it's a lot like life

he says:

"i like who you are brianne not who you want to be and i dont really like sayin things like this to you but apparently you re not worth wasting any breathe or heartache over, since all my words go unheard and you slip farther and farther into seclusion, let me just leave you to think this over you will not succed at becoming emotionless and all your writing and other forms of art will suffer, critics will tear it apart for being completely onsided since you will have no message of substance or vision, but only black nothinness, so im sorry i cant sit here and listen to you lie to yourself but i wont do it any longer, believe what you want, bye"

________________

i'm poor, i wear cheap shoes- they blister the bottoms of my feet. i've been completely crippled. hobbling into class 5 minutes late, an hour later acing a 20 question test on obscure rulers of the middle ages. hobbling (still) out into the hallway with earphones plugged in, rejoicing. turning on my truck to run over to tax man/lady......nottt tuurrrnning onnn....stiiiiiiiill. scrambling to find the phone i've ignored for weeks.....pressing 2 + green button......voicemail: "lumpses....i know you're in theory until 10- please come save me...". trying to nap in the cab, peaches blaring in something-or-other.....answer: "where are you??" hobbling (yet again) to another red truck....slamming the door.....drinking a white mocha that the sexiest boy ever beheld made me, snickering about how absolutely cruel and evil i am with lumpses. and then dually noting the fact that the sexy boy's sperm should be bottled and sold because he's just, well, undeniably fucking gorgeous....back to class; bending over for the teacher....watching the students drooling mouths while being whipped over and over and over and over......leaving class, hobbling toward the bathroom in order to sop up the drizzling blood from my behind.....waving to that sweet curly-locked boy jon, entering the music building.....waiting, waiting, for lumpses.....aaa lady: "is janet there?" me: "yes, this is her"....loving everyone and everything, missing sweet connecticutian (or rather, new englander as he would say), traipsing (numb by now) back to the truck.....starting him up, miraculously, driving my ass home....passing out in bed with virginia. here with you.

_________________

in the shower:

i'm the one you love. no matter how subservient i may be to you in public, private, presence, i am the one you want. it is the longing for me that makes you sob alone in the dark of your room at night. your unspeakable desire for me that sweeps over you when you leave my side. your wish to humiliate me, to hold me prostrate, to have me the lesser, your want to drag me through the mud on a leash, the whipping, the argument, the hatred, that look. to drive me insane. to keep me wanting, begging for more. you love me. i know.

....this play between the sheets
with you on top and me underneath
forget all about equality
let's play master and servant

i look at you cry
binoculars to my eyes

oh, these middle-eastern men. curse the day i ever picked up The Prophet.....swooonnnnn.....i wish i had met my great aunt. she seems to have suffered from the same dis-ease. her husband was Iranian.

i kicked my ankle a million times at the park this morning. it stung, but blood didn't even occur to me. i am shocked.

other times i feel like marie antoinette. i feel sick and seem even sicker. those aspirin did a doozy on me. thank god yvonne is here. i adore that chick.

you're on the phone
you're all alone
hand to phone

new nice feeling: liking the person i'm turning into. i am the epitome of a good student. sit me down.

i've put myself in a poor situation......and i don't care so much, which is very new. i like it. extinguishing anxiety's breath on me has been trying. but now i'm basking in the glory of the arduous tale it's woven.

god, men are strrrrange. i'm not your fucking mother. new rule: my phone's off past 8. that's a lie.

revenge! he makes me weak. it's good.

how come no one's over?

Nähe des Geliebten
 -Goethe

Ich denke dein,
wenn mir der Sonne schimmer
Vom Meere strahlt;
Ich denke dein,
wenn sich des Mondes Flimmer
In Quellen malt.

Ich sehe dich,
wenn auf dem fernen Wege
Der Staub sich hebt,
In tiefer Nacht,
wenn auf dem schmalen Stege
Der Wandrer bebt.

Ich höre dich,
wenn dort mit dumpfem Rauschen
Die Welle steigt.
Im stillen Haine geh' ich oft zu lauschen,
Wenn alles schweigt.

Ich bin bei dir,
du seist auch noch so ferne,
Du bist mir nah!
Die Sonne sinkt,
bald leuchten mir die Sterne.
O wärst du da!

alright then. now, with suhmorr sanditty. crashing about to Speed of Life while attempting that....haha....we'll see.

i just can't.....jesus. "tomorrow, tomorrow" i'll sing while shuffling my fuschia feet back to the screen. everything will be done tomorrow. anytime but NOW. could you imagine a worse time than now?

did i mention the trace i conducted? no. well. would you say i'm fanciful? is that it? or am i just the town's never-ending stream of lies the locals dip their hands into when most desperate? come on....which? i am becoming so.......squared-off. i'd turn my back on anyone eventually. completely untrue, disloyal, cold, fickle to the extreme, hateful.

i devised the best metaphor a few days back. it really impressed him i think- enough that he couldn't keep his jolly-little-mouth shut. ass.

no one can beat the scandinavians. nobody. they've got the monopoly on the most sex-ridden synth sound. i've evidenced them back through at least...umm....'85? 20 years, bitches.

it's fucking cold. am i going to have to lie? these things aren't going to conjugate themselves for you. don't bother. bitches with boomboxes in their bathrooms.

love.

i never got the chance to document the convulsions. well...they happened. it was as if i'd been shivering violently in my sleep. but then, you know, woke up and it didn't stop. sick, no?

fuck.

i'm not going to share this time. greediness as king. lust, youth, all of it. i'm looking for something so specific, i can hardly see it when it comes along i am so used to the blur of the rest. jesus christ.

i'm good. possible that i'll faint the moment i attempt an upright position, but other than that....quite well.

i really can't help but feel like susanna most days.

dancing with the frogs, singing with the locusts

______________

i am dragged to the edge of the bed and the red light is switched on with a click.

blurred vision. unaware of any name or precise face.

jersey orange sheets...blood stained to a near-massacre state. lying in the puddle.

i am the first, last. twitching and pulling and ripping....sweat.

shapes designed in mourning color hung in the air behind him....my eyes shut tight. white knuckles.

this is going to be april as well?

______________

you.
?
you.
wow...
you.
of course....
you
you
you
you.
no.....
you.........

____________

drown down drown....all is drowned.

i am downed and cannot press hands to earphones hard enough. it's given up much much too easily, i understand. there is nothing like the fright felt when my phone starts to vibrate. even the owl can't help but jump. the crow- well, he doesn't do much besides peak out behind poppies and blossoms.

sometimes, with lids down, i can feel their eyes. this is worse than death.

black ribbons tied on antennas. i'm gonna study leonard cohen to the enths. and then ....waits. i am coming to realize there really is something basically wrong. what it is, i cannot comprehend as of now. maybe....umm....

addition: screaming, whistling. therefore, i've: breathing, whipping, screaming, whistling

there is nothing comparable to being alone.

knight's tour

listening to your millionaire aunt and throwing away a parking ticket you got out of town isn't the smartest thing. people with plenty of money are in a state where they can't fathom no longer having it. telling their down-and-out neice to toss a ticket isn't much to them. hindsight is 20/15.

i'm not sure about these 20-something men coming after me so fiercely. they have a strong tendency to be a bit too.....umm...expecting? they are highly imaginative, i will give them that, but....that's not always so good. assuming a 19 year old chick (that they've known for a whole 20 minutes) is willing to drive 3 hours south to be taken out on a date by them simply because they have their masters in engineering or what have you, is a bit presumptive. where are all the charming men that are fine with talking for a bit? is time really that valuable? play it cool for a bit, will you?

(obviously) the less i know of you, the more i am able to dream up. i conjure all sorts of images from your life and travels....how else could i claim a true love for you?

if my talent is as.....developed as i've heard, i must be truly hideous. OR, i am going to suffer a horribly painful life. balance, balance.

i've found common links: breathing, whipping

he works 2 hour days. so, my guts come spilling out on brown carpeted floor...pleading, "let me lie" and alls he can muster is "i can't do that" while hunched over me. i am a selfish, selfish girl. why can't i love you?

it has always been excedingly boring to write on actual happenings. what happens when i can no longer comprehend loud? i am so fickle that i find it impossible to recall things even i claim to like. it takes a very patient and soft-souled person to tolerate my company.

karen o seems to be the only one who can soothe me at the moment. bills are stagnated on this table, piles upon piles of cds, papers, textbooks.....a complete sea of misery. or rather, river. i'm a wreck.

this was really horrible. i apologize for slipping and then, even worse, broadcasting the fall.

from waters of plenty to lands of famine

alright. i HATE nice boys. fuck.... can't you just slap me around every once in a while? ignore me while i'm in a heap of tears collapsed on the floor? jesus christ. BE A MAN.

i remember seeing a william saroyan (suh-row-yan) exhibit of his things at the met when i was somwhere around 15-ish. my dad kept pointing things out and telling me "look, he was just like us." which of course was meant to cheer me up......but had the opposite effect. "fuck" i thought, "my dad and i are the only ones left."

i am more than good at laying on the guilt. don't challenge me- really. don't. i have practice with people of varying aquaintance lengths- from a few hours to 20 years. don't.

http://www.multipass-music.com/ "Camouflage-We Are Lovers" (#2)

i much much very much prefer someone ahead of me on the ladder reaching down for me opposed to someone outstretching their arm holding me in place or pushing me up. is it so awful i delight in sinking feelings?

dear god. why is this plaguing me now? why now....? why not, you know, the millions of months ago that this should have happened? i can't move. i only seem to grow into it. it's so sooo sooo sick. maybe there is something ingrained in me about beginnings- the number 1. that fucking ram.

so, it's true. i love you. i write in the hopes you will someday, somehow see it. sick. there  is no me- there is no self. there is me aside you. that's it. everything. you drove me wildly insane. you are master.

my habit is now refusing invitations out, keeping company with owls and crows, and spinning tales laboriously typed out in blinking orange rectangled measure.

i am obligated to retire to my bed at this hour. and why.....?

love

time- you take it

san francisco was overly kind to me.

went to a show, saw the vivienne westwood exhibit at the de young, found a diary in an alleyway- and returned it to its owner the very next day while on my way home. met 16 year old Peter at "Good Karma" in san jose. had tofu chocolate pie.....wow.

if this is not my favorite organ work, i don't have one. i've realized that it's starting to get a bit crowded in my wallet. it must be the travel...there certainly aren't wads of cash in there or anything....

whilst traipsing back to my lowly apartment i likened my ever-attached ipod to a quite portable iron lung. i laughed aloud at my horrid admission....maybe the old man down and across heard me. ack.

Peter was sooooo cute. he gave me a high-five for whatever reason and i just wanted to pinch his munchkin-like rosey cheeks. sweet, sweet boy.

bleach is the best substance i could think of. if ingestable, it would be the drink of the gods, i'm sure.

lovies loves...

May 11, 2006:

repressed, yet remarkably dressed

off, 9-5, 9-5, 9-5, 9-5, 9-5, off.....i would die inside a routined life.

i am so ashamed for catholicism. the idea that such a thing has remained....ugh....i am thankful for your contributions to art and.....well, that's it. you did nothing for the progression of technology, the spread of literacy, the teachings of a peaceful lovingkindness progenated by Jesus,  nothing. you have art. good job.

my constant sighing has once been compared to the ever-elongated breath of the om. can you believe i would let myself fall out of contact with such a one who would describe an action of mine in such a way? i am ashamed of myself for losing him. dear, sweet, curly-locked boy.

have i yet revealed a theme, or what? maybe speaking to my mother has a more dramatic effect on my thoughts than i had imagined....ugh.

what an avid collector of relics i am......good god. to imagine my room without piles upon heaps upon piles of worthless knick-knacks would be to imagine my body without arms. a joke, no?

san fran on friday. well. hopefully i will be outdoors enough to catch the eye of a convincing-looking woman long enough to make a tea-date or something else equally casual. or maybe i will fall in love with an unasuming gay man.

as i recall, i used to dance. A LOT. what happened? oh yes, of course. no doorlock.

sleep....loves.