"learn to pretend there's more than love that matters."

"Happy Hour"


soaked asphalt playground
swings dripping, listless
charcoal marmalade
leaves inky black stains
on my lips. we stand
and stare at the equipment,
making believe the rain had stopped
in time for recess.


j.l.r. '01


strange few days. the moon is full, i can see it from my window like a little pearl. before it was very low in the sky and huge and yellow.
pills are kicking in, mercifully. i'm babysitting tomorrow night, which is always interesting. money will be good though. my mom's "Lover" is coming again for labor day weekend. i sorta wanna be here and i sorta don't. they're awful sometimes, they make me feel very awkward and abject. this cute couple graciously including a moody, misshapen leper in their plans, trailing behind them as hearts and flowers fly through the air in their wake.

i thank ye, gods of lithium, for letting sleep be a possibility tonight.

i miss people. adam? amy? chris? where are you?? write soon...ok? : i know i also owe other ppl letters back...tod & azeem...i'll be in touch.. wow, that was neat, thinking about a few of the ppl i know. it made me feel like a tiny part of the universe! a teeny inch-worm upon a huge redwood in the petrified forest. i'm there. even though i'm virutally invisible and insignificant, i am not yet squished.

"Don't give up, you still have friends...
(L-R Edgar and Bernard)

i'm not here, this isn't happening

well, well, well...i'm just sitting around being unstable, volatile. consumed by absence. i feel that abyss coming, like "The Nothing," passing onto the horizon like a jackhammer sound. i see it directly above me like high noon and there's nothing i can do. i can torture myself with these nose-picking hackneyed shit-brained words, i can pretend that people read them, and i can chuckle because i'm the Cool Girl at the Party who's just above it all, and pretty soon someone will have the courage to come over and ask me if i wanna go somewhere else.

instead i'm just writhing. i wish i could write a story or something to distract me. i've come to the point where it's easier to write than to not write; where i need this more than i need to keep it in. is that dangerous? will that digest me in the end, when it comes right down to integrity? my bloody heart is all over my sleeve and no, i do not have a strong, stoic, fire-breathing heart. you can practically see it through my chest: it's swollen and punctured, it's a weeping sore, it's a stinking nodule, fistula, hemmerhoid. it's the Blob. it's a rotten fruit.

a story. about someone else. not a girl, not even a human really. just some occurance that happened elsewhere that is, for once, NOT a projection of my tethered, shreaded soul. fuck!!! you're not supposed to do this on your blog, that's for sure...thank god its so microscopic, thank god no one sees. it's kinda like the movie "Glitter;" only mariah (pariah) truly, truly loves it. total masturbation.

i can hear my mom watching my copy of "Fame." i can't even see the goddamn screeen anymore. fuck this.

"Hats off to Southern George, took his life when he wanted to take yours..."

(that quote's by madder rose from a song called, "hotel.")

i'm up for some reason. my stomach is growling. i want to go back to bed but my mother has an MRI later on today and i have to be ready for whatever. i am having trouble being a Rock for her. (am i hungry or nauseaous?) i feel like i need to lay back down. i feel so blank and completely alone, like an item in a store that's been discontinued and no one will buy for 99 cents. i have an awful taste in my mouth, gahh. i have that marionette feeling where some string is pulling at my neck and spine painfully. i feel awful that the people i care about are suffering-- and i can't do a damn thing about it...!
it would be easy to lay down in my bed again, my spine feels like it's becoming a C-curve and i will soon look like a shrimp. i feel fat.

well, i'll just get all this negativity out of my system, and then maybe i'll have a good day...


(woah, Ray the blue keet just landed on my head.)


god, when is it going to be worth it? when will i know that my life means something?

like this? i made it myself... 

what it's gonna say on my Welcome Mat (when i find my home)

i'm vomiting up your sunny day
i'm stripping your bmw i'm sticking my finger
too close to your face
i'm giving all the lap-dancers scholarships
i'm making you greedy perverts go back to grammar school
i have no choice but to tune in, turn on, and stop, drop, fallout.

we pay of thee, commanders, funeral-home directors.
keep moving, keep the veins on a life-spool
check your pulse, are you still?
someone convince me.

preparations, provisions, support and trust
tyrrany and lust
perversion or bust

READ MY BUMPERSTICKER: WE CAN NO LONGER AFFORD TO BE LITTLE KINGS!

WE CAN NO LONGER AFFORD TO BE LITTLE KINGS!!

give it up, either way your shit's gonna be burned to the ground!
it's never coming back to us, not this time around
we're the ones again, the ones that they will lose track of
when it comes right down to
casualty children being raised by ghosts
arms and legs and new uniforms and
Calvin Klein Combat Collection
to Old Navy Prosthetic Limb commercials


now.

you see where i'm at.
Little Kings. (we never moved beyond indentured servitude anyway.)

Little Kings, you know
the guys with the Better CD Collection than You
the gals who shake it hard and don't know why
your boss who doesn't give a shit
my neighbor who has a yellow ribbon on her car but turns out her
porch light when she sees my crippled mother falling down the stairs
next door

there's no such thing as neighborly behavior. get away from me.
this is the coming-of-age movie that you have to see:
this is where context burns
this is why i'm on fire.
this is why nobody can sleep and the only ones dancing are
drunk on dollar-nectar
Little Kings with your knightstick-scepter

...pause for medication....[elevator music]

(gulp)

(hoists self back on 40-story soapbox)....ooof..

what happened, about 30 seconds ago i liked my voice
see, i was a gangsta-rapper, i had great bright colors on, and i
kept it real, and i had my root down--

i was america, i am america, sometimes.

chances are, if you met me you wouldn't remember.
sometimes i'm this girl
that takes it in
double-chin
accoustic guitar, missing things
and people
and wandering
and making herself
at home.

chances are you've seen this girl and
told her she was crazy or
it was her fat ass that broke the chair
or
Lord, what's happened to this town
when we can't protect it from little kikes
ridin' bikes
on welfare?

*sigh* (my god i'm so alone all i want to do is love my god i'm so alone why do i have to do this why can't i stop my god i'm so alone

they're all gonna laugh at you!)

*lol*


that girls swinging out of view now
she gots a u-haul, she gots a padded cell now
don't feel sorry for her because she doesn't understand why she
believes in love

i pray to huge Queen Esther between worlds
between planets
huge, crying Queen raining on us
standing on us
afraid to move b/c she's killing more of us
can't fly away because she's stuck to the linoleum
staring an electric eye
that's on mute.


this is what it says on MY welcome mat.
home is what it is, it's who and how it is, it's not
where.
my dad never came home, did yours?
my breath stinks of agent orange
my blood is fortified with cheap reefer and years of monsoons
i liked that rock n' roll shit when
i was in the womb.

one time (if you even care)
one time, someone was really there
he found me b/c i hung my bright purple shirt outside
and i lit a candle, and put his music on.
and as he sang to me, we drew pictures
we said "fuck this war"
we said "let's get high!"
and we did.


sincerely,

Blanche DuBois of the mid-atlantic
Little Orphan Annie of the 21st Aerosquadron Restaurant
skeletons, skeletons, skeletons
mommyanddaddy
MC Heeby
Hangon Sloopy Sloopy Hangon
Lots of Loud Noises, followed by an unending silence excluding the sound of the chance encounter of one carbon mollecule rubbing against another,
amen.

i want my TWO DOLLARS!!!

Which John Cusack Are You?

aww, what a cutie...

Which Trainspotting Character Are You?

morbid.

i like this:


"When I am dead and over me bright April
Shakes out her rain-drenched hair,
Though you should lean above me broken-hearted
I shall not care.

I shall have peace, as lofty trees are peaceful
When rain bends down the bough;
And I shall be more silent and cold-hearted
Than you are now."

--Sara Teasdale

(oww. when will it stop?)

hiyeh. it's early. sun is still out. i didn't go today. i feel like there is rust on my muscles and bones; i need to be oiled and given a proper-functioning heart like that dood from the Wizard of Oz.

boris the cockatiel is in my room. he is making squeaky sounds, and i am whistling at him. maybe i could figure out how to post a photo of him.

all right, i think i'll post a poem.

Reading Group Questions

1. Where does the poem take place?
2. What drug(s) do you think Jamie was on when she wrote this? Why?
3. Does the poem make any fucking sense whatsoever?


Walter Rand Transportation Center, Camden NJ

motor is pounding
cantankerous bus engines,
thick wails of commerce
chewing gum tattooed on the sidewalk

of greed she comes and goes
eyes like tropical plastic snow-globe tide waves
car horn bleats
heats my glands whistles
of a hill by an overpass
[Not the badlands
just vacation-spots
for the tainted and doomed]
O where are you, my friend, my matador?

Blisters,
extrafluid for over-wandering
Bleed to calm the hissing hydraulic
shuffle in my chest
Wailing engine blast crying for lost flames

Dont' grope don't cling to them as they run
out your eyes our your nose
Fortify yourself among the crest
made by bold pontoons of science
parting the heart's bilge.


JLR copyright 2001, some rights reserved.

is "a whiter shade of pale" supposed to make any sense?

wow, theo...great story...no wonder you're a buddhist, lol. i like stories like that-- the ones that have a simple, beautiful message without any of the heavy morality or guilt. thank you dude!! (btw, i heard 'glass onion' on the radio the other day. they never play that one!)




*sigh*




(many moments later)

another thought on my last post-- i think about the past way too much! even if i can't focus on the moment, i at least should be able to contemplate the more recent past??

NEWS (to me.)

Mazel Tov to my pals Dirk* and Cornelia*, who are now engaged!!!

(* = names have been changed to protect the identities of the aforementioned star-crossed lovers. i was instructed to "keep it under [my] yarmulke." for real!)


ok...uh...well, over the weekend i took a road trip to the delaware water gap and met a very brilliant and dear person (in person)! :P i saw mountains, waterfalls, and an authentic General Store with fishing poles who let me use their bathroom.

my car has the shiniest hub caps on the eastern seaboard.

i went to new jersey today and got another load of shit i left behind. i hope i get my damn security deposit back. i deserve it for putting up with all the Ghost Baboons in my bathroom. (god, i totally forgot about them...)

i have a nasty headache.

my tummy kinda hurts.

my back hurts too.

my mouth still hurts from that damn gum.

i cried today.

i can't even see what i am typing in this color...for all i know it could be riddled with typos! *cringe**

why am i still up? i have my thing tomorrow. i have to be there in about 4 hours.

i wonder if i should take a Strong Pill for this painful shit in my body (again). then again, i have to function. fuck functioning.

i am not a hypochondriac. i know what physical pain is. i hate having to prove myself....like i would actually want to invent something ELSE medically wrong with me...

ok, there go my eyes. i guess that's it for news.

we'll end with a fine quote from the velvet (velveeta?) underground:

"when you think the night has seen your mind,

that inside you're twisted and unkind,

let me stand to show that you are blind--

please put down your hands....

cuz i see youuuu..."

zzzzz

WATCH THE COLORS!!

(god, i feel really sick to mi estomiga ahora...las drogas? probablemente....ay dios mio. mierde. mi madre y su novio son un poco rudiosamente. mi espanol es muy, muy feo, no?)


and now, a very on-the-spot essay.

(i just thought of something, since i keep changing colors on here.)
i had one of those 4-color pens in junior high, with the neon colors. one day i took notes in social studies class using a different neon color for each sentence. our teacher graded our notebooks every week, and in mine he wrote, "WATCH THE COLORS!!" in the margin for that day.

speaking of taking notes...i remember experimenting with different handwriting. is this normal? how does one settle upon a style of handwriting? is it convenience, elegance, purposeful obfuscation??

in 4th grade, i copied jenny o.'s cursive, which was very cute, round, and bubbly. she (and i) dotted the "i's" with circles, and later, hearts (i think heidi started this trend.) the heart trend ended, however, when our teacher complained and banned this practice.
in that social studies class, there was actually a girl named "january" (she kinda had a personality like january too). she had this flat, sterile printing that i adored. i went through a period of trying to write like a boy. i had all kinds of pens-- ball-points, felt-tips, leaky drippy ones that had exploded in my backpack, pencils that smeared, pencils that scared me when they broke.

my journals throughout the years exemplified my evolution of penmanship (or lack thereof). by my senior year i had quit using cursive all together, and had a skinny, Denealian-esque print with loopy "y's" and shit.

when i was in the hospital once, i had trouble holding a pencil or a crayon. that kinda shot everything to shit for a while.

it came back though, and good. my handwriting was impeccable. people were amazed, jealous of my notes. i used black roller-ball to accentuate the strokes. my letters were dazzling with a regal font on cool stationary. job applications, flawless. i would write just to see them, the letters like little soldiers, like a fashion show, a parade of gorgeous socialites. i looked down on other people's stout, 6th grade scrawl. i sneered at my boyfriend's chicken scratch. i practiced my signature, practiced doing all styles of capital J's, included the L because it was so pretty and so much fun to make.

the only time i was ever jealous of someone else's handwriting after that was this girl in my professional block at State. pam had a gorgeous, boyish haircut with perfectly straight, wispy auburn hair (a better example of auburn than mine). pam was thin and birdlike with a nefertiti-neck, and had freckles, a dog and a boyfriend. her questions during discussions were always so...so much like she really cared about defining "art" (rather than avoiding that whole can of worms altogether and zoning out, like me). pam laughed a lot, got along really well with all the professors. dressed to kill, cardigan sweaters draped loosely about her flat, unencumbering, delicate chest.

i saw her at graduation. i think she gave me a hug. once my mom saw this she immediately grabbed her camera to prove that i had at least one friendship in my graduating class, in the whole 38,000 members of the student body. seeing me next to pam in the picture made me want to cry. we're both wearing blue robes and those flat stupid hats. i look like i'm at a costume party but she looks like a brochure for the Arts & Architecture department. her neck is so painfully long and thin, and you can see part of her trapezius muscles leading to her tiny shoulders. she's only got one chin, and it's pointy and adorable. this is one of the greatest days of her life. i'm only showing up because it's one of the greatest days of my mom's life.

there had been a party for all of us in that small class, right after the semester ended. only 2 didn't show-- my good friend mar and the girl who coverered herself with vanilla frosting and cotton balls for her final project. everybody was just kinda hanging out and drinking, and the winsome fellow who threw the party made a point to come up and praise my work. i was floored, but only until he started appearing with this anorexic-looking dance-team sorority cheerleading gymnast on his arm. it got dark. someone broke out the pot and after my head started its connundrums i went outside for air.

someone came up behind me. it was her. she said "i really liked your performances, jamie. you seem so calm and so...confident."

it was a weird choice of words. how could she say this? she had to know! how could she admire my sloppy rantings? she created laser-precision graphic displays; i shoved ice cubes in my panties and stuffed tampons in my mouth. i dressed in hospital gowns and threw spoiled ground beef at a picture of my scarred belly.

she had to know.

"no," i said slyly, jovially, slick as a goddamn poet. "that's what's so funny! it's a total illusion. i have absolutely no self confidence whatsoever. in fact, i can't stand myself. hate myself, really..."

somewhere between the time she pivoted to go back into the party and the time i realized she had gone, somewhere in there i knew she would never be my best friend.

i went back in myself, eventually...someone had put on paul simon and "diamonds on the soles of her shoes" was playing. people were dancing; pam and her boyfriend, she looked so incredibly innocent with joy, all lit up with the beat and the booze.

dispersement happened. everyone was going different directions. i realized that i couldn't stay in the chair where i was b/c the handsome fellow and his acrobatic bone goddess were going to have sex in this room. someone said my name and i got up and started home. i think i shook everybody's hand except the cheerleader's. or maybe i hugged people. i can't remember. i can picture going down the hill from town and up the other hill toward campus, toward my coveted single room in West.

i don't know how to end this. i obviously never saw pam again. she probably married that boyfriend and his dog too. or she's gay now. she probably dresses very cutting-edge and tailored but just a little bohemian, and she lives with her entourage in manhattan.

or oregon. gardening. bandanna around her forehead. faded, sexy, boyish, baggy, overalls. breeding dogs. breeding horses. breeding perfect humans. breeding her dancing, forever holding that felt-tip pen, taking notes in her perfect handwriting.



(Ho hum, right? who the hell cares? i got to do what no one else has probably ever done in front of a group of people! only thing is, back then i'd get pats on the back from distant classmates and an occasional professor... but now i get locked up and drugged. shit. i've been hanging with the wrong crowd.)

JLR 2004, 6:20 in the goddamn morning, manic as hell.

pharmaceutical ballads, weird dreams, sunny d.

o seroquel my seroquel,
my serotonin hunger do you quell?
knocking me flat on my ass,
what is your motive, praytell?

*sigh*

well, at least i'm awake...i'll probably fall back asleep in half an hour though. theo says to give this shit at least a month.

hey, i should contact the drug company and ask them if they need any epic ballads to hawk their medications!

Eskalith, my New and Improved:
plain old lith carb just wouldn't do.
Flat, yellow, smooth and mellow,
Discus of mood stabilization,
Come and colonize your new Nation.


ok, obviously in a goofy mood. i just woke up, and had really bizzarre dreams about (almost?) missing my flight in an airport. i never got to find out if i made the flight, but i think they were turning the plane around for me. i also dreamed my dad was a crackhead (that would explain a lot).
my hands hurt today...the fingers, and the bone all the way to the right side of my right palm. neck and shoulders as usual...ow, neck's pretty bad. i wish i knew what the hell this was. legs are ok so far.

i'm almost positive that my mother is having side effects from the shot. i'm not sure if it was a dream or not, but i thought she was in my room telling me she wasn't feeling well at all. she's not up yet, i won't bother her. i hate MS. give it to me instead and let her enjoy her senior citizen-hood.

meanwhile it's 87 degrees and there's a heat advisory. it supposed to storm tomorrow, i wonder if it'll affect my drive up to bangor at all.

my mother got me a plant a couple of weeks ago, it's a philodendron named sunny dementia, sunny d. for short. i just brought her up to my room and am very nervous b/c i've been a notorious murderer of plants in my day. so far she looks ok.

Hips and Ass for Jesus (you were my friend).

i can't believe how sunny it is. how this room is pressurized by the yellowing star. crystal prisms hung in the window are making little jumping patterns that swirl on the rug and walls. it's so hot, stuffy like a sunday morning where you're required to wear stockings. i'm listening to "don't give up" by peter gabriel/kate bush. i used to hate this song. it's calming now.

there are 3 birds in here with me, bernard, ray and boris. head's floating b/c of the new dosages. i think i'm getting
prosaic
now.

ducks in and out of my life
that which sincerity beams upon
the flawless porcelain morality:
knows the cross better than anyone.
"watch us, watch me, listen you mute
upon that which you'll never pronounce:
i am so pure.
i am so goddamn loved."

let it be then. hold it close though, don't you
know?
learn something
from history that repeats itself
you dumbass.

but then again, i won't ever be a part of secret club
i'm only the fascination
of gum on the sidewalk
pliable, colorful
garbage.

so then friends find their own ways
and then they are able to make friends again.
find the path first? aren't i allowed to
just be a happy mistake?

your mirror makes me a gargoyle smile, approval
but kept at a distance, affixed at the rafters
of your temple, now whose athena will you be?

it's just pissing me off, that's all. there are a lot of things (ok, not that many things) in my life which are getting more exciting, inspiring. this ain't one of them, i realize. i just hate the feeling i get when i think about a certain time when i gave all i could (not like money or anything) and god, it's not their fault. i lost my mind. it's not my fault either. still that's a good enough reason to be looked down upon. cerebral darwinism?
i can't come to terms with it. i never knew how to be a good female-friend. i hope you're happy, princess. you have it all over me. who wouldn't want you for their own? and over and over again, who wouldnt'??

i never did.


meanwhile, it's almost 5 and yay, i've remained conscious throughout the operative window in which my new chemistry strikes.
i can't breathe though. can't stop thinking about people i used to know. "bottom of the ocean she dwells."
someone says "be proud, you're an artist." someone else says "not worth it anyway." even more someones: "enabler." they all cancel each other out because they're all rejectors of me. am i dangerous to them? when did i used to have friends?
i envy them now, the non-obsessive. ideas clear-cut, linear-- each day is a narrative. each day is an egg to hatch (not to fry). they handle their emotions like checkbook ledger, sometimes it runs away but always, always back to the same page. purpose.

this is not a contest! love used to be free! why are girls like this?

lab rat

the doc changed my medication around again today. i'm a little worried...i mean, what exactly IS this stuff? why am i taking it? what's it doing to me? how did the doctor arrive at the conclusion to prescribe me this particular "cocktail," as they call it in their circles...? am i going to die?
worse, am i going to live until i'm 90 and have to take this same shitty medicine for the rest of my life?
how do they know that 97 out of 100 lab rats showed signs of stabilizing mood and less depression anyway? 90,000 out of 302,475 ants showed rapid heart-rates and increasing sex drives. 47 out of 576 bunnies had macular degeneration and nervous hypertension. but hey, it'll make me better.

anyway, it's good to have folks to talk to. chris, if you're out there i can't wait to see you and talk to you. looking forward to something-- what a concept.

i'm sweating and twitching again. legs are shaking. i have an ice pack on my head and i'm still hot as hell. i'm scared. i keep thinking about that guy at the program who told me his medicine gave him parkinsonian symptoms. is it really worth it? i guess i'll find out in a couple of weeks. i'm not going to be a sitting duck for tardive dyskinesia, compulsive tremors, etc... however, i'm being paranoid. nobody's trying to keep me down...it's just me, who can't fit into society. square peg, round hole. diagnosis. history. pathology. solution? terrible chemical compounds that won't leave me alone!! solution? market cigarettes to the homeless and the mentally ill. everybody smokes there. i wish i could stop roasting my lungs.

i wish i could just devote my whole life to something. i wish i could make fucking sense. ok sean, i'm going to call you now...see how NC was. what a mother-fucking mess.

squeez cheez

Fromage d'Amor


just like the sour cream clouds that
coagulate in the sky,
i ferment
into a home
for geriatric cheese.

sunshine, t'would be such a pity to let you age so fast
[spongy, warted layers of bleu my soul folds in two]

you're walking away in ripped jeans
taut anger, so young

young
not understanding of the
Something that accumulates after we fall
from love' s bower

i dream you grew old,
were charmed into an aluminum, airtight can
with preservatives, desperately shaking yourself apart
hoping to feed your
dehydrated smile.

you tell me your heart is broken.
Well. hearts, they curdle.



--JLR copyright 2001? no rights reserved

The Federal Reserve Bank of Orgasms

my mom is always saying things like, "jamie, you've had enough sex for a while. give it a breather." she seems to have this belief that once you have a certain amount of you-know-what and then are faced with a break-up, the past sum of romantic activity will carry you through your time of non-activity...like a savings account with overdraft protection, if you will.
(give what a breather, mom?)

i guess i wrote a check that my memories can't cash.
i could take or leave the boning. i just miss the companionship. o well. i will have hope.

anyway, does anybody read this shit? please leave comments...even pissed-off ones are helpful....!

i saw "garden state" today (movies are good for fits of nasty depression). it was excellent. i'm downloading music from the soundtrack right now. i feel drunk from the medicine. not givin up. breathing for another day. breathing for a minute. giving CO2.

"jamie.... jamie..... i'm so glad you're mine
we'll be together a long time.
jamie, believe me, i won't let you down,
cuz you are the best lawyer in town...."
(weezer)

politics, frustration

watched the olympics opening ceremonies this evening. it's amazing how many nations were represented, some i'd never heard of before. they're on the lookout for terrorists, my mother told me. good old mom, always keeping me abreast of the worst-case scenarios.
anyway, i realize terrorism isn't a joke, but it's become that ubiquitous condition of our times. its like, "the call for tomorrow is: hot and humid with a chance of rain and possible terrorism." i think the belief in fear itself and the advertisement of this belief is, in and of itself, a form of terrorism. i hate that new commercial with bush and wifey where he says something about "choosing which child to find first on sept. 11." he can just SIT there in his recliner and glibly sneak this gem into the palpitating hearts and bombarded minds of terrorized americans!! it makes me want to yak.
i'm not freaking out b/c i've been freaking out all my life anyway. on bad days i'm a malfunction. on good days i breathe and pay attention. and on great days, well...i fantasize about being a misunderstood prophet. in reality though, i'm just a lightning rod for whatever's around me. i'm empathy to the point of overkill. i'm just annoying. geez, i can't even commit to being a proper narcissist.
i fantasize about being in love. i touch my cheek and pretend its someone else but it never, ever feels like it. everybody is getting married. if they aren't married, they're cohabitated. if they're not cohabitated, they're dating. and if they're not dating, they're single on purpose. the cheese stands alone. (i remember that book, "i am the cheese.") my mother keeps telling me that i had my chance. bullshit!! that wasn't a chance; it was a game. it was "house." i didn't play correctly. i never have and doubt i ever will. i sincerely question whether or not i am even emotionally equipped to handle a romantic relationship, period. it's just so damn sad. i lost all my chances. i'm not even cute anymore. i have a past, and i can't relate to people who haven't had to deal with some serious, major disaster in their lives.

fingers are no longer moving to the appropriate keys to the appropriate thoughts. i am really stretching. all i need is love, and i can't find it. all i have is my mother, whose love is like one of those life-jackets you wear on a rowboat in camp-- it can help you out of a jam and it has the best of intentions, but it's too tight, and sometimes you just can't take it. i feel terrible for her. i hate seeing her when she stumbles, when she falls and cries and sobs and croaks. i hate it that she can't open her eyes sometimes and she looks like a zombie. i hate when she has to hold on to the wall to walk. i hate that she gets tired so easily. most of all, i hate it when i get ANGRY at her when i see her looking so weak. i don't understand that response at all. it's like a shawn thing to do-- prey on someone who can't defend him/herself.

ViciousCycle (TM) by Mattel

i'm so fucking lonely. i'm eating Phish Food ice cream at 2:30am and feeling disGUStingly sorry for myself in my spoiled, snot-nosed white girl middle-class suburban misery.

i feel like a prize pig. just kinda hangin' out in the mud, bloated from all the hormones and chemicals, finding joy in food and laziness. people come and look, some smile, and they all move on. no one wants to be stuck with that mess. i look forward to the day when someone will (further) eviscerate me and remove my reproductive organs.

other than this, i feel fantastic. i got to paint today, and for the first time i had a sub from Quizno's. it was good, i guess. i can sleep late tomorrow. i can watch the world crumble around me, and re-build itself again, and nothing changes.

i've been single for roughly 5 months, but really it's been longer in my mind. "Single" being barricaded human being, sectioned-off person, shares-hopes-dreams-secrets-sheets-insidejokes-with NO one. ahem. i know that everyone needs this time to learn, to "regroup," to get all their ducks in a row, if you will. finding new hobbies and new ways to create one's identity.

well, i'm once again riding a ViciousCycle (TM) by Mattel, because most men my age are into the Spears/Simpson/Aguilera Precedent of Beauty...but then again i don't think i'm really interested in the ones who adhere to this Precedent anyway...if indeed there are those who "look beyond," they will see in me a quivering mass of sick, fucked-up tissue, complacent, adorable, ready to sing a song, scrub the floor, bake a pie and administer a blowjob, just in time for the game.

ok, incoherence has just set in (drugs). it's not unpleasant at all, but sentences are becoming a difficulty.



"...got a bad desire.
ohhh, i'm on fire." --springsteen

Wars

i saw fahrenheit 9/11 today, i'm kind of at a loss for words, other than "woah." ty azeem for recommending it... it was one of those movies that will change your life.

i'm paranoid but i feel calmer being paranoid than not. if that makes sense, score 3 points and take a klonopin.

chris, when are we going to go to woody's weiners, dammit?!

i feel really serious right now. it's been a somber day. in addition to the movie ( and during the movie) there were monster thunderstorms up in here. i keep thinking about soldiers, and about my dad, and about the whole pathology of the whole world getting screwed up and mutating b/c everyone is everywhere at the same time. reading "Feed" doesn't help this feeling much either. deny, deny, deny. superstitious crap. this will never end, he's right.

oh well. i'm going to put a sock in it now. i AM going to post this blob of shit that i wrote about the Masochistic Creep the other day. i'd post his full name, address and phone # but i think he's getting his come-uppance, at least for now. god, revenge would be so keen though, especially with some formaldehyde and a Louisville Slugger.

ok, here's my own stupid little war:

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A series of poses
Titular gesture-drawings <~~~~~~~(oh my god, i've never used the word "titular!")
"The Ardent Hands."
Tours of humble grace
Curator becomes slave to artifact.

You will always be a list:
Cain-killing-Abel.
The War of the Undigested Serpent.
A dark and stormy cliche.
Judas/Bluto, Leukiemia,
the Guy who shot J.R.

A million names, to set burning reminders:
Breadcrumbs or boulders
so you won't find me.

Whatnot again, you're chewing at my front door
You're licking the walls, you're pulling my house apart
like saltwater taffy.

I'm watching from behind the glass oven door;
a canon of entropy, duck dinner for four.

High-rise cemetaries, playground equipment
cherryblossom trees
(the flowers were never for me)

Bone-feast, pulverization. Meals for
saving face, a toast to the starved.

Our love: an epidemiology.


--copyright J.L.R. 2004, no rights reserved.


___________________________________________________

maybe i should stop there. i need to do some emailing and shit, i have to get up early tomorrow. well, for all you fellow aetheists out there..."Someone, Bless America."

Maiden Voyage of S.S.Gravyboat

It's time. I'm ready. I feel like they must've felt when they first put MTV on the air, with the little astronaut and the MTV flag and the music...good old Martha Quinn, and Nina Blackwood, and Adam Curry and his hair...of course we all know that that particular astronaut footage was taken from an original mission...suddenly we're all weepy with the whole "giant leap for mankind" and all....(oh yeah..)

And this...this shall be the very first allegory I shall propel into the heavens of astro-cyber-artificial-happenspace! my first Blog!

I have selected a Georgia font for my musings, ponderings and panderings alike. I have no specific audience in mind. All I know is that I've been writing in little books for 14 years, and now I am typing them and publishing them on an entity that I know frighteningly little about. I've always made well-informed decisions this way. Wondering how personal to get...like, career-exploring-personal, or teeth-gunk-personal? hmm. i guess we'll find out.

i feel much more comforable typing in all lowercase. i'd go back and change everything around but this is about synergy, goddammit!! synapses firing, fingers pushing at keys, away, away!

i did this b/c i saw a friend's blog and thought it was fantastic. his blog, i mean. the idea is great too, but i'm sure there's already millions of poor shlubs like me thinking they're on their way to the walk of fucking fame just by sharing their "spirit" with the rest of the ghosts in the machine. but then again, there's probably some nice ppl out there too doing this. but they're all cooler than me.



(done?)