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Tuesday, April 22nd, 2008
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Can I express in words how much I've missed Abby?
I don't think I can.
Tonight I smelled his hoodie.
It smelled like summer nights back in 2000.
It was the most peaceful, calming, reminiscent scent that I could possibly conjure up.
Sometimes I feel as though nothing's changed.
Even when Denn makes comments to Katie about how much he hates the 254 schoolyard.
Fuck that shit. and fuck him.
I really thought I missed him, but I feel as though he tries so hard to separate himself from his past that he almost makes me an enemy. And that feels really fucked up.
But regardless, I miss him, and I missed Abby, and I missed Katie.
Seeing the 3 of them tonight was nice.
Talking with Abby late at night is always nice.
Not having to distract ourselves with movies or music or anything, just straight up talking about the state of the world and everything in it - our opinion of ourselves and our lives and everything in between. I always find it so refreshing.
I'm looking forward to tomorrow :)
I don't think I've said that in quite some time.
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Wednesday, January 24th, 2007
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ohhhh LOVE.
love. love. love.
what you do to me
what you fucking do to me
do you even know?
do you EVEN
even know
i'm terrified of the fact that i've only been in love once. every relationship i've ever gotten into was a search for a love like that. i wonder if he loved me as much as i felt he did. i think he did. i think he still does. i don't think i'll ever get married. i don't think i'll ever be happy in another relationship. no one will ever be what he was, and is, to me. and that's sad. because i will never be happy again. i want what i can't have, and what will never again exist. i'm living off a memory. one that i cling to like a starving child clings to grains of rice or crumbs of bread.
i just don't know where to go from here.
it's not fair to the people i get involved with. it's not fair that they all tell me that they'll never be him. it's not fair that their every glance, every word, every movement will be compared to his.
did i deserve to lose the one good thing that ever happened to me?
maybe i did.
jim and john are probably the 2 human beings who have seen me at my worst.
he never saw me at my worst. disappointing him would've been suicide. he saw me as perfection. why? i'll never know. maybe it's better now. he deserves so much better than me.
i would give up everything i own for his smile. the way he would look down at me and squeeze my sides while shaking his head to the side. i wonder if he does that to her. i wonder.
i think they're gonna get married. i wonder if they'd invite me to the wedding. i wonder if i'd go. i wonder if i'd have a mental/emotional breakdown and have to be carried out in a stretcher. i wonder if i'd hang myself in the bathroom of the reception hall. i wonder.
never in my life have i known a sadness like this. it overwhelms me to the point of suffocation. some nights i cry so hard i can't breathe.
i wish i could say that i'm secretly falling apart. but is it even a secret anymore?
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Tuesday, August 1st, 2006
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I miss those sad arms of yours so i lay in my room because just when you think you're getting well you see the ring around your heart is held by some silhouette turned to walk away but you can tell had a lovely face. a vigil today is held in an airport to remember and save a love that could not work and that beautiful face i never did deserve. in bed do you lay and wait to find if the day ends without a massive array of self deprications? oh no wait, no it's me who does that.
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Thursday, October 27th, 2005
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| Time: | 5:55 am. |
| Mood: |  drained. |
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heaven smells like... tobacco and tastes like curry.
and nom ka chai and fish sauce straight up.
the physical embodiment of a cyclical sugar high
+ the melancholy of a childless widow
+ nostalgia's favorite casualty
= what i am.
perhaps what i've become?
yellow rice on the burner
no peas please. i said no peas.
more cheese, please, said pete.
oh pete, oh heart. oh fat ass ex druggie puerto rican
who was a better friend than he led on to be
oh shame. thrice over. his and his and hers.
soft warm nights led to cold wet mornings.
he made me tazas de estrellas. cups of stars.
our shelter, our food, our medication.
we'd sweat out fevers with old comforters and tequila.
TFC... you mean KFC... you mean heart.
a friend in need is a friend indeed?
what the fuck is that supposed to mean?
oh what a friend was i. oh what a friend was i.
garbage bag ponchos for the arab who sat in party mix again.
skipping up the ramp through a sea of smoke and sparkling green.
grape juice, cartoons, and honey buns.
and video video video games.
oh ficus. how i miss thee. and i wish i had the heart to make the call i always promise i'm going to make.
i feel such a fool. a joke i made myself into.
it makes so much sense to me.
there is no median. i've become too mercurial. or perhaps i always was? perhaps i hated those fickle fools for all the err i saw in myself. even mr. jersey has changed. my prolific best friend. the boy i made into a god. i'm finally realizing he's only a boy. gods don't exist. we're all just people, as much as we try to convince ourselves and our peers otherwise.
i think my problem lies not in acceptance of my mere mortal nature, but my indifference to that realization. or perhaps this inner mayhem is all i can conjure up as therapy.
a shakespeare i am not. a shakespeare i've never wished to be.
god damn duality. am i a contradiction of myself? i very well may be.
i'd thrill in the opportunity to meet someone exactly like me.
i'd cry for their poor soul, laugh at their stupidity, and probably end up throwing them off a bridge.
we can't hate ourselves... just take my word for it. "for i know what ye does not."
ha. making myself into a god again. at least i get a good laugh at the end of the day.
but the laughter is surely fading and taking my sanity with it.
and lula. what an angel. what a fool i was to presume that i knew her objectives.
she very well may be the salvation i need.
i cannot believe the problems she confided, and the trust she found in me.
"we definitely have to help eachother because we're all we have left."
perhaps she sees through my "glare of death" and into the heart of me.
the me that i've forgotten how to be? the me that i just might wish to be again.
"first thing on today's agenda: attempting to not kill ourselves. then we'll down meds for our mental and emotional imbalances. then we'll actually leave the house and pretend that we're capable of being social, without dying inside."
lol. oh speak again bright angel. i will make you my saraswati.
just please don't let me down.
there i go again.
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Monday, October 24th, 2005
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When I was young I wished we could see stars and planets during the day. I thought it would help us remember that we are really on a planet swirling and spinning through space in a large and mostly unknown universe. I wanted to look up into the sky at any time of the day and see spheres suspended like a cosmic mobile on invisible threads, because I often need a reminder of how small and insignificant most things are on the third planet from the sun.
Would it surprise you to know I still have this wish?
And mostly I get a hint of it when I watch the sun rise.
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Tuesday, October 11th, 2005
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Thursday, September 29th, 2005
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| Time: | 1:20 am. |
| Music: | Metric - Combat Baby. |
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We used to leave the blue lights on
and there was a beat
ever since you've been gone it's all caffeine-free
faux punk fatigue
get back in town I wanna paint it black
wanna get around
easy living crowd so flat
said it all before
they try to kick it, their feet fall asleep
I want to be wrong but
No one here wants to fight me like you do
combat baby, come back baby
fight off the lethargy
don't go quietly, combat baby
said you would never give up easy
I try to be so nice
Compromise
Who gets it good?
Every mighty mild seventies child
Every mighty mild seventies child
Beats me
how I miss your ranting
do you miss my all time lows
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Wednesday, September 28th, 2005
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| Time: | 1:19 am. |
| Music: | Jon Brion - Here We Go. |
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You've gotta hope that there's someone for you
Strange as you are
Who can cope with the things that you do
Without trying too hard
Cause you can bend the truth til it's suiting you
These things that you're wrapping all around you
Never know what they will amount to
If your life is just going on without you
It's the end of the things you know
Here we go
You've gotta know
That there's more to this world
Than what you have seen
Cause we all have a limited view
Of what it can be
As we move along, with our blinders on,
Each one of us feels a little stranded
And you can't explain or understand it
Each one of us is on a different planet
Amidst all the to and fro
Someone can say hello
Here we go
Feeling that someone really gets you
Well it's something that no one should object to
It could happen today so I suggest you
Skip your habbit of laying low
It's the end of the things you know
Here we go
Someone can say hello
You old so and so
Here we go
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Saturday, September 24th, 2005
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last night i met the coolest guy at an apartment party in hell's kitchen. a pro palestinian iraqi jew (of all things) who is a chemical engineer.
we spent the entire night speaking about chemicals, processes, and drugs. and he emailed me this morning saying "you gave me an interesting idea that i'm going to share with my boss about encapsulating chemotherapy drugs in inert silica glass to improve drug delivery." i haven't had such an intellectually stimulating conversation in years. granted, the guy was 28. but either way i'm no longer going to avoid parties due to their overtly social nature. there just might be dorks there such as myself with whom i can relate.
and then i went to see corpse bride and i passed the fuck out! can you believe that shit?? waiting for months to see the movie and i sleep through half of it.
life is a cruel, cruel joke.
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Tuesday, September 13th, 2005
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Self-destructive man feels completely alienated, utterly alone.
He's an outsider to the human community.
He thinks to himself, "I must be insane."
What he fails to realize is that society has, just as he does,
a vested interest in considerable losses, in catastrophes.
These wars, famines, floods and quakes meet well defined needs.
Man wants chaos.
In fact, he's got to have it.
Depressions, strife, riots, murder, all this dread.
We're irresistibly drawn to that almost orgiastic state
created out of death and destruction.
It's in all of us. We revel in it.
Sure, the media tries to put a sad face on these things,
painting them up as great human tragedies,
but we all know the function of the media
has never been to eliminate the evils of the world.
Their job is to persuade us to accept those evils
and get used to living with them.
The powers that be want us to be passive observers.
And they haven't given us any other options
outside the occasional purely symbolic participatory act of voting.
You want the puppet on the right or the puppet on the left?
I feel the time has come to project my own inadequacies
and dissatisfactions into the socio-political and scientific schemes.
Let my own lack of a voice be heard.
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Creation seems to come out of imperfection. It seems to come out of a striving and a frustration, and this is where I think language came from. It came from our desire to transcend our isolation and have some sort of connection with one another. And it had to be easy when it was just simple survival. Like the word water, we came up with a sound for that, or saber tooth tiger right behind you, we came up with a sound for that. But when it gets really interesting is when we use that same system of symbols to communicate all the abstract and intangible things that we're experiencing. What is frustration? Or what is anger? Or love? When I say love, the sound comes out of my mouth and it hits the other person's ear, travels through this byzantine conduit in their brain, through their memories of love, or lack of love, and they register what I'm saying and they say yes, they understand. But how do I know they understand, because words are inert, they're just symbols, they're dead, you know? And so much of our experience is intangible. So much of what we perceive cannot be expressed. It's unspeakable. And yet, you know when we communicate with one another, and we feel that we've connected, and we think that we're understood, I think we have a feeling of almost spiritual communion. And that feeling might be transient, but I think it's what we live for.
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Sunday, September 11th, 2005
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The reason why I refuse to take existentialism as just another french fashion or historical curiosity is that I think it has something very important to offer us for the new century.
I'm afraid we're losing the real virtues of living life passionately, in the sense of taking responsibility for who you are, and the ability to make something of yourself. And feeling good about life.
Existentialism is often discussed as if it's a philosophy of despair, but I think the truth is just the opposite.
Sartre, once interviewed, said he never really felt a day of despair in his life.
One thing that comes out from reading his work (and the work of similar philosophies) is not a sense of anguish about life, so much as a real kind of exuberance, a feeling on top of it. It's like your life is yours to create.
I've read the postmodernists with some interest, even admiration, but when I read them I always have this awful nagging feeling that something absolutely essential is getting left out. The more that you talk about a person as a social construction, or as a confluence of forces, or as fragmented or marginalized, what you do is you open up a whole new world of excuses. And when Sartre talks about responsibility, he's not talking about something abstract. He's not talking about the kind of self or soul that theologians would argue about. It's something very concrete, like you and me talking, making decisions, doing things and taking the consequences.
It might be true that there are six billion people in the world and counting. Nevertheless, what you do makes a difference. It makes a difference first of all in material terms, it makes a difference to other people, and it sets an example. In short, I think the message here is that we should never simply write ourselves off and see ourselves as the victim of various forces. It's always our decision who we are.
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Wednesday, January 19th, 2005
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| Time: | 6:37 am. |
| Mood: |  confused. | | Music: | Rufus Wainwright - Waiting For A Dream. |
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the dream starts out where him and i are lying in his bed in his room. i'm on the right side he's on the left.
the bed is pushed into the back left corner of the room and up against my side of the bed is a tall dark wood dresser type thing which i'm staring into. he never touches me. almost to the point where you'd think i were some sort of ghost or intangible being. his mother enters the room on 3 seperate occassions to "clean" vaccuuming, folding clothes, and other things. i'm trying to pretend like i'm asleep (being terrified of my lying naked in a bed with her son) but she doesn't seem phased by it at all. it's like i'm not even there. suddenly her friends from work come over to pick her up and drive her to work with them (they are all my age) and he suddenly wakes up and starts talking to them, and they start talking to me. can't remember what we spoke about.
the next thing i know i'm in the middle of a schoolyard and a grand piano is being dropped from the sky and lands in the middle of a huge crowd of people who are forming a very large circle and moving in a conterclockwise direction. the second the piano hits the ground people run toward it, because the first person who sits down gets to play. like some sort of very bizarre musical chairs.
theres another part of the dream where the boy and i are sitting in a venue waiting for a concert to start. i'm not sure if it ever starts or not or who we were seeing, but that image is in my dreams often. we're always seated on very left of the venue, him by the aisle and me next to him.
oh and in another part of my dream i'm laying in bed in my room and my sister walks through the door wearing a karate gi and says she was hired to work at some shotokan dojo. she went there with darci or something or for a party? and they just hired her. i think this part of my dream might have to do with the fact that i'm currently jobless and within the past year it seems like my sister is attempting to out-do me in every facet of life. and my feeling terribly inadequate (even though i know, intellectually, i'm superior)
what all of this means... i have no idea.
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Tuesday, January 11th, 2005
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| Time: | 9:17 am. |
| Mood: |  blah. | | Music: | Tori Amos - Girl. |
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Ravi dressed as Lisa. and some annoying albino.
As eery as Trent's voice is in Tori Amos' "Girl" I find the song so wonderful. I thought they made such a great couple. Well, regardless, this song really gets to me. I guess, as most of the Little Earthquakes album does... I'd write the lyrics but it doesn't do the song any justice. You've just gotta listen to it. *sigh*
I've been having the most horrid of nightmares lately. One involving Usman and the other involving Ramsey. I think that "gut instinct" that I seem to have lacked my entire life, is finally starting to kick in. Sometimes I try really hard to go against it. Apparently my "heart" and my "gut" tell me two different things. I know why it's so hard for me to trust people, but I wish it would just fade away. I wish I could be normal - for a month, a week, a day even. Just to do what I wanna do, and be able to, without the mental/emotinal nonsense. Allow myself to get hurt again (if it's bound to happen). But bah - why would anyone want that? I wish things started out differently. Why is my mind / heart / gut / soul ruining such a potentially wonderful thing?
I think, in my dream, Ramsey represented all that is good with the world. He is one of my favorite human beings. I couldn't name a single fault of his if I tried, and I've known him for 17 years... and in this dream, he was being executed because of me. As indirect as it might have been, and as much of a mistake as it might have been, it didn't matter. He was being killed on my behalf.
I think I'm going to give up drinking.. not that I drink often. I think, deep down, I really want to. I'm so attached to that jaded mental state, though - where everything is right with the world, and there's a grin pasted on ones face that won't disappear. The last time that happened was October of 2003. So I guess I'm doing pretty well. But what's the point of drinking when you're alone? What's the point of feeling even remotely happy when you have no one to share that with? Talk about a waste of energy and emotion.
As much as I hate to say it - I really miss drinking with my old friends. I miss being able to trust people. I miss the summer nights of my late teens. I miss being apart of a family. A family of friends, but a family none the less. I miss waking up to Mark shooting rubberbands at my head and then stuffing our faces with junkfood and watching cartoons. I miss knowing that at any hour of the day or night, there was someone, somewhere, whose phone I could call, or whose window I could knock on, and without a second thought, they'd be there for me. To walk with and talk to, even if it was 3am and they had to be up for work at 6. People who put up my "cute" (annoying) intricacies, with a smile. People who knew that they could depend on me just as I could depend on them. It frightens me that I might never again find that.. and I want it so badly that it hurts.
Blah. I hate this.
I just wish to be surrounded by real people again.
"I remember throwing this morning's paper at him and saying "think fast" as I locked the door and firmly shut it. I walked down those dark stairs to the sidewalk, and then across the jack frosted street to my car. I sat in the drivers seat, and turned the cd player on. Over the course of the next few minutes I looked through john nolan's thesaurus for another word for desperate. Finding none, I looked up and I had arrived at my place of residence. I walked inside only to discover an item of interest: the telephone. I called a friend and began to talk of cabbages and kings. It was only a few minutes into the drunken conversation that the moisture of a multitude of sorrows began to drench my cheeks in search of any dry skin. I was an utter wreck by the time I said "goodbye" but that's how things go these days. Being a wrought-iron abhorration and not knowing what to do, think, or say. I'm finding myself clawing at the ground. to anyone else, it might seem like a productive endeavor.
No, I'm only digging six feet down."
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Saturday, December 18th, 2004
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Do you remember when you used to rescue her, from that hell hole of a house?
You'd jump in the car and drive away... "Take me anywhere - I don't care"
and you'd drive and drive with no destination, stopping somewhere for coffee.
You'd get lost and angry, and she'd sit and stare and laugh
and she'd bitch about your mix cd's and lack of musical taste
and you'd surprise her / shut her up with "Februrary Stars" ... and she'd smile
Do you remember when you used to rescue her, from that hell hole of a house?
You'd knock at her window at 2am with an oversized hoodie and a 6 pack of beer
and you'd lay in her bed and stare at the ceiling, blasting your teenage anthems
and you'd speak of your loves and your fears and your dreams
until the sunlight poured through her window
Even though she never left the confinement of those 4 walls, she was in a different world altogether.
Do you remember when you used to rescue her, from that hell hole of a house?
and drag her to the the blacktop jungle of silver wire fencing
where gods and goddesses lived and died, and summer nights defined
and you'd gaze at stars from a green bottle sea,
and the world was yours, and you were free
for the first time she knew who she wanted to be
But you can't remember the sound of her voice
Can't recall the color of her eyes
The way her hair fell onto your pillow
And the smell of her skin evades you.
now there's no one left to rescue she. to sing her song, to follow her lead.
to put up with her lunacy, with grace, humor, and humility
she's instigated her own demise, she's mothered the tears, she's fostered the lies
nothing left to do or say, but drink and dream the nights away.
and hope, that soon, they'll come a day, where fears, she's yet to keep at bay,
awaken with wings and fly away, to never again be seen.
but until then she'll continue to stive, to learn, again, how to be "alive"
to rescue a heart once drowned in gin, to mend whats broken beneath this skin,
and find a soul that understands, whose willing to listen, with less demands
one who truly defines "a friend," with an open mind and an ear to lend,
a loyal love whose honesty
can set her mind at ease
and with a longing, piercing gaze
can bring her to her knees
but everytime she thinks she's found what she's been searching for
fate seems to kick her in the ass and throw her out the door.
and as she sits there wondering, exactly what went wrong
she drifts off into space and time and sings this happy song...
"and if a double decker bussss crashes into ussss...
to die by your side, is such a heavenly way to diiiie
and if a 10 ton truuuck kills the both of ussss...
to die by your siiiide... well, the pleasure, the privelege is mine..."
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Tuesday, December 14th, 2004
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| Time: | 5:53 pm. |
| Mood: |  okay. | | Music: | "old country" music - sicilia bedda. |
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Poetry is much akin to the way I spend time these days.
With the loss of your presence,
I stay in my room mostly.
Smoking a cigarette or three,
And then resting my eyes with the sun still up.
A smokey resonance of your memory,
It plays well among the night.
The stars pissing and whining me to sleep.
Sleeping, an impossible task,
It happens around when the sky becomes blue again.
And I sit alone in my room, missing you, again.
i wish i didn't feel so detached from this side of the family..
"beta! stari! cori cori! tornadi... gatu mia natu na
chia la buri mia di suri tornadi"
our familial dialect is so different lol
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Saturday, December 11th, 2004
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"i have this dream where we are laying in her bed, and she has her head on my chest. i take my eyes off of her for a moment to study the things in her room. her records, posters, clothes in the open closet. we're breathing to the same beat of the slow song on the stereo. she looks up at me with those beautiful hazel eyes, and i kiss her. i'm holding her close with my arm, and holding her neck with my hand. here is where i want her. here is where she wants me. here is where i can call her my angel, and she can smile and sigh contentedly. i don't want this moment to end, ever.
but like i said, it's only a dream."
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Friday, November 19th, 2004
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| Time: | 12:04 am. |
| Mood: | numb. |
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BR>
"se lo e levato in piedi in su" o "lo ha lasciato che appendo"
tuttavia scegliete dirli, ritengo come un asino. ma forse merito questo. ho rovinato il suo compleanno...
ma ora ho rovinato il compleanno della mia madre anche..
ieri ha detto che lo vedrebbe stasera. neppure non ha denominato il mio telefono, per dirmi che ora sia occupato.
lo avrebbe lasciato che lo aspetto tutta la notte. cio e cosi inconsiderate. quello realmente non e giusto a me o alla mia madre..
per due notti ha fatto i prenotazioni, e per due notti ha annullato.. quando mi dice quello "saprete quando sono arrabbiato con voi" e questo esso? come sono supposto di sapere?
martedi i ha lasciato il partito della mia madre appena per essere con lui. ero cosi tanto nella difficolta per esso. in effetti, ancora stanno gridando me.. per esso insensato di me.. ho pensato che lo valesse..
ma stasera, non sono sicuro che cosa da pensare.. stasera saro punito per niente. e questo ragazzo non sembra interessato.
ora que? </div>
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Wednesday, November 17th, 2004
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| Time: | 11:12 pm. |
| Mood: | blah. | | Music: | john mayer - daughters. |
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on tuesday night my father dedicated "daughters" by john mayer, to me.
it's actually a great, great song, which should be dl'ed immediately.
you see that skin?
it's the same she's been standing in
since the day she saw him walking away
now she's left, cleaning up the mess he made
so fathers be good to your daughters
your daughters will love like you do
girls become lovers who turn into mothers
so mothers be good to your daughters, too.
boys, you can break.
you'll find out how much they can take.
boys will be strong, and boys soldier on
but boys would be gone
without warmth from a woman's good, good heart.
i was shocked. and i'm sure it showed on my face. but it was nice... i guess...
and in exchange for this gathering, i gave up a meticulously planned night.
and disappointed myself a great deal.
i mean, i disappoint myself daily. but this was different.
if anyone is inadequate, it's me.
and suddenly my gifts don't even seem as heartfelt as they did a week ago.
blah.
i plan on sleeping through my birthday.
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Monday, November 8th, 2004
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| Time: | 11:57 pm. |
| Mood: | confused. | | Music: | ryan adams - return of the grievous angel. |
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i can't be honest with myself. that would mean admitting to failure. i'm such a stubborn bastard sometimes.
it'll be the death of me, along with everything else.
i took 5 pills. why am i sitting here? why am i typing this? how am i able to?
i hate sounding like that boy. but i'm afraid it's what i've become.
even when he's out of my life completely i think as he did. not even as he "does" but as he "did."
almost as if, he's started a new life after he left, and i am so content knowing that he's happier.
but he left his problems with me, and taught me how to think as he does.
and my quest for someone to unteach my subconscious has, thus far, failed miserabley. but am i really searching?
i like to think i am. but i fucking hate people.
i think it was his honesty that sucked me in. even when he was lying.
i hate the fact that i'm now writing as i wrote 3 years ago. it's almost gross.
i guess i don't know anything else. i'm such damaged goods. so where do i go from here?
oh right. music.
i'm somehow not as convinced as i was two days ago :-\
t.g.f.r.a.
[edit] someone i find worthwhile. that isn't really difficult.
someone honest, open, in need of assistance. that is.
i just ask for disappointment. fuck any remaining optimism.
wow. and just like him.
wtf does that mean?
saban alaya.. aamal aeh?
oudi ya layali.
bas.
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