11/01 Direct Link
the day after the last day of my life i was lying on a hospital bed it was a very clean hospital bed except for the spots of blood -- in fact it was a very clean place altogether white white walls that seemed to scream for bright red paint but i didn't have any paint even though if i did it would paint my face not the walls-- a man far too old for tears was crying in the corner but he didn't belong in this cold stone palace he was not clean and his tears disgusted me --i slept
11/02 Direct Link
i was walking down a street in galway when i met poetry he'd fallen upon hard times trying to earn a living talking at the people in the street who didn't listen they didn't talk to the bums that dirtied their nice clean world and poetry was a bum he ranted and raved in the middle of the street so someone called the pigs who hit him on the head with their stick and took him away for disrupting the peace of the nice clean people who could now turn their heads and keep browsing for the perfect plastic plant
11/03 Direct Link
today in art we were listening to bach (or Beethoven or Mozart or something) and outside, the crazy boy was dancing—arms waving desperately in the air—and it seemed to me sitting there that his arms were moving in time to the music, that he was orchestrating the chords of all those dead white men, as crazy as him. on the bus that night I watched while blood fell on the floor and listened to the soft mewing sounds of the boy with a broken face. and all I could think about was the crazy boy dancing, dancing, dancing…
11/04 Direct Link
no one wants to listen to the senile ramblings of a fifteen-year-old girl so i might as well give up being poetic for a day a month a year forever and just get my fucking words done instead of sitting here for ages staring at a blank screen feeling confused and vaguely crummy which i read somewhere is the general feeling of my generation i am so proud of my generation we cover our fear with makeup and create cliques and sub-societies that branch off into infinity and we all hate each other but that's okay we are only human
11/05 Direct Link
dreamed last night about mud straight from the earth that i dug my hands into dived into until i made a figure as big as me bigger as real as me realer that stretched into the sky looking like it wouldn't mind walking all over me like a monster i read about when i was smaller than i am now—more alive than i am now—i woke up to find my skin translucent my breasts full pain between my legs from the huge thing that had left me feeling empty and wondering when i would turn back into mud
11/06 Direct Link
they decided i was dying so they locked me in a small small room with a big box that showed me pictures of death so i would be inspired—but i wasn't dying wasn't dying no they were killing me with their careful words and dowdy flowers so i smashed the box that showed me the pictures and told them that i would never die until i decided to—but this made them laugh with wide open mouths like caverns they told me to be grateful that i had such kind people to look after me while i was dying
11/07 Direct Link
at the park where i spent my childhood i sat chain-smoking watching the sun go down wondering how i could do that with paint stupid paint that can never show what i see—pretending not to be waiting waiting waiting for the guy who i knew by now wasn't coming feeling my lungs turn to dust remembering who i was and most importantly who i thought i was going to be which isn't who i am but i gave up saying who i was a long time ago--exhaling slowly through my nose, the smoke brings tears to my eyes
11/08 Direct Link
i apologize for writing so sadly all the time i really don't mean too it just happens sometimes sadness and confusion make the strongest words but i would rather write about the colors of the sky the way it turns slowly from blue and frosty white to deep purple to dark blue to black and the slow procession of the stars the sky is my only reason for taking chemistry this year so i can delve into the mysteries of the sky—although too much explanation sometimes kills the magic and the beauty i'd rather think the moon was cheese
11/09 Direct Link
today i went to see the carnival with all the bright lights and stands run by the strange old-young men who i both respect and fear who call out to me as i walk their voices like hooks that i avoid with a pang of guilt and a rush of anger i was wearing an evening gown for some reason if my aunt was there she would have ripped it off and left me in my saggy underwear because no relative of hers would wear something so strange and people thought i was odd enough already after everything that happened
11/10 Direct Link
thinking back, I remember nothing I regret…my falls in the hallway, my drunken slurs. embarrassment, anger, pain…they flow off me like water on wax paper. I am above that, stronger then that. I bear my teeth and children cry. I spread my arms and whole worlds are encompassed in my embrace. the stars confine me and I cry tears of stone. I regret nothing, I need nothing. think about it, you puny human, what do you think about when you aren't thinking of your desires and your regrets? when you pass that, what is left of you? I regret nothing.
11/11 Direct Link
I am remembering the day that Bush won and my mother cried and my father started to save money so we could flee the country and I just sat eating my dinner watching the food come in out and out of focus…but I am a fifteen year old girl who senses the world at her fingertips and I really don't care who the president is, dweedle dum or dweedle dumber… and all I really want to do is ride the wind to its beginning and find myself and maybe that's selfish but I'd rather live then die again each day
11/12 Direct Link
today i painted pictures on the walls that watched me and nodded with sage intelligence one would assume GOD might have— actually i didn't i wish i had but instead i ran around weeping changing all the clocks to the correct time in fairyland watching soap operas to convince myself that my problems could be worse and i was worrying about the wrong things but it didn't work so i pulled all the cushions off the couch and made a fort like i used to make with my brother back in the day when he was a kitten named bubbles
11/13 Direct Link
as I walk with him everything I see is new shiny and so different from the way it was when I walked alone. I'm not sure if this is for me…new shiny smiling he opens new world where men with dreadlocks sit in front of turntables smoking herb all day and where skateboards are shared and graffiti is everywhere…I can't bring him to my world where I am muddled in art and crew and people he might never understand…but we sit in a bus stop and my head is in his lap and I say something I've never said before
11/14 Direct Link
my city unfolds all around me with mysteries I'd never expected…bricks that hold up walgreens instruct me to "use no acid" and "repent" a castle I had never seen before holds a hundred screaming women wearing long silk scarves…he takes my hand and in his eyes I see reflected my own wonder that the world I know and that he knows holds so much more then we have ever seen before…together we walk down streets filled with people wearing red and white (only red and white) and I hear his lips curl into a smile and so we stop walking
11/15 Direct Link
I wake up in the middle of the night and my heart is pounding and my senses are screaming and I feel the darkness pressing into me from all sides and I propped my eyes open with my knees so that I wouldn't return (so I would never return) to that hellish world where little boys with dark curly hair are beaten in the street and where crying men carve their faces off with shards of mirrors that reflect nothing…until in the silence all I can hear is my one heart beating and in the mirror my reflection stays true
11/16 Direct Link
I was lying with my head between his legs when I said that the world was coming to an end so he picked me up and swung me up into the air and I flew and flew and landed in the stars who eventually got used to me (I am usually easy to get along with) and told me why they cry tears of fire that reach out into the void that surrounds them they tell me how hard it is to be the bearers of light that illuminate the darkness and maybe the darkness was once a million stars
11/17 Direct Link
if i grow up i want to live in a little house made of light with walls that wouldn't mind if i finger-painted on them and luminous cats free to come and go as they pleased or maybe all i need is an apartment in the city where i could leave out food for the rats and play my guitar while the world comes crashing down all around me but i think i'd rather find someplace quiet and sit like a frog under a stone to come out years later somewhat warty but wiser than Yoda and Mr. Rogers put together
11/18 Direct Link
I've been reading about DADAism and I want to know the reason behind the anti reason and I want to create something that has no creation and I want to forget and I want to remember and I want to show what dada is and I want to go to berlin and go to paris and sit in coffee shops and past pictures together and be there and break the bound of what art is and live with the future and forget the past I am amazed the colors are way too real DIE KUNST IST TOT art is dead
11/19 Direct Link
today I was productive did my homework raked the yard with almost a feverish compulsion now I write my fingers flying trying to show how I woke up this morning excited for work excited to get things done—is this maturity? is this old age? why does my knee tremble in an almost uncontrollable rhythm, tapping against the chair? as I think back on the day I pride myself in the neat rows of leaves that I have moved from where the trees put them and smile at the thought of my poster that says too much and too little
11/20 Direct Link
today I woke up in an expressionist painting…everything skewed beyond recognition and when I tried to make coffee the cup was not a cup but the feeling of a cup but I didn't know where the edges of the feeling of the cup started and where they ended so I poured coffee on myself and she didn't see the feeling of the cup or the way the sky was orange instead all she saw was the coffee on my skirt and she walked away shifting slowly into a bird which was not a bird just the feeling of a bird
11/21 Direct Link
i wish i was old enough to feel my skin drop from my flesh to hang like a hound dog and that i was over the hill(as they say)and know that the hardest part of my life was over and i was free to roll down the hill(as they say)towards vegetation and finally death which i would accept as sleep that i may or may not awake from(i realized a long time ago that don't know don't care is the best way to think of death)and then i could have tea parties and sit on the warm grass smiling benevolently
11/22 Direct Link
this morning I waited for the bus watching the people across the street screaming screaming screaming he shouted while she cried and begged and it seemed to me it was indecent as if they had taken off their clothes and danced naked in the street the woman next to me was shaking her head go inside she said I don't want to hear this on the wall by the computer my mother hung a picture of a hummingbird to cover the hole my father had punched in the wall one morning before he had his coffee and sometimes I wonder...
11/23 Direct Link
this morning looking in the mirror I had no idea who I saw those eyes that hair that mind I couldn't tell who they were later I realized that I was unused to my bed it didn't seem to cradle my body in quite the same way my room littered with the artifacts of my life was unreal like a dream I had when I broke into houses to use the phone…I try to remember where I've been to leave me uncomfortable in my own body, in my own mind--I wish it was fairyland, but I don't think so
11/24 Direct Link
there is something so magical about baking making bread from powders and sticks of butter that I can almost imagine it as alchemy and somewhere in a room in the top of a tower there are little men forever inventing new kinds of bread…my hands sink into the dough in out in out the primordial rhythm that echoes softly in all life…I slick my bread with oils and leave it to sit when I come running back it has risen, smooth and round like a pregnancy…I make small miracles happen around me, today a domestic goddess in my own right
11/25 Direct Link
our hands dance while our voices are silent and every time I kiss you all I can see is his face…we dance we all dance in this casino where GOD is a shadowy dealer in a game of infinite stakes with rules that are always changing and up in a room in the hotel there is a girl painting on the walls but there are people knocking at the door knocking knocking louder louder and the girl paints faster and faster and maybe someday I'll go to the table and beat GOD at his game but maybe not just yet
11/26 Direct Link
I would like to say I have all the answers to all the questions and the endings to all the stories but in fact all I have is the memories that I hold like cobwebs that break in your hands and your hands that hold me feel strong so I stand and try to build up the muscles in my neck and shoulders (because a strong neck and shoulders means fewer headaches) and I wonder if I still can write by hand and when I move the pencil the words come out big and clumsy falling all over the page
11/27 Direct Link
something is coming to an end maybe when I wake up tomorrow morning the sky will be filled with fire and smoke and the world (my world) will end but I doubt it something different will change something smaller, sillier, will change my life in the direction it's been going all the time…my lips are so chapped they are bleeding and when I came home my dad thought I was in a fight or my boyfriend hit me or something and he started crying and I was bleeding but from a reason he never expect or thought of THE END
11/28 Direct Link
behind on my words again since I just can't seem to say what I mean but I do mean everything I say…there is a lumpy creature growing inside me that I try to forget but it grows and grows and grows as if I was going to bear a child but instead a tumor of hate and apathy is rising rising rising in my throat while I fight for my freedom of thought and action against this thing that is me and not me that strangles my art in my sleep…awake I try to muddle through my days, speaking softly
11/29 Direct Link
I can't remember yesterday, or the day before, or the day before…I am different this morning changed and reformed and its too soon yet to see what the change will bring…I remember last year I lost myself and when I dove down to the bottom of the lake to find myself I found something new…the magic and the dancing and the laughter…do they matter, do they connect? watching Casablanca I am reminded of the color orange a color I used to hate until I saw it for its translucent beauty in the membrane of a freshly peeled tangerine from Rome
11/30 Direct Link
I used to share a notebook with someone I trusted more than anyone else…it was special, full of poetry and dreams, pieces of songs that echoed around and around in our heads, it was simple, recorded hungers and regrets, excitement and boredom… secret pages inside pages told stories of spilled blood…then something happened that changed the fabric of the world…I can't even write this can't even explain the earthquake the split the confusion…a boy never can understand the feeling a girl has for her best friends it's more then friendship but love and when it ends…I have no words any more