sometimes i'm a hippy

It feels good to let go. I went to a small school just north of the Bronx called Purchase. All of my best friends are from Purchase; the people I bump into on the street are from Purchase. Besides my family and the 4 people I know from high school, everyone I know, I met in college. It was pouring tonight, but I dragged myself out to Sugarland for a drag show, hosted by a queen I loved... from Purchase. I didn't want to go. I'd already ordered a steak and a glass of pinot noir and was considering settling in for the night but Margaret was listed as our personal guest of honor for the evening. When she didn't flake I applied my social Calamine lotion and decided I could not either. Seeing her alone was worth the umbrellas and cab rides alone. Then they mentioned the no-pants-free-drinks-rule. There is an element of nudity that I greatly miss about Purchase. There was a certain potentially-sexual-sexuality-free-freedom that existed in our young youth that was brilliant and can not be fabricated. There was such a thing as free love. Actually, I suppose it was $50,000 worth of free love but that's neither here nor there... But tonight when I held onto the banisters of the upstairs lounge in my skivvies and boots, I was happy. My friends were happy, the strangers were happy, and there was so my love in the air. the fan clicks and i am missing you/us now.

Made: A Mellow Mix

It seems I am going through this phase were anything I do that is remotely reminiscent of my past strikes me as pure nostalgia and prevokes the dormant emotions I once associated with the people, places or things I re-experience.

Before college ended, he made me these mix cds. I titled them in my itunes as
Name Made: _________, filling in the blank with the appropriate theme of the disc. I'd asked for them before I broke up with him, and asked him to follow through with the mixes once I did. I wanted to know what the thought of me, through music, while we were dating. Music was the only way I ever knew what he thought. He wasn't a creator; he was a listener. He was passionate about what he could not do. I saw myself in him this way.

It was months before I ever listened to any of them. I'm sure I was being cruel- abusing his time on purpose... but I can't really say what was going through my mind at the time. He loved me too much, too soon and I didn't know what to do with it. I certainly didn't know how to enjoy it. I never copied the summer mix to my computer; I lost it somewhere in my travels. I gave the hip-hop mix a few gos, but never quite stuck... but once a month the mellow mix creeps in.

He never gave me the playlist information, so I listen to these songs blindly- confident that every song will flow into the next as it's maker intended them to. I'm convinced he's telling me a story through every one's words but his own. I don't listen to them until Track 4.

night creature...
night creature...
when will you come home?

it coos to me. he speaks to me. It's been two years and every time I get the craving to hear that song, I have to look up the lyrics. When I see the band name, I remember who made the cds for me. I realize that, contrary to how naturally the cd flows, it has been masterfully crafted for my ears.

Track 06
My little woman causes me a lot of trouble sometimes
she worries me so bad i dont know what to do.
I take a walk, figured the rolling of my feet would come to ease my mind.
I just go away and wont know where I'm goin

i won't know where that i am goin to
cause she bugger me, she bugger me
man she'd bugger you

I'm with you in the morning baby
till the break of day
I know you won't take my heart
you tryin to make me go away


Track 20

make me laugh, you make me shiver
Isn’t that a fabulous scene?

this is when I start to hear him again.


I saw you in a daydream
Now I'm a jealous guy with aches babe
I lied to mom about that
You're dealing with a boy girl
And I'm stepping forward in pain
Come home now, freak me out


You make me laugh, you make me shiver
Isn’t that a fabulous scene?
Don’t be here now don’t be here anytime
I’m much wiser now, that’s how we walk

It ends this way.
I miss everything, late at night, when I'm alone.

freewrite #3

"Fuck."
That is it. Everything else they tell you, about the final thoughts a person has before their brain splatters, before their hearts give in and their inner-most bowels escape their physical being, comes down to four letters. Those memories of the first time you held your eldest child, or the way your father pulled your ear as he kissed your cheeks before school in the morning...
Gone.
Fuck. You really wanted to believe that they, those nuances of your mother, sisters, best friends- would be yours. Forever. Unfortunately, when you choked on that cherry pit, watching Pretty in Pink, alone- again, you had to learn that finite nature of "forever." Much shorter than you presumed.
Remember being a door monitor in 6th grade so that you could escape the trenches of Ms. Somer's English class a bit earlier than the other students? Standing the hall just before the bell and watching your peers flood into the corridor... Knowing that their backpacks had found lumbar lodgings long before the bell had sounded?
Remember it now, because you won't then.
There was a night after a field trip to Philadelphia, when you stared at the phone for hours before finally calling. At 12 you may not have understood the duties of the term, but you really wanted one. When he said that he would be your boyfriend you shreaked. When you kissed, you realized the difference between 5'5" and his 5'1", you fled. Not knowing that it would be years before it happened again- four, to be exact.
But that one has vanished now, too.

All you know now is this... fuck

hair in my soup.

this is the view from my room windows. click on it and it will get bigger.




In addition to working diligently on this new pretty layout, I also went through way too many of my old live journal entries, which for your comical pleasures, are here and here. Serving up the results of low-self esteem and the woes on college on a savory platter of girly.

This dig into the depths of LJ also reminded me that I used to work at Hot Topic. and that I had a monroe. and that I used to go to underwear parties.

I'll leave you all with an excerpt from 11.15.2004. I was listening to Matchbox 20 "Unwell" at the time.

over partied and passing out.
i move to undress and as i inch
down my jeans my tender muscles
remind me of last night.
the scent of cigarettes stains
my clothing and i think of
my slow daily suicide.
i turn to look at my spine,
my finger tips surprise my skin
as the mirror exposes my
ruby red waistline.
someone had a strong hold on me
during a slow dance.
but i don't know his name
and he probably didn't bother
learning mine.
the shadows in the room fade
another sad song on a slow
saturday night and i am left
singled out on a crowded dance floor
alone in a crowded room..


i think i have a drinking problem.