Friday, June 8, 2007
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
la vie bohem
im learning that it is a lie.
maybe im not cut out for it.
la bohemia seemed so glamorous-- i dont know if thats the right word-- anti-glamorous and real. knowing about important things, discussing these things, using big words, ordering complicated espresso drinks, forcing myself to love black coffee and quietly and arduously developing my palate. smoking foreign cigarettes, speaking lovingly of my own experience while sizeing up those of others as better or worse than my own. tattoos, piercngs, coloured hair, angst.
what has it all amounted to?
i am ignored by the raging alcoholics who have ordered five drinks from me by ten thirty, branded with more tattoos than me, with their cool air of a difficult life, woodcuts.
no one cares, and no one ever has. i have wrongly thought otherwise of many people. at some point, i thought, it would stop making me sad.
all the kids now in their punk rock uniforms, their moussed black hair, their recycled cordourory sling bags, their cars with stickers of unpronounceable band names, who look at you incredulously or amused or both that you dont know who SANDPISS is, who speak like they recently had a lobotomy, who like to tell you stories about their friends drunk uncles that did the prison tattoos on their backs, young girls who think they are invincible, in control, or whatever else.
id like to tell them it wont get them anywhere. that living in your car is awesome, and its funny the first couple times you get thrown out of a UDF for showering in their bathrooms. a gun in your face builds character.
no one cares and no one ever has.
...
maybe im not cut out for it.
la bohemia seemed so glamorous-- i dont know if thats the right word-- anti-glamorous and real. knowing about important things, discussing these things, using big words, ordering complicated espresso drinks, forcing myself to love black coffee and quietly and arduously developing my palate. smoking foreign cigarettes, speaking lovingly of my own experience while sizeing up those of others as better or worse than my own. tattoos, piercngs, coloured hair, angst.
what has it all amounted to?
i am ignored by the raging alcoholics who have ordered five drinks from me by ten thirty, branded with more tattoos than me, with their cool air of a difficult life, woodcuts.
no one cares, and no one ever has. i have wrongly thought otherwise of many people. at some point, i thought, it would stop making me sad.
all the kids now in their punk rock uniforms, their moussed black hair, their recycled cordourory sling bags, their cars with stickers of unpronounceable band names, who look at you incredulously or amused or both that you dont know who SANDPISS is, who speak like they recently had a lobotomy, who like to tell you stories about their friends drunk uncles that did the prison tattoos on their backs, young girls who think they are invincible, in control, or whatever else.
id like to tell them it wont get them anywhere. that living in your car is awesome, and its funny the first couple times you get thrown out of a UDF for showering in their bathrooms. a gun in your face builds character.
no one cares and no one ever has.
...
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
collecting stains
i bought a bleach pen,
i hate it, because it doesn't work well.
of course i boguht the kroger brand pen. im thinking of cashing in on that money back guarantee.
so i have a cut on my leg from taking the trash out-- someone was being awesome and threw broken glass in a bag and it swung and scratched me.
this has happened before- i have a scar on my thumb when a bit of rogue glass nearly took half of it away from me.
i read a smal book on tide pools today. i learned that an octopus will eat a crab.
thats very interesting.
Monday, June 4, 2007
white oleander
im reading the novel by janet fitch.
every page is another memory of myself.
i have felt that kind of loss and sorrow and pain.
i read until i cry, and i try not to read any farther, but i can't help it.
i feel like if i can jump into the book and love Astrid i will be healed.
so far there is no healing, only half sticky banages that keep falling off, and a singing voice i used to have purloined by cigarettes and sadness.
Friday, June 1, 2007
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