26.8.10

meow, bow wow.

so. it's 4:16 and I'm bound to see a little daylight, again. I'm watching Catdog because I haven't watched it since I was 12, when it was not a syndicated delight. There's some sort of bass streaming from my neighbor's place, but Steph isn't home so I dare not bother them. I've become quite accustomed to my lifestyle of sleeping until the afternoon, going to work and seeing the sun come up. The time before 2 P.M. seems so useless and foreign to me.
I'm beginning to see the temporary career path that I would like to take. It's a burgeoning feeling for me, and I like it. Whether or not I stick to it doesn't matter to me; I'm just pumped to have a goal. Many of my friends are artists, and I envy them for that. Though pursuing artistic endeavors does not seem to be the most prosperous/promising venture, it is a career destination- A goal which I am usually lacking.
When I was younger (and still today), my mother always said that my ability to appreciate and achieve various gifts and goals (respectively) would be my gift and my curse. Maybe she used more words, or less, but that's how I interpreted them.
Catdog is a show about a creature that is a cat on one end, and a dog on the other. Opposing forces trapped in one being is a rather intense, philosophical theory to impose upon preteens. Thankfully we don't have to worry about that now, with the advent of Miley Cyrus... or wait, is she Hannah Montana?

And they wonder what's wrong with our generation.

10.8.10

no mother ever dreams

This morning/afternoon, in my dream, it was Black Friday. I had thousands of dollars on me- at some point I was hiding it in my shoes. I walked out of a store and wrote with a teal green sharpie on the concrete, "There is more than recognition in a name." I don't know what my subconscious meant by it, but I like it. I was loaded. I liked that too.

2 P.M. seems to be my new wake up call. I sleep until I'm done. I sleep when I want to. There's a part of me that knows this stems back to childhood having my sleep regulated by someone else (mom/school). The other part of this comes from recklessness and seeing the sunrise 4 out of 7 nights in a week. But I figure I should live while I'm young- some day I will HAVE to sleep because no amount of caffeine will keep me standing and no amount of party juice will make me want to attend.

This summer has been excellence, but I'm ready for a little cool down. In temperature. In social climate. I love my new place, but I think I could've loved any new place. I come home and close my door. I constantly want to make things; it's pretty great. I leave my clothes on the floor. I hang my bras on the wall. I wake up and pay bills.


But I feel really free.

7.8.10

i.wish.i.wrote.this.

I've drowned my conscience and cast another stone.
I took to preaching while dancing on the code.
I can't see where I've been and only god knows where I'll be.
But there must be a place for a wretch like me.

Oh, lord knows I'm tired,
But I, I, I won't rest my head until I'm home.
And if my hands find themselves another body, well,
You can't blame them for trying to keep warm.

Morals are simply a matter of time,
And where you lay your head's a question of pride.
But when it's said and done you'll find in the light,
That privilege and wit make me misfortune's child.

Can't tell collapse that it needs to slow down.
Can't tell death that it shouldn't come around.
And when they take my head and put it on a stake,
I know that guilt and disgrace keep the dead man awake.
Bartering your figure for a paralyzing love,
What have you done?
What have you done?

I tipped the scaffold and laughed until I fell.
Girl if you need me, grab another from the well.
I can't imagine what hell has in store,
But I know if I'm there I won't wander anymore.

Oh, lord knows I'm tired,
But I, I, I won't rest my head until I'm home.
And if my hands find themselves another body, well
You can't blame them for trying to keep warm.

Oh, lord knows I'm weak,
But I, I, I can't clear my head if I'm asleep.

Morals are simply a matter of tide,
And where you lay your head's a question of pride.
But when it's said and done you'll find in the light
That privilege and wit make me misfortune's child

Can't tell collapse that it needs to slow down.
Can't tell death that it shouldn't come around.
And when they take my head and put it on a stake,
I know that guilt and disgrace keep the dead man awake.

We've lived under this dark cloud forever.
Waited for the bad light to break.

Just let me tell that one again,
With a little more feeling.
We slept at the crossroads together,
Tried to make an honest mistake.
Just let me tell that one more time,
Without a smile on my face.

And now the road is empty.
As every promise is.
If life is pointless then point taken, say amen.
So light another candle and point my body out to sea,
Because your heart is no place for a wretch like me.

Another stranger passing.
A common dissonance.
If life is pointless then point taken, say amen.
So light another candle and point my body out to sea,
Because your side is no place for a wretch like me.

When they unearth these passages,
Will I appear to be proud?
Not if you're listening close enough.
Not if you're sounding it out

4.8.10

brenda returns to general hospital.



I've been writing in a journal since 4th grade. My first, which was a Slyvester and Tweety lockable hardcover, began with a tale of a young boy named Quincy. He was my (imaginary) lover at the time and treated me like a princess. I could share my opinion as to why an 8 year old me made up a boyfriend (named after Quincy Jones, nonetheless) but I'd rather leave that to you.

This book was the first of many. I've been chronicling my life ever since, but I rarely go back and look at the images/words. The ones I made in high school were very well collaged and full of grief and angst (surprise. surprise.). Oh and a very strong desire to be loved and to feel beautiful.



To avoid re-reading things that would continuously make me upset, I began writing in patterns. It worked for as long as I needed it to, and then out of no where it just ended. I didn't need to be as cryptic anymore... but it looked something like this:



I enjoy ending my journals, sometimes before I reach the last page, on a high note. The last page of this particular journal preserves a phone message from my arch-nemesis-turned-friend and reads as follows:


yo.. it's D. I had this whole speech prepared. I totally forgot it right now, just now. I'll just wing it. I had an awesome time yesterday. You totally rocked dude, we should've done that before. But I guess we didn't. But hey, we have years ahead of us. So we should reschedule. Also in case I don't see you in school today, it was insanely cool that you shared your journal thingy with me. I felt very special and cared for. It was a very cool bonding experience. I love the fact that I turned into a stupid asshole after 3 glasses of wine and I totally hope you erase that from your mind because my tolerance is a lot higher. I don't even know what happened. I loved that you walked me to the train and talked down the whole Pete thing, that was cool. I'm sad I'm pathetic but umm yeah. I just wanted to make sure I told you that. Ok I have to go shower and shit for school and if I see you I see you, if I don't, I don't. OH and if you're wondering how I got your number, I remembered that it was in my yearbook. But yeah alright man. Bye.


I ended this chapter by saying, "I hope I can bring people full circle for the rest of my life. People tell me that it's always fun to hang out with me.. I hope I stay some what the same.. I've learned something about myself- that was worth every dropped tear and lonely night. Let's remember the past and look to the future. It's just me and you."

And that is how I started writing a book when I was 8.
xX.