November 21, 2009


I wrote a really long post about my dreams (literal meaning, I only just woke up) and anonymous letters and being a child but I've erased it all. It's a saturday afternoon (nearly evening) and I have no energy left to open such things. The house is quiet but I can hear my mom's fingers on the piano. Just the fingers, never the music. She keeps it to her ears. I can also hear the trains pass and, occasionally, the sound of the car honk blaring at a cyclist/pedestrian/self minded prejudice/another car.

Silent saturdays are not what I live for but at this point in time they're only satisfying. Better than numbers, better than geography, better than the search for a jewel toned cloud(ed judgement) of a friday night (the friday night). I think lazy saturdays are more justifiable than lazy sundays are. Sundays are bad for the soul. They turn me into the empty shells on shelves; the kind to sing the echoes of its first impressions of my home, the sea. Sundays should not be filled with the sounds of saturday's echoes, no. I think sunday should have a sound of its own.

December 12th.

November 16, 2009


1. I'm so very tired.

1 and a 1/2. Not just in the physical heavy-eyes-hurting, lungs-not-breathing, oh-my-god-I-can't-walk-in-a-straight-line kind of way, or even a mental sort of tiredness where I can't keep a train of thought much further from food, or pictures, or daydreaming. This sort of tiredness is a sickness of everything. I'm so very tired of people and their good ways and bad ways, of doing nothing and everything and some things, of wanting this and that and getting just the one. I'm tired of waiting, of moving too fast, of going too slow, of running around in circles which I seem to do a lot these days. I'm just tired of being tired, sick of being sick, annoyed with being annoyed (in both the ways you are thinking -- I'm clever like that). For crying out loud will you GROW THE FUCK UP.

2. I am longing for bright lights, whizzing lights, blinking lights, strobe lights, colourful lights, flashing lights, red lights and green lights (no amber lights), dimmer lights, kitchen lights, fairy lights, christmas lights, LED lights, bright lights, and lightning.

3. I'm very homesick. Nobody is making it better. I want to leave leave leave and overuse my commas in a room after I'm back from a big night and my eyeliner is halfway down my cheek and my hair is a mess and I can't hear anything or see anything and I feel empty but the emptiness is good. I would do a lot for it, right now, now,,,,, now,,,,,,,,,,,,

4. I need human interaction.

5. Remember how we stood there with our bottles of Cruiser Blacks and you said "This isn't a good idea" and I said "It's like 6.4, what are you worried about" and you said "No, I mean, I think I'm making a mistake breaking up with him, he's been so good to me but it just doesn't feel right" and I started singing? It may have been the 6.4. I'm sorry. You really are perfect for each other. Don't listen to my songs.

6. I forgot what number six was.

(Taken a week ago. I didn't know such things existed in the patch of weed I call my garden. The yellow flower is from John Hughes. They gave us a bouquet for the purchase of my mother's brand new, light blue Toyota. I wonder why dealerships give flowers people who purchase cars, but boys don't to the girls they love.)

7. There are three slices of cold pizza and one slice says "EAT ME" and the other says "DRINK ME" and the last one doesn't say anything and I reckon this is why everyone thought Lewis Carroll was high most of the time.

8. I secretly want to hit you. So hard you start crying. You're my best friend, but fuck. Sometimes I just want to hit you.

9. Quiero volver al partido. Quiero inhalar las estrellas y decirle cuanto le amo. Porque le amo realmente. No. Pero si. (I don't know how to put in the accents.)

10. I'm watching Mars Attacks right now on channel 99 and it brings back a lot of memories of us wearing our spaghetti strainer hats, hiding behind the sofa with wooden spoons and ballpoint pens and other things we thought would make good weapons. Do you miss it as much as I do?

El fin.

This is the worst entry of my life.

November 08, 2009


Holga roll.

I have nothing else to say.