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Sunday, January 22nd, 2006
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4:09 am
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me, sleeplessness, bizarre latenight visits, a wornout pavement album, and finding comfort in this odd place.
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| Wednesday, January 18th, 2006
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1:09 am - borges
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"I saw the teeming sea; I saw daybreak and nightfall; I saw the multitudes of America; I saw a silvery cobweb in the center of a black pyramid; I saw a splintered labyrinth (it was London); I saw, close up, unending eyes watching themselves in me as in a mirror; I saw all the mirrors on earth and none of them reflected me; I saw in a backyard of Soler Street the same tiles that thirty years before I'd seen in the entrance of a house in Fray Bentos; I saw bunches of grapes, snow, tobacco, lodes of metal, steam; I saw convex equatorial deserts and each one of their grains of sand; I saw a woman in Inverness whom I shall never forget; I saw her tangled hair, her tall figure, I saw the cancer in her breast; I saw a ring of baked mud in a sidewalk, where before there had been a tree; I saw a summer house in Adrogué and a copy of the first English translation of Pliny -- Philemon Holland's -- and all at the same time saw each letter on each page (as a boy, I used to marvel that the letters in a closed book did not get scrambled and lost overnight); I saw a sunset in Querétaro that seemed to reflect the colour of a rose in Bengal; I saw my empty bedroom; I saw in a closet in Alkmaar a terrestrial globe between two mirrors that multiplied it endlessly; I saw horses with flowing manes on a shore of the Caspian Sea at dawn; I saw the delicate bone structure of a hand; I saw the survivors of a battle sending out picture postcards; I saw in a showcase in Mirzapur a pack of Spanish playing cards; I saw the slanting shadows of ferns on a greenhouse floor; I saw tigers, pistons, bison, tides, and armies; I saw all the ants on the planet; I saw a Persian astrolabe; I saw in the drawer of a writing table (and the handwriting made me tremble) unbelievable, obscene, detailed letters, which Beatriz had written to Carlos Argentino; I saw a monument I worshipped in the Chacarita cemetery; I saw the rotted dust and bones that had once deliciously been Beatriz Viterbo; I saw the circulation of my own dark blood; I saw the coupling of love and the modification of death; I saw the Aleph from every point and angle, and in the Aleph I saw the earth and in the earth the Aleph and in the Aleph the earth; I saw my own face and my own bowels; I saw your face; and I felt dizzy and wept, for my eyes had seen that secret and conjectured object whose name is common to all men but which no man has looked upon -- the unimaginable universe."
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(comment on this)
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| Sunday, January 15th, 2006
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9:43 pm
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nostalgia will kill me, eventually... & my supposedlyharmless dabbling in voyeurism will leave me gushingallabout, frustration frothing and a bit choked up with jealousy. & if that doesnt do it, it will be these thick layers in a slow inward fold until the knees lock & the body's a crumpled ball, a slowmoving verb, stock-still.
p.s. i am thinking of making a zine - mainly of my writing & a few scribbles here and there, anyone interested? this journal has been pretty much inactive, so how much of a response can i even expect..
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(6 comments | comment on this)
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| Thursday, June 9th, 2005
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6:12 pm
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pneumonia + sinus infection + ear infection. i hope it ends soon.
anyone in gainesville ... come see chelsea & i play friday night at the civic media center, around nine pm.
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(comment on this)
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| Tuesday, June 7th, 2005
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3:29 pm
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i'm not really done with this.
i've since graduated from high school, gone through a rather debaucherous (a loosening up, wanting to be a little more free from worry) stage (im done with the routine of daily drug use now-- thankyouverymuch) and squeezed my way into love. summer welcomes me with a godawful disease, inflaming my lungs. this afternoon im off to the doctor again, hopefully not for bad news. in about a month i'm moving out and once i stop feeling completely drained... i'll be making more music and looking for ways to make money ... and ways to be generally more productive.
current music: francoiz breut- km83
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(comment on this)
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| Tuesday, December 14th, 2004
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8:58 pm
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| Sunday, December 12th, 2004
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11:29 pm
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i've uneasily settled after some murky dishwater days. i'm a weathered cynic already. i've read rimbaud and you just dont give in at seventeen. i'm looking for simplicity, in a packed valise & empty closet kind of way. ive seen the horizon, stripped, and stretched out before me, only to know that it'll eventually wrap around me.
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(comment on this)
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| Tuesday, December 7th, 2004
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12:13 am
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i'm not looking for states of equilibrium. im letting go of all the inequalities before im left scrubbing the sky in some bout of absurdity. for now id like to listen and maybe you'll jump to fill the spaces. or maybe there's nothing to be filled and we'll find some clarity and understanding when were floating in this loss of sound & control. i don't care how tired/overused/cliche this reads. i'm slowly catching up....
the past few days have been strange...dipping in and out of nostalgia, drives to and from interlachen, conversations with old hippies, reduced to blubbering drunks falling all over themselves, periodically lapsing into the slurred verse of some neil diamond song, getting needlessly stoned (read: making an ass of myself, appropriately) with this ridiculous boy that i like.
current music: joanna newsom
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| Wednesday, December 1st, 2004
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11:45 pm
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sometimes it just comes rushing in. a tide of sadness, senseless, obliterating everything. and ive begun to wonder how the hell i got here...where we've all begun to fit a uniform ugliness, with appropriate emotions plastered on our flushed faces (darkpink blush on our cheeks---giving us the appearance there was once movement in our pulses) and heads screwed on unbalanced bodies of awkward proportions. and it always seems im heading east at sunrise with a pounding headache, yellowlight screaming in my eyes like the neon glow of a vegas strip. i simply cant keep wonderland going so my cynicism just swells & my mind is continually reduced to a bundle of neurons, a series of synaptic firings...and suddenly ive become something more mechanical than id ever like to be (maybe this is why i seem so unfit for love.) i used to taste the streets and get lost in things other than myself. you can point and assign meaning all you'd like "this is a chair, this is a desk, this is LIFE." but its all not so easily defined. ive lost my list of synonyms for burnt out. is it possible to be burnt out on feeling so goddamned numb, so comfortable with being detatched? i might stop opening this mouth of mine (it never says half the things it should.) i might forget moving on, growing up, leaving this place behind, and keep my feet rooted here with a (mal)content smile on my undefined collage of a face.
current music: mirah-the sun
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Thursday, November 25th, 2004
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10:34 am
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i fell asleep with the lights on, fully clothed and woke up to the glow of a sixty watt bulb. i'm stuck in yesterday's clothes...thin t-shirt pressed against skin and a wrinkled skirt. this room smells of things musky & warm...soft, diffused sunlight trickles in the window. sorrow is too stupid (or simply ridiculous in the way that im always laughing at myself - out loud, under my breath, out of breath, in silence) but i can't help but feel it here, stale & lingering in these long days when im tired of the taciturn. turn to me & tell it like it is.
current music: bob dylan
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Wednesday, November 17th, 2004
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11:56 pm
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we're left glowing like the fluorescent lights overhead after days spent in rooms with cold linoleum floors and blank walls, secreting, whispering with the murmurs of every hour. numbness grows on you. i realise we could be sitting thigh to thigh, hip to hip with foreheads touching, fingers intertwined (or even your fucking hand up my skirt)...and there would be no static between our bodies and our palms would be completely and guiltlessly dry. am i alive here?
i cant feel you.
im starting to feel this madness coming on. the pack-your-suitcase-and-head-out-the-back-door-in-your-sunday-best kind of madness. so i'm painting my face and heading out, jumping across state lines, out of this visceral reality for awhile. ready to shove some feeling down my throat.
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(comment on this)
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| Sunday, November 14th, 2004
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4:33 pm
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there are so many songs for today. it is sixty degrees outside and perfectly grey. reminds me of germany in spring. but this is florida's autumn. i dont feel like delving into my pseduo-poetic word jumbles. so ill give my shot at being straightforward. a bit more real. this afternoon i sat downtown...crocheting (my new addiction), talking, watching friends chain smoke. i feel relaxed and not so worried about prescribing meaning to all these faces and figures and finding their context in tomorrow.
current music: the shins-girl on a wing
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| Sunday, November 7th, 2004
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11:19 pm
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the day is the strangest. all these people are sunlit ghosts, let loose. who knows the shapes they take on at night.
this is my (notsogradual) wearing down.
current music: jolie holland
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(9 comments | comment on this)
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| Monday, November 1st, 2004
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12:32 am
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i admit
im scared of sounding these syllables even tho i know you can strip them of their assigned meaning
and you've got nothing. its just dead blank verse ringing.
hello november, there is too much to do and i feel like im always waking up with a bloody nose.
current music: cat power
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Friday, October 29th, 2004
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9:02 pm - they said i'd die on a hot night.
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doors swing in october air, dying for sound and we go over it again: the dull lot, the silent round. i get hungry talking at the wind, watching the dry pots and cupboards, waiting for the word. i'm cleaning spotless glasses, expecting absent guests who never come here. i sleep deep in lies, waking naked to a marrying wish. what do i fill with? ive got the guts of memory in my mouth and the dream is simply its own meat.
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(comment on this)
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| Monday, October 25th, 2004
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12:13 am - firsts.
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i've spent too much time living in other people's words. i wrote in the beginning and the end (what i deemed appropriate or simply inevitable) and erased the memories in between. i slap on some eyes, a crooked mouth, give myself a name...and soon enough ill be a living room revolutionary, dreaming under the sound of television static. there's not much left of me, probably wasnt in the first place.
im gonna let my fingers slip (intentionally) and let it all come down...even if it means the shitstorm of all time, the perpetual armageddon resting on my shoulders. i want some more firsts. ive done this all before...
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Wednesday, October 20th, 2004
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11:12 pm
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| Sunday, October 17th, 2004
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12:49 am - shift
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im squeezing life out of loss, laughing only out of some strange sort of sadness or an uneasy something lapping in my stomach. the mornings are cold, the days are hot...and everything seems a bit askew when i wake up with cold fingers and feet, but by noon my sweater's gone & i'm sweating and no longer digging fingers into pockets. today i made lots of cheap small talk, exchanged appropriate thank yous and you're welcomes. and tomorrow i will do it again. around sunset i walked for blocks to see where my feet would take me and my mind couldnt. the bats were dotting the sky over university, and an elderly man in a straw cowboy hat with a rather plain gait was standing at the crosswalk, blasting smooth jazz from a boombox. i wish there was more to the story.
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Monday, October 11th, 2004
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12:58 am - a real good time.
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space mutilates space, infinity splits in half, divides itself into even pieces. and we're all doing backbends beneath this backdrop. its quite ridiculous to stretch ourselves so thin, until we're clearly frazzled and hazy eyed and we've become the messages in our brains, the successive firing of synapses.
i keep watching all my lives crash together, but they never meet one defining, punctual end. no lifelong period. so i'm becoming a list of regrets: should-haves and could-haves...and all those things that should-have been said are quite ready to be spoken, remind me sometime. i hate to complain to this extent. the days have been good. i've been waking up to peppermint tea and writing songs like mad and baking cakes for lovely kids. its nearly one and im going to do a math problem or two and drink soymilk, ok?
current music: devendra banhart
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Thursday, October 7th, 2004
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11:38 pm - carborator sighs
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im feeling much like a pieced together version of myself. dismembered and disjointed is what ive always known. im a mess (and that seems to be a constant...cant you tell by the darting eyes, muddled conversations?) a fucking restless mind spilling with unrecorded thoughts. scraps of construction paper in primary colours. arms and legs stuck on with glue, art in a gradeschool classroom. ive been hoping to slide out of this skin. ive been jumping into cold swimming pools, making attempts to wash myself off me...and im here scrubbing away the last remnants with this dry sponge.
all of these entries run together. but im not exactly trying to communicate anything new.
current music: mirah
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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arrear's journal