hello scallywag. skallywag. i watched 'Margot at the Wedding' and i liked it. even with jack black. or maybe especially with jack black. i haven't decided on that last detail yet. the writer/director did 'The Squid and the Whale' which i didn't care for in a whole hearted way like i do for most of that "wittier than thou" genre but Margot was ace. fucking, jennifer jason leigh and nicole kidman as 'till smarts do us part sisters = ace. so, i recommend. that and revisiting your childhood love for chips n' dip with an all grown up twist: Expensive chips n' dip. vwah-lah!
washingtong state was also ace. my iphoto is malfunctioning right now but i do have documentation of new ink beginnings acquired there on photobucket so vwah-lah again:
"human" in modern greek, no male or female delineation, on the upper arm. and travis, i believe his name was, was kind enough to outline the DIY equality sign for me.
i enjoy when people ask me "what does the equality sign stand for?" and i say, "equality."
ohhhhhh life goes on. i'm exhausted and something is inside me keeping me from feeling healthy or fully functional so rest and doctor's appointments and then money making + i really wish it would stop raining for the love of mother earth 'cause kareem abdul just got back up and running and i'd, we'd like to make use.
a silver mt. zion. the triumph of our tired eyes..
rob the douche bag landlord says it isn't even pool season. i kind of want to kick him in the nuts in a critical mass sort of way. (not with a bunch of bicycles, but with the force of?)
-thank you jen for another rockin' plaid shirt. i'll wear it for a few weeks then switch back to white v-necks.
the woodshop / garage will be up and running soon. i've finally got everything ready to start building my work table. major problem is the galaxy of daddy-longlegs prancing all over every surface in there. also the boxes of miscellaneous stuff that we can't seem to find places for that are stacked haphazardly in intimidating mini-towers blocking electrical outlets or at least i hope they're blocking electrical outlets because if not, there's only one electrical outlet and if that's the case i might be blowing fuses every few days. thank god for battery operated power tools.
so yeah, i'm gonna get to work with the dremel and the joint work. i'd love to sit here and meander through a few more thoughts on life as is, but the dogs are doing that humping/fighting/running back and forth/gnawing on each other's necks & ears while making loud high-pitched growling noises thing and i don't think i can take it anymore.
*i think i'm gonna end this brief resurrected love affair with coffee and quit drinking the stuff again. it makes me feel a little like i did when i had that bleeding ulcer so stopping seems like the obvious answer.
, love and sweet dreams to all.
pz: does anyone know where i can buy fake/cheap semi-precious stones or any sort of colored stones at all to use for small inlay work?
we are not alone and i am not my father i am soooo my father. let that marinate for a while kiddo she said. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________ does anyone know where a dump or "convenience station" might exist on james island, or anywhere within 20 miles for that matter? our gar-age is full of gar-bage and not so conducive to setting up shop. i've been attempting to sharpen all of my chisels and can only stand the smell in there long enough to get through one on a good day. (a good day meaning all exits open, chain smoking and febreezing the fuck out of my intermediate area every five minutes or so) then the smoke makes me cry and i come close to losing a finger enough for it to be a bad idea Ohhh the strife!
on the other end of thoughts, i feel slow motion real hard. erin's picking us up to drive to baltimore tuesday/wednesday and said something about packing sandwiches. usually when anything involves the packing of food i yell a lot and refer to all food items as sammies and get real exited about using a pepper grinder, but this is a different kind of thing indicating silence and limpness of all body parts while moving. at least that's how it's been feeling. lightly touching things without feeling them as if the sudden movement of my own hands might interrupt some sort of time-space-continuum and make it hurt more. slow motion makes it easier. and conversely the hard scrubbing of all bathroom and kitchen sinks. - a small selection of the way i grieve.
logic of the night: q: do i really need to finish my degree to do what i want to do? a: no.
q: does my fast paced upbringing make me feel completely/no-wiggle-room-allowed obliged to finish my degree despite above q&a? a: yes.
q: what am i going to do about it? a: go through the initial motions and then i don't effing know.
conclusion: if you hold my hand real hard i can keep being happy being alone. ***add: i've got it going, i've got it all under control.
"Writer's Block: I'm Ashamed of... Letting go of my '66 Chevy.. Man I hate that I let that go."
Read More | Leave a comment
at first i was gonna say eff that guy. but all of the other responses had to do with sex or suicide and right now i'm thinking that losing a '66 chevy makes a hell of a lot more sense.
there's a big clumsy fly in my room. there it goes. window. door. tv. door. wall. window.
my friend is dying tomorrow.
or she's already gone and they're just shutting off the electricity tomorrow all i know is i'm getting in my truck.
fucking gay! ,heard thrice since morning. what does it mean and would you get your ass kicked in certain L.A. neighborhoods.?
slight obsession with Friday Night Lights. that shit is so real without depressing me, which counts. thanks neeners.
stomach's still bleeding. if ex-grrlfriends can transmit h. pylori we'd like to blame it on them. or better yet, when an ex owes you $4,000 you get to blame everything on them, including life changing ulcers. in effort to regain "normal" state of health -standing up/sitting down leaves me dizzy- i am performing DIY pilates to the storyline of law & order. somehow my arms stayed strong while everything else died. also, Breasts On SALE: 3/4's of each.
almost all moved into 773 Harborview Rd, James Island. our pool isn't clean yet and currently resembles more of a concrete lined swamp than anything, but jessica and i have determined it to be 6-7 ft at the deepest point. this excites me because i don't think i really believed the pool existed and if it did it would only be 2 ft deep. my favorite thing so far is the live oak that hangs over the pool with its perfect tire swing branch. (tire swing to be installed a.s.a.p.) there are also two anemic palm trees, two magnolias, one hearty patch of oregano and a few small sprigs of mint poking through the centipede grass.
i think we're having a house warming party friday? could be friday after next. i'll ask and post again. regardless there will be things grilled and chilled and does anyone have tiki torches for sale or for borrowing? i think coming st. ate mine up.
tangentially, Markus is alive in Vietnam. We managed to swing what must have been a ridiculously expensive phone call and the facts are these: He's living at the school in which he teaches outside of Saigon. There is a frightening ex-Navy Seal in charge who demands that Markus buy a motor bike. Markus is afraid to buy and/or ride a motor bike seeing as 100+ people die in automobile accidents there every day. Something about a lack of street signs or persons who pay attention to street signs and the most congested movement imaginable. I think of 25 sharks in a shoe. Also, he does not yet have malaria. This is all fairly encouraging and i'm seriously considering flying out to visit for a month or two when i'm on the west coast this summer.
on march 1st we have a house. the house has a pool. the pool is surrounded by a massive back yard. the massive back yard is surrounded by a big pretty fence. it's like the secret garden. space for a fire pit, space for a tiki bar and everywhere for our family of dogs to make happiness their own. how did i get this lucky? (kennedy, you were right about being fated to lose that other place.) and there's a garage i get all to myself to start up shop. and a fucking dishwasher.
when discussing the possible problem of friends not wanting to make the drive to james island we came to conclusion that if you have a pool, they will come. agreed?
holy hell new chapter in my life is all set except for a job. i'll get on that soon. believing more and more in karma.
boys and girls i am happy to be back.
and this is how i feel. minus the drunken fact that i can't quite remember this photo being taken because of Ivan and his bourbon. minus also the stuffed globes popping from under my wife-beater. but in a holistic sense, this is the wonderful way that i feel.
lived through yesterday. don't remember much of what i wrote before.
point is, i have some decisions to make. the plan right now is to finish up this semester, get a hold of the world that is art-ed non-profit community based initiatives and figure out if it's what i want to do with the rest of my life. other option being a degree in biology, which is something i've always been interested in and could very well excel at, but would require a year or two more in school. regardless, i've decided to transfer out of chicago after this semester.
i love this city and over the past few rumble/tumble years have come to think of it as a piece of myself, but the same things that used to make me think i'd churn out the rest of my life here- riding the elevated green line west at sunset pressing my face up against the glass until the lit up buildings become a golden blur, turning the corner at wabash and monroe in the loop knowing that the wind will blow my bangs out of my face in this perfect way for exactly six minutes until i reach my train stop, walking into santullo's for the city's best tiramisu and obscure root beer expecting the guy behind the counter to make one of the only three jokes he knows before he rings me up and smiles the best smile in the neighborhood, laying on the grass under the matrix of arching beams at the frank gehry auditorium in millennium park listening to the orchestra practice during my lunch break because a free outdoor symphony beats out a chicken pesto sandwich from the corner bakery every wednesday, and the winters oh the winters they blanket city like a thick layer of down and finding the longest stretch of iced sidewalk to jump on and slide down until my worn flat chuck taylor's that are so ridiculously inappropriate for winter hit the end and busting my ass on a snowbank and coming home all achy with freezing wet feet from the inappropriate shoes and taking a hot shower and closing my eyes to sleep hoping with fingers crossed that it'll snow that much more tomorrow- all of this stuff, it's the kind of stuff worthy of a soundtrack. but it's also the kind of stuff that's hard to do alone these days.
so these things- buildings and trains and strangers and ice- i love them but i know at the end of the day, if i'm too depressed to leave my apartment and see or do any of them, something just isn't right. the support network that i need right now to really truly be happy and healthy isn't in Chicago. i could be making a huge mistake leaving the art institute for undergrad. to be honest it's been quite difficult to get the image of faceless figures of authority smacking me over the head and scolding me for letting go of "the best opportunity of your life!", which yeah, it could be. maybe somehow some way i could get through the depression and the mood swings and the overwhelmingly detached attitude and graduate from one of the best art schools in the country. after all, it's been the plan from the beginning.
these past few weeks, thankfully, i've come to terms with the possibility of not being the Best. i kept reminding myself how young i really am and that yes, despite what it's felt like most of my life, i have time. that said, i'm going to wrap things up here in a package that will hopefully fit into the segue i've planned and go home for a while. by that i mean SC as a whole. hilton head for a month or so to reconnect with my family. i'd like to get to know my brother again and spend as much time as i can just listening to my father and mother because lord knows i've dragged them through hell and back the past three years and it's time i pay it foward. also on the island, i'll bitch slap doctor johnson on the north end then drive down to my therapist on the south end and talk to her about it for as long as it takes. then maybe to columbia to the mountain cabin for a week or two. play darts on the deck, hike up to the river and camp under stars that i can't see in the city, clean that little white boat back at the cabin and take it out on lake cherokee and around the bend to see the mountains that i can't see anywhere but there. jeanine, if you're reading this you know you're welcome at the lake. i'm sure all that liquor under the kitchen sink hasn't been touched since the last time we were there. plus, i don't know if i could light the grill with takka alone.
anyway, after i do what i can to get my grip back and reach that ever so elusive happy healthy state as best i can i'm quite seriously planning on transferring to winthrop to finish my BFA. this of course depends on the package that i wrap up here fitting into that segue, but i hope to make it happen. i know i like the area from previous visits, i know their art program is one of the better programs in the state and it's financially feasible, which SAIC isn't. i also know people there, people who may be reading this, and have heard a little bit of good and bad, and this might seem to some people like a completely backwards step, but what matters most is that i feel it's the best thing for me at this point in my life and so, it's what i want to do.
besides, the city of chicago isn't going anywhere. (buildings trains strangers and ice included)
okay. straight shooting. i've been sinking since i sent faith away. not because she's away because i'm alone. because, when i'm alone i can't busy my head with someone else's problems. and to tell you the truth, i was sinking while she was still here. i just didn't let myself think about what it meant to be sinking and what would happen to my life because of it because she was here and she was a magnet for everything in "the now" and now, all those little metal pieces of thought that didn't really matter so much have fallen to the floor because the magnet's gone and the real thoughts the ones that matter aren't metal they're air they're solid air frozen air like the real solid air at the cryogenics lab and i've realized that i am not, am not doing what's best for me.
i am not happy at the school of the art institute of chicago. or i am not happy because i'm not living like i should to be stable to be in a place where this very VERY real disease is under control and is not affecting my life like it is right now almost every minute of every off day. i have got to be happy to live my life. i have got to be happy in my apartment on the street IN THIS CITY laying in my bed before i can ever be happy at "the school of the art INstitute". (they say it with emphasis on INstitute. the school of the art INstitute of chicago. they've expected me to be here since the age of 6 since they named me "resurrection" they expect me to be this incredible something they hit the galleries every thursday night they walk down the halls like it's their job because it is their job and right now i am not they and i don't know if i want to be.)
this is the decision i have to make. ex: every department professor i have ever had has recommended advanced grad seminar placement and every time i've stayed home the next day because the synapses in my brain told me that i'd rather die than get out of bed. three fall semesters five professors in a row. one morning the first time i tried to get out of bed and then i tried to die. the decision is health vs. career. in easy logic it makes sense that if i can't function as a person i can't function in a place. easy logic is not three semesters later running out of money and it's now or never. so, i'll do it at the same time. i am trying to do it at the same time. part time school, part time health.
and later, come december, when i've hopefully completed my part time school and my part time health i'll be able to move on to full time both. the question of staying at an art school where i can climb the steps of artistic academia or start over to earn a degree in biology where i can study something tangible and maybe make some money doing a "real" job is THE question. i know i can "be good" at either. i can carve a perfect likeness of a construction worker eating a sandwich and holding a thermos out of white marble and plop it in a gallery and be proud of the concept or i can spend six months in Greenland drilling a core sample of an ice sheet and be excited about a layer of snow dating back to george washington's presidency. the question because i am deathly afraid of being "normal". i have to become one of "them" and as such, do something more than live. it was never any other way. on the other hand, i'd give a kidney and a few fingers to be normal in the sense of not being bi-polar. i know we all have our problems. and it has been instilled in my head that this disease is a cop-out and medication is a cop-out and to feel the guilt feel it and no excuses. i know now that these notions aren't true and that yes, it's going to be an uphill battle and it's not going to ever go away, but i can do as much as possible to live the way i want to live and do the things i want to do without a diagnosis getting in the way.
a few years ago my aunt jeanie, a psychiatric nurse in greenville, was down on hilton head visiting my family. late one night we ended up sitting in the kitchen together talking about my life as it was at the time. she told me that she specialized in helping people with my problems. asked me what medications i was on, etc. i didn't think it was that big of a deal at the time and i remember specifically at the end of the conversation she said, "you know, it is possible for people with bi-polar disorder to live fairly normal lives." i was offended then. i remember thinking, fairly normal lives? there isn't much wrong with me. she just made it sound like this thing, this diagnosis, was more than i could handle. it was a "disease". i specifically remember thinking, what the hell? four years later here i am. left school because of inappropriate medication, a bad reaction to leaving charleston and mental breakdowns the first year. got addicted to i.v. heroin and hurt/fucked up my relationship with the only people i ever really loved the second. got clean, came back to school, got half my soul taken away by a man in an alley and left school again the third year. got detached, got a taste of what i fucked up and decided to never stop loving it, got back with faith, got a new game plan, got back in school, kicked faith out, dropped all but two classes to focus on my sanity and now, four years later here i am and my aunt jeanie was absolutely appropriate and right in what she said that night. it's a bitch but it is possible.
when things get really bad, which has been most of the time recently, i try to remember a moment from the past that made me feel something positive to the fullest extent of the adjective. earlier tonight i started to worry about these two classes that i'm taking and how utterly scared i am to simply show up on thursday and talk to a bunch of third graders about art in their community because i am deathly afraid of little kids. so i closed my eyes and thought about this few minutes a long time ago when i fell asleep in my bed under the red comforter and a girl came into my room and started singing. it woke me up at first, but i kept still and pretended to be asleep while she walked around the room with her voice like feathers because i thought, if i opened my eyes and looked around she'd disappear. in that moment, i remember feeling completely and perfectly safe. it hasn't happened since and will never happen again, but remembering that feeling is quite possibly the best i could do in the moment to remind myself of the little things that make life worth living. this all quite possibly cheesy and trivial, but damnit, it works.
anyway, i think this was supposed to be a cross section of what's up right now this very moment here in my living room. i have to say, about half way through that last paragraph i got a call from my most beloved adviser. we discussed my recent depression and plan to rehabilitate in coordination with decisions about my schooling. apparently, the fam just got a letter from an in-state tuition fund that they started a long long time ago stating that i have available, if i choose to use them, two years at any SC school for free? this as opposed to about a hundred thousand dollars in loans to pay off after graduation from saic, which poses yet another question to answer about the next few years of my life. and what i'm giving serious thought to makes a great amount of sense. aeeeiiiii...
maybe i'll see some of you people sooner than i thought.
feeling sick better than feeling sick in the head. cause when there's a fever and a body ache and the haze of congestion my heart can't pump all fast and hard like it does when i'm sick in the head.
perfect stranger is a good movie. partly because i love a good psychological thriller and mostly because i love giovonni ribisi. buddy at the video store says he met him and jason lee in la and that they're both scientologists, but pointed out that giovonni is ridiculously short like pancakes like pancakes.
missed some classes because it's been hard to move. the body ache that i hatelove. they say it's not a good sign. but it can't be because i have to. gotta do it this time.
forgot about too much and remembered forgetting recently. forgot about sawdust and wood glue and the smell of a flame at the end of an oxy-acet torch. love it when i'm there and am scared of it when i'm not. like a kid who protests a bath for hours and when he finally gets in the tub, never wants to leave. and over again.
i don't think i'll own much in the end. but i'm dreaming again. and the clipping of ivy in the vase from the garage sale has out lived four other flowers. not the rose though. the white rose is keeping up with the ivy. i'm proud of it for that.
got a simple little blue bike from working co-op. finally. and just in time it's getting cold out to make bike riding and face numbing one in the same. looking foward to it like most other things cold weather related.
i think i wrote this last year and like i'd hoped, it's happening again. autumn's creeping in on all fours.
alexyss tylor "vagina power". prof merkle, towards the end of our first art history lecture, jumped from female fertility figures to cheering this woman from georgia. so so glad to be back in art school where my big boned big haired fabulous professor can not only sport a red silk robe over a black mesh tank top, but can raise his fist and praise vagina power to end the day.
peter & the wolf. lightness. (daytrotter sessions).
for the past six months i've supposedly been living a new life. brand spanking new. me. her. the 4 walls that exist where they do. 800 miles away from all of the heartache and temptation that rotted our sensibilities on and off for those two years we like to call lost.
when she wakes up in the morning and reaches for the suboxone or walks through the door after a day of rejected resumes and takes it all out on me i walk to where she stands, eyes in eyes, grab her hand and remind her how far she's come. "it could be so much worse babe." + "so much worse." + "just look at how far you've come..."
then it's all better and we're splayed out together on the couch and ADA Jack McCoy is prosecuting some scumbag on the t.v. and waiting for my heartbeat to step in sync with hers is the only care i have in the world.
then something in the back of my mind calls bullshit. (don't you love it?) the card game called life: bullshit is called and i enter the other half of myself that knows when the next hand is dealt the real things that exist 800 miles away for ME go something like: good friends, lost love, beautiful sidewalks and a whole lot of people i wish i hadn't lost. did i lose you? oh oh ohh... it's all catching up with me so fast so incredibly fast and i'm deadly afraid of falling to sleep some nights recent nights because i know i'll dream you everywhere all of the time.
(you know this post was supposed to be a photo post with 30 different fireworks screaming through the night and my neighbor shooting roman candles out of both hands while wearing a knight's helmet and conrad on my floor and cami playing the flute i've been trying to play for weeks and me and my girl eating corn dogs with the wrigleyville corn dog man and a gourmet cake that is actually a hamburger. but photobucket is down and this is what's coming out so...)
continued: i assume most people have experienced those repetitive dreams where there is one and only one scenario and you wake up and go back to sleep and it starts from the beginning again and over and over and over, right?
well, i've been having these dreams recently. the first had something to do with making it to the other side of lake cherokee without being eaten alive by these massive freshwater weeds/underwater christmas trees that had taken the whole lake over. it would start with me and a few random people from real life bailing water out of the boat and starting to make our way across and each time i was consciously attempting to better the outcome of the dream so that we could make it to the other side of the lake while simultaneously banishing the weeds in order to create a clear area to swim in. needless to say, i think, that dream was of no consequence. the next dream, which has been plaguing me for the past week, i cannot get out of my head. waking or not. i will spare you the detail. spare myself the detail. the dream was sparked by a law & order episode in which a man has a gun and for the past 5 or so nights in a row i fall asleep and i see sean. again, i feel that while dreaming i am constantly trying to change the outcome or process of the dream while it is happening. in this sense i succeed only slightly. i see him in that place i kept myself from ever really thinking about and i don't know if i should be writing about this but i can't stop seeing it. from the beginning. over and over and over. last sunday faith tried to wake me up to see conrad and cami and jen off to breakfast and i told her i needed to keep sleeping because i was determined to force this dream to turn out differently. if even in just the slightest tremble of his eyes. i slept till 4pm and i can't. couldn't. will never be able to.
aiiee... anyway, i'm flying to hilton head next tuesday the 24th and leaving the 31st or somewhere around that time. i plan to spend some time with family (lil' bro's birthday was the 15th and he's coming back from greece soon) and then borrow my mother's car friday the 27th (still missing my jeep) so that i can stay the weekend in charleston. my life here is my life here and it's bursting with opportunities and i'm finally excited and genuinely confident about starting school again in the fall, but i think it's time i relax and visit those friends i thought i'd lost at one point or another. something about holding your hand and breathing. i've "escaped" to charleston before. i've gone there looking for something that i thought might help me. i've visited with the hope of winning love back. a few times with the hope of winning love back. all of that. before. each time had something, scratch that, everything to do with finding something. something for me. now, really, i just want to see you guys. want to be there because that's where you are and to sit down and breath. so, i hope you're okay with that and maybe have some free time on your hands.
moving on. here's some news from 1028 Winchester: -Ivona the drunken landlord has officially started to leave me alone because, as i've come to find out from her son the downstairs neighbor, she feels badly for me after looking at my medical records because she, the drunken landlord, happens to work at my doctors office. wtf? -the jeep has been scrapped for its parts, which isn't really a 1028 Winchester ordeal, but i think is important enough news to be included here. (jeanine: i'm fairly sure my mom got those guys to save the cd player. i'll get back to you on that one soon enough.) -belle the pigeon started to grow "normal pigeon feathers" (the green/blue kind), which means she is not a dove, as we had hoped earlier after my brother suggested she might be a dove while flipping through a bird identification book last month. -mammograms are a strange experience. -flip cup tournament t-shirts do exist. -i've finally come to agree with something savannah said a few years ago when we saw kraftwerk here and i took her on a tour of wicker park. reckless records does suck. -if any of you have access to The Outlaw Bible of American Literature you should immediately turn to page 347 and read Diary of an Emotional Idiot by Maggie Estep. i re-discovered it this past week and after reading it aloud to faith, fake queens accent and all, re-fell-in-love with it. -someone has been stealing my art forum issues before i've been able to check the mail for the past 3 months. -i don't know if engaged was ever the right word. -the hunt for the best tiramisu in town is over and the winner is Santullo's on W North.
okay. that's it for now. i look forward to seeing y'all. actually, so much so that i wish like i did when i was a kid that i had a universal remote and could hit the fast forward button. if that makes any sense at all.
oh, and now, as i'm spellchecking my entry photobucket decides to work. i'm exhausted and will post all 10,563 photos from the 4th of july and pitchfork weekend soon enough. but here's a little preview of "war zone fireworks" for your time. all i'm going to say is that i was going to lose my eyebrows or perhaps a finger if i took more than a split second to drop and roll directly after snapping this one. so enjoy:
i'd never used hydrogen peroxide on a cut before. i think i'm addicted. or left disappointed when i touch the q-tip to the broken area on my hands and the burning sensation doesn't come. it started with a bunch of blisters from working community service with streets and sanitation this week. (got that for standing next to a fresh piece on rockwell with paint on my hands in march.) the blisters have scabbed over now but i keep applying peroxide. always used neosporin or rubbing alcohol or "the red stuff" before. "the red stuff" was what my dad kept for cuts when i was little all in a small brown bottle with a screw top dropper. it stung not quite as badly as hydrogen peroxide and would leave the skin that it touched bright red for more than a few days. kids used to pick on me at the first baptist after school program because it apparently looked like i wasn't actually wounded, but colored on myself with red marker for attention instead. they didn't know. i never wanted attention. anyway, faith has this big bottle of hydrogen peroxide and i'm starting to imagine gargling with it.
i don't like the use of the word scab.
related to whatever that was: belle the pigeon was almost ready to be released when we returned to chicago from hilton head recently, but she went and pecked a hole in her own chest on the way up here. it was the most horrendous thing. we found her opened up and, well, opened up in her cage and when i attempted to clean the wound i found it full of seeds. she'd stuffed a tablespoon or so worth of seeds inside of herself after pecking the skin open. she's all healed up now and flying like she used to but i'm still confused and a bit upset about the whole pecking a hole in herself thing. i figure she got mites on hilton head in the humidity. that explains the hole. horses do the same thing. but why the seeds? i don't get it. either that or i do. get it more than i want to because when i think about the incident i see myself.
found a piece of paper that looks like it was ripped from a 6x9 spiral notebook. hinged at the top. it was stuck inside of my typewriter. found it while going to replace the ribbon.
"please don't interrupt the walrus. please don't interrupt the walrus.
she is trying to finish fucking(crossed out) paragrph and im trying to finish my fkng(crossed out) daydream...
1/2 of you + 4x me= this morning"
some of the lines look intentionally less visible than the others. it's not dated and i was wondering and then remembered the exact morning moment i wrote that because nobody wanted to eat the breakfast that i went to a lot of length making like i was making up for something i did even though i didn't do anything. that morning sucked.
she, faith, the girl who managed to change my mind about the value of making beds left to go on a walk for air and sun and rum 20 minutes ago and it was supposed to take a while but it didn't and after re-locking the 3 locks she explained that patrick pt. 2 the landlord's son stopped her on her way out and said something about winning tickets to fall out boy and not knowing if it was tonight or tomorrow night and should he go to the blues fest tonight and thought faith should go too and then asked her if she was interested in buying some pot and when she told him that extra money was for a new bike and not pot he said just smoke with me then and she did and something about 4 bowls and faith walking around the building twice before deciding she was/is too stoned to get on the train or talk to the old man with a crush on us at the liquor store and so she came back and i wondered why she didn't tell patrick pt. 2 about his/the landlord's new wiener-dog puppies biting her on the leg and leaving marks this morning when she went to take out the trash.
she said she needed to get un-stoned in order to make a phone call so i gave her a bottle of water and sent her to the living room with some early 90's saturday movie on to do so. she's strangely obedient in a childish way when she's stoned and in about 30 minutes i'm going to have to recount this entire experience so that she's absolutely sure she didn't "make a fool of herself" to anyone but the dog. i always try to explain that no one makes a fool of themselves when they're stoned as long as the other person is also stoned because hello but still...
as far as i'm concerned, i'm a stupid sad idiot. at least i was in march. i want to be on hilton head taking care of my mother post-surgery right now, but i can't or couldn't because community service started the day before she went to the hospital. i guess it doesn't matter since the jeep died and flying isn't an option right now.
bleh.
is anyone in charleston coming up to pitchfork this summer? if so, our apt is open if you need it and within walking distance from Union Square. i didn't realize fucking yoko ono is going to be there.
also, this is my brother:
(he doesn't do dishes and laughs at what i like to think are impressive wildlife encounters. like getting stuck in the men's washroom at the sea pines pool because of the massive black snake that wouldn't move right after cooling off in the pool only to open my eyes to a swiming skank/lizard right after being stalked on the playground by a great white egret. *see egret:
all in a few hours! and tom's just like haha you've been in the city too long. fucking hilton head really is its own happy mental disorder.)
really.
and, i've been studying occitan just for the week to better understand the packet of paper that i found in an alley concerning medieval france. the writing's trampled the romance of that period in a satisfying way. violence and disease trump chivalry or whatever. an exposition on the pretense of chivalry. something. i wish i knew where the hell what i'm reading came from besides the alley.
we both applied to this cafe. she asked me if i wanted the job . like somehow secretly thinking i wouldn't get called back because her coat looks more "locally grown lesbian" than mine made her feel the same way about me. and then looks at me the way she does when she's thinking say something! because you're better than me at everything and i always say it but i won't right now because i'm too tired.
(i'm not better than her at a lot of things. like butterfly kisses and talking in my sleep.)
when you're wearing each other's rings and have gone the entire month without spending more than three to eight minutes away from one another: silence over lunch shouldn't not affect me like it isn't.
i'm on the computer now and she's on the other side of our empty bowl of split pea soup looking at a big plate of biscuits covered in chocolate. in exactly 60 seconds she's going to ask me for a cigarette and leave to stand outside watching the snowflakes melt on her hand until she's ready to come in and ask if we can go.
the soup tasted like my ex-girlfriendpartnerwomanthing's half-smiles. or maybe it was a smirk. did you know you intentionally half-smiled?
(faith's half-smiling from outside now. hers is different. my back is turned and i know it's happening.)
i'm at a loss for much else.
i will say i'm thankful to not be in kansas yesterday today tomorrow. lake michigan lets it snow here without people getting whipped into bare branches or frozen in massive walking accidents on the streets.
today was light and powdery with a snowball-flight-distance of five to nine feet without falling apart. targets included: neighbor's mailbox tree that i labled "tree" with red oil-stick jeep's empty power steering fluid container paint-stripped/rotting cabinet with symmetrical aztec carvings in back yard
oh and this week's photos from life on winchester avenue:
this is what she looks like when we wake up post 4pm and do an ice dance to all the sunshine we mised:
and post movie-night bath-time:
and this, this is from our trip up here and i'm posting it here for you all to jump into the long lost skin of your grammar school home-room selves and laugh inside while saying, "what the... ?" to anyone else in the room:
(we found ourselves at this horribly named and strangely guarded entrance to a complex/farm while being lost in the BFN of south carolina)
adios all ye who really really really need a summertime's porch nap.
ps: markus- we still rule above all things video as dave the wise rental guy gave us "borat" before it was officially "out".
okay, can people please stop STOP being people? it's no good and i've cried enough in the past year to last me a few more. thank you.
warming up here in chicago. all the snow is melting, which has revealed nothing but dog BMs, chinese to-go menus and vomit, everywhere. apparently people just leave the pooper scooper at home and get way too wasted when there's more than a few inches of snow on the ground. like it's gonna disappear or something. GET LEARNED YOU FUCKS!
also, i've started to practice illegal things besides doing drugs. like learning the graf trade. except, you can't buy spray paint here without a construction license, and when you've got some, it stops flowing after a few minutes when it's negative 6 degrees outside. gotta be quick. quick means messy. newbie means messy. messy like this shit:
told you. shit.
i'll get better and then you can roll your eyes back in place.
but yeah. that's about it.
found a good organic/gay-friendly/carb-hearting bakery/coffee shop after getting counseling from the wise old guy at the movie store after sitting around sulking shoving my bare fist into a rocky snow bank all the way up to my shoulder and letting it sit there until the whole thing went numb and pulling it out and looking at my bleeding knuckles because that's how i deal with people dying.
gonna get a job soon. was gonna get a job today but, got a voicemail about nelson instead.
like i said before: stop it. please let this be the final wake-up call instead of an excuse to toast over his tragedy with your needles and noses.
*check the myspace bulletins for our offer about driving down to pick up anyone who's serious about getting out of charleston and willing to travel light.
**be fucking good you guys.
love,
t
ps: if you feel like you just can't be good, you should know that the FDA or whoever just upped the national amount of patients that a Suboxone prescribing doctor can treat at one time from 30 to 100. this means it's the perfect time to contact MUSC outpatient and get an appointment. you CAN be good. and i believe it if you do.
one through 20 and bull. (i see your face when i...)
you people in that town left a lot of silence between the day when evil ate my heart out and now and the next day and the next day SO here it is anyway:
dear faith callaway and i are together loving in a miraculous and pure and complimentary way that i won't ask you to accept or understand.
we are leaving at 7am in my jeep this morning for chicago.
we will be moving from my tainted/outlet-deprived apartment in Pilsen to a dreamy one bedroom in Wicker Park.
i will be doing volunteer work for the Human Rights Campaign (and/or for Barack Obama should he choose to follow through with a presidential campaign) as well as putting in some hours at whatever paying part-time job comes my way through the spring. i'll be taking classes this summer and officially returning to SAIC in the fall.
faith will be working full-time for a while and starting school when she feels ready.
all contacts with any relation to all drugs excluding pot and booze are permanently cut.
love to you darlings in charleston that stayed by my side through all of the shit that came before this clarity.
anyone from hilton head should do whatever necessary to have dinner and drinks at this new Indian place called Spice down near the Jazz Corner.
i miss you people who took me out at the Jazz Corner.
bastian has battle scars from a fight with a husky.
our new address is 1028 N. Winchester Chicago, Il 60622
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
materiaux's journal
