Egress/Regress

175

does anyone want to go to this on Sunday?

Ross Lipman, Tobias Seamon, and Michael Barrish
4 P.M. SUNDAY, OCTOBER 3, 2004 at the Bowery Poetry Club, East Village, 308 Bowery, between Bleeker and Houston.

and now, bullshit that has nothing to do with anything:

I don't write poetry during the school year. I don't think about beauty when I'm sleeping. I dreamt this afternoon of a friend's older brother, yelling at me to retrieve a towel from the other side of a deserted swimming pool, hanging by my ankles from plastic poles.

I feel dull. I feel thick-skinned. I feel pretentious, but without the prolific narcissus. I feel lost without certain things, certain people, certain constant reminders of certain ideas.

there's a knife and a pen on my table, arguing among themselves. spectacles and molecules, bickering for precedents, for attention, for loss and unintented stupid.

other people's lyrics resonate better than my own, echoing in my chameleon head and mocking the way I stutter on paper.

It is approaching the point where, if my mother does not learn when to stop pushing, stop questioning, stop recommending things about college soon, I will go to Suffolk Community College, just to spite her. I'd probably be their first NMSC semi-finalist, they'd be fucking thrilled.

rockout

and they were walking too.

I simply don't know what to say.

regress / egress

confession: I have started sleeping with a stuffed animal again. Puppet actually, but not the creepy kind.

impression: naked fake people are scarier than naked real people.

Also, I'm fucking tired.

170, red says

I'm too much in the middle of changing everything to pause and analyze, too busy sitting around doing nothing as someone else. my room is red, and I am blonde, and a million other things are going to be different?

my room is all moved around, and I'm sleeping at an angle I haven't felt in years. I hate applications, but I'm applying myself, finally. well, not yet, but soon.

I'll stop being cryptic eventually. in the mean time, I have physics graphs to do!

my right canine feels very sharp today. Abandoned puzzle pieces often rub their soft ends hard, I am all about missing ideas.

checking in the mirror, there is nothing sharp about me, not even eye daggers!

thanking non-practicing punk-listening Jews in the middle of field hockey fields.
I swear I have something to write in me yet.

fuck yr advertising

between 7 52 and 11 33 this morning, 50 spam comments were made on this weblog.

fifty.

I don't get it. is there seriously anyone who reads this who is looking for an onl1ne c Asino or various pharmecuticals, that can't fucking find it for themselves?

I'd just shut off commenting, but then there would be nothing to validate me. I am all about the listener.

in things that are cooler news, I fingerpainted for a good half-hour in Drawing & Painting 1 today. it was good. Chatting with Monica and Brit while pretending to know something about Abstract Expressionism was theraputic, not to mention the stares at my burnt-sienna-orange-and-crimson hands. I told them I stabbed a freshman.

in things that are kinda lame news, Chris is out of town till friday, and I miss him. yep.

also, I should really post pictures of my now awesomely White Stripes-y room. yep. I should.

I am eternally talented at wasting time.
I am always evading that tangibility crash.
I am never letting up, at least when it comes to being pretentious. but hey man, that's cool. I don't really think about it, you know, when I'm listening to Cyndi Lauper and fighting with my mom. moving furniture is theraputic, but only when everyone's out of the house. one more mouthful and we will be happy then? keep screaming, cd player, I've got bookshelves to adjust.

also, it is awesome that someone got here searching for "log de femme sexy". it's good to know the French think I'm hot.

the Amazing Lea has returned from China, check it.

first day back in school today.
very tired, and I have physics homework to do, but not unhappy.
will blog soon.

painting my room! it is fun.

one entire wall and the doors are covered with graffiti, paint and Sharpie markers in the hands of high school freshmen, drunk seventh graders, or hopelessly angsty sixteen year olds. there's a hyphen in there, somewhere.

I am painting over it all with white primer today. the first coat is done, and it still shows through- "No Coffee!?" and "symbolism" and "war" with the circle/slash anti-smoking symbol, and yes, "tears" spelled backwards. the second coat is hiding most of it.

the words will be replaced by an almost non-existant green, and the south wall will be red, and very much so.

I need to get back to painting. I am trying very hard not to let this feel symbolic. that would be a silly thing to do. yes, very silly.

entry 163

the last saturday night.

the last saturday night that it doesn't matter that it is.

the last saturday night that doesn't matter for a long while.

entry 162

hanging out with people you knew years ago, surprised to realize they're taller, have chest hair or nice hips, and still talk about sex constantly, but in a different way from three or four or eight years ago. startled into liking the semi-adults you knew as children.

waiting, anticipating the beginning of yet another start. I do this every year, begging for the structure that isn't one, hoping too hard to turn myself around. I've been this way since sixth grade, smarter than the teacher but still gaining mediocrity. this year I'll do my work, this year I'll take advantage of these opportunities before they're gone. this year I'll get my shit together before I fall apart.

and then I try reading the essay I need to react to in writing in the next few days. I underline certain phrases because I like them, because I understand them. pinpoints in the fog, if you will. There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn, that kind of thing. There is no sun without shadow, and it is essential to know the night. You know how we roll. but when I look at these green xerox'ed pages, trying to understand Camus' general meaning, I melt. I think, what am I doing, trying to form an opinion when I don't know what's going on?

wait, that's what I always do. that's why I don't have favorite things, and shopping with me is an indecisive disaster.

yesterday I bought navy blue corduroy pants. yes.