| june. |
[Jun. 1st, 2004|01:09 pm] |
| [ | Tell me something, |
| |  and she said, and she said. | ] |
"...i blame this town, this job, these friends."
to dispense of past entries without ever getting rid of anything, i'm switching to a new name, ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) dnipropetrovsk. add me there if you still want me around, or if you've been looking for a guilt free way to get rid of me, now's your chance. phfh. bye. |
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| waste our time together, yeah. |
[Jun. 1st, 2004|09:50 am] |
| [ | Tell me something, |
| |  question mark. | ] |
for all the hype illegal activites draw, truancy isn't all that fun. legitimacy is underrated. |
|
|
| come on, yeah: everything's not lost. |
[May. 31st, 2004|11:50 pm] |
| [ | Tell me something, |
| |  needlepoint. | ] |
sitting in jason's living room with courtney, tony, and austin; cell phones and an abandoned game of clue. jesse's going to give us a ride home after he gets off of work, and tonight will be choc-full of scribbling and attempting to draw in straight lines, pasting, pasting, and on top of all that: trying to live up to my creative potential and avoid failing this class.
last night was taco bell (nothing brings us together quite like friend-bashing), austin's house, menstruation camps, courtney singing leif erikson to the sound of me playing the out-of-tune guitar with a penny, listening to coldplay far too much. today is like sauer kraut and frisbee. it's later than i would've liked but the past few days were pleasant nonetheless.
i like them. |
|
|
| how many times have we gone over this? |
[May. 31st, 2004|11:43 pm] |
| [ | Tell me something, |
| |  exhaust. | ] |
| [ | anything. |
| | a word without ending. | ] |
the engine's running out in the cold (it's heartless and warm and beats robotic against its metal chest). |
|
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| are you sweet? are you fresh? are you strung up by the wrists? |
[May. 29th, 2004|11:54 am] |
| [ | Tell me something, |
| |  just fine. | ] |
| [ | anything. |
| | a bad-tempered prom queen at a homecoming dance. | ] |
talked to tony last night and courtney and i will hopefully be making the pilgrimage to green bay on sunday. mmhmm.
( mix for sarah. )
her grad party starts at two and my family just got back from milwaukee (scouting out apartments for my brother --- he's moving out in july!). also, while andy and tony were busy puking their brains out, i was watching boogie nights, eating old popcorn, and drinking stale soda. poor suckers.
time to go. |
|
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| acoustic blue. |
[May. 27th, 2004|04:41 pm] |
| [ | Tell me something, |
| |  wet. | ] |
i took my cigarettes for a walk in the park and wound up walking home in the rain. i'm going to post my children's book later to see if it's up to par by the likes of your standards. until then. |
|
|
| into your icy blues. |
[May. 23rd, 2004|08:09 pm] |
| [ | Tell me something, |
| |  a dozen reasons. | ] |
so this weekend was worthwhile, the first in a long time. first, friday night:
the cystic fibrosis benefit concert was at seven in oshkosh at the new moon so sarah picked me up around six and we got there early to set up and move tables, etc. like fine wine "couldn't make it," although there were rumors going around that their guitarist really wasn't out of town. who lies about a benefit concert? that's just low and immoral and i lose respect for them, when in reality i just don't care because i've never seen them before and a cello/violin/guitar trio (inkwell collective) took their place and weren't too bad. then nathaniel's band (dayslikeshadow) played, which was funny because all he does is beat on drums and dance like a weirdo while multitasking with the tambourine. by the way, samuel baxter is the lead singer which was COMPLETELY out of the blue because i've seen him play solo before and i had no idea he was in that band. his fake accent is one of glory.
then tetra played which wasn't so cool because all the emo kids hated them with their heavy metal riffs and tom kelly's insanity. INSANITY I TELL YOU. he is the most amazing bass player i know and he's only been playing for three years. plus...perfectly structured is the drummer, so you can't go wrong. if it weren't for nick caller's extremely-talented-yet-horribly-orchestrated guitar they would be a good band. vindicated was last, which was why everyone was there in the first place, and they were good, except their lead singer preached about god which made me mad because, okay, i can understand if he's playing some stupid christian venue but we commonfolk aren't there to be told we're unworthy and that jesus died for us and that he is the most amazing person alive so you should go to worship and you'll be a better person. ack. just the way he says that if you are not on that path, you are, in fact, on the lesser of the two. meh. but anyway, they were good, even if you couldn't hear their vocals at all.
regardless, i had a nice time. tori, sarah, nicole, josh dreier, worthy (meh), ashley (dancing like an asshole, AHHH), a bunch of ugly freshmen (including the fat one who tapped his stomach to the beat), emily, aubrey, keegan & whitney (we went to the exclusive co. and then to burger king together), and a horde of other people were all there. so sweet.
yesterday was uneventful and i sat around and watched movies (pulp fiction and kill bill) and went to sleep earlier than i do most school nights.
today was going to be a personal sit-at-home-alone day until courtney came to my door and whisked me away with tony, austin, and jason. we went to her house but were rejected by her mom because of the open house, and then went to her dad's where we waited, each and every one of us, in the muscle position throughout various parts of the house for kate to arrive, but when she did she didn't even appreciate it. then...we drove to the ave. and were going to cruise it by foot, until it started to rain and instead we were stranded in the parking lot of some office building, playing in the rain in my tucked-in short-and-wide, while kate and jason peeled bark off a tree despite my efforts to deter them. then we headed in our wet clothes to darboy family and courtney ordered sick potato peels. with dipping sauces. after jason and tony's stupid meal of soggy graham crackers, we headed to my house and sat in my basement for a few hours, where tony was the real female of the relationship because he put HIS head on COURTNEY'S shoulder. psh. who does that? and shannon tortured bodies with her forces and austin fell asleep with his cast poking out. and i had to retain shannon from being an asshole to ribbons. but it was a good day.
and i had a good weekend, and today is the last day of the cannes film festival, and i have school tomorrow which isn't as depressing when you've had a good weekend, and there's only nine and a half days left! |
|
|
| Like old red meat. |
[May. 18th, 2004|11:46 pm] |
| [ | Tell me something, |
| |  Wide, wide awake. | ] |
One more sentence, I'm sending me back. It was funny the way you fucked, the stupid metaphors you mumbled blankly, staring straightforward.
Your hair was brown, and longer, too.
It was almost like poetry, only it kept getting in my mouth, and your waxed head quickly became a breathing, misshapen ball of spit. It was almost cute. You almost ruined it with all the quirks that make you quiet.
Your turn.
Because Lord knows the jeans you've stained. It was funny the way you fucked, the way you made up your mind.
You are cold sweats. I am the kaleidoscope to ensure that when you slip, you fall.
You found yourself in mirrors, not buried in numbers and prose of lockers and pictures of painters, shifting on the blind space of time and office you polled.
We are the blind men staring the sun in the face, filling all the empty puddles with empty mouths and wine. You are the grey before the downpour.
Hold it faster to still its calm. doubled over on top of me. You write with your tongue to transcribe the lectures of forgotten, underlying themes in society that circle over the heads of cynics with psychiatrics and all the other silent letters before the words we hate.
It's a round-about way of saying Well, thanks.
It's "She and I like fever!" as we were swarming with flocks of harmless, floating schemes, like insects without wings; I am Jack's unravelling, ever-winding, bloodthirsty revenge.
Today we are the irredescence, the imperfection, the welfare, the husbands, and cardiac arrest.
We are too many calories / We get too much sleep. |
|
|
| Perdu dans la Traduction |
[May. 13th, 2004|05:01 pm] |
| [ | Tell me something, |
| |  | ] |
| [ | anything. |
| | Six months, slightly rusty. | ] |
Pour le garçon pauvre mort,
Qu'est-ce que c'est mauvaise avec l'air?
Ceci est fou, les choses que je peux faire.
Laisse-moi inventer une langue morte pour toi, te couper ouvert, te disséquer comme tous les rongeurs que nous faisons, et écraser mes clous de girofle sur le cadavre jaune que tu appeles un corps.
Un cadavre que tu utilises pour baisant, pour plaisant, pour tuer même-toi sans bruit, tes amants soutenent, sourire à la pensée que ceci est vraiment juste un jeu.
Est-ceci la visage d'un rongeur? Sont-ceux-ci les yeux d'un rongeur?
La mort avait des yeux beaux.
Inspires, expires. Pompes la dette que tu es se fait distancer. Que ceci est quelque chose comme la sécurité...
Avec tous les faits que
tu pensais étaient vrai,
la pluie t'obtiendra
avant je fais.
Il tue avec la telle logique
que par la logique il a signifié:
«Il n'y a pas une façon mieux
à mourir que par la mort.»
[chuchoté]: Que m'est-il venu par-dessus?
Si ta vie est une telle grande blague, pourquoi dois-je se soucier? Si ceci est la fermeture, en ce temps-là je n'ai rien eu sauf.
Tu as voulu être sans le poids, mais tu n'as pas voulu attendre.
Avec beaucoup d'amour,
Ton ancien.
(Le M. de P.: Comment goûte-t-il?) |
|
|
| photo. |
[May. 10th, 2004|12:22 am] |
| [ | Tell me something, |
| |  | ] |
listening to trouble and [still] waiting for the rain. fuck.
( this is my florida )
we've been living life inside a bubble. |
|
|
| The get away. |
[May. 9th, 2004|10:16 pm] |
| [ | Tell me something, |
| |  I want a range life. | ] |
(a little one, the kind that says "pocket poets" but really doesn't fit in your pocket all that well):
------------------------------------------
DEATH & CO.
Two, of course there are two.
It seems perfectly natural now---
The one who never looks up, whose eyes are lidded
And balled, like Blake's,
Who exhibits
The birthmarks that are his trademark---
The scald scar of water,
The nude
Verdigris of the condor.
I am red meat. His beak
Claps sidewise: I am not his yet.
He tells me how sweet
The babies look in their hospital
Icebox, a simple
Frill at the neck,
Then the flutings of their Ionian
Death-gowns,
Then two little feet.
He does not smile or smoke.
The other does that,
His hair long and pausive.
Bastard
Masturbating a glitter,
He wants to be loved.
I do not stir.
The frost makes a flower,
The dew makes a star,
The dead bell,
The dead bell.
Somebody's done for.
------------------------------------------
Sundays are wretched. Wretched I tell you. I have never liked Sundays.
So Shannon took me out to dinner, a real one (McDonald's, but only because Big Apple Bagels was closed), and while we were eating we happened to look out the window and over to the parking lot across the street, where a woman on rollerblades was figure skating. I mean figure blading, with style. It was the nicest thing I've ever seen. She was wearing black spandex and a tight blue cleavage shirt with a matching blue headband, and her hair was permed and if she had had leg-warmers it would've really tied the whole thing together. We were going to join her, but since it was so far away and it was so hot outside, we instead decided to drive by while listening to Jewel (singing about faggots, nonetheless), and laugh with her.
------------------------------------------
It's going to rain. And then it's going to hail, and after the hail, more rain. Then it'll be morning and everything will be grey and I will go to school and face my last three weeks. |
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|
| Everybody's got a pretty friend. |
[May. 6th, 2004|10:59 pm] |
| [ | Tell me something, |
| | Guster. | ] |
So tomorrow is likely to be eventful, at least I hope.
Tori, Emily, Sarah, and I are meeting Chris and Jeff for lunch, which is good, because I haven't seen Chris in quite awhile and hardly ever outside of the Blue Moon. Then Nathaniel's (.waiting.for.understanding.) show is tomorrow, with Vindicated and Johnny Okay, somewhere in Reedsville, so I'm hitching a ride with Tori, and Shannon & Co. are going to be there, with Jason and Tony? I don't know the plans, ever.
Anyway, I'm leaving Saturday morning for Wisconsin Rapids. I've been listening to Rose K. over and over, which isn't the best idea, because it reminds me of my grandma, with all her spells and everything, and they're thinkng of moving her into a nursing home, and they want to send her up to Spooner which would mean there's a good chance I would never see her again. It's a five hour drive and I only make it up there once a year and she'll probably be dead by the time we even get a chance to visit.
Then Sunday, my (other) grandma, step-grandpa (who has those?), uncle, aunt, and cousin (she corrupts me far too much for family) are coming up for Mother's Day, but hopefully I'll get away because I've been planning on hanging out with Kim, Mitch, and Chelsea for awhile now and I really want to get around to that. I miss them, but I know I'll be seeing a lot more of them this summer, at least Kim, and this time Matt Micke will not be hanging around, and either will Sam, so it will be that much better. I need to have a good summer; last year I had no friends and wasted too much time with church and Minnesota. Stupid move.
Tori took me to Pages and Pipes after school to get a pack of Blacks. We're supposed to be at Perkin's right now, but she's away and I'm not entirely struck with the motivation necessary for sneaking out.
But I do need to learn to make coffee. Life would be much easier. |
|
|
| Names. |
[May. 4th, 2004|03:40 pm] |
| [ | Tell me something, |
| |  ! | ] |
Kory left for Chino yesterday. Shit yeah, he's adopting.
Nicole, Tori, and Emily are going to Dawn of the Dead at the cheap seats ($1 Tuesdays are now $1.50), and afterward Nicole is going to take me to Pages and Pipes and wherever the FUCK I want because she owes me for Friday. We'll probably just end up at Beaner's or Perkin's like always, eh?
Which is stupid, because Perkin's has a new rule that you have to buy at least $2 of food during busy hours, when I usually just mooch off everyone else and order a water.
Andy Appleton still wants to kill me, even if my brother and I made amends and settled our petty differences. I have no homework and nowhere to go.
I have to turn in my application to the Thirft Shoppe and pick one up for Big Apple Bagels, call Culver's to inquire, and dig up any other jobs that might be slightly worth attending.
Kim and Tori could probably get me into Air it Up! if and when there are any openings, but I don't know if I like the sound of that. Kids puking, too many birthday parties, and cleaning the ball pit because some little shitter gave in to their urge to piss.
I still refuse to work at McDonald's.
Ms. C said that our video for Lord of the Flies was outstanding, I think she used, except for the end when I murdered Simon (Shannon) and you could see the driveway and the house and sort of ruined the whole help-me-I'm-stranded-on-this-stupid-island-with-a-bunch-of-12-year-olds feeling we were going for.
The Green Party is this Friday. I hope I have a ride. Saturday I have to go to Wisconsin Rapids with my parents to visit my grandma, which wouldn't be so bad if it were just two or three of us, but fitting five people into her little apartment and she being practically immobile doesn't make for such a good time.
Last night I went to Courtney's to pick up some papers for a class and ended up watching the Leonardo DiCaprio version of Romeo & Juliet. A bunch of guys running around on a beach waving guns and dressing in drag doesn't mix well with all the thees and thous. You can't say shit like that and try to make it casual.
I think I'm done.
P.S. One more month. |
|
|
| We! (-Make up your mind): |
[May. 2nd, 2004|06:20 pm] |
| [ | Tell me something, |
| |  | ] |
This weekend: Drank a lot of off-brand grapefruit soda. Shared a beer with my brother's giggling, half-naked girlfriend on a couch with the black lights on. Dressed as normally as I could and still attracted stares. Slept with my feet at the headboard. Hated Max Fischer while drinking root beer from a liter bottle.
I'm seething, I'm fuckin' seething. |
|
|
| We Never Change. |
[Apr. 27th, 2004|12:14 am] |
| [ | Tell me something, |
| |  Counting up my demons. | ] |
I wanna live life, never be cruel,
I wanna live life, be good to you.
I wanna fly, never come down,
And live my life,
And have friends around.
We never change, do we?
We never learned to leave,
So I wanna live in a wooden house,
I wanna live life, always be true,
I wanna live life, and be good to you,
I wanna fly, and never come down,
And I live my life, and have friends around.
We never change do we? No, no,
We never learned to bleed,
So I wanna live in a wooden house,
Making more friends would be easy.
Oh, and I don't have a show to say,
Yes, and I sing of a single day,
We never change, do we?
We never learned to leave.
So, I wanna live life in a wooden house,
Making more friends would be easy,
I wanna live where the sun comes out. |
|
|
| Esmeraldas. |
[Apr. 26th, 2004|04:34 pm] |
| [ | Tell me something, |
| |  Shags. | ] |
The moon beams back, brighter and blacker than most, in tune to the arrogance they'd all been awaiting. They held their throats in foaming cages, the sun came and went, pulling them under and forcing them to be. Their clothes hung like dead skin, hugging their chests, dripping and sliding off their bodies despite the dark and cries that escaped from untamed tongues (*the deafening noise of teeth upon teeth).
The waiter stoops over, calming down, harboring the sunlight from his eyes.
Faces crinkle like paper and crush between the rest, eyes through windows built up of shattered glass. A spectacle to blind and purge the daft.
Down here so far that the sun will clash with blood red tides and cardboard skin, and the bodies will steam in the collapse of the city, clapping thunder, debauchery as subtle as it's been.
A woman (*red hair, three sons, short skirt) opens her mouth to breathe, but down her throat she's stuck with a man (*able-bodied, unshaven, dark suit). That's okay, she quits to think, making her amends at the hotel above the darkened street (*floating solemnly), quickly buried in the timid black light.
She tries once more, but her hands prove much too weak and as she turns he pulls her hair, malevolent and curious, binding rough edges to their bedposts. Before she goes, she paints a picture with the skies: bloodless light squandering over dead, yellow shadows, tables peaked with half-empty margaritas, the smallest umbrellas up in the smallest of flames.
He laughs at her now, and traces her skin with a finger heavy with silver.
Then he pulls his hands away, and she's sunken to a point of death, prude and nearly scalding. His turn now to fill his face with disconsent, scraping at the bed and pulling at the sheets until her body topples onto the floor with an honest little bow. Rush to the window and tug at the blinds: low lights, called out to arms. And, oh! The scream! His legs to lead but his head's in a hurry.
The snow outside creeps in through the cracks, quickly and quietly. Two bodies and a set of horns.
Back to the streetside, deeper than south, calling out names to rubber children and dying suits that cling to their mothers (*clinging to their cocktails).
The circle in the sky burns holes in their minds.
Frustrated ocean looks up at the cape, cupping the stewards with its frigid little hands. A requiem for their mindless gatherings, chalked of the petty and empty-headed.
It troubles, it stings. |
|
|
| This is a sinking road. |
[Apr. 22nd, 2004|09:14 pm] |
| [ | Tell me something, |
| |  Yeah, uh huh. | ] |
Smoking, mental self-destruction, lying on my back, physical indulgence, walking, running, stalking, drinking, drinking and medicating, smoking, excessive showering, riding my ten-speed bike, saving myself/being saved, eating, cleaning, living in cinema, living in poetry, singing, dancing, sitting naked, sitting clothed, writing, drawing, scribbling, Solitaire, practicing abstinence, songs on repeat, this, envy, arrogance, patience, empathy, smoking, too many pills, Perkins, late nights, lighting and re-lighting scented candles, Beaner's, soggy emo shows, hearing voices in my amplifier, attempts at bulimia, taking every chance I get to care, more or less, mourning the loss of a love I never had, shoplifting, smoking, cruisin' the Ave., smoking while cruisin' the Ave., being a sideshow, fueling someone-or-other's relationship, Patches, dipping into fashion, bothering with you, and her, and him, watching from a distance as my life slowly goes up in flames.
I need a new hobby. |
|
|
| After all, |
[Apr. 21st, 2004|12:45 am] |
| [ | Tell me something, |
| |  Obscure. | ] |
...and though it cures nothing, it gives me a reason to be outside in the rain, under an awning, listening to the water clog my veins.
I tire quickly of the people who see the world in blacks and whites: breeders and faggots, Bible-huggers and nonbelievers, the fair and the foul. I grow sick of the shit that fuels me through the day, the constant drag that wears me down, all the lost words that got tangled up in the space between us. The rain is a bitch. The ash on my windowsill turns to mud. Only love has dwindled. It'd be nice to have that again, devoid of all casual pretense and infirmity. But as I've found so subtle in the art of second chance, the voice of reason is a tempered one, discrete and unrelating to the indispensable foundation of things.
Things, just things. Not emotion, nor art, nor fact, nor fiction, nor closure, nor untied knots and severed ropes.
It's not so much a tension as it is a petty glimpse of what it is to be like this: Poignant, unrelenting, cynicial. Judge and be judged. Free the press of secrecy and let the world rot at your feet.
Then again, words are just words. They mean nothing when they are, indeed, nothing.
I'm no one at all.
And the principle of this: That we continue to prove and be proved, that this is everything, and that even in precision is obscurity shrouded by intellect.
When I sat down to write this, I meant it to be contented, I really did. In all honesty, I'm relieved to be around, although the naïveté of power and depression is something I've yet to figure out. All the relationships I'm missing and all the relationships laying in front of me, mocking me, pushing me further and further away.
I see them together, those two and two more, and it angers me that they can be so selfish, and make the rest feel so inadequate. I'm coming to see you, but only because I'll be seeing her too.
Please tell me what I'm trying to say. |
|
|
| Waterfront, April 13th-15th. |
[Apr. 17th, 2004|11:06 am] |
| [ | Tell me something, |
| |  The worst of the few. | ] |
- "...that somehow we are younger than we were," 3:31 PM, April 13th.
Crippled palm trees line the streets in this other old town, more shrouded than the last, throwing themselves to the power lines and sending sparks and ash to the ground.
For some estranged reason I thought that coming here would give me time to breathe, let free my demons, or my fevers, and pull me out of the slump.
"Nothing is but what is not."
- 12:08 AM, April 15th.
Such a dreary thing, to be alive in this weather. I wrote more letters and things, one that proved more difficult than the rest, to someone so important.
- Afternoon.
My eyes can't seem to stay closed. My fingertips trace the seams of the mattress through the sheets and the fan whirs overhead like an endless parade of wings and feathers. It's damp in here, even damper than it is outside. The leaves are sticky and cling selfishly to their trees.
Insomnia, like a stupid spec of sand that makes it's way across my face, resting in my eyes, and when I try to brush it away, I only end up with more sand in my eye, the way it tends to gather. And with both of my eyes now grave plots for sleepless nights, it is the only thing on my mind, just like anything else that I need, or want, and most certainly cannot have.
- Later.
My first day is on the beach and I'm spending my last day here. Trying to write on my back as to even out the sun. The redundancy of the waves and beams that won't leave me alone until I'm asleep and it's been two days. Or has it been three? Sometimes it's hard to remember, and sometimes it's just easier to forget. |
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