Egress/Regress

203- boggled down

I'm here, I'm alive. I'm busy as hell with college applications. I think the list of schools is finally... finalized, unless I run out of time and drop one.

The Illustrious Twelve:

Bard
Brown
Cooper Union
Geneseo
New Paltz
NYU
Purchase
Sarah Lawrence
Smith
Tulane
UChicago
Vanderbilt

wish me luck.

manic sunday

see trich.org

201

hey friend. I'm worried about you.

I don't really know what's going on, just what you tell me in moments of weakness, but what I do know scares me. it isn't fair, for someone so beautiful to be so scarred. I am trying to help, but I am too stupid, and you push away a lot. I want to heal you, but you won't tell me your disease. I am frightened, I am frightened. I love you, you know. I don't mean that in some stupid baby-making sense of the word, you hate babies anyway, but you know what I mean, my heart bleeds for you and all that.

You can have my bed, I'll sleep on the floor. You tell me I don't understand, and you're right, but I'm trying to. I realize I'm nothing in the face of such problems, but part of my heart keeps throwing itself against the glass for you. just... just call me, okay?

citizen kubrick

busy lately.

to keep you entertained, an awesome article about Kubrick.

"Ah yes," says Jan. "Stanley loved typefaces." Jan pauses. "I tell you what else he loved."

"Stationery," says Jan.

dix-sept, deceptive

happy birthday to me
happy birthday to me
happy birthday dear stupid
happy birthday to me.

finally, I've reached the age of consent in New York, Illinois, and Louisiana.

thank you Chris, you are a dear.

I love you guys, I genuinely do, but despite or because of or tangential to this, I hate my life.

I want to run away from home and join the porn star circus.

I sense there's something in the wind
That feels like tragedy's at hand
And though I'd like to stand by him
Can't shake this feeling that I have
The worst is just around the bend

I'm here I'm alive I'm hurt and I'm crying
I'm here I'm okay I'm hurt but I'm trying
fuck rhyming

be my best friend if you won't be my lover
hold my hand if you won't hold my heart
I'm here, I'm here, I'm here.

NYC tomorrow with mon cher copain.

today I snatched a copy of Catcher in the Rye from the lost and found. It was battered and torn, with names of graduated students on the inside cover. Whatever obnoxious underclassman had misplaced it was not likely to come claim it. yoink, I said, and felt very appropriate.

I have decided that taking notes and writing lists is far more satisfying if you do it in marker.

also, I kind of want to have a birthday party. It's been a long time since I really had one. hm.

one of those moods

there was a point in time that when I felt sad I would write. at least, I struggle to think there was, hope to find some semblance of creativity in my foggy memory.

but now... nothing comes. but don't doubt that I am sad. I feel stupid for feeling such, I don't have time for this. don't have time to lie in bed, don't have time to mope. But still, nothing gets done. it's not an issue of priority anymore, I'm not even reading. I just exist, half-assedly.

a boy from my school died yesterday. I didn't know him, although he graduated two years ago with some of my friends. cancer, age 18.

I want people to tell me they love me. Not just a cousin, a boyfriend, a brother. I want the people I see maybe once or twice a week to confess I mean something to them, that they would cry if I died. that when I finally leave this place, I will be missed.

just because I am so cold-hearted and hot-headed, is it so much to ask? that you give the damn I gave you all a thousand times?

but even if you did... I don't know what I would do with it. All the love in the world will accomplish nothing if it is not used to good. everything is gone again.

I didn't know him, I wonder what he would have had been like if... fuck it. I can't think this again. RIP Matt, wherever you are, whoever you were.

This makes me think of Peter. I miss him too. I will never forgive myself for every childish cold stare, every time I ignored him to hit on someone else. It still burns. I see his mother frequently, and I want to hug her, tell her it's okay. It still burns, but I always forget to whisper his name each October 22nd.

I feel unhappy. I don't know what to do, I don't want to do anything. I have so much to get done.

I want time to pass. I want time to pass faster. I want to get to the crying and the pain of umbilical-cord-cutting, of graduation, of that stupid fucking hat and tassle. I want to be in pain someplace else.

I love you, but I can't take this place. I want to scream, but my soul is too lazy. these are just words, and actions would be louder but they don't happen.

there is never an end to this.

robot monkey love

six months since a rainstorm
six months since a kiss
one hundred eighty four days

six months of feeling warm
six months of needing this
four thousand four hundred sixteen hours

six months of holding hands
six months of blue eyes
two hundred sixty-four thousand, nine hundred sixty minutes

there are 158,976,000 seconds in six months
there are plenty more reasons to love you.

happy anniversary.

my
only
nurturing
kinky
everlovin'
you

190 (dependence)

I cried for half an hour straight. That doesn't seem like a long time, but every breath in that end-of-act-one tragedy gasp will leave you lightheaded. dependent on pretty voices for my calm and sanity.

1,053 files. photographs taken between June 2nd and November 9th. not to mention unfinished homework, poetry, college essays, and downloaded songs. lost. someone dropped the laptop, and i'm too stupid to have backed things up. somehow, in a way I couldn't understand, after hours on hold with tech support, it all came back. all of it.

but that span of panic, during which I thought I would not be able to apply to Cooper Union at all, made me realize how dependent on this stuff I am. It's just a little box that glows, but it contains a lot of my life. I need to start creating something tangible. Start building real things. This isn't the only reason I've been crying, but it's what I can explain, communicate somewhat simply without tearing myself apart. I love you. I'm going to go burn everything onto cd now.

i come back when you want me to

Word of the Day for Monday November 8, 2004

fallible \FAL-uh-bul\, adjective:
1. Liable to make a mistake.
2. Liable to be inaccurate or erroneous.

But human beings are fallible. We know we all make
mistakes.
--Robert S. McNamara, et al., Argument Without End

Sometimes the world makes so much sense I want to cry. Sometimes nothing makes sense, and I'm just a series of cryptic serious words. I'm someone else's tears on my tissue, banana peels on the phone and radio. Elliot Smith is my dying comfort, now. again. I miss everyone so much, especially when they are around. So much work, so much water. So far from home, so close to radar suns. my sleeves make my hearts and fingers itch. A good attitude, a matyr tells me, while my parents laugh downstairs. I've cried a lot today, and I still don't know what I want. aside from always remaining my sense of the vague.

do you miss me, miss misery, like you say you do?

watch me pretend I can function in society. watch me do a terrible job.

just let me go back to sleep. please.