not ever occur. You are in the White Hen Pantry, at 2 AM, and you are buying ice cream. She knows you would be talking to the clerk, whose name she would not at the time know, and would later not remember. She has been in her room, her corner, painting by the wrong numbers with the paints, and with her fingers. She got the sudden and uncontrollable desire for a Snicker's Ice Cream Bar, a feeling that often overtakes her but that she rarely acts upon. This is different, though. She is wearing the raggedy torn up jeans that her old friends wrote on, and orange converse. Her shirt doesn't matter, she didn't have a lot of special shirts, at the time. She would have been chronologically younger, but in her head, for the sake of this meeting, only you are younger, and she is the same age, although it is years and years and years ago. She takes her CD player, with some music that will undoubtedly find itself too loud to go from the headphones to her ears without escaping into the cool night. Her fingertips are caked in earth tone acrylic paints. She walks in the door, and smiles politely, because she has not seen you before, and does not know you yet. She gets her Snicker's Ice Cream Bar, and goes toward the counter. You are laughing and talking to the clerk. Her wild red hair and the paint on her fingers and hands, and some so far up as her bare shoulder would intrigue you, because in the world where she pretends to know you, she thinks you are drawn to people who exude creativity. Right know it is coming out of her ears, and when she opens her mouth to partake in pleasantries, it dribbles uncontrollably from the sides of her mouth. She takes no notice, only you would see things like that. You make a comment about her fingers, and she laughs, embarrassed, and explains, "I was painting by numbers." You look disappointed. She continues, "I paint by the wrong numbers, with my fingers." You find this excusable, and you ask how that might work, and she will gladly explain it. You begin walking home, and she won't speak up that she lives in a different, because she will like the way you speak, and smile. So she follows you the half block to your front door, and you begin to go inside. She stands and says goodbye, and names are not exchanged, or numbers, or anything that would make this encounter extend into other days and nights.

I accidentally interrupted the flow, so now back to your regular blog programming.

I am feeling oddly somber. I went to bed early, and so woke up early. When I woke up I read the second chapter from the e-mail app in my phone. It's beautiful. I will tell him this later.

I hadn't caught the sunrise from this end in a very long time, and maybe in a little while, I will collect quarters and try to go to savor and finish the rest of what I am reading, without the normal distractions.

I am done.

Monday, July 14, 2008

P P P Panic

I do not like this at all. I do not like that I am finding it difficult if not downright impossible to be distracted. I have never dealt with this before. I have a one track mind, and while your mind has limitless tracks it appears I am not on a single one of them. It appears.

I am probably wrong. But effort (albeit meager) on my part has gone unreturned. It is really frustrating that I take these things so personally. You are probably busy. But fuck. This is not a good feeling.

The one distraction that is proving to work is this Mike character. He is funny. I am excited for our Cultural hipster evening. I hope we get along. I also hope he is not a mutant or a woman.

Art has been an enormous distraction. Beautiful. I am loving this thing I am making. Also, I am thinking about being an artist's model, and diving hardcore into the art world for a while.

Sara and I were talking about be going to Milwaukee, and I am really, truly, strongly considering it. Or maybe San Francisco with Aidan. I am not feeling this city, I need a vacation, away from my family, and from the things I don't like. I want to defiantly do it when you come back, but I doubtfully will. I am not petty.

Anyhow, I sorted my bookmarks today, and feel like sharing some of my favorite bits...

I really like this one. It is just so blatant and beautiful. I find myself feeling that way a lot of the time. Or I did a lot in high school and that junk. I also completely and entirely adore how colorful it is. The large lettering and then the cursive. Beaut!

This is probably from a movie or some such, and I adore it, absolutely adore it. I love the way the wings look, I love the back ground and setting. It drives me wild. I remember almost not bookmarking it, but thinking one day I will probably like it a lot more. I am glad I did, because I was right. It reminds of me City of Angels, and Iris. And now I want to listen to that album. So I am going to.

This one of course reminds me of you. It's pretty lame how much it does, actually. Yeah. Fuck.
This one falls into the same catagory. 'Nuff said.

Who can argue with sweet nothings on cement? Not me.


I like this band.

I wanna wake up where you are.

Yikes. I am having serious trouble editing this shit.

So I quit.


Sunday, July 13, 2008


I am not too upset about all the alone time I am accidentally allowing myself, but I am starting to feel lonely.

The time really just speeds by, when I am listening to music I really like, and doing things that I like to do. I have a lot to do. I am going to see Sara and Too Much Light tonight, which will be good. I think she'll really like it, especially with her Self-Realism ideas.

I miss John. He is gone, in New Jersey, but I have been reading a lot of the things he writes, and I am really enjoying them. They are really beautiful.

Anyhow: I am way too distracted to blog.

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

Far and Near (I have a big beach bum)

Today, you are very far away from me. It is not a favored situation. I miss you.

I went to the beach with Sara, and it was so much fun. I biked and swam and had a great time. I smelled like sun, and it was so lovely.

I don't know what else.

That's all.

Saturday, July 5, 2008

I'll Never Know If I Go

Today I was excessively moody. I was hurt when told to go. I was burned. Since then I have been feeling introverted and lonely. I am at least 80% sure you meant really nothing by it. I have been spending a lot of time with you lately. A lot of time. Everyone needs to be alone. You hadn't been alone in your house for a long time. I understand.

But for whatever reason, I just wanted to be gone. I need four dollars. I wanted to blast in front of a bus. That feeling didn't last, and I wouldn't have acted on it.

I am entirely disinterested in other guys. No matter how much I try to be interested. It is almost painful. All I want is you. I am content for this to go without a name, but it should be noted that my mouth is so full of three fat words that it might burst.

Whatever. I am moody.

Do not wear those shoes, and I won't wear that dress.

Do not kiss me.

Wednesday, July 2, 2008


Recently I have been allegiant to things that I really owe no allegiance to. Not because I feel like I have to be, but because I want to be. I am enjoying the time I am getting to spend with people. As well as the time I get to spend alone.

I am trying not to dwell on shitty people and bad situations. I am tired of the bizarre double standard among certain friends of mine, that when they see certain friends once once a week, oftentimes less than that, it is okay and excusable, but if I don't want to hang out all the time, it's because I am a bad friend. I do NOT understand, and I find it to be complete and utter bullshit.

There are things I remain confused by.

Today, you were my Romeo in black jeans. I'm sure this doesn't please you. But at this point I am apt not to care.

Tonight, I am determined to be creative.

Tomorrow, I am determined to get a job.

Oddly enough, I am entirely content to be just a piece of furniture in your weird life.