LINKS
This is yet another thought page. I'm tired of having just one, so I added another one... a lot of this is taken from my journal, so don't expect it to make sense.
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Sometimes I look around at the world, all these people, and wonder if people are really happy. Maybe I would be happier with drugs. I think maybe I would be because I would not remember.
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If you starve yourself to death the high is similar to heroin. It's like an endorphin... it's a crazy idea. I would be better off doing heroin.
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I woke up today feeling strangely happy. I don't know what it was, but I think whatever accounted for the change was miraculous. I woke up and realized that I don't really need anything at all to be happy... just myself. I realized I have awesome friends and I also realized I might get to have weed and vodka tonight (aka soda and kool aid) which is very awesome. Full of awesomeness. So..yeah. I realized why I cannot stay with a person. I get bored... but I like to get bored first, which sometimes takes awhile. I don't think people should dump me. After all, I'll probably eventually get tired of them; can't they just wait until that happens? If someone dumps me it makes me want them more. It brings back the "chase" element to the relationship. the "gotcha" element is fun... even routine is fun for a little while, but then I get bored of it. I do like relationships. It's not that I don't. I don't want to get bored. I don't want the person I'm with to start grossing me out. It just seems to work that way a lot of the time.
Some of the clothes people wear today are so boring. I need a genuine hippie boy .. or at least an interesting person. I know so many interesting people, but hell, you can never know too many people. I wonder what Julian would have been like sometimes. I wonder if I would have gotten tired of him too? Probably. I do not think it's really a good idea to spread it around I can't stay with a person. I'm sure that if I could the perfect guy I could stay with them. Julian's appeal went down when he messed up on a few questions. At least he was honest. I suppose that counts for something. I think I am over him enough to really decide what I think of him. He was pretty sexy and had a really nice smile. He had a nice voice too. Maybe it could have been a bit deeper but I liked it. It's kinda fading though. I don't really remember it all that well. He sure did stay on the phone for a long time. I liked it, but I have this thing where I let people get off the phone with me, rather than getting off the phone with them. I guess I feel less guilty then, but I also feel rejected sometimes. It’s not like I actually want to stay on the phone... but I don't want them to not want to be on the phone with me because I'm a two sided bitch. I guess I'm a strange person. Correction: I know I'm strange. He had some interesting views. I liked that. I liked that he was tall. That was nice. I also liked how lanky he was. I tend to go for skinny guys, but I don't know why. I'm not skinny at all.
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I wonder if Nick is anorexic. I worry about it at times. Probably not, he eats, it's just he is really unhealthy in his choices of food and I wonder if it's for a reason. Probably. Everything is for a reason, even if people say nothing about their reasons. Sometimes I don't think they are even aware of the reasons. Nick seems to judge his beliefs on food based on the way candy tastes. At least by judging fruit that is his view on it. Candy doesn't taste like the real thing though. I wish it was summer so I could eat fruit again. I love nectarines. Peaches are good too; the tiny hairs brushing against the roof of my mouth, scratching and tickling my throat as it slides down. Watermelon is good too. Squishy sweet.
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Lint is a strange word. Pocket lint. I wonder where it comes from? Why it even exists.
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And it is going on again. This insane chicken scratch parading inside my head, suffocating me. I wonder if I really am going crazy.
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We sat at lunch and Nick accused me of not valuing our friendship enough to leave the cold for him. He knows I love him. Silly Nick. The new day leaks in a little faster every day.
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I imagine conversations in my head where he'd say something along the lines of... I really don't understand you at all. Your pointless attempts at reconciliation. Fuck you. I want no part in your advances or your life.
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The pen leaks through the paper a little more each day like whatever is breaking my heart. Are you done breaking my heart? Whoever, whatever you are.
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I have begun keeping a straight face. I used to be more smiling. I do not believe that is the correct word to use in that situation, but I cannot think of what the appropriate word would be. I miss my thesaurus. It runs through my mind several times a day.
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Everyone thinks of me as a geek but in the words of Crispin Glover, I cannot be a geek because, although I have done strange things, a geek by definition is someone who eats live animals, which I have never done.
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Corey's hair pokes up from behind the corkboards in casa.
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I cannot continue in this way. After this I am shutting off. I really cannot do this anymore. I share but I continue to hurt. We must do something and fast. Even if it is simply hiding out somewhere for a month... a few weeks... something. Anything I cannot continue in this manner. I do not know how your life is going but my own is not going very well. Julian thinks I'm a freak, Florida’s flashbacks are coming back. Things are falling down around me and I need an escape. Maybe my aunt would let me hide out in her house for a few days.
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No, I don't suppose I can even take Nick. I must go on my own. Tomorrow and Thursday... maybe Friday. Would that work? Nothing extremely important is happening in school this week and I think I am having a breakdown. I don't want Julian to think it's because of him. It is the only thing I can do. I want to tell ____ but I cannot tell him either. I do not know. I am shutting off, telling things only to blank pieces of paper. I will confide in my aunt perhaps. She is the only one I can trust in this world of insanity, incongruities. News travels. I need a slight vacation from the world. We are all blotted out eventually, steel wool working away at the rust. Everyone has their own agenda, their own understanding. Some people are not ready for this world, not cut out for it. I cannot help but pray for some illness to knock me out for awhile. I could start over. I am selfish not to take Nick with me.
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If only I could figure out what this world is about... why people ignore people why continue to hurt each other. I ignore Julian but I don't hate him. It makes no sense to me. I ignore him as he avoids me. It's not as if he is making any effort to talk to me anyway.
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Nothing has really happened. Nick is threatening again. If he goes I will go. How could I survive without him? He is really the one person I tell most everything... only no one knows about __. It's a secret and will remain that way. I don't want Nick to go away.
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I wish I could go home. I continued waking in the move Delicatessen, which we saw on Saturday night at the Ragtag. I woke in the confusing parts, such as when there were men in rubber suits coming out of trashcans. I felt as though I was on some sort of drug trip because I could not fully comprehend that it was a film, not reality.
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Occasionally words will simply pop into my thoughts. the word obliterate, which means to rid. Subliminal messages, maybe?
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I realized at any possible moment I could die. Imagine... walking down the hallway I could trip, hit my head against a locker hard enough to pass out and on the way down crack my head against the tile floor, killing me.
There is this endless cycle of hunger.
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Another day. The weeks go by in a blur. A month since he started ignoring me, two and a half years since Florida, or has it been three and a half?
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Now you and I have something more in common. They think we are both crazy. The only thing is, you are a movie star and I'm most likely to simply be a failure. Corey, Ben, and Julian all think I'm crazy. There are probably more but I don't know about them. I wonder how many people do think I'm crazy. I've been thinking of it a lot, but to determine if I am really crazy I have to understand what determines insanity. I don't know if I believe in insanity.
I wonder if it's possible to know you at all? I do wonder what you think about and if you are really as interesting as you seem. Everyone says you are creepy. That is based on looks and interviews. I really need to find someone who thinks like I do. I don't know where to find someone like. My toes are freezing. Actually it's my feet in general. I decorated my converse with words. Words words words. I need my thesaurus.
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Remembering summer. Lindsay and Katie are so happy all the time. It makes me envy them, how carefree they are. Lindsay worries about clothes. She complains about only having clothes to think about. Sometimes I wish I only had clothes to think about.
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After first hour I walked past Julian in the hallway and looked away, avoiding his eyes. I cannot bear to look at him, which is strange. I don't understand how I can think the way I do. His hair was perfect ...again. Go figure. It's always perfect, even when it's flipping out at the sides. No static like my hair. He thinks I am crazy. It would be nice to have something in life and be able to look back on this and laugh. I do not know if it will ever happen. I keep feeling as if I should be having different emotions than I am having and different thoughts. I feel so much that I wish I could forget. It smells like a mix of celery and dried sweat. It reminds me of Nick (ex). The way we used to go to Gunthers so much, and it was hard to drag him away from it. He was so nice. I wonder what happened because now he seems to simply hurt me. I don't know why he wants to. I suppose because I hurt him. Did I? He acts like I didn't at all sometimes. If he isn't affected, how is it possible to fall out of love so quickly? Maybe love is simply an illusion. I wonder if I could ever be in love forever? I get scared I will become a drifter.
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Lindsay and I bowled badly today. First game we didn't even clear 100. We got 93 first game. 104 second game. The other team beat us. We played Shawn so I got a few hugs. He likes Lindsay more and hates me. It's quite obvious. Wish someone liked me, but I'm through with chasing people around. It's really far too much work and I'm too tired to do it anymore. I wish it was possible to hide out at my aunts for a few days. Maybe I could next week, although I am not really sure if she would let me. My studies are going well. I could catch up easily. I would miss social things... what was happening with who and such, but I do need a break, even if it is only for one day.
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we wander hallways in reverse
forcing brass keys
into unmatching locks
rusted by sea-salted rain
picking pills off moth-eaten coats
we flick at the balls of lint
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secret apologies (mixtures of people and places)
You flood my mind, your affections bursting along my seams. My entire soul is filled with your scent, sweet smoke filling my nostrils are screams of the past, ever present prodding me, pushing me to breaking points beyond my control. I continue to write feverishly as your accusations prove false, your own secrecy ruining our passions.
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You plot against me, planning my demise on white lined paper, tiny words scrawled
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Don't ask me why I am writing you a letter. I don't know ... just lonely I guess. I've written too many diary entries, too many pointless poems. Now I'm on to writing you a pointless letter
How are you? I'm... you know I don't even know if I should tell you how I am considering I'm not sure how I feel myself. I can tell you what I am doing. That is not something that can be questioned much. We had a senior assembly and so I am now sitting in this room with people from my bowling class.
I've been thinking a lot lately. I don't really know why but sometimes you pop into my head. I wonder if you even remember me. I vaguely remember running into you downtown whenever it was... I think I've seen you there more than once, but my memory is shot. I don't even remember my dreams anymore, which is sort of agitating in a way. I used to remember my dreams. Almost so much so that it was annoying. Now I don't remember them at all.
I just realized I've been out of it for awhile now... oops. I keep blanking out and I don't really know why. Maybe it is because I have a cold. I thought it was over but apparently not because yesterday I woke up with a sore throat. I always think about saying home from school but never actually do.
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Thanksgiving..... It's like the piss left caked in tiny droplets on the toilet seat that are impossible to wipe off with toilet paper so you must use your fingernail and the bacteria is then trapped under your fingernail. The only way to get it out is to run your teeth in the crevice.
The men are lying like beached whales sprawled across the couch, while the women upstairs chatter mindlessly about the year. I'm lying on the carpet, my cousin grabbing at my sweater, tugging at it in hopes of coercing me into yet another game of dress up. "You be the man," she says in a stern tone, and then claims the fame.
It's vomit splattering into the toilet.
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pinwheels interlock
lacing pink bracelets to polyester
cracked tile leading to darkened classrooms
as an old man on the corner of 10th
mutters indecipherable slurred words
running callused hands through thick graying hair
a forty year old man in a striped pinsuit
buries his head in his hands
sobbing as a computer screen glare
scrolls through green stock points
continuously circling
he pulls the metal trigger
and time stands still
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I'm praying for a catastrophic event... because that is my only hope. If something like that happens, there might be a slight chance of this avoidance stopping.
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I have come to realize that it must be the beginning of the end. I wonder when the end is. Sometimes I feel as if I am dying. I wonder if I am. I hope I do at times but I do not believe I actually want to die. If I do I am gone. Nothing is good nothing is bad. Everything is routine.
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I decided I should start ice fishing. Funny idea, ice fishing.
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What do you collect? Dust.
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Sometimes I wish I cared more. I wish tests mattered to me. I over analyze things. That is my downfall. I sit trying to form the world into a perfect sphere, hammering down the mountains... chipping at them - dull toothpick against granite. I wish I could be the type of person to stop thinking.
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Kablam. I'm thrown up against the lockers again and I slide to the floor, migrating in the dust. I catch my breath enough to try to blurt out for him to stop, but it's really not quick enough, as I receive another blow to my lower back.
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I almost stayed home today. I cried myself to sleep last night...without really knowing why. I wanted to stay home but really could not because I had bowling with Lindsay and did not want to leave her alone. So here I am.. at school. I really need a mental health day. I am so tired. Drew a flower last night for Aaron. Josh and I talked of running away to England. I asked if he wanted to run away. I'd go with him. It's crazy... I haven't met him and he is on so many drugs, but I trust him for some demented reason. I wish there was someone out there that wrote things and thought like I do. I am so incredibly cold. I feel as if I am naked but I have a coat, a tshirt, overshirt, jeans, socks, shoes....I cannot really understand why I am so cold but that's the way it goes.
I need to get another typewriter. I don't know exactly how to obtain one. I have two already but the ribbons do not work. Perhaps I could buy a type writer ribbon online at ebay.
I deleted the Ben song and put up the rose picture. I suppose it isn't a rose.. more like an iris or some sort of flower.
SG seems to be deep... I do not know if he really is but he seems to write a lot. I wonder if he actually writes a lot or if he just seems to. I cannot know him because he has a girlfriend and it would look like I was hitting on him if I introduced myself again. I don't want to cause problems. I wonder if he's heard I'm a freak too? Probably. I wish I was not considered one but it is my own fault for being one, for making mistakes.
My eyes try to let liquid out. I want to be in the peace corps. That would be good, though it does not solve anything.
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Another day passes and I walk by you in the hallway, your hair curling ever so slightly. We ignore each other, at night I tell you my deepest secrets without even knowing why. I dream of others.
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I run to you though you cannot protect me, cannot help me, ignore the problem. No solution. We run along, fingering the absolute, raping the illusion of innocence we worked so hard to achieve.
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I wish I could be a lesbian or bi sometimes. Instead I am unable to cross over. Unable to bring myself to love. Closing myself off I appeared to share everything when in reality I was so far gone, holding back information, picking my words carefully.
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Close your heavy eyes, so thin now I am consumed with jealousy. Too dramatic. I only wish I could be skinny.
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Another day passed. Psychopathic.
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Bags under my eyes increase daily. Everyone seems to think I am simply going to bed later and later, as if I really want to stay up until all hours of the night, as if it is some kind of perverse pleasure of mine to have bags under my eyes. As if I want bloodshot, puffy eyes. Only Aaron knows why. Only Aaron out of everyone. I don't really care anymore. I'm just going through the motions, writing more than ever. If only I could understand this seemingly sudden progression... but really it has been a slow progress.
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Friday. It goes by minute by minute and I hope the school day is a blur. My mind keeps wandering to Crispin Glover, wishing I could read some of his poetry, listen to his CD. It's like an attempt to become closer, to somehow be in on his life, when really I am not in it at all, nor will I ever be in it. He is incredibly brilliant. If only I could find someone half as brilliant and I would be really happy. I need more writing people to converse with. I am down to none. I wonder if it is possible to get into contact with Crispin Glover?
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Erik told me it was not impossible to get into contact with Crispin and I should search for his address through a website. I wonder where to find one. I wonder if one is hidden... somewhere... or if I can by any chance find some way in which to contact him. I am yearning for ice to chew on. Something. Anything.
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My head feels tight... stretching to breaking points. It's as if someone is applying pressure to my head, pushing it inwards.
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She always was a capricious little bitch. They'd sit on the mound of clay, pretending to be princesses until their mothers stood in the doorways and yelled for them to come to dinner. There was never really any dinner at all. It was just a makeshift excuse for their descent home, skipping down the gravel road, feet digging into the gravel, spitting it backwards. When the excuse stopped they had to run home fast, their minds filled with images of monsters chasing after them, imagining pounding footsteps, running faster, the footsteps still pounding. The footsteps were their own, echoing up to their ears. Never slowing down for a second. The trees whizzing by, blurbs of consciousness. Spinning, a desire for something more but nothing coming from it.
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Craig sort of looks like an anime character. At least from the side. It is interesting. I like his hair.
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Today Mackenzie asked me what I write down in my notebook. She asked me if I write about her. Some I suppose. Not too much at all. I wish I looked like her.
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Paige is nodding but there is really nothing to be nodded at.
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We went downtown and I felt annoying. I always feel so fucking annoying. My voice is annoying, my thoughts are annoying. Everything about me is creepy and annoying. Craig asked me if it bothered me that Corey thinks I'm crazy. Maybe it shouldn't. It still does.. that they all think I'm crazy. I wish I could lie and say it didn't. I can...have been... but it does matter for some reason. I'm not good enough to have it not matter perhaps. I wish I was a better person. Something. If Julian ever finds this he would just tell me to stop writing about him. Stop drawing anime, stop writing, stop making up songs. His note seems like he's telling me to commit suicide. I wonder if he thinks it would be better that way. I wonder if it really would be better that way. I don't want to think about him any more. I wish he would stay out of my thoughts. He hates me anyway. I never devoted a website to him but he thinks I did. I don't want his pity. It's my own fault. You can't replace someone with someone else. It's 2:19 in the morning and I suppose I'll go to bed.
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I am sitting here thinking.. It’s Sunday. Sometimes I really hate Sundays. I think Thursday is the best day of the week because it's before Friday, so you have something to look forward to, but most of the week is over, and the next day is Friday. I don't think Friday is the best day of the week because on Friday the wait is over and before you know it the weekend is over and we start this cycle all over again. I don't understand school. I don't understand the people in school. Sometimes I sit there and look around and wonder what the hell I am doing in school at all. All these people wander the hallways, each with their own agenda, like the world, and I cannot tell what they are thinking. I wonder if anyone thinks. It doesn't seem like it. It might be nice to be free from thought for a little while. It's so dumb, even when I am drunk I am thinking. I've never been so drunk that I didn't know what was going on. Granted, I've probably cut it pretty damn close, but not all the way there.
I was so antisocial last night when I was drunk. I don't know why. I just kept swimming into the corner and staying there. I kept getting flashbacks. I wish I could just be a normal person for once and not get flashbacks, not feel uncomfortable around people. I think that'd be nice.
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I keep thinking about how nice it would be to have someone there for you. I'm doing okay though. I have my guitar. That's all I really need. Guitar and friends and music. Music goes hand and hand with the guitar though. Sometimes it's nice to just relax and listen to other people's music.
I don't believe in saying something isn't music. Everything is music. Pushing buttons on a microwave can be music, dropping pebbles into a clay pot can be music. It's all relative.
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I wish I wasn't so paranoid all the time. It really does suck. Paranoid of guys in general, paranoid of getting hurt (of course that doesn't stop me), paranoid of myself. I'm so paranoid of things, I should just start naming things I'm not paranoid of. I think it would be easier. I'm not paranoid of strawberry jello.
Jello is such a strange word..
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My teeth feel strange today. Last night we rented a hotel again. (I feel like I should be recording more day to day events in my life.) We went skinny dipping in Paige's pool with the lights off. I like swimming naked. We had the door open and the cold air reacted with the cold air and formed these misty clouds above the water....it was beautiful.
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I wonder if playing this song on repeat for so many days is going to cause me to have a breakdown? I guess we can only hope for the best.
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Sometimes I feel so lost and I wish I could understand what is happening to me. Welcome to hell. I wonder if this is hell? I am happy with my vodka. Does that count for anything? I'm not really even happy with my vodka. I think way too much. Is thinking too much possible?
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Today is my birthday but it seems to be just another day. Nick got mad at me. Actually a more accurate representation of his anger would be to say he is still mad at me. He was mad Saturday night because I got drunk. He said it was annoying how I was in the corner all night. I was thinking...and also having flashbacks.
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Politics is definitely not at home. Instead it's every person for themselves. I would say every man for himself, but that would be a sexist remark. Every person supposedly has a say in everything, but like politics, the system has become corrupt. The hot water is supposed to be distributed equally but often people forget and you must grimace and bear it. At times it's hard to do so, but by fighting you get nowhere. Either way you lose. If you give up on the fight it makes you wonder if next time you will allow them to use you.
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Another Monday. There are so many things wandering about my head. SL and I have not really talked much. I wish I could talk to him, not that we really ever talk. Supposedly he is brilliant. I do like his personality. I just wonder what he thinks. I wish I could understand him, among others. I wish I could understand many people, although I should not care at all.
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My folder is falling apart incredibly. Tearing apart so much so it doesn't really hold things. Maybe a poem on that? Fraying at the edges...
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Sometimes I look around at this world, trying to figure it out. I do not know if I ever will know this world. Instead I am left confused, too many questions in my mind.
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Lindsay and Katie gave flowers, candy and a very nice card. It has Mr. Glover on it. I wrote him a letter but not know if it will reach him or not. Probably not and I should not expect a reply, but it would be nice if it did.
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I seem to like scruffy guys. Creepy guys too. Clean and creepy. Someone who seems to be intellectual. They are labeled as creepy, but really are just eccentric most of the time. Granted, most of my ideas do not work out. I wonder if I am judgmental? I see how he came to his conclusion on my being a freak but I could do better. I suppose chances only come once. You cannot have fifty chances. I give people chances. Too many chances. I always give people another chance, believing they will change, I'm not trusting at all to some people but to those I trust I trust too much, giving too much.
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I wish I could go home. It is so nice there in my bed. When I go home I will sleep for awhile. Only three more hours. Thankfully. Oh and lunch, but lunch doesn't count. It's not the same as busywork.
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Need to watch more movies, get aquatinted with film. I wonder if Nick is still mad at me. I hope not.
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He sleeps. His mouth is partially open, arm outstretched. His forehead is pressed against his faded jean jacket. His fingernails are short - chewed off neatly, and his finger looks to be almost infected, a torn cuticle jutting out. His breathing is slow and his face is slightly unshaven. He rubs his lips together in an attempt to moisten them. His hair is greasy, choppy. Our teacher calls on him to read the last paragraph and he jerks up. As he begins reading, he sighs, his voice gravely he clears his throat once, taking shallow breaths and then glancing at the clock on the wall. Doodles line his paper, spirals and squares. He dots his paper and brags his backpack off the pilled carpet.
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Damnation. Writing feverishly cannot save any of us. Nothing can save us.
Dreams may come but never end. Life may be a dream. Once all these dreams end all will be forgotten.
fading in and out of consciousness
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I do not feel like concentrating. Well, I feel like concentrating on my writing - not on schoolwork.
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I ram my hard plastic oar against the rushing current
wetness envelopes me
as I'm plunged into the deep thrusting waters
thrown against rocks
I breathe heavily
fighting my way to the surface
arms flailing legs bucking
I'm coming... I'm coming...
I'm gone
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Sometimes I want to pass out somewhere, in some alley somewhere. I think it'd be a great camera shot. I think in camera shots sometimes. Or pictures. It's so strange. I write too much. I should be copying down what I have written today, yesterday, the day before.. the last week or so. Instead I don't. Instead I write down nothing at all.
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I am coming unraveled.
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I walk out of my class today and see him there. It scared the shit out of me because he doesn't even go to school anymore. I ran away. I'm always running away. It's so fucking stupid. I think I lost his number he gave to me. Oops. I wrote that on the note I left him. "I lost your number. Oops. Good luck." He wasn't home when I went. We sat on the steps and discussed life. Then we walked back.
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I continue to think about vodka. Instead I must concentrate on other things. I wonder where my guitar is. I wonder if I could play it for awhile. I miss it. I miss playing, miss singing. It has only been a day since I last sung, since I last played... it seems like longer.
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I still miss Josh. It's been almost a day now since he went away. I wish I could still feel him. I close my eyes and try. I wish I could hear you love me one more time. Just as reassurance. I know you'll send for me eventually, but when will that be? Everything reminds me. I remember everything.
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Josh is leaving for Berlin today. It saddens me. I tried to contact him last night. Failed attempt. I talked to his mom for a minute and told her to tell him I called. I miss him already. I lay there last night, in my bed sprawled out, then curled into the fetal position sobbing. This overwhelming sadness came over me as I thought back on all I've been through with him. How many times I've called him crying late at night and he comforted me, making jokes until I laughed. I felt so safe, talking to him. We never went out but I always loved him. I think I always will. I'd call and he'd answer. "Joshie?" I'd whisper quietly, my head hidden beneath blankets. His music would be blaring in the background. Loud, hard, the drums like gunshots. "Mousey?" he'd whisper, his voice reverberating in my ears.
The hour hand slides past 12. I wonder if he's on the plane. Thoughts that he might have committed suicide when he was taking his nightly bath plague my mind. He poked five holes in himself last night. I'm glad I did not see the needle penetrating - scarring his perfect skin.
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