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Sunday, December 7, 2008
09:26 a.m.
... four years later
9:15am. cried again. woke up after seven hours of sleep. again. either my body won't sleep past 9am anymore, or it thinks I only need 7 hours now.
snowed last night. or this morning. first snow of the year. wanted my new bike before now, but there are more important things to worry about. let's not get mad at the little shit.
like the loneliness. or how joey helped me feel better and then I felt left in the lurch because I wasn't his only internet lover. I had great ideas on what to write this morning, but then I cried. and then I modified this page so chris' name was obsolete, but present. just like he is in my life. there but not there. cold and unreachable.
feel sick today. barely ate yesterday. robbie would be mad. lonely. tired. no, exhausted. horny. fatal.
9:34am. slight ringing in my ears. haven't told my family yet that I won't be visiting for xmas. can't deal. can't deal with their manufactured stress. can't deal with insulated lives. mine is choking me.
Sunday, November 28, 2004
10:56 p.m.
hatless lamentation
What started as a simple favour to a friend ended in tragedy tonight with the loss of my Social Distortion hat.
All night I have been improvising poetry inspired by the loss of my beloved beanie, but nothing will bring it back. Not my heartfelt verse, nor my sighing, no form of dramatic pose or prose can bring my beloved head covering back onto my noggin.
If only it hadn't been raining! If only my car hadn't stalled! If only I hadn't thoughtlessly taken off my hat -- where? I DO NOT KNOW! But it is gone, gone GONE!
Oh hat. Can you ever forgive me? Furthermore -- can I ever forgive myself?
Thursday, August 19, 2004
11:12 a.m.
What's worse? Feeling outrage and indignation at a job, or just finally accepting it as having no choice?
Is it better to be stressed out and fighting for what you want, or to be calm and just accept what you don't want?
Is it alright to just let things happen? Do you have to take an active part in everything in your life, or is it okay to just let some stuff happen?
I'm almost scared to find the answer to these questions, because I don't want to give up.
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
01:50 p.m.
curiosity
How many things have I forgotten?
What did I leave behind? What atrocities do I have to look forward to just because I didn't remember to do something important?
I make lists, then lose them. I make mental notes, then forget them anyway. I am so frustrated. What can I do to recall the things that are important to me? I can't walk around with a notebook and pen forever. I can't take pictures of everything.
Zap my brain, please. I think it needs it.
Saturday, April 10, 2004
11:20 p.m.
the answer:
sometimes it is enough to just not be beaten down.
never let them win.
Saturday, April 10, 2004
08:23 p.m.
Every day, I ask myself, "Self, what can you do to make this world a better place instead of just complaining about how much it sucks?"
And every day, I draw a blank.
Thursday, March 25, 2004
01:31 a.m.
sad
sometimes I wonder what it was like for my friends when I was in the hospital. I can't remember much at all from that time. I don't remember who visited me, who didn't visit me, who called, who didn't call.
what I can remember is kind of fuzzy, with random edges sticking out. a cinderblock in fog.
I remember sharyn and dave, but only because she had to remind me. at this point I'm not sure if it's an actual memory, or my vivid imagination painting them there. I remember carissa, jared, alex, and sharyn. I can't remember if anyone else was with them. alex drew me. I remember luke, bringing me his walkman and a long beach dub all stars tape he'd made for me. he didn't know my last name, and when he went to see me, he asked for "the bald girl" or something like that. I miss him.
I remember an ambulance ride to the mental ward, I remember fear, I remember crying. I don't know why I am digging this up. I don't know why it is all coming to surface.
there is so much I know I don't remember. I wonder what has happened that I can't even remember not knowing.
I wonder how my friends felt.
I wonder what life outside the hospital was.
I imagine it was much the same as it ever was.
Wednesday, December 3, 2003
04:51 p.m.
something brutal must be done.
I've been wondering for quite some time what the point of all this is. how did people get to this stage, why have we allowed convenience to rule our lives? how could we be so short-sighted?
furthermore, why hasn't anyone learned from the past shit that has happened? why are we continuing on in our stupidity? why are people so obsessed with being dominant, with having power, with being "stronger, better, faster?" why does everything have to be disposable, single serving, self-serving, and more wasteful? whatever happened to caring about the community as a whole, and not just how it benefits you?
we need a massive revolution, something much bigger than I can comfortably conceive of. we need to rip apart the wal-marts and mcdonald's. we need to take to the streets and fuck anyone who lives in a house three times larger than a person down the block. we need to overrun those enormous mansion homes with kids who are going to make them into houses of art-- not homes with dead artist's work in them. homes that are just luxuries rather than essentials.
fuck luxury. fuck comfort. fuck conformity. fuck it all, because it isn't fucking working.
Wednesday, October 22, 2003
01:55 p.m.
my father.
I remember my father teaching me to drive a car, extolling the virtues of honesty. for a man who held such beliefs so highly, he kept so much from his children.
or at least from me.
when I was too young to ride horses on my own, I would sit behind him in the saddle and hold on to his belt. my family used to go for group trail rides. I think we even sang songs.
my mom would bake bread and sit it by the wood stove to rise. I used to put my gloves on top of the kerosene heater to warm, or on the slate around the wood stove. my cat would sleep in my bed with me every night, no matter how many times I tried to push her out. she died earlier this year and I miss her. it was a month before my father told me, and then it was only because I asked how she was.
I wonder if he'll call me on christmas. I wonder if he'll try to call me for my birthday. I wonder if he regrets what he has done to his family and himself.
how can he live with himself, having never met his granddaughter, who is now nine months old?
it is admirable, how he replaced his old family with a new one. the newest in convenience -- already formed families, bought in whole, ready to supplant any other family that just couldn't live up to your standards or that made you feel too guilty.
fuck the past.
maybe I'll just buy a new future.
Monday, September 22, 2003
11:42 p.m.
wishes == candlesticks
sometimes things just seem so pointless and stupid. I feel so far away from everything I care about, from everything I could care more about. so much of life just feels wasted and useless. what can we do when faced with such numbness and anger? who can we turn to but ourselves and each other?
oh, I don't know what to do anymore. I'm not sure I ever did. times come that just put everything in perspective. someone finally says all these things I've been waiting to hear, and it just doesn't matter to me. get what you want and move onto the next thing. who's to say who deserves what?
a friend far away suffers and I'm stuck here. everywhere people suffer for their own reasons, reasons I can't pretend to understand or empathize with. things I am not touched by but almost wish to be.
if I could leave it all behind and just focus on nothingness, would I? I could at any moment, but I won't. it seems to me that apathy is the big destroyer in the world, that action can fix more than passiveness, that it's so much more difficult so it must be right.
and I've ceased to make sense because all I want to do is cry right now, and I'm not sure that I can exactly pinpoint why, except that others I know are hurting and if I could I'd take that away from them and swallow it as my own.
Monday, September 22, 2003
02:30 p.m.
What is reality?
Think about all those questions you ask yourself from time to time. What is god? Why do we go to war? How is it that some people are spontaneously cured of fatal diseases while others rot in hospital beds? Where does insanity come from?
Thinking of these questions, I find myself constantly going back to one of two analogies. The first is that we are all part of a computer program. The other is that we are all in one huge movie and don't realize it. It's like one of those alternate universe types of things. Think about it.
Who is God? The Designer. And programmers and digital artists are his angels. Or the Director, with set builders and designers creating his vision.
Why do we go to war? Video games. Some of them are just puzzles, some of them are first person shooters. Or, they needed to change the storyline for a little while, spice things up.
Diseases? Computer glitches. People who get sick and die early are poorly programmed. Or, to add drama and heartache for the audiences in the theatre.
Insanity? Again, scrambled data. Someone was malconfigured and went haywire. Or, the writer didn't feel like putting a lot of background story into the character, so they just said 'this is the way he is', with no explaination.
The parallels between what so many of us call entertainment to our real lives is scary. How about we take RPGs? What if we're all characters in the mind of some really fanatical Role Players? People with a lot of power have high stats or have good politicing skills. People who are only good at one thing are meant to serve the storyline.
It's eery to me. This was, of course, brought to the forefront of my mind when I started watching the Matrix, but I'd considered it many times before. How about deja vu? Well, someone restored an old saved game. Why do we have such strange dreams? Memory leaking into other applications.
Now the question I really have to ask myself is whether these so called artificial constructs are mimicking our real lives, or are our real lives mimicking some grander machine that we all are a part of. If we are all part of a grander machine like that, where does it end? Does it end? Or is it some contiuous spiral of worlds and universes, each encapsulated within the next? Could we ever ascend?
My guess is that we subconsciously create things that mimic our world, because otherwise we'd have no way to relate to it. But some times, the 'real' world just feels fake, and poorly scripted.
Saturday, September 13, 2003
10:00 p.m.
the mystery of vinyl.
the only time tom and I went to baltimore, we went to sound garden. I got chris the newest common rider cd, though I debated for a bit between the cd and the record.
chris prefers cds for their practicality, and for the most part I agree. there's something romantic about a record, though. something about the scratch of the needle and being able to visibly see where you are on an album.
if they still sold vinyl for significantly cheaper than cds, there's no doubt I'd have a huge collection. that's why I got a record player - cheap music. however, vinyl isn't five dollars anymore. for two dollars more you can just get the cd. what's the point of getting a more romantic, but less useful, form of the music? I'm not looking for scene points here, I just wanted to save money.
I always had this idea that you couldn't really appreciate punk music unless you had it on vinyl. one of my ideals of a punk was a huge record collection. just one reason of many why I can't consider myself to be a punk. ridiculous to have such opinions, I know, but I can't help it.
someone give me some vinyl. I know it's late to be starting a collection, but I can't help it. I want to be addicted.
I want to sit in a darkened room, listening to the sound of a record spinning.
I want to invite people over to listen to records.
I want.
Friday, September 5, 2003
10:18 p.m.
la petite mort
think of all the little deaths we put ourselves through as we grow up. all the times I've felt like I couldn't go on, like there was no way this could continue. not because it was bad, not because shit kept happening, but because everything just kept going. the times I felt like death was the only thing that could endure.
all the times I've killed myself, all the times I've died. the relationships that have ended on bad terms and took pieces of me, pieces it felt I couldn't survive without. all the memories I have that make me die inside a little bit to remember. towers and kisses and nights walking and dreams entrusted. secrets shared. now made meaningless and dead.
think of all the little deaths, think of all the killing we do to survive on a daily basis. how many people have died because of me? how many lovers have I left in my wake? how many times have I been reincarnated as myself because I can never fully give up?
all the little deaths, all the broken dreams, all the rotten hearts, all the empty places. every year, every day, every moment. with every memory, killing a little more.
hacking out chunks of myself until I can think about it without feeling pained. bleeding out the poison. waiting until the time when his name doesn't make me have to turn my head.
times when seeing mindless people walking around doesn't make me want to shake them just to hear their heads rattle. a day when the fact that every other person I pass is talking on a cell phone doesn't make me feel like screaming. dreams of not wanting to strangle skinny girls because they shave off everything except their long flowing blonde hair. not hating the government. not hating society. not being subjected to constant ignorance. not being ostracized.
a chance to connect to someone and stay connected. not lose what I've found. not have them change everything about themself as soon as they turn from me. not hurting. not dreaming. not killing.
waiting. dying. enduring.
little deaths.
Friday, August 8, 2003
04:23 p.m.
something new is coming.
Friday, July 18, 2003
01:10 a.m.
it would be nice to feel sane again.
to have control.
Tuesday, July 8, 2003
12:04 a.m.
I sat on her stoop and did the old thing. the 18 year old thing, the dance with the safety pin up my arm, just under the symbol I'd had permanently inked there to remind me of why I shouldn't do what I was doing. It stopped my tears, it calmed me, just like it used to when I was tired of skateboarding alone. tired of being alone.
I did the dance with my fists, then, hitting the thing that hurt me most. I lashed out physically because my brain couldn't figure out the words to describe what I was feeling. I couldn't make anyone understand, so I just used stupid terms that I ended up regretting anyway.
I've been depressed for the last month at least, and I don't know if anyone even cares. I think I might care, but it's really hard to say.
lots of things are hard to say, especially "I'm sorry," and "I was wrong."
Sunday, June 29, 2003
10:34 p.m.
it's official.
kurt is insane.
earlier tonight, after watching the news, he yelled "I AM THE BUTTERFLY" and ran off into the street. I'm not sure where he went, but he was gone for a couple minutes. Maybe he just ran around the block. Who can say? He returned and said something cryptic, then ranted some more about what had been on the news. He had this frightening, insane look in his eyes.
sometimes the drama gets to me. it's just excessive.
the news, yeah, it's pointless. who gives a fuck about some kids having a lemonade stand? who really wants to hear some blonde bitch's "witty" comment about said kids? why the hell do I need to worry about how to make my affluent upper middle class white home burglar-safe? do burglars not watch the news?
everything is so disgustingly dumbed down. people are morons. people are kept scared. the news reported was definitely only chosen to frighten people. not only that, there was no coverage on the shit continuing in Iraq.
imagine that.
let's just keep the masses ignorant and scared - it's easier to control them.
who's the insane person now?
Thursday, June 26, 2003
12:17 a.m.
oh oh oh
everything is winding down now.
what will a week bring me?
what has it brought me?
I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.
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