day four without a cigarette. I feel okay. I thought about it a couple times today. But yesterday was pretty bad. I was super moody. MOODY.

I just finished Heather and Allison's birthday present. And I made something for Kel just because. I feel pretty good. About things in general (i think.)

Today my family kept asking me where I'm going to work. I kept telling them "I don't know."

I don't know.

fuck it

Today all day without cigarettes. Tomorrow will be the same. Not by choice. I'm doing.


Knulp was great. Kelly read it so long ago. Not that long ago, but I feel that things
were very different then. I think I moved into her room right after she finished reading it. Here is an excerpt. I believe it might be Kelly's (for there was a feather near it) and maybe my favorite:


Knulp said: "Every human being has his soul, he can't mix it with any other. Two people can meet, they can talk with one another, they can be close together. But their souls are like flowers, each rooted to its place. One can't go to another, because it would have to break away from its roots, and that it can't do. Flowers send out their scent and their seeds, because they would like to go to each other; but a flower can't do anything to make a seed go to its right place; the wind does that, and the wind comes and goes where it pleases."




I finished this book very quickly. It's a short book, but I grew very accustomed to the language and presentation of this book immediately. It is almost five thirty in the morning. Knulp was a man who traveled his whole life. He fell in love at age 14 and she broke his heart. He assumed that he would never be in love like that again, and protested that he was not to God, nearing the end of his life. God said, "But you loved Lisabeth, and Henrietta, did you not?" God also reminds him of other joys in his life, where he felt it in every bone of his body. Knulp laughs and says, "Yes I suppose you're right" He understands that life would be quite different if even a day of it had been missing.

This makes me think of days I've been having at home, how empty I feel. This strange loneliness that reaches me only when I think of those I'm not around any longer.





You want to be better at living. To feel more of what you want to feel. You can't allow myself to be a pin cushion. My bangs are getting longer, and my legs look it when I sit indian style. One talks of hurt, and how she wishes not to hurt her lover, but she does every single day. All the time, it hurts.
I suppose I'll lock her heart in a dark room, with her inside as well.
Let her miss the days and the easiness of breathing.
Make her regret the carelessness. less ness less ness less ness ness.



Many things were tried today. I hold secrets like small candles. Nobody knows.
I am happy for this. I am happy that I still live life trusting everything and nothing all the time.
I amount to nothing. You hold piles of gold string in my dreams; hold them up to my face and show me how I can't touch it. Tell me why: because you feel too much. You're not real enough(fakeenough)to see things as they are.
"There's no fucking magic. Get the fuck over it."

Get over it. Hmmph. Umm. mmmm. I'd rather be consumed then left alone entirely.

to love without ever knowing

Had a dream I did horrible things last night. I lied about them.

I watched a movie last night. Here is a monologue from it:


Everything is more complicated than
you think. You only see a tenth of
what is true. There are a million
little strings attached to every
choice you make; you can destroy
your life every time you choose.
But maybe you won't know for twenty
years. And you'll never ever trace
it to its source. And you only get
one chance to play it out. Just try
and figure out your own divorce.
And they say there is no fate, but
there is: it's what you create.
Even though the world goes on for
eons and eons, you are here for a
fraction of a fraction of a second.
Most of your time is spent being
dead or not yet born. But while
alive, you wait in vain, wasting
years, for a phone call or a letter
or a look from someone or something
to make it all right. And it never
comes or it seems to but doesn't
really. And so you spend your time
in vague regret or vaguer hope for
something good to come along.
Something to make you feel
connected, to make you feel whole,
to make you feel loved.
And the truth is I'm so angry and
the truth is I'm so fucking sad,
and the truth is I've been so
fucking hurt for so fucking long
and for just as long have been
pretending I'm ok, just to get
along, just for, I don't know why,
maybe because no one wants to hear
about my misery, because they have
their own, and their own is too
overwhelming to allow them to
listen to or care about mine.
Well, fuck everybody.
Amen.

everything. maybe. is bullshit.

this is it

days alone.


Good thing I'm listening to a tape and not a cd, because Ritz likes to sit atop my boom box and when she jumps off, the cd stops. I'm lucky this time.

I just put on an old sweatshirt that I haven't worn for quite some time. Bright orange. Can't remember where it came from. Has a deer on it. I think it's a hunting thing or something. Anyway, it has a huge piece of dirt caked on in one spot. Haha. Wonder what kind of trouble I was getting into.


Yesterday and today I listened to two Elliott Smith albums, two Rainer Maria albums,
and one Drought album. I would say these all sum up my current feelings fairly well and have made me feel somewhat better.

Today I advertised my services around my neighborhood. I hope this works out. I really do. It would be nice to have a source non-corporate income.



I almost forgot it was twilight.

HOLY CHRIST.

an honest woman. supposedly. maybe.



Here are Two Things (songs) that I've been thinking about:


The impact, the aftershave, the european cigarettes
The taxi, the alcohol that lingers on your breath
The lipstick, the street lamp, the woolen overcoat
The front desk, you tell yourself, it isn't over yet

Second best, oh second best
I can learn to live with this
Plus I really need a rest
After all what's wrong with second best
What's wrong with second best

The motel, the distances, cave into kisses cold and wet
Familiar exchanges, like needle pulling thread
The empty movements that once were so inspired
Desperate attempts to fan the flames without a fire
The mattress creeks beneath
The symphony of misery and cum
Still we lie jerking back and forth
And blurring into one

Second best oh second best
I can learn to live with this
Plus I really need a rest
After all what's wrong with second best
What's wrong with second best




----------------------------


the body has got to be worth saving
eyelids are shining with headache and perspiration
morning is finding good intentions under sleep's persuasion
the body has got to be...
our past lives were too heavy and too expensive
now we're paying together for our inventions
maybe there's a ceremony
written down inside the body
where maybe no one ever sees
you begin like a lion and you end like a lamb
molars are grinding inspiration down to nothing
where are the instructions
on how to keep it going?
the body...
a patient motor in secret is whirring
binding together what was broken
with the heart's string
to have without keeping
to sigh without boredom
to know without thinking
and to love without ever knowing
maybe there's a ceremony
written down inside the body
where maybe no one ever sees








man. some days are so still. some days you can just watch kids laughing, or leaves collecting at the bottom of a chain link fence, or the sky in the rear view changing colors faster than you thought it could...and you feel fine. Some days. If I didn't have those things today...I'd probably feel a lot different right now.

feels like i have nothing

so i stare at the things the sun makes

something old i found.

i would not mind it if your grandpa's ghost woke me.
cause i know you loved him most, no i wouldn't be scared
on this couch with this aztec blanket wrapped around.
no, i'm good right here and the ticking of that paxil
clock ain't bothering me as much as i thought it would.

you don't know what this means
there's great magnitude here
but you can't see it. ohhhh
it's okay, it's okay, it's enough
that i feel safe.

she's happy, my friend, with you and i don't know
if you treat her good, but christ, how you've been mistreated
too. i try to relax, seeing your arms entwined in a basement.
whoami to judge your uneven love? perhaps all for the best,
you breaking her warmth over and over, is there even any
right way to be, ever?

you don't know what this means
there's great magnitude here
but you can't see it, man
it's okay, it's okay, it's good
that we never know how anything's gonna end.

or even that there's possibility for it to be without an end at all.

can't go to sleep. found some old clothes of mine. my room is just about finished.
i feel like i could become whatever i want to be. being away from people allows you that. maybe.


thought i could change something, in experiment.
did not work.
am what i thought.
that is okay with me.


i am in love.


i read some really good haikus last night. i wish i could remember them.

behind 709

this is the day i got stoned, freaked out, and didn't go back into work after my lunch break. i came here and calmed down

******

wake upppppppppp

HEY! THIS IS THE WORLD! YOU ARE ALIVE!




have i ever told you how much i love rye bread?
i feel i could if i tried: live simply.
i can see what i feel for all of you. and it's real.
at least i have that.

old room=new room.

So, I'm workin on my new room. Listening to get up kids. Might as well be 16 again.
Fuck, man.

Hello Again.

So. Since I've moved home, I'm going to be bored a lot since I don't have anyone to hang out with. This means I'm going to start doing stuff with this blog again.

I just moved from Johnstown, PA.
Now I live in Venetia, PA with my mom.
We'll see how this goes.
So far I feel pretty good.