jane i couldn't think of anything to write. so i just started to write and now i'm going to write whatever comes into my head. um toothbrushes. i think i have a cut on my upper lip which is weird because there are always cuts on my lower lip but never on the upper lip. i got all these cuts on my hand from the wire sculpture that's due on the 30th. independent study is a bitch. i have no self discipline. anyone want to help with the discipline? um i realized i'm a masochist. not that much but i got smacked on the ass really hard the other day and i really liked the pain-pleasure dichotomy. and also i used to cut myself and i'm probably an emotional masochist too but i'm learning a lot about myself in relationships. hold me up to your ear and you'll hear the ocean. trees fall down without a sound even though there are infinite people there. it's when no one is around when they scream out loud. i read an article on transgenders today. was it really worth it for the guy to be comfortable with his new girlhood if he did not make an attractive girl? won't he have to find another sexually reassigned parter? i'm not the right one to ask these questions. i think it's your turn to write. tag! you're it 030511
werewolf he went home after we stirred in breaths and shadows in the other room, hoping not to wake even ourselves. our lives and the lives of his other friends must seem that edgeless and blurry while he's off training for the mundane and the once in a life-time wars. hold me up to your ear and you'll hear the ocean, i swore i've heard that before. a seashell can tell you that with its hollow look. a hollow look i hoped not to see as i cut my french toast into finer and finer divisions. she was made up just like i remember her. at one point though the rest of the parents left and she was alone, where warren would've stayed with her. her grandchildren, my cousins, and my sister and I talked nervously amongst ourselves and blamed the distance on the empty chairs, ignoring that they were stations of the cross. she laughed sincerely when my mom made fun of my hair and I said that I had to sleep on it for 6 hours to get it this way, a art of angles and pressure that most people don't have the patience for when skipping to the incomparable rush job of brushing. if only i hadn't been such a delicious baby, i might not of been licked by so many strangers and ended up the boy i am today. yesterday we finally broke the record of sixpoints! on wordster in one of those parlor quarter arcade consoles. but her brother was there! so i rushed and tried to enter our initials only since he wasn't supposed to be there when that moment, that very special moment happened. later that night i ate my chicken and smoked up, because i had to smoke up to really appreciate hunger, and it was just another station of the cross. the fluxuations that average out to stillness, the wild fancy and listlessness that averages out to a sober laugh. sterile from behind the lead gloves of over expressive eyes. driving home today was the sweetest feeling ever. i forgot for a second where home was, and guitar was playing..."i must've been buddha, ghandi, jesus" I forgot there was a home i was going to. I was using a sweet blues number as a map, waking to a scottish dirge of love and loss. I was owning up to the wild dreams i weighted down hard if they opposed the stable meal, the certain night. and lately, my greatest fear has been sleeping, has been being alone with myself. because there's nothing then to quiet me, to force me up and into it. there was a time i didn't recognize tiredness as tiredness. it was an imposition, it was walls i didn't like. the walls still bother me, but i dont push them as much as i hide from them now. spiders all have poison. all of them. in Mt. Everest or sea level. if you've seen each world which would you choose? there's always underwater. there's always underwater! or perhaps lips, fresh red bell peppers. perhaps warmth passing through you, tiredness passing through you, perhaps life something which happened and cannot be blamed for its pleasures and rigors. perhaps blame can only be where there is intention. if there was an army and they made you take a laxative and you had to restrain yourself for two hours or you lost your thumb. is that ethical? and who's torturing whom? it is still an external restraint. or the tale of lord jim and the natives. there's a story. a way where we stretch the concrete out, knowing what we do of abstract beginnings and ends of categories, and then we try to find the question that underlies the exact scenario we can imagine. if we can find the question, we know principles which may then exhibit themselves in a more subdued fashion. as if they were tigers! this wasn't supposed to eat away at me or go on too long. but where's the freedom? is it in between my smile and my frown? is it hibernating in the winter? is it the pleasure of strawberries and spring? her hair. eyes when she plays casual checkers. a well timed feint, well timed forgiveness, a hand held, harmed in jest, in a distant safe model, like hypothesizing with your back turned, with your eyes faintly aglow, with your arms full of all you can carry, lessons spilling away before you lose the core, the payoff, the reason for the clipboards. you pick up a seashell and hear the ocean, and no one would blame you if you stopped there. warm hands wouldn't, sad silence wouldn't, trust me, i speak fluent ocean. 030511
jane on a day like_today you never have to worry about getting enough sugar
it's falling from the sky
werewolf tomorrow people will be scurrying, wondering why these days can be allowed to pass like fevers. 030511
jane pieces of fever stay with you forever...memories of hallucinations scare me still, when i get a glimpse of my past and wonder if it was fabricated with squares of imagination 030512
werewolf a wound never closes, it scars, we eventually go so far from where we started from that we outstrip our memory's power to behold it. so we invent stories. you can tell a lot about a person's future from their stories. even moreso than you can tell about their past. 030512
Dafremen When I wandered off the road, I thought there was a trail. It wasn't, just a space between some branches. Pushed upon the branches, but to no avail.
The branches wouldn't bend that way. So I turned to the left and faced a purple sort of blaze. It burned my face, and so I didn't go that way. I went right found a moutain, fixed with wheels. Pushed it away. Cept for the wheels. Kept them for myself cuz I kinda like the feel of a toe and a heel with a wheel and a song as I'm rolling along, I hit the curb.
And the sign said
So I didn't. Instead I went back to where I came from. From the source of my pain, from the who that I am.
It was real and done, it was everyone who had ever hurt me or praised me. It was the best of me and the worst of me in song, played on a 64 box of Crayola crayons.
The colors reminded me of the purple blaze, so I walked back into the future with my newfound wisdom. With my newfound peace of mind I returned to the path from the false trail. I knew I would not lose my way again. For each wrong turn from that point on, knew it's moment of my appreciation.
margaux i jumped over a wire and landed in the ocean, sometimes you need an ocean to wake you up. they tried trumpets and howler monkeys but nothing seemed to be doing the trick. new york city may be evil but that doesn't have to stop me from going there and being myself. i may turn into a welcome to my humble abode comein and have some lemonade it's pink your favorite color kind of girl but it's just my way of getting you to never forget me. i want to be the kind of girl you reminisce about when you remember your first love, but of course that's impossible. so i would have settled for something different, someone who opened your eyes to new pieces of yourself, but i don't seem to hold that kind of significance in your life. you're content to sit there staring at the aquarium watching the fish swim by and wishing you were the mini scuba diver so you would have fins to swim away. i can't blame you for wanting to drown, i know every day i drown myself in more and more anxiety. in a way dying a little is my way of living a little. it's everyone's, isn't it? some people like booze, some people like cigarettes. some like sex with prostitutes and some like finger painting. that doesn't mean it's wrong or it ever will be. i want to drown myself once more, drown in sleep the way i want you to drown in me. i want to surround you and enter your body through your pores and your lungs until i am running through you like an alcohol buzz. i want to be in your veins forever 030519
werewolf if love has blossomed, if each love was a petal in a rose i'll never see, you were sudden, and unknown, you felt like there was nothing on all sides of me, no hues surrounding me in lesser or greater crimson. you were a throwback to the days when another might as well have been the sky. i miss reading this. 030623
jane my room has been emptied out. it's so clean and fresh...all that needs to be done is the painting. my three year yet uncompleted mural is going to be erased with white paint. i'm rather depressed but i'll get over it. 030623
jane i want to rant! i've got something inside me, something that makes me want to capitalize my words, but that would be wrong for me to yell at you, tell you what you should be doing. i know you'll never understand what it is i'm really trying to write, my message will never get through to those of you who are starting off on your journey, those of you i have tried to help along the way. you'll never understand because you never really listened, or maybe you listened to everyone but yourself. you wait for other peoples actions to tell you what you should be doing with your life. and i am not innocent of these crimes, i too have fallen into the submissive pit of hell, lacking self-empowerment and self-advocation. i too needed to learn that the journey is not about the destination. i want to sound powerful! i want to make an effect! i want somebody to read this and understand me and understand themselves and cry or laugh or just think for god's sake! i want to be forgiven...i want to run away from it all and never have to think about it again, just go away to some other country, some other planet, some parallel universe where my decisions were different but so were everyone else's. i want to ride along the milky way not needing oxygen...i want to be a star. i want to be the sun. i want to float not only in my childhood dreams, but in my real life. i want to amaze you! i want to freak you out with my extraordinary powers, laughing at your naivete and thinking that if you only knew what you were capable of, you could do it too. we are so powerful and don't even realize it! i want to use this energy flowing through me! i want to stop giving lip service to this paper and go out and do something, do something spectacular, but i am human, i have to go buy chlorine for the pool, maybe buy some paint that i'll never use. i want to be touched again, i want to be moved deeply. i want somebody to scream at me with such passion, like david to kira: "i love you!! it kills me!!" i want someone to weep for me and my insignificant losses. i want to be subhuman. i want to be the earth. i want people to walk on me not realizing the spring in their step was my idea. i want to have grass growing out of me like hair. i want to be the sky. i want to own the clouds.

"i want to pull my hair back tight and smooth and make a big knot at the back that i can feel," she said. "i want to have a kitty to sit on my lap and purr when i stroke her."

"yeah?" george said from the bed.

"and i want to eat at a table with my own silver and I want candles. and i want it to be spring and i want to brush my hair out in front of a mirror and i want a kitty and i want some new clothes."

that's hemingway. a cat in the rain. i want to write like hemingway. i want to be eloquent. i want you to understand me! i want to understand myself! i want someone to know me, maybe tell me who i am...
phil 1minute

and stuff and stuf yo whatzup guys how;'s it hanging ht eend is it here?
floss brush squirt, toothpaste.
Ya that's what I meant to write, I meant it for some reason, I can't think of something else autobiographical. Chemical, andit's chemical, sweat pork chops, now hold on a minute, and minute ha look at that, this paper.
phil 2minutes

aid dnf ao nothing ot say, losie can=on
spilling stream, now hold on a minture, nothing to say, nothing, gosh, fuck this, ok , wirte about, rocks, pygmys lamma, they spit, no joke, toucan sam I am a space ranger, no , not really. I am not talking to you, ok... audience, squirrells, should I go three minutes, what about a rant, somethin to rant about. No mrtoe to rant about, uh oh writing a paper about.... tried to explain this once, spent to much time talking about it , bad situation, this is tough, should have just wrote, shouldn't have explained the paper, It was like backwards of what I
phil 4minutes

cam't close my eyes , watching clock, kinda of sick, irritating, nose itches, can you hear it, did you see it coming?
Come hard come fast, fight me about it, walk, talk, dance club, no noise, vote for less coservative role, what the fuck am I talking aobut. Ok sex, ya, sure, once a year, sex. Poke 'em, poke somebody, then again, the voices say then again! my notions my beliefs, thingees in my brain going twang, I can't see.
Ok, control, no joke, wrote a book half a page long. Gonna get it published after I'm gone, something about standing in a room. Will it make sense someday, be the last thing everybody reads, like a bible of some sort, I thing knot.
I think table, I want the table for my birthday, Ineed a table, I need to do something on a table, not someone, write, draw, need to take the time to, need to fix m y room. Oh yah, took the carpet out, my room is a concrete floor, don't know if chicks dig concrete floors, gonna find that out.

Make my own carpet, out of pop bottles.
Ok four minutes, can't wait, phone's not ringing, no dr. pepper
jane thinking back on the last few days, it's hard to believe they really happened. did i really go to the city? did my car really get towed at midnight, and my shoes break, and did i really get a piggyback ride from a curlyblondhair scarf-wearing artist? i tried to explain to him how incredibly sad i would be if i were to wake up and discover it had all been a dream...unfortunately, i am not eloquent enough to sufficiently illustrate...


i wanted to illuminate the room with my love for a stranger, but unfortunately that would require making myself vulnerable, more vulnerable than i'm willing to be. i desiderate after being gone for only a day, i'm spoiled with having made love all night, all morning, the tao of sexology next to the bed, a cigarette, freckles, the most amazing dimples on the same face as amazing eyes...something i could never draw or paint...

i don't know
Fire&Roses i sit here late at night reading the words and wishing I could write everything in my head down definativly once and for all. I listen to the music wondering what the lyrics really meant when they were written down. i know i could be in bed lying awake instead of listening to the dog snore. that's how the world will end. Soemtimes the lyrics just strike a chord in my soul I suppose. I wish some one would understand me. I tried to explain so many times... know thyself... i've tried. I wish someone would tell me who i am. So i sit here late at night clicking through the blue blathes and reading and trying to find myself in someone elses words. and sometimes I go away... not actually getting up but to that place in my head where no one can come where I can be sad for no reason and I can be happy for the wrong ones. You know the place where you go when you need to be really really alone... the place you go when you're driving roads you know too well. and i stare at the eyes of the girl in the screen why does my heart pound like that? She's gonna break soon... do they know? I wish I had someone talk to late at night. I have only myself to blame. No one's holding you back but you... like salt on an open wound. But he's got the scars. So i'm writing to the girl I used to be. Someone once told me that they lost the person they used to be and they didn't know what to do... and now I believe them. I've given up on my preconcieved notions I've given up on my black and white. I'm just going to let things be... I have a right to love me anyway.

Forgive me... but don't forget.
delial walking home from the pool today, I got very dizzy, due to the fact I didn't eat enough before going. I sat on a bench...but quickly realized that wasn't going to do, so I fell onto my knees on the dry grass. I grabbed a pair of pants my mom had worn to the pool from her hands and asked if she could bring the car around, as I couldn't walk. I knew if I tried walking home I'd just fall again. so I rested my head on the pants and curled up on the grass. my head was pounding and my eyes were closed, a white flashing dancing through the darkness of my lids. as the pounding went began to subside, I began to itch. there were ants crawling over me, and I was not really about to get up and run around. I waited and my mom arrived down the sidewalk, and came and helped me to the car.

I'll remember to eat a lot before I swim that much again, and bring snacks.

moral of the story:
grass and ants suck. food rocks.

oh, and this pizza I'm eating now is delicious. mmmm mm mm.

the pool is so wide open and the water doesn't burn my eyes like the one at my sister's house...I want to go back up there tonight.

oh and I give up. But not really. I just don't know what to say to you anymore. you say one minute how annoying things I did were, but the next you say how much you enjoy being around me and how being near me makes the day so much better. when will you make up your mind? when will you realize what an effort I make for you? when will you stop taking me for granted? and if you're not, why don't you say so?

I love my mom
Ambience I swear to myself that I will not give in to you, and I will not let you have me and your freedom at the same time... as I am silently begging you to ask me to stay the night. you dont. and I. am the stupid one for ever letting you get to me. I hold everything inside, so you dont have to deal with it. (thinking of you) you beg for honesty. Im honest with you, where does it get me? broken up with.

you call me just to say hi. you get upset when someone else kisses my cheek. you ask who what where Ive been. and yet. were still 'just friends'. do you even realize your playing games? If so, why are you doing this to me? You said yourself I was a great girlfriend. You agreed with me when I said I did everything for you. and you know you will NEVER find someone else willing to give as much as I have, as I continue to. youll never find someone to put up with you for even a fraction of the time I did. So whats holding you back?

I need answers. I need to make up my mind.
Bizzar You whittle away
at the broken peices
of my hope-
dying embers
from a once roaring fire
(you being my lack of oxygen)
I lay here in this desperation
me heart bleeding more
and more
with every second that
-you dont call-
The thought of you
corrodes my sanity.
The darkness of this hole
Ive so cleverly dug myself into
(or did I fall?)-
shrouds my tear-stained skin
Take me back.
Youll miss me
...and I swear Ill go.
jane lost in infinite space, in an infinite moment, the moment before a kiss, when you feel breath, and sparks, and you see sparks and fire and water and oh my god i just want to touch you passion potential love..."brilliant," you say as you unzip my shirt...potential and tension = potension...content in the unknown because it's exciting, lost in my brain and your brain, wanting to know what you're going to do next, are you going to kiss me or just let me die my little deaths, trample my heart with an elephant later but i can only accept you now forever..."everything is felt and shared but nothing ever happens.." i want to stop feeling your potentiallips on my lips, i want to dig deeper into this rabbit hole, i want to swallow you whole again and hear you exclaim to me...i want to be yours before i am gone... 030731
A Viking In Peru This may not be as deep as some freewriting, but it will be as free. I think that in freewriting it doesn't always matter what goes down onto the paper, or screen in this case; it's that it flows freely. I'm not pausing for even a second except to correct a typo.

My mind is thinking of the blue, blue sky with a few very dense, but pure white, clouds in it. My mind is on a grassy slope, with pine woods behind me. It's hot and dry, but wonderful. Bread And Puppet. I don't think there's anything more wonderful in the world. I'm sure very few people have heard of Bread And Puppet, but that's alright.

I don't really know if it's truly the most wonderful thing in the world; I haven't experienced everything. I don't think anybody can experience everything; they'd have an overload of information. Even if it was over a lifetime, they'd forget things. Nothing is really there unless you're experiencing it at the moment. If you have a memory of a wonderful place, it's not at all like actually being there. People say "I remember it like it was yesterday." What they think they mean is they can experience it in their minds as though they were still there. But they can't. They can't feel the heat of the sun, they can't smell the dust, they can't hear the people talking around them. They only have the pictures in their mind, and a vague reproduction of sounds.

I had a dream last night. It was the third morning in a row that I've woken up from a frightening dream. The first morning I went over a cliff in a hot air balloon, and felt my stomach drop in the way that it does when you go over heights. The next morning I almost died, and went crazy. I saw blood that wasn't there, on my hands. This morning there was a man with a weapon. He was going to kill me, but he was half-kidding. I thought I could duck in time, but I wasn't sure if he was going to fire his weapon, and I didn't want to duck too early.

I woke up to the sound of music. It was on a CD in my alarm clock. It's called Breacon Beacon. It's old English music mostly, but some newer folk songs.

Today has been a day of music. I listened to that for a while, I went downstairs and put "Let It Be" on the turn table. Let It Be is an album I'm undecided about. Some of the songs I really like, but some of them... I don't know. I have "Two Of Us" playing in my head right now.

There's an odd thing about music in my head. A lot of people say they get songs stuck in their head. That usually doesn't happen to me. I have songs playing in my head almost all the time, but I can change them at will. Here, I'll change the song in my head to "Across The Universe." Done.

Across The Universe is a great song. I wish I understood it better.

I've been typing steadily this whole time, and I'm beginning to wonder if it's getting boring. Of course, I don't think too many people will read it anyway, so it probably doesn't matter.

I just thought I heard a voice downstairs, but there's nobody home. It sounded like it could have been something flapping in the wind. I have an imge in my head now of a cloth that was once black, but has faded. It's full of holes, and it's hanging on the side of a house, flapping in the wind. It curls upwards and snaps back down, then stretches out, then relaxes...

Now I'm seeing people running through the woods. I only catch glimpses of them as they run by; just a glimpse through the shadows. There are lots of them, and they're all going left. There's something on the right. A fire.

I set fire to some grass today; I'm very interested in things burning. On my lawn there's one spot where most of the grass is dead and dry because the earth is too sandy for them to grow there. I set fire to it with a strike anywhere match. I only let it burn about three square inches before putting it out. You can't tell that anything happened.

After I put out the grass I noticed that a lot of tiny, tiny bugs were crawling around in a frenzied way. They were smaller than ants. There were zillions of them, and they were all of the same species. I wondered if I had disturbed their home when I set fire to the grass. I hope not. There's a spot there where the lawn mower hit the ground, and it's all dug up. Maybe that disturbed them.

The other day I made a fire in the fire pit. The fire pit has rocks around it, and a shallow hole. Ants all make their homes under the rocks, and it worries me when I make a fire. They always seem to survive it, though. This time, I pulled up the rock to look, and I saw that instead of the honey ants that had been there last time there were black ants. I supposed that the honey ants must have left, or died, and the black ants had moved in.

I pulled up a rock next to it, and underneath that one were honey ants. There were also a lot of pale pink pupae. The ants were swarming around, and I put the rock back down gently. I wouldn't want to disturb their nursery.

Then I started the fire, and a while later I pulled up the rock with the honey ants under it again. Now there were only a few honey ants, and many more black ants. I guess they were invading. I wondered how they managed to conduct an invasion with the blazing heat of the fire searing them the whole time. The rocks were very hot.

The fire dwindled down and I went inside. I'll have to look again and see what the outcome was. I hope the honey ants survived; I don't mind them at all, but black ants come into the house and eat our food.

My mom is much more concerned about that than I am; I'm willing to let them live, but she goes crazy when she sees them. I suppose it's because she's the one who has to buy the food. The other day we lost a box of cereal to the ants, or so she tells me. I don't know. Cereal isn't that important to me; I don't get hungry.

At all. Nobody believes me except my friend Sam, but I haven't been hungry in years. I can't imagine what it would possibly feel like. It's not that I'm just always fed; I go for a day without eating, and I don't notice. I'm afraid that this will kill me one day; I'll be living by myself somewhere, and I'll just forget to eat. I won't notice that I haven't been eating until I start getting dizzy, and by then it will be too late. I won't have the energy to go out and get food, and I'll just die of starvation.

That probably won't happen though. I do eat regular meals generally. Well, not really, but I eat.

I went to the doctors the other day, and nobody told me until I was there that I was getting a shot. I hate shots. They terrify me. Throughout the check-up I was pale and had trouble breathing because of the prospect of the shot. I'm sure they didn't hear what they should have heard when they listened to my lungs with the stethoscope.

Of course the shot didn't hurt, except for a little sting, but I hated it anyway.

Later we got ice cream. I think the girl behind the counter was stoned. She was very, very listless, and she gave me the biggest ice cream cone I have ever seen. I only asked for a meduim. This was actually disgusting. If I had asked for a large I would have thought this was way, way too big. Seriously, I've never seen anything this huge in my life.

I'm not a huge fan of ice cream anyway. I don't like cold things all that much, except for liquid.

Although I do like frozen fruit. We have a bag of frozen strawberries in the freezer, and I had a few earlier. They're delicious, although the cold hurts my teeth. I like them half frozen.

They should be half frozen anyway. Our feezer and fridge are broken. They work for a while, stop working, we thaw it out and start over, it works for a while... The whole thing stopped working exactly one day afteer the waranty expired. My dad says it wasn't planned obselescence, but I doubt it.

That is a brilliant way to make money, as long as you do it right. You have to have few enough of them wear out that you don't just get a reputation for having things that wear out. But you have to have enough that you make money off it. The idea is to not have the same person get a bad one twice in a row.

I plan to get rich off money conversions. I'll change my money into a different currency when the exchange rate is at a certain point, and I'll change it back when it gets better. That way I'll wind up with more money than I started with, and if I keep doing it... Apparently, there are people who make a lot of money this way, and as far as I know there are no laws against it. Althouh it's probably taxed heavily... I'll have to find a way around that.

I'd like to have a lot of money. Because I'd like to travel the world. I want to see everything. And I want to help people. I want to help people who are starving to death. I'd like to help people all around the world; the people who are dying in the Middle East because they can't get doctors to save them from the gun shot wounds, the people in Africa who die every day from malnutrition and starvation.

I'm not actually sure if, in a broader sense, saving people is a good idea. The world is overpopulated; any medical break through makes it more over populated. I think we're going to reach a critical point within my life time. We'll get to a point where the wrold just can't feed all the people. Then everybody will starve. They'll survive in the richest countries, but the starvation rate will go way, way up in the poorer nations.

The real solution, which would be completely impossible, would be to get people everywhere to stop having kids for a while. It wouldn't work, because nobody would do it, but if it could work that would be what would solve the problem. The thing that China did about only letting people have one child seems very cruel, but it could actually help people. If everybody gets more food then they win, right?

I think that in many cases the ends really do justify the means. The only problem with that is that people too often don't look at the full meaning of "the ends." The ends would be the entire situation compared to the entire situation before. There was a Calvin And Hobbes comic strip where Calvin declared that the ends justified the means. Hobbes tripped him, he landed in the mud, and then he explained that "You were in my way. Now you're not. The ends justify the means." This was an error in thinking; Hobbes failed to look at the whole ends. Yes, Calvin was out of his way, but Calvin was also face down in the mud. That's an important part of the ends; his situation got much much worse, while Hobbes' situation only got a little bit better. He didn't look at the whole ends.

I could go on, and on, and on, but if you've actually read through this I'm sure you're bored right now. Well, I suppose I'll wrap it up. The first time I looked at the clock during this it was 1:18 PM, and now it's 1:42 PM. Wow... I've been going that long? I haven't paused even once, and I don't think my ramble is THAT long. Well, I'll find out, won't I? And now, I blather it!
nomme the door just knocked its the neighbour she is nice but i don't know her that well she just said we made the front look nice we've been putting in flowers i thought that was good what viking in peru wrote about the ants . ahimsa .
i have a few hours before i go to the dentist. i'm kinda nervous. i have never had a tooth pulled before i think my previous dentist messed my mouth up i've got a screwy filling that killed my tooth.
i was walking in the supermarket yesterday we were getting soy ice cream i surprised myself with my reflection of black skirt black shirt on the coolers i walked around observing people i know it is weird but i bet some of them were doing the same thing. everyone is so interesting.
i really appreciate blather i think it is beautiful it is like people in a supermarket i don't know but we are all here there for food and something connects us
we don't need no lightnin the words just heard it is true if we get a storm it will likely be dry
i was asked where i would go if there was one place i would go. would it be ireland? i denied. said england, said i'd go search around in some archives in london maybe visit the college of arms. then i realized i was picking door numer 3 without thinking about whether that was a goat behind door three and wondering if maybe door 1 or 2 would have been a better choice. i said it was too difficult. asked tomorrow i might say somewhere completely different. really then i said i don't think there would be an end to my going i think i would just keep seeing and being in new places and never stop but i think it eventually i would have to stop i am not the energizer bunny
i'd like to redo my ceiling
footstep on gravel the sound reminded me of being a kid on the playground i
jane cool

minnesota_chris I'd like to encourage people to write more thoughtfully instead 030731
critic good job at starting that trend... 030801
critic ...seeing as how you said that on one of the more thoughtful blathes. 030801
A Viking In Peru In case you want to know...

I checked back today, and the black ants had completely taken over. They already had larva in what had been the honey ants' tunnels.

All in all, it was a very successful invasion, and a very unsuccessful defense of a home.
minnesota_chris I'd settle for freewriting, if people took out the boring parts. Glad you enjoyed the above ramblings.

I feel like my life is going nowhere. The feeling is probably greater than the reality: I will most probably go back to grad school in the fall, get more loans, and progress towards my teaching degree.

I've been preoccupied with an idea, more of a mood or a feeling than an actual brainstorm. To get a big piece of land out in the middle of nowhere, make a house (out of straw bales! Really you can do that!) and live there with a bunch of farm animals, a farm wife, and a bunch of kids. Drive a tractor, raise oats and rabbits and cows and goats and more kids. Maybe learn French and Spanish in the evening. I'd live off the land, and have lots of extra space, people could live there if they needed a place.

Perhaps this is all because I just bought a big blue pickup truck, and am feeling rural. Or maybe I just want to work for something real, something permanent, something I can lay my hands on and call it good.
User24 so here we are, sitting on a branch, couting pots of honey. money.

my instinct here is to say blah blah blah, but that's just becuase I'm not really used to speaking with no direction, signposts.

as soon as I pause, the words dry up, even pausing to correct my crappy typing causes the flow to be interrupted.

and again, end of sentance, no more to say.. maybe, like a lot of the time, I'll just press nevermind, as I usually do when I have nothing to say. but maybe that's the point of this blathe, it's where we go when we have nothing to say. I can't imagine that this verbage will interest many people, after all it's just the ceaseless rabble of thoughts that, for once, I'm letting escape my mind.

hmm, that wasn't bad, quite a long ramble until I stopped.

dammit and again..

hmm.. this is quite hard.. talking with no purpose, no point to get across. no concept to convey. perhaps in years to come people will evaluate this scrawl and try to discern the learning process, after all, we all think, but cannot explain the process, or maybe we can, but it's different for everyone.. perhaps each human is in fact an entirely different species who happen to have some physical similarities, maybe that would explain the diversity of individuality among our race?

well, that's enough of that.
oldephebe jane i read what you wrote, i read what everyone wrote and jane you are eloquent
and sometimes i find myself in someone elses' words, and sometimes i burn silently, this ragged torch, for an unrequited kiss, or some touch some hidden city of light in me, sometimes
i build the wall ever higher, no gets in and no one gets hurt and no one gets loved or touched, and sometimes i put on that billie myers album, the british mulatto with that oh so naked and vulnerable voice, not a pretty voice, not sexy voice, but a voice that says i have loved and lost and soared and burned like icarus so many thousand times - here let me write it in flames
and i wonder in those desolate empty hours when most of the world is in restive slumber, what do the words mean?
a lyric, a line, a world of meaning in one slender breath, and why did she use such imagery here and what is she hiding there and am i really that obtuse or is this all just some ruse
and really it's pop music, a sacharine melancholy smear masquerading as an alternative fugue ... and stuff like that ..wait god i'm lapsing into ebonic speak - save me! no really - some times i wonder about the world in those deliciously barren hours - me awake and the world around me so quiet - a crickets plaintive bowing, a street side promenade dopplering by
i like your writing jane, i'm going to try and read more of it
all the energies and all the exhalations
once i said something about blather being this ornate and variegated tapestry of embroidered breaths and it is beautiful in all its' variegation
(need simile for variegation)
sometimes in those desolate lonley hours sometimes i feel hopeful, and young, sure i'm not old but i mean young like 12 years old young, like blight and wound and heartache had never touched me - and i am standing at the creeks edge - skipping stones across its unbroken surface
and the neighboors horses prance within their gates, and god maybe i'll be an english teacher when i grow up and go to that teachers college in lancaster that everyone talks about
and maybe i'll write my own books one day - maybe my books will adorn the walls the bindings emblazoned with an ornate and gilded filligree or something
and maybe by next month i'll work up the nerve to make that jump down hillegas hill on my bike
and maybe i'll wake up from all this
me and my twin sister (stephanie) and we'll be back in rural PA and out of this horrid city - maybe
i want to care and say a prayer for every soldier that is lost in iraq, for every innocent life lost over there
it's too much
i feel every thing so acutely,
so i have to innure myself
put on the old autistic prophylactic
and feel like i'nm swimming in amber
and sure i could go to the eggheaded pages of blather and hoist my pointless
plackard and regurgitate the same things everyone else has learned in their matriculations - blah blah this and skewed statistical models this blah blah indicia of demagoguery this and sophistical facile argument this blah blah cognitive illusion this and blah blah some more - but the eloquence of a soul it's fire leaping out of them
it's harrow, it's misery, its' joy, whatever - i like looking into a persons soul, i've made all the intellectual arguments i care to make, we all know the words, the dance the polarities the sides to pick and play, we all swim through the same fetid waters to get where we are as a defensible position, bah - do that enough in the real world i guess
poetic language, it is the most real thing, the essence of a thing the core the realness, we can split boulders with it, here is my heart, here! have you ever seen anything more true, you say to your family, your friends, your wife, your lover, you say "my love is this perfect and fathomless thing - its' end cannot be reached and i will be for you beyond my last breaths is that real enough for you?"
and you i usually just get this weird silence -
no one knows how to be real anymore it's all stratagems and manipulations -who can be the master of the game?
here then can you finesse a fallacy out of that? a heart that is swelled and pure and true? .. my eyes are wet and my chest is quaking and i am trembling with the love i have for you, trembling with the words that you will not take into you - must everything be a battle?
must everything be negotiated by this absurd maddening dance of the vanities?
i will be for you for as long as i have breath - that is what i know
but i will not buff the floor with my brow you know? i won't bleed out all over the floor to placate your inordinately indulged self-esteem -
i'm not daddy and your're not a petulant tyrannical toddler anymore - so let us be real and let us be devoted utterly to whatever is true and honest -let us prefer the other before our selves - instead of manipulating let us just make an honest argument for ourselves - god i've done it again climbed right up there on the soap box again - hey jane people are reading what you write and it is beautiful, anything dredged up and out of the souls core is authentic, is beautiful, even if its only to the author, so what?
this is my flame and it will out last all the lies, all the manipulations, and again i don't care if this grown man with children comes across as some naive ephebic effete caricature, fawning over flowers, i don't want my heart to die, i don't want to become innurred to what is beautiful and simple and aching and needed in the world - so i'll play the games that i must to make my bread and drink my water
and even though i feel it's ragged rusty edge - heart, time, empathy, compassion - we must not surrender these things to the market place we must not allow our children to become these hardened jaded over-indulged little monsters,
we must hold them and hug them and love them and not stamp out their individuality, we must teach them temperance, and democrasy, and openness
let our lives be the example not just our words, let us be gentle, and giving and let us be vigilant, let us be responsible for the generation that will inherit this world - one can weild power and have compassion - let us make sure that the light in those tender eyes do not go out, i went a little long again ...
my little secret I had things I wanted to say. So many of them and I searched for a place to put them, a word which would define them or which they would define. I couldn't find a single one (i even tried to create a blathe titled "i_can't_blather" but I could think of nothing to write there) so at last I came here. Hoping that here I would feel free to write what I could not write else where.

I admire Dafremen for his poetry and his honesty and because he doesn't try to be holier then thou. And oldephebe because of his vocabulary and his honesty and the passionate way he feels about what he writes and what others write. Silentbob makes me wonder what he is like to truly know, he seems like the perfect friend. I wonder about User24 about how he is at parties and what kind of shoes he wears. ClairE always reminds me of someone I knew once and can't seem to remember, like a mixture of friends I used to have. minnesota_chris reminds me of a character in a comic strip I used to read and I'm not sure why. I like to read what birdmad writes, because he always seems so very real. I've been reading for days... not typing anything at all and so many times I wanted to write under a word only to read what was already there and decide that I couldn't follow that. So many times I'd been tempted to stop and say bravo, that was beautiful, but not even being able to find the words for that simple act.
I wanted to thank you all for making blather a place that I could come when there was noone else, but that's not the only reason I'm here. So if you were reading this you can stop now.

I'm sorry Jess for hurting you I never meant to I love you, and I know now that I always will. I know what always means and I'm saying it anyway. I hope someday you can truly forgive and forget, but I am quite willing to spend the rest of my life apologizing, no matter what I say. Tim, i love you, not in a lover sort of way, although you were a joy to hold, I will be here for you, if you ever need me. If you need a friend to lean on, or soemone to yell at and make fun of, if you need an ear to listen or a mouth to tell you to stop whining and grow up, if you need a good wrestling match or a punch on the shoulder... count on me. I'd like to say goodbye to those friends who were there for me, who made me who I am and have gone now, Juli, Kenny, Ali, Dan... thank you.

Mom... I love you, you are the best mom I ever knew. No matter what you believe. You worked hard for us and never once got the credit, the thanks, the appreciation you deserve, I'm sorry, I tried. I want you to be truly happy and I know you will someday. Noone deserves it more then you.

And to Dad... I wanted to write this somewhere permanent... somewhere that would stand for a long time. Dad, you are an ass. You're cruel and mean. You are ignorant and bigotted. You don't deserve your wife. You deserve very little, and I know you will never understand how I could say this. You will never look at who you truly are long enough to see the truth. I love you dad, but i do not LIKE you.

This is a goodbye, a farewell to those I love. A praise for blather and it's blather and its blatherskites and a memorial to my little secret. Au Revoir mes chers
jane all i used to want was to be desired & now i find myself overloaded with people who all want a piece of me & i say this not in a conceited way because i know you're sitting there thinking we should all be so lucky to have that problem, child, we should all be so lucky to be wanted like you are, your highness but i don't mean it like that; i've always known i had something to offer but recently i've been feeling overwhelmingly tugged in infinite directions, giddy you might say , for after all, man is a giddy thing; i should stop misquoting shakespeare or maybe i quoted it right but this time i didnt take the time to look it up & sometimes i can be careless but i never told anyone i was perfect but people seem to get ideologies based off of what they want me to be & then become disappointed when i'm not what they expected & how is this fair to think of me as something you want instead of my own person but i suppose you're going to do it anyway & so is everyone else just please try to leave me out of it 030815
TheDeprived You look at me now and you assume you know me. You listen to my words and think you know what I mean. I am not just a shell, there is so much underneath and it tickles me to think that you'll never know whats really here.

When did you become such a god? I used to look at you in awe, I used to take your spoken thoughts and opinions with grace and respect. Little did I know it was all bullshit. To think I believed you were listening all those years. You never cared. You walked along in your queen bitch better than you attitude, thinking you knew more than anyone with a general knowledge of whats being said, and so blindly made a fool of yourself everytime you opened your mouth. But I loved you anyway. I stood up for you when the truth about you was told, thinking they were jealous.

You filled me with lies, and led me a stray from my path of purity, down your road of tragedy. You belittled everything I ever accomplished, everything I was proud of. Nothing ever impressed you. Nothing was ever good enough. And you turned on me to show your true colors in my one moment of weakness. Way to kick me while Im down.

And now look. Even when I have rid myself of you and all the pathetic attributes that follow, you still try your hardest to ruin everything of worth to me. Its a good thing I finally smartened up enough to see that I dont need friends like you. I dont need you at all. You trained me to think I would fall to nothing, nothing without you. When YOU are nothing without ME.

Its time to give up the act. You are sweet until youre comfortable, just to stab your provider in the back the first time its turned. No one will ever love you for you, because you are dispicable and pathetic.

I cant believe it took me 6 years to finally get it through my head. You are dangerous, not in the way you like to think you are, dangerous like a virus, a sickness that I have become immune to. I cant wait until youre left with no one, because youve fucked them all.
User24 bzzzzzp. signal found

well, here we are in a jar on a table on the plate
crrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrzp. searching for signal..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... signal found
ok, so here I am sitting on a chair in the study (notice, a chair, the study!) in the flat (definate article again!) in Northampton (noun, and, sometimes adjective) in England, and I'm sitting here freewriting, and I don't even know if I'll hit blather or nevermind kerflp
searching for signal..... ..... ..... ..... .so.. .ere. .e.a. e.... .... .... ... .. .. . . . . . .
please wait.

signal found.
I think I'm going to have a cigarette, and maybe some green tea (bought some really nice green teas last weekend, you should come over and have some, I'll have some weed tomorrow, too)aslkdmn........................................EOF.
jane i've been sitting here for god knows how long--hours?--looking at art nouveau and thinking i wish i was mucha, i wish i was klimt...i wish i posed for mucha with long flowing hair like a river and such intriging facial structure and lips you could sleep on...i suppose you could sleep on my lips but i still didn't pose for alphonse mucha...i could be smoking job cigarettes & eating grapes off the vine on the border of the page & smiling like i know something that no one in the world knows, some incomprehensible secret i'll take with me to the ivy-vine-laced gates of heaven designed by nigel tudor or someone else who does gates...& for some reason i think these people would like to listen to dave matthews band with me...maybe because i'm listening to dancing nancies live at red rocks...for some reason i feel it more than usual..."don't you ever wonder, could i have been...anyone..." & somehow i am lost within all this art i missed in my lifetime & wonder if i am going to be a part of something someone will be wanting to be a part of in the future...sitting there like i am now...thinking the past is easier than the future... 030925
oldephebe and not the Thane of Caldor that was bveautiful jane... 030926
oldephebe i read this page again and I gotta say i was equally overwhelmed by these incarnate breathes out of sting and here's my props to werewolf, Daf, margeaux,(wow what an intimate revelation)..such words..who could not help to be unwound by such passion..such heat..amazing) Fire and Roses, Ambience, Bizaar, A Viking in Peru, nomme, U-24's romp into the random, my little secret, and TD..if i forgot's just because i'm a little ah spaced..

i once wrote..
you toe down every rubric
and every rule
that holds this
heart of fire in its cage
.i am breathless..
in shackles
i wait to be unwound..
i am willing to be crushed
powerful rose and coffee thighs..
will you be my freedom..
can you now endure this..
my unchained heart..
its depth
its torrential vituperations..
watch as i rise to fall..
and every empty vow
now in opened legged splay..
so much porcelain
drizzled upon hallowed ground
oh unquiet spark
that kissed the frosted
windows..heart in a glacier..
now ember in endless glow
and me a pyre of passion
we will burn the bed down
we will empty ourselves
into oblivion
in this
will you be my freedom..
i wait in satin shackles..

okay so that was a departure from my usual preictable rococco rhetorical calisthenics..didn't intend to recall these lines writen into an abyss of wantoness..several years this charismatic young woman..literally a few years almost ended me..
what bizaar confluence of whatever brought these words up in a thoughtless geyser of recollection..well..i'm not one for editing so here it is..
oldephebe the word is tore..

you tore down
every rule and
every rubric
that holds
heart of fire
in its cage
oldephebe..sheesh! ah this was prob the wrong place to put this..psuedo belongs on one of jezebels pages or.. whisper of my awakened soul or sumpin'..pls go back to studiously blathering..blathah land yay!! yay?..what am i regressing even further? nay na na ninny bob!!!!
good thing i got a tan this summer or else my face would be flared...and flush with blush..yep..i'm just gonna keep on typing and dig the hole deeper and deeper..till i'm elected mayor of Creepdom..blech..
er..ahem..and ah i'll be waaaayy over here
jane & i know it isn't wrong to want to be with someone the rest of your life, in fact it's what we're supposed to want. it's just i feel so strongly but at the same time it's not the same as before but perhaps love changes itself just as love changes metamorphizes as we metamorphize because love is nothing but an extension of ourself...making yourself vulnerable for a little while - letting someone be more important than you & letting go of the idea of self-preservation...thanking someone...& making them breakfast the next morning even if it's pancakes & there's no butter or syrup 031007
jane i'm lost on one of the coasts of a country called america and between the edges of a ring that says " vous_et_nul_autre " something in french i'll never forget...they say that the love you take is equal to the love you make but i gave so much & never got anything in return...& should i use that as an excuse to build my brick walls covered in dust and moss or should i just take it all in and surpress it like a wave receding, knowing it will once again crash on the shore...they associate water with emotion & i couldn't agree more...i feel my emotions wash over me before i have time to surpress them...i'm a fire sign & sometimes it's fire instead of water but i get so angry for valid reasons like "i'm losing my mind because of your irritating voice!" & i feel the fire flare up & i get called bitch or drama queen because i like to be real. i'm not done ranting because i dont really allow myself to do this at home, so i blather rant & rant blather & i want to stop listening to music & writing & just go to sleep for god's's six in the morning & i have nothing better to do but sleep...i should find love, my heart aches for it but i don't want to rush into things...i want to find someone familiar, someone i can curl up with mentally if you know what i mean...someone i can relate to but learn things from & teach things to...i need to stop writing things i'll regret later 031122
doar wow 031122
jane it was as if in retrospect i had left moonstones behind me to glow when i needed to find my way back.
i was looking at some old writing of mine entwined around fantastic doodles, some kind of creative vortex of my life, & i am thinking, i would never be able to think of something like this now...what happened between now and then? what did i lose?
my experiences now are so much more exciting than anything roommate wants to take photographs of me having sounds skeptical but she honestly takes the most beautiful pictures that i am convinced she would portray me and whoever and maybe another whoever as art figures...
i used to walk into rooms and pick out the one person i would love that night & later that night i would have him ( or her)..its that easy...but eventually its just tangibility, & now i want something more....
some of the most beautiful nights i've had in my life have been with you, with stars, the ocean, or paint..& then you, driving with me, i can't believe i've fallen in love finally with the two people who epitomize home. home truly is where the heart is. my heart is in california divided between a man and a woman, both beautiful, both deserving, both loyal.
i am listening to the most beautiful guitar melody i could ever imagine, something i stumbled upon the other day called perfect skies...i have been under perfect skies with her, a night i could never regret unlike so many before..
songs are making me sad thinking of her thinking of him thinking of love. i am breaking down on the inside, feeling my soul crumble as it has so many times before...just love me already & this will be done, we don't have to sit here on separate sides of the continent sinking into our own wishful thinking...
i would swim across the cities for you, pushing my way through clouds of people going the other direction...swim upstream to their downstream...this is a love_letter to you, both of you , because i can't understand how both of you are so real to me, my best friend, my lover, and both so true
werewolf so the problems still remain and i forget the saving graces, who then return the favor. the girl in the tight black skirt with rose prints and a blood red sweater to match who types nearby me does not know how i sit and wonder what it's like to be her, what it's like to put that sweater on, to take it off, armor for some protracted battle. is it just aimlessly now, or is it still with intention, still looking in the mirror and knowing what red means? if i could live alone, like a seasonal worker, if my masculinity or femininty was just solitude, a product in someone else's outbox: 8 hours for them, 8 for myself, and 8 for my rest, maybe i could let go of all of this anxiety. and everyone tells me how proud they are of my test scores. and so now i guess the same voice that was saying, you'll be a writer, or you'll be the buddha, or the path of the samurai calls you, will probably tell me to do public interest law, until i end up in a big firm, by the same voice that says, argue a little more, or one video game won't hurt. my friend left his cellphone at a stripclub the other day and asked if they had a lost and found. some guy nearby joked, "look for my innocence while you're in there." and what are the choices i've made? that night on the phone both of our voices were sad. i went to that same stripclub and i followed a girl who followed me. isn't that what i came there to do? to be led by the hand? she asked me if i wanted to get naughtier. the cash from the paycheck i was planning on giving to a homeless person that night i decided i should stay out on the streets to know what it's like, i gave to her. she talked to me nonchalantly about her son as she jerked me off. i wondered what she was like in high school. i bet she was critically minded and small breasted, tall and somewhat awkward. you'd never know now with all the glitter and flesh put into her by and for someone else's hands. but she seemed really decent and nice. and i lost my erection and she aplogized and asked if i was guilty and i said no, no it isn't your fault. wasn't this something i never thought i would do? and is that all it amounts to? one sad night, one phone call, and you've dashed to unrecognizable your face as it stands in photographs, your face smiling or wondering and center. and you march into what was unthinkable like a zombie and find that the only "unbearable thing about life is truly that nothing is unbearable." after this, what couldn't i do, what choices had i pretended were non-choices did i realize at this moment that i had to make everyday? how soon before other people's faces blurred as much as mine to me, or voices in my head were helping me plot out murder or suicide, or whatever final test there was of my limits?
and should he tell all of the people he thought he had betrayed? would they feel as betrayed as he did? and he and he not me. this can't be me. and how could i ever explain it to them? they'd see the pathetic old man or else stiffler from american pie, they'd never see the mortified dead eyes saying, shaking out, why am i doing this to myself? and will this cause distance, or is it by distance caused? and maybe someday i'll feel righteous again, maybe i'll say glibly, "why would i spare your feelings when i don't even spare my own." but isn't that what it is? running from the anxiety. pretending that there's nothing more to life than brief moments of understanding in a sea of understanding and that nothing is more honest than keeping our lives to the pragmatics of the body and its exchanges. everything just a distraction before we hit the road or return to our travelodge? the next day she'd say, why should i talk so much about myself and my plans, no one really cares about that. about what i'm doing. i do it, and all that matters to them is that it gets done. and the cheating husband says the same thing. and of course i offer, wearing my sensitive dockers and sweater t-shirt, as opposed to my loser hooded sweatshirt, that an interest in you is entwined in an interest in me, in my life strategies, your answers play a large part. and sure there's a metaphysical disconnect, some difficulty in explaining, too much or too long, but attempts make a difference. she tells me to stop being so cryptic. and of course i am being cryptic. but what we could agree on as clear about it, is of no interest to me. i've never been more in love, and never have i been in such a scrambling desperate fear of it either. so when will i move into the life i have on posters, when will i empty those cardboard boxes labled waiting? to someone who's imagined as much as i have, i wonder if any surprises if any feeling of accomplishment will ever arrive until i'm finally saying my last words, finally - at the last time i can put off failure. at the only time i want success.
werewolf and it wouldn't be the first time i've traded in real life for it's easier alternatives. in hemingway's novel, the end was always heroic. hemingway wrote about steinbeck. 031125
oldephebe yeah and hemingway wrote about the death of god and the "funeral he felt in his head"..your revelations were a beautiful hymm of desolation, a chorus of thin paned sighs impaled upon some secret and dark knowing that looks back upon a life, casts its shadow back upon this young time as the chest grows tight and something catches in your voice..and you see the birth of those pangs..frozen child in a fallen world and your future stalks your present says to you "this is how it will be," ineluctably, invariably satre's wall bearing down upon you and all.. Be. If you will countenance my presumption I would just like to add that your penultimate and last posts were just a candid devestating portaiture of how one can be suspended between the confusions of the flesh and our metaphysical aspirations..the death of true passion perhaps is the cumulative sigh of all those little depredations and extractions...

a wonderfully obliterating fugue..
nonsensical something is churning, turning as i sleep through winters of cold air and everything which surrounds me and everyone else. (i make no sense) allluring possibilites will arise marking of newborn spring. stop. a pause a look, memory. in the end me and you we'll be gone disappearing into a mist, become sea girls never seeing beyond the glass. 031128
jane i am consumed by anxiety, & suddenly it hits me that i feel guilty about feeling so anxious - thoughts run through my head like a marathon of messages, you should be doing this, why aren't you working, why didn't you bring your shit on the plane where you would have plenty of time to finish your project - what is wrong with me and my head and not getting work done & there are too many people to see & things to do i feel rushed i feel spread thin i feel like i'm never going to get anything done like i want to be hit by a bus or a train or god just something big enough to kill me & get it the fuck over with - i hate hate hate my ex boyfriend & all the awful. things he's done to me & then i think how he ruined my beautiful night with you, oh god & you, retaining perfection within my heart, he tells me i look beautiful this morning & asks if i would like to be drawn so i lay down still even though the room is cold & i look at him & try not to shiver because that would be moving & he draws me like a landscape of my body...& i realize i can't go back, there is no home for me, not here & certainly not there, he tells me to make a home for myself in new_york & tells me to take it easy; how can i take it easy when i'm leaving the love of my life behind me 2822.84 miles away from the place that can rip my heart out of my chest - i feel myself building up walls that i was always afraid to build, those walls of adulthood where you leave the purity & innocence & naivete behind because you've now had your heart broken, you've been hurt enough to know better for god's sake...i don't want to know better...i want to know love, i want someone to tell me i look beautiful this morning & ask me if i would like to be drawn - i want to stop going up & down these hills of hormone-induced emotion, estrogenic if thats even a word...i want to be heppy again, like earlier today listening to old rock i used to revel in, driving in my car screaming happiness with a cigarette in my left hand & the stick shift in my right - i want to find peace within myself...anything within myself...just calm down - relax...breathe...breathe... 031201
u24 inspired by the word_association blathes

new year
aphex twin
martin luther king
malcolm x
in bed

rock on!

marked . 040102
oE nonsenical - seems to me you made a lotta sense :) 040102
jane why is it that when we're the most lonely we need to write? why is it there is no cure for lonliness yet? nights spent chainsmoking in my room, wanting to paint but knowing it will just make me that much more frustrated, thinking about the innocence of childhood and even virginity. you come to mind. i don't even know if you exist anymore, maybe you're just a synthesis of everyone i've ever met and/or loved. or not loved. sometimes i feel like i miss pieces of myself i had to eradicate to survive. i wonder what would have happened if i had chosen to walk to his house instead of wait for the bus. i wonder how my day would have gone if i hadn't seen that dead pigeon on the ground. i know these things are all useless to think about but lately my brain will think about anything to keep itself busy. there was something oldephebe was writing about up there, about proclaiming your love to people and getting silence or strange looks. i feel like that sometimes. like if anybody cared enough i would break down all my walls and invite them in. i could do that. and yet he's there [not oldephebe], he's waiting for me, he's leaving for siberia on sunday. he thinks i'm in love with him and although i have told him i'm not, i think it's endearing. he needs to learn how to take it easy and i need to learn how to love. but something can't take me away from the sound of your voice; i call your cell phone late at night so i can hear your outgoing message - i love the way you say your last name and sometimes i wish mine rolled off the tongue so smoothly. i stay up late and write when i dont know what else to do with myself, because i'm lonely and i don't feel like i have anybody left. nobody here and nobody in california. i am nowhere. sometimes i wonder why i'm still living and i hope this is just one of those periods of angst before a personal introspective renaissance. without tv there is no easy way to distract myself. i used to be able to walk over to jeffs and victimize myself. i used to be able to take the train to your apartment late at night, even [or especially] if i had a class in the morning. i didn't care because i loved going there. i love the magazine pictures that line your stairway, and i love the way you suck my lip until it turns purple. i love the red light you have in your bedroom and how i wake up early and read in your closet hole. i love walking barefoot down your hall and i love the way spencer asked you if we could have a threesome and you said no. i love those pants you hang over the banister and i love the chai that you wear on a chain around your neck. i love the color of your eyes. i love that dark blue robe you put on in the morning. i love that you can tell me you realized you gave more of a fuck than you thought you did and then turn around and not call me for a week. i love that you never called anyone back until i asked you to. i love that i would choose you over all the money he offers me, over that job. because to me, you are happiness. not that i depend on you for that. but i would be happy with you. and i'm sorry if what i said ruined the chances at having that friendship because i treasure it more than anything. i miss you. 040213
u24 Wow, I really don't knwo what I'm going to say, you see sometimes, I do, and I trry to explain something I'm thinking, etc (e.g. mental_levels) but today I have nothing. Oh I could, I could talk about my latest amazing idea or whatever, but I don't really want to because I've found it's better to do it and see if it's still amazing. Most of the time it's not bad, but not great. I think the best idea I've had yet is show_me (which will be going offline very soon (I'll back it up somewhere so it may spring up again) I want to do that community art website, it'd be fairly basic, but I think it'd be interesting. But of course, then there's the clan thing, which I really do think is a good idea. anyway, I said I wouldn't talk about these. The move is really stressing us both out. I don't know if we're going to get everything done, but what can you do? only your best. I thought I was going to die yesterday; smoked some greenery that is way mouldy, the back of my head was really painful for a few hours, like a headache, but more a brainache, and it felt really sharp like a knife. I'm going to throw the rest of it away (there's only a tiny bit anyway) but yeah, life is ok, a little... interesting; lots of potential stress in the next month, but hopefully we'll cope with it; Once we've moved out we'll have to survive on £50 a month each, but that's OK, because every penny we save will be for university, so I don't think I'll be too fussed about being a little poorer. I'm seeing Karl in April (once I phone him) and then off to Greece in May, and after that we're all set for 5 months of rigid saving and then Bam! New life. it's gonna be good. I won't be able to blathe except at work, but that should be fine; recently I haven't really been here much anyway. I want to quit smoking cigarettes. I'm going to try it out. wish me luck. 040319
oE whoa U24 take care of yourself with the whole injesting moldy pot..when you said moldy pot i at first thought that the experience would've some how combined the hallucinogenic properties of various coveted fungial flora and the mood altering properties of pot..definately care of yourself man...
oldephebe Jane - i'm thinking that this unfullfilled space you're in right now may beceome a path to cultivating a kind of gift of growth through learning to clearly see yourself, a kind of crack on the melon on the rock, crack the crock, and collapse the clock..because maybe although the water of what you and this fellow may have together is a little roiled - and a little shallower on your side..perhaps you can take this fuuny ache and put it before your faces...clear the screen of all the grey static, the voice that sounds some how distant and forlorn even up close..maybe i got no business here, no footing, no friendly and anonymous advise needed thankyou but really keep your well intentioned empathy in here's what i there some way you can let him know? like how maybe if he can dial down his worhipful devotion and you can cross the wide creek...crawl out of the crysalis to a more open and trusting place...seems like at least it's worth considering...maybe you and this guy could begin to cultivate something special, maybe clear the collective throat and find your voices together...say like well here's the transcripts of what my sou is saying to me about this kinda thing...

of course could be way my apologies in advance if it seems like i'm prying or trying to pawn off a pantomine of sagacious advice..'cause nothing i say is really sagacious it just comes from making a whole lotta mistakes..and not liking to see or imagine someones suffering...sooo....
jane the shame is, that's the problem. i sort of did reveal my feelings while remaining tentative in case he was o reject me. & that's the reason i haven't talked to him since that night, cutting_through_the_park 040404
phil laying in bed, in the chamber, navigating my souless mind
dancing and dreaming
eating potatoes and keeping to myself
I wandered, looking at myself in the mirror
the mirror in my room, at the destruction, listening for the detached voices, wandering my room, the hallway, the world
I chastised a young virgin, I know that makes no sense but I say it in my mind, vampire, these are only words like typing
but the voices say other things, conversation, I love you, and other things
why do they haunt me, the invincible stronghold in Saudi Arabio, being held by Hitler, holding all my tears back, each stalking motion of my head getting swamped in the sounds of the halls
I feel my life slipping out of my hands
like pee
I can't cry haunt or scream
any dream I had, paved over time
smothered by the super highway of reality
the ugly personless powerful world that sucks me until I would rather be dead
the empty grueling conversation of work
the endless hopeless struggle against all fuckers
sloping forhead, all I can think now is the basic principles of violence and sex, the uncommunicated drive to my life, the empty hollow shells of what once were, when I met, complete human beings, now slowly being shutdown one missed moment after another. Each screaming lustfull cry moaned and groaned out through parted cell doors
I am really curled in a little ball right now, under a desk after taking a shower clinching my guts sqeezing my eyes gritting my teeth as the unbearable pain, the laughable pain sits inside me pointlessly
Shitting it out and slamming my fists into my face, tearing it off and screaming feeling no pain and flying from this world to the next
mowing the lawn, in my old age, mindless, full of hate, stupid as fuck
debating wether or not I should go do IT
the everything I need, the push I give, the command, the tested and failed method of ME, should I die now or later can I get over the rush of emotions and erase and remove and continue, doing more than just breathing free by screaming for a day
can I burn the sensation out of my eyes
go to hell

I am sitting here, but not really, always holding my empty cup upside down, captured in reality straining and straining and being pressed slowly between windows, and each time I try to strangle you or run away, something breaks, and I fall on the floor

I look in the mirror to scream at myself, my shifty face, lacking all self control, emotionless, jaded self hate, given up, trashing in the fisherman's net, trying everything I can

My hand flashes, my ear pops, the right buttox hurts and I have an itch on my shoulder, now hair, now ankle...
and sometimes, rarely, when I go for that itch some tough little critter, with many long legs gets caught in my hands

the paranoa, the meaningful paranoa, the glazed stare, the dead bodies and compressed teeth, holding all rage until something so strong comes that I can't break

to experience a tree, a simple life, a little happiness. At least I don't place blame anywhere, I can sit here and burn my thoughts into the screen

but each step, each movment, each moment, beyond that point which you pissed me off, gone, turned into fire, hatred burning flexing, every sound of your foot scraping as you leave the bathroom, every crinkle of the foil in the kitchen and soft sound of the fridge closing, the thought of you standing there doing whatever it is you are doing, irritates me, I hate you, go away and die

Should I take it all back, everything I said, should I kill?

Fuck, I guess I have to send this.

I am wrong, and will die for myself, no matter how long it takes, how long oyu let me leave so you can change me, you fucking bastards.
jane i feel disgusting after last night. can it still ba called rape if i asked for it? i want to vomit out my insides just to purge this feeling - this aftermath of last night. i won't sleep on the sheets that touched him or near to the pillowcase that he hacked on. this disgusting swine of a man. oh god & i asked him to fuck me & i had to wake up mext to this body, this gross body [not a matter of aesthetics, although i could get into that, but repulsive for reasons mentioned] & i realized what i had done [not that i didn't know - it was the magnitude of that i had done that knocked me] & i just wanted to shower the event off & pretend it hadn't happened. the contradictions of today are astounding: it is a beautiful day & i went to the street fair on 4th avenue & fell in love with everybody. hot guy in a wheelchair. story of my life, right? he was probably married. even better.
i'm sitting in the courtyard writing & the trees are wrapped in cherry blossoms & christmas lights. i feel like i could have a heart attack. the aftermath of last night. i wish she would call me for some reason. she has a poetic temperament but thats not the whole reason why. she epitomizes california for me the same way that blaise epitomized new york. i've called all the members of my family - wanting to talk to home - more & more i think about the therapeutic [not assistance! what is that fucking word??] that open mic at bowery poetry club could lend me. i wonder how many people in this courtyard have noticed me around from time to time. part of me wishes that someone would talke to me but that might be the same part that is responsible for last night. haha. my hair is getting longer. this guy is standing over there - i want him to talk to me but now he's gone. it was a fleeting love. who am i thinking about? i'm thinking about my family & crista & brodie. just home in general. the jewish kids are all sitting at the same table with their yarmulkes, drinking what appears to be diet dr. pepper. i love them because they're so hardcore. i bet they got all their homework done too. well now i'm just cynical because of what happened last night. its almost time to move out - it feels like the last few days of summer camp or something. nostalgia is a bitch. i wrote it years ago & it still applies. i should write some great work like descartes or something. well it isn't a wonder why i havent already; check out my extensive vocabulary.
hello my name is lauren & i'm a sexaholic. hello my name is lauren & i'm an alcoholic. life is made up of fleeting moments. the cherry blossoms are beautiful. i think i've run out of stuff to write. i dont want to go back upstairs. hello my name is lauren & i'm a poet. hello my name is lauren & i'm an artist. there's that guy i fucked. number __. last night was __ if you count katie. "i wont be calling you tonight" says brian. i walked over this grate in the sidewalk yesterday & you could hear the guy playing drums in the union square subway station. the sidewalk was drumming. soundtrack of new york city
werewolf ah 040418
j i'm sitting here, rotting. i'm dying, as we speak. and we're all dying really, you could say that we all are dying since the day we are born. but my way of dying is different. i can feel my body chipping away at itself, the acid eating away at the inside, pieces crumbling off everyday from rough weather, the way rain wedges itself between the cracks in a rock, freezes & expands, until eventually the rock is split in two. in ten years i'll be gone. who knows whose fault it is? mine? probably. my carelessness has led to my downfall; my vice has led to my destruction. i could sit here & blame it on bad instincts, on passionate moments, on scheming men. but it doesn't really matter, because it's in me already, & it won't go away. there's no cure. it's worse than cancer because if you have it you have it; there's no catching it just in time, there's no chemo. i wish it was as easy as my hair falling out & it going away. maybe i'm jumping to conclusions. in two business days i find out how long i have to live. 041104
Deomis listening to the music. Starting to feel tired- the effects of mt. dew have worn off. Now I'm left here with blather, google, and my homework I should have finished last night; not at this ungodly hour. So I'm sitting here, and I'm thinking. not about much really. about how much i hate my friggin life , and about why school is the only damn thing my rents ever want to talk about. heck, i even have dreams about school. it has totally dominated my miserable life. I'm just asking for 10 minutes without thinking or mentioning damn school.
no rest for the wicked I suppose.
The day my parents were gone, my mom called every half hour and asked me if I'd finished my essay.
it's so frustrating.
I just want to scream and cry and laugh and grin and frown all at the same time. then everything feels like a bubble overfilled, on the verge of landing on the ground and shattering into a million wet particles.
but I can't do that.
I just want to slide into the cracks in the floor and dissapear.
I want to be able to hide during school. I don't want that creepy chinese freak to say hi to me anymore. I want him to get out my life, because he is a conceited chauvinist pig. I want for everyone to go away for a day, and just let me be. I'm so sick of hearing his life advice "You know, it's good for you to socialize..." he says, and I think 'Good lord, since when did you become my mother?!?!' they don't talk to me, even when I talk to them. So kep your damn opinions to yerself!
friggin hell, just LEAVE ME ALONE!
I'm so creeped out, he's always staring at me; and its .... *shudders*

I'm so tired of being judged and evaluated by these people. I just want them to see me as a friend. To just talk to me. Heck, I've had to make up stories about what goes on at school to keep my rents happy. I talk to three friggin people, and that's only at lunch. the only other ppl I talk to are my parents and I can't stand to have to talk with them.
I just want to cry, because that idiot in my history class thinks I'm a vampire.
I just want to murder something because that idiot in my driver's ed class is always making fun of me.
I just want to laugh at the irony of my life.
I just want to talk to people the way that girl does. The one that everyone is friends with.
I just want to run, and never stop, simply for the sake of trying to find some freedom.
I can't see through the binds these people have placed on me.

oE for j

The paper whites on the living room floor
lay like Christina in the field,

having fallen off the Magnavox
in the night. Their lithe dancer bodies

must have swayed to the artificial illumination
of a midnight sun. Heavy heads

could not hold the weight of their own
desires, brought down by a streetlight,

in an attempt to pull from darkness.
We are all subject, often misguided by a deceitful

brightness. The allure of the metallic:
The flashing chrome of fast cars, the blush

of sparkling champagne, the pantomimed stars
on a blues singer's sequined gown. The diamond glitter

of fresh snow cannot cut stones, but melts
away under the slightest influence of warmth.

The stalks turned their backs from opaque walls,
"Queen-waving" emerald forearms, snapped and broke.

Crowns of white left paralyzed: spilled stars
of narcissus, extinguished meteors of hope.

S.K. Duff
oE uh it strikes me that this poem is probably not apropos of what j had shared...uh once again me and my heart lit like a torch blinding me and catapulting me into another awkward moment...please disregard and forgive my intrusiveness
ben is jamin now!!! a freewrite assignment is one of tasteful expression, for mandatory it is not and pressure, there be none
say all you want! lets the words flow from the moon to the sun as the spill like lights across a still lake and run.they will stop at nothing to convey exactly what they wanted to say, but they still move on once the deed be done. a lonely soul awaits these words for the antidone is hidden inside, it holds a healing suprise that will relax and renew you and make your "eyes reside while it lets your life deteriorize." a spoken incantation to tell you who to talk to and where you may stay in, for the movement becomes stagnant when the supply is cut off. nothing be life but this fragment of friendship left on the bathroom floor. lays next to razor blades stained with red regret;your life, no more. you see the infinity portraided in front of you and the colors cascading you any fear. all these for one thought, creating many apon many and they all pile on top. they stack up and stretch so high trying their hardest to reach someone there in the sky, hoping for his regaurds but by now, his answers all together equal up to none. all hope beginning to deminish, although replaced with sorrow soaking up all emotion. now we are up to date, at out fresh new place, standing in front of future...we just reached a stail mate. the plane of life is now landing. dust awakens from the ground to tell of its distress, and at any rate, we await to board while he spins and spirals all around, then realizes we are just playing chess.
They call me Truth I am coming back to you 070130
They call me Truth Musicality: the musicality of a menace screaming at the top of his lungs or a girl being ripped apart by her own anger as she yells back refusing to be intimidated; the agony of trying too hard and not being able to accomplish what you said out to do and without knowing it submitting yourself to hours of torment, shearing yourself to bits with negativity. The self imposing assault on your little soul, the self imposing pain that you will put yourself through and is it all for show so that you can feel as if you punished yourself enough; is that what you really want? So you feel insecure. You feel tired and overwhelmed. You feel like no one loves you. Must you then demand so much? Must you then call upon all the ideals you want in yourself and pin it on another person? Must you set these parameters and restrictions that you know, that you, yourself, will become burdened adhere to.
This is what we do. We demand so much and we make everything a prisoner because indeed we have already imprisoned ourselves. I have held you for too long. I have asked of you too much. I have asked that you involve me in everything, that you always honor my feelings even when you donít know them. I have asked that you grovel at my feet so that I know that you are sorry for hurting me. I have asked you to put up with all of me, with everything that I am, even the things you donít necessarily like, and if you do not do these things I punish you for being a bad friend. If you cannot live up to my expectations I imprison you in guilt so that you will feel like less of a person. I have in fact tailored you to fit me, so you have given up who you are for me. And I do not see this as selfless cause you will resent me for it. You will resent giving up your existence and eventually you will thirst for that freedom once again, free from my prison.
This is not unconditional love and I will not get by with being just okay. Why should I settle for this as if this is all I can be? I can be much more than an egotistical, condescending, dictating, menace. I am more than this.
falling_alone i keep thinking about how i never wrote about anything that was important, when i look back on my blathes, there are just word that don't allude to what was going on in my life that is a tangible experience, and i say tangible because that is my favorite word.
well right now i have him.
another boy to add to the collection, sometimes i don't want to write about him, in case it's all over too quickly and i'm left with the remembrances of my words, because blather is forever, until of course another blather_crisis ...
but there are things_i_want_to_believe, his words that try to reassure me, but i've heard so many before, maybe none at all, but they all drifted.
see here.
i'm vague again.
he told me i don't need to impress him, he told me theres nothing he finds wrong with me, he told me he's not going anywhere, that he'd let me see all the things he wrote about his ex that he hated about, i told him i didn't need to see that.
he is the first that i trust and he told me the same.
They call me Truth I want you to question, question injustice, question media, question truth...I want you to be hungry, to be concerned with things other than materials, but the liberty and freedom of your body mind and soul...i want you to search actively for the truth, fight against the injustices, and oppressions against you...

....but first you got to get angry
what's it to you?
who go